the Chinese tea-trade, but she was turned so that I could not spot her name. There were at least two barques, the Sophy Anderson , registered as hailing from Dover, England, and the Lone Star , Savannah, Georgia. There were many steamers, including the Esmeralda , home port Vitoria, Brazil, and the Mathida Briggs , registered to Banda Aceh, Sumatra. A great clipper, the SS Palmyra , Cape Town, South Africa, was also resting at anchor, her masts overrun with lascars evidently working upon repairs.
Smith tied up the Caliber along a busy quay directly across from a row of brightly-painted two-story commercial establishments which appeared to be an admixture of shops and restaurants. A broad street fronted the buildings, and from it a faint odor of horse dung wafted towards us, a sudden clash from the fresh salt air to which I had become accustomed. A small army of wharf-fingers loaded barrels and crates to and from trading ships also tied up at the waterfront. Up the hill, directly behind the buildings in front of us, I could make out the grey stone single spire of a cathedral. My brother also motioned to the left, where another large white structure stood apparently along the same back street as the cathedral. “That’s the Hamilton Hotel. I had thought to have you stay there, since it is by far the finest hotel upon the island. It has twenty-six rooms appointed with every modern luxury. However, it is still far from here to the Fort, so I opted instead to engage a room for you at the smaller and more bucolic Globe Hotel in St. George’s.”
I nodded my approval at his choice. “That is perfectly all right with me, Henry. A private bed in a room that does not sway back and forth will seem like luxury enough when compared to my poor quarters over the last year. And I am not certain that my pocketbook could withstand the assault of a fine hotel.”
At that moment, a man hurried up to the ship, waving his right arm. “Is this the Caliber ?” he inquired, a trace of an accent apparent upon his lips. He was a tall, handsome man, with keen dark brown eyes. I thought I detected a hint of a former military man in his erect posture. His dark brown hair was slicked back and his moustache suavely waxed. He was exquisitely dressed in a black-frock coat faced with green silk, a black waistcoat, and well-cut pearl-gray trousers. Neat black gaiters protected his leather shoes. Based on his accent, he seemed to me a quick-witted Latin.
He hopped aboard the boat, and after a quick word with Mr. Smith, he turned to us. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Antonio Jose da Paiva Cordeiro. How do you do?”
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
Smith tied up the Caliber along a busy quay directly across from a row of brightly-painted two-story commercial establishments which appeared to be an admixture of shops and restaurants. A broad street fronted the buildings, and from it a faint odor of horse dung wafted towards us, a sudden clash from the fresh salt air to which I had become accustomed. A small army of wharf-fingers loaded barrels and crates to and from trading ships also tied up at the waterfront. Up the hill, directly behind the buildings in front of us, I could make out the grey stone single spire of a cathedral. My brother also motioned to the left, where another large white structure stood apparently along the same back street as the cathedral. “That’s the Hamilton Hotel. I had thought to have you stay there, since it is by far the finest hotel upon the island. It has twenty-six rooms appointed with every modern luxury. However, it is still far from here to the Fort, so I opted instead to engage a room for you at the smaller and more bucolic Globe Hotel in St. George’s.”
I nodded my approval at his choice. “That is perfectly all right with me, Henry. A private bed in a room that does not sway back and forth will seem like luxury enough when compared to my poor quarters over the last year. And I am not certain that my pocketbook could withstand the assault of a fine hotel.”
At that moment, a man hurried up to the ship, waving his right arm. “Is this the Caliber ?” he inquired, a trace of an accent apparent upon his lips. He was a tall, handsome man, with keen dark brown eyes. I thought I detected a hint of a former military man in his erect posture. His dark brown hair was slicked back and his moustache suavely waxed. He was exquisitely dressed in a black-frock coat faced with green silk, a black waistcoat, and well-cut pearl-gray trousers. Neat black gaiters protected his leather shoes. Based on his accent, he seemed to me a quick-witted Latin.
He hopped aboard the boat, and after a quick word with Mr. Smith, he turned to us. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Antonio Jose da Paiva Cordeiro. How do you do?”
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
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