got up in his Bibbey .”
“ Bibbey ?” I asked, unfamiliar with the term.
“The curse of the colony! Since time immemorial, mankind has applied an incredible amount of industry to the task of making spirits that will render themselves senseless. Bibbey is the island’s version of this strong swill, made from fermenting and distilling the sap of the local Palmetto. Its use has landed my good fellows in the stocks, the pillory, the whipping-post, and of course, gaol . There are laws in Bermuda against the use of the Palmetto for making Bibbey , not only due to its riotous effects, but because it is a valuable plant used for building, thatching, cordage, hats, baskets, and a thousand other necessities.”
“A type of whisky, then?”
“More akin to rum,” he clarified.
“But the murderer?”
“Ah yes, well, Edward Skeeters eventually confessed to his crime and swung right over yonder on Gallows Island.” He pointed to a small island offshore. It was felt that an appropriate tombstone for Mr. Skeeters would be the very stone with which he drowned his wife, and so it was lashed to his body and he was sunk near Moses Island in the Great Sound. It is said that Edward does not rest easy, and on violent nights, when the lightning is flashing, you can sometimes see his spirit leaping upon the rocks of that solitary isle.”
I smiled at the conclusion to his tale. “Surely you jest, Constable.”
He raised his eyebrows and nodded his head slowly. “There are stranger things in heaven and earth…”
“Shakespeare, Hamlet ,” I immediately answered.
“Indeed.” Dunkley nodded. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, Doctor. I hope you enjoy your stay at St. George’s and that it is a quiet one.”
“I am certain it will be. I suspect that this great fortune of ambergris will be the most exciting thing that happens while I am here.”
With that we parted and, in high spirits, I made my way back to the square. Passing a two-story building with flanking staircases, which I reckoned to be the Town Hall, I strolled along a small brick-paved lane. This was lined with handsome houses, separated from the street itself by low, sunbaked walls, mottled with lichens and topped with moss, the sort of walls what might have stood for a hundred years. The lane eventually led up a slight incline to a venerable but fine two-story Italianate-style white building. This had two cross-shaped gun slits in the upper floor, and a welcoming-arms staircase leading up to it. A man was resting upon the stairs, clearly a local by his manner of dress. I engaged him in a few moments of conversation, and he informed me that this was the former State House, the oldest stone building on the island, constructed with mortar made from turtle oil and lime. The governor of the time felt that Bermuda had a similar climate to Italy and directed that the building should be completed in that style, hoping to commence a general trend for the isle. However, the poor deluded man forgot that Italy was generally not beset by hurricanes, and thus the flat-topped roofs that flourish in Tuscany simply would not serve in stormy Bermuda. Rain water collected and seeped through the porous limestone blocks of the roof, and ensured that all future houses on the isle would adopt the curious white-stepped roof now typical of the charming island architecture. Once the capital moved to Hamilton in 1815, there was no real use for a State House in St. George’s and thus the entire building was rented out to the Scottish Freemasons for the absurd sum of one peppercorn per year.
I thanked the man for the history lesson and then continued on my way, angling down to the crooked Duke of York Street. Wishing to inspect the church that I had spied from the window of my room, I turned to the left and headed in its direction. Once there, it was a significant climb up a set of some thirty or so brick steps to the admirable grey and
“ Bibbey ?” I asked, unfamiliar with the term.
“The curse of the colony! Since time immemorial, mankind has applied an incredible amount of industry to the task of making spirits that will render themselves senseless. Bibbey is the island’s version of this strong swill, made from fermenting and distilling the sap of the local Palmetto. Its use has landed my good fellows in the stocks, the pillory, the whipping-post, and of course, gaol . There are laws in Bermuda against the use of the Palmetto for making Bibbey , not only due to its riotous effects, but because it is a valuable plant used for building, thatching, cordage, hats, baskets, and a thousand other necessities.”
“A type of whisky, then?”
“More akin to rum,” he clarified.
“But the murderer?”
“Ah yes, well, Edward Skeeters eventually confessed to his crime and swung right over yonder on Gallows Island.” He pointed to a small island offshore. It was felt that an appropriate tombstone for Mr. Skeeters would be the very stone with which he drowned his wife, and so it was lashed to his body and he was sunk near Moses Island in the Great Sound. It is said that Edward does not rest easy, and on violent nights, when the lightning is flashing, you can sometimes see his spirit leaping upon the rocks of that solitary isle.”
I smiled at the conclusion to his tale. “Surely you jest, Constable.”
He raised his eyebrows and nodded his head slowly. “There are stranger things in heaven and earth…”
“Shakespeare, Hamlet ,” I immediately answered.
“Indeed.” Dunkley nodded. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, Doctor. I hope you enjoy your stay at St. George’s and that it is a quiet one.”
“I am certain it will be. I suspect that this great fortune of ambergris will be the most exciting thing that happens while I am here.”
With that we parted and, in high spirits, I made my way back to the square. Passing a two-story building with flanking staircases, which I reckoned to be the Town Hall, I strolled along a small brick-paved lane. This was lined with handsome houses, separated from the street itself by low, sunbaked walls, mottled with lichens and topped with moss, the sort of walls what might have stood for a hundred years. The lane eventually led up a slight incline to a venerable but fine two-story Italianate-style white building. This had two cross-shaped gun slits in the upper floor, and a welcoming-arms staircase leading up to it. A man was resting upon the stairs, clearly a local by his manner of dress. I engaged him in a few moments of conversation, and he informed me that this was the former State House, the oldest stone building on the island, constructed with mortar made from turtle oil and lime. The governor of the time felt that Bermuda had a similar climate to Italy and directed that the building should be completed in that style, hoping to commence a general trend for the isle. However, the poor deluded man forgot that Italy was generally not beset by hurricanes, and thus the flat-topped roofs that flourish in Tuscany simply would not serve in stormy Bermuda. Rain water collected and seeped through the porous limestone blocks of the roof, and ensured that all future houses on the isle would adopt the curious white-stepped roof now typical of the charming island architecture. Once the capital moved to Hamilton in 1815, there was no real use for a State House in St. George’s and thus the entire building was rented out to the Scottish Freemasons for the absurd sum of one peppercorn per year.
I thanked the man for the history lesson and then continued on my way, angling down to the crooked Duke of York Street. Wishing to inspect the church that I had spied from the window of my room, I turned to the left and headed in its direction. Once there, it was a significant climb up a set of some thirty or so brick steps to the admirable grey and
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