At that moment the lunch bell rang, and like a herd of milking cows answering the farmer’s call, the Philadelphia’s cabin passengers headed below for their afternoon meal. Morgan turned to leave when he heard a flurry of feet on the deck and several shouts from some of the passengers. He turned toward Mrs. Robinson, who was looking up with shock and disbelief. He followed her gaze, and to his astonishment there was a young, slim figure climbing the ratlines to the top of the lower mainmast. It was Eliza Robinson. She’d pulled her light cotton dress up between her legs and secured it in front, revealing the lower back part of her calves and the edge of her knee-length white drawers to those on the deck, shocking most of the women even as it was pleasing to the men. She squeezed through the lubber’s hole and pulled herself up onto the main-top platform. Soon she was looking down and waving at the throng of upturned faces on the quarterdeck. No one was more surprised than the captain himself. Mrs. Robinson began screaming for her daughter to come down immediately. She turned to Captain Morgan, her nostrils flaring.
“Do something, Captain! She’ll fall to her death!”
Just then, Eliza spotted dolphins. Hundreds of dolphins with glossy backs surrounded the ship, diving and surfing in the Philadelphia’s wake. Some of the steerage passengers yelled out, “Sea pigs, sea pigs!” Most of them had never seen a dolphin before. The sailors on board weren’t surprised, as whales and dolphins frequently were sighted together. Eliza looked poised and confident standing on the small platform with one hand on the shrouds. All eyes now turned to watch the frothy spectacle around them as scores of dolphins raced the ship, leaping high in the air before diving under the hull and resurfacing on the other side.
Morgan sent two sailors to help Eliza clamber down the ratlines. When she reached the last few rungs before the deck, Morgan offered his hand to her, but she refused it, squaring her shoulders.
“I will be fine, Captain, but thank you very much. I found the view to be excellent.”
In an effort to be conciliatory but firm he said, “Miss Robinson, I must warn you. This is not allowed on board ship. I will not have one of my passengers getting hurt.”
“Captain, I want you to know I am not a fragile piece of china to be kept safely in a cupboard.”
At that, Eliza walked off with her head held high and her scowling mother marching close behind. Morgan was annoyed he had been spoken to this way in front of all the other cabin passengers. He could tell from the smirks on some of the sailors’ faces that his frustrated efforts to control this strong-willed young woman had made him look foolish.
They sailed two hundred miles on June 22, which turned out to be their fastest day. They were now approaching the Grand Banks. Morgan remembered that day for the fine wind, but also for the creamed potato soup, the roast pig, and the apple pie. All afternoon long the quarterdeck was filled with comforting smells of roast pork wafting up the companionway hatch. Scuttles was hard at work in the galley preparing lunch. When the lunch bell rang, Lord Nanvers was in a fine humor at the sight of the feast laid out on large platters atop the saloon’s long dining table, everything from stewed chicken to boiled codfish to a fine macaroni pie. He took a seat next to Morgan. Rubbing the palms of his hands together in hungry anticipation, he remarked, “Now there’s a sight for a Rubens’ painting, eh Captain.” He pointed to the large platter where the pig’s head had been placed as the centerpiece of the table. “Nothing I like better than the smell of roast pig.”
With that, the barrel-chested English lord wasted no time in spearing a large slice of roast pork and serving himself a generous amount of mashed potatoes and corned beef. He then passed the pickled oysters to his lovely young wife. Morgan allowed his gaze to wander over to Lady Nanvers, a striking blonde with large blue eyes whose tall, voluptuous body was a constant distraction for most of the men on board. Her ever-present vapid smile, Morgan suspected, cloaked a far more complex character. She had the look of a woman with a strong appetite for men and had sampled many before she chose the stout-chested English lord. She was his second wife, as his first had died in childbirth, leaving him no heirs. He was hoping that they would have a son soon. Morgan discovered all of this from another of the English passengers who’d confided in him that Lord Nanvers might not have a legal heir, but it was rumored around London that “the old devil considered himself quite the swordsman and had many illegitimate children from several different women, who were not from the gentle class.”
Morgan had hardly been listening to Lord Nanvers as he looked in the direction of Eliza Robinson, who was sitting at the other end of the dining room table. Her hair was done up in the same corkscrew curls that made him admire her attractively thin neck. He had to admit she was pretty, not voluptuous like Lady Nanvers, but a head turner nonetheless. He was still miffed that she had disobeyed his orders and undermined his authority, but there had been no further incidents on the passage and he kept finding his eyes shifting in her direction. She had annoyed him at first, but now he found her spirited nature to be strangely alluring.