But for Morgan those concerns were only half his troubles. The new unaccustomed demands below deck were far greater than he had imagined. It was only when the weather cleared once they left the stormy Grand Banks that his two separate jobs began to merge ever so slightly. With the ocean calming, one by one the sickly passengers came up on deck to take in some fresh air. The stormy seas and the boarding waves sweeping over the decks had kept most of them below. Morgan spotted one of the packets that had left New York about the same time as they had, and the somber faces faded away. It was the Erie, bound for Havre. The two ships sailed side by side, sometimes in a single-reefed topsail breeze for a short while. Finally, with the winds piping up, the Hudson edged up closer to the wind to take a more northerly course, and all the passengers waved good-bye to the unknown passengers on board the France-bound packet.
The passengers were now promenading regularly around the ship. They had learned how to walk on a slanted, slippery deck, clutching the rails or the bulwarks to keep themselves upright. A daily routine began to settle in. Some of the more enterprising men got up early for a six o’clock bath on deck, which consisted of two buckets of cold seawater thrown over them by one of the crew. Morgan had smiled as a grim-looking Icelander had tossed bucket after bucket of icy water on several naked men, who were cursing the giant sailor as they stomped up and down on the deck. By seven o’clock, one of the sailors was milking the cow, the kettle was screeching, and the smells of hot rolls and sizzling bacon filled the cabin with the aroma of breakfast. An hour later at eight o’clock, Lowery sounded the handbell, and a full meal of broiled ham, chicken, eggs, frizzled bacon, and mutton cutlets was served. The pots de chambre in each stateroom were emptied while the passengers ate their breakfast. That was a moment when all the sailors moved to the windward side of the ship. Afterward, if the weather was not too rough, the shuffleboard players came out on the slanted deck to try their luck at sliding the biscuit.
Luncheon was delivered several hours later, and before the sun set around six o’clock a three-course dinner was offered, followed by a walk on the deck, a cup of coffee or tea, and a glass of port. All this socializing, eating, and drinking was new to Morgan. He wasn’t used to the niceties of parlor discussions, the trivial conversation, and the rigorous rules of proper dining etiquette around the eating table. He often thought of Champlin’s warning to him that his well-heeled passengers would find fault with his salty table manners. He’d already sensed the disapproval of some of the older ladies during the meals. He had heard the tut-tutting and the quiet whispering even as they stole glances in his direction. He kept wiping his face with a napkin, thinking that he must have food around his cheeks. Then he thought he may have said something inappropriate. As he had no one else to turn to, he asked Lowery what he thought. The gray-eyed, brown-skinned steward looked at him with a cryptic glance, and then told him in a hushed voice that he’d heard some of the passengers critique his eating habits.
“Excuse me, Cap’n, but those ladies say you eatin’ too fast. They say you got your face in your plate, and you talk with your mouth full. I don’t want to rile you, Captain, and I don’t mean no disrespect, but they say you have bad table manners.”
Morgan stood by quietly as his colored steward reported these overheard complaints. He was furious that he had received this embarrassing rebuke from Lowery, but he said nothing. He thought about what Lowery had told him about his early life in New Orleans. It hadn’t been easy. Caiphus had grown up sleeping in the same room with his mother, except for the nights when the master came to see her and he was told to go elsewhere. It was from her that he picked up his cooking skills and basic knowledge of some African dialects. French and English were spoken around the house, so he was comfortable with both languages. His mother died when he was only fourteen. The master, a local merchant by the name of Francois Lowery, freed him at that time, and Caiphus found himself alone in New Orleans’s Congo Square amidst the drums and the singing. He told Morgan it was natural for him to go shipboard because he knew he could use his cooking skills. “Tain’ got too many places for a freed black man ashore, Cap’n,” he’d said. “At least at sea, we all are in the same boat, black and white together. If the Lawd takes the ship down, He’s takin’ all of us.”
After Lowery’s revealing information about his table manners, Morgan made a point of following the example of the passenger seated across from him. He soon learned to keep his back straight and take small spoonfuls, never eat when someone was talking to him, and to wait until everyone was served before eating. As difficult as it was for him to learn some of these rules, Morgan did not envy his steward’s job. Lowery was always being summoned.