Rough Passage to London(73)
“And what do you mean by that, Captain?”
“Well, I guess I mean to say that like an observation for longitude and latitude, if it’s well calculated, it will all come right in the quotient. If it’s poorly calculated, then you can expect the reverse.”
“You sound like a properly strict Congregationalist, Captain. You mean to say we get what we deserve?”
“Not exactly, but I suppose there is some truth in that.”
Morgan was smiling now. This girl, whom he didn’t know until two weeks ago, seemed to have a greater sense of his own nature than he did. He looked directly into her amber eyes even as he tried to gain the upper hand.
“You ask so many questions, Miss Robinson. You act as a magistrate. Have I committed some crime?”
He looked at her with a fixed gaze to which she smiled faintly, lowered her eyelids, and turned her head away again. She stood still and finally said in a gentle voice, “I like your smile, Captain. Would you say you are an optimist?”
He paused. “Yes, I suppose I am. Like any sailor, I know the wind eventually comes right. What about you, Miss Robinson?”
“I prefer to think of myself as a realist, Captain, but I also enjoy taking risks. Life would be so boring if you did not take chances.”
Without waiting for him to respond, she continued with her questioning.
“Some women do sail before the mast, don’t they, Captain? I think I have heard of women sailors.”
Bewildered, Morgan shook his head. “Not that I know of. The forecastle wouldn’t be any place for a woman.”
He thought of the men stripped naked in the forecastle and the jokes about whoring in London. No, he thought to himself, a woman could not join in with this group, not a gentle woman at any rate. Not a lady. A square-rigger was definitely a man’s world.
“What about a captain’s wife?” she asked. “Don’t packet ship captains take their wives to Europe?”
He seemed taken back by her persistence and a little surprised at her interest in women aboard ships.
“That’s different. The sailors don’t mind if the captain brings along his wife. Nor do the ship owners. Why, this was before my time as a sailor, but the man who taught me to sail, Captain Henry Champlin, took along his wife, Amelia, on many trips to France and England.”
Just then the bell was sounded for a change in the watch and the quiet they had enjoyed was interrupted by men’s voices and thudding feet. Eliza used the noise to speak with a sudden urgency.
“Captain,” she said with her soft-spoken voice. “I am in a most terrible predicament. I find myself with several suitors on board your ship. I’m quite prepared to marry one of them, but what shall I do? How shall I know which one to choose?”
Morgan’s heart sank at this news. He felt dismayed and dispirited, but then a plan began to form in his mind.
“Miss Robinson, what if your suitors all had to compete in some way to show their chivalry as well as their bravery?”
“I would like that very much,” she said. “What did you have in mind, Captain?”
“Are you a swimmer, Miss Robinson?”
“I learned to swim as a young girl. Why do you ask?”
He paused for a moment.
“Well, Miss Robinson, we’re now approaching the warm Gulf Stream waters. Suppose by accident you should fall overboard? I’d have the quarter boat already lowered ready to pick you up, so there would be no real danger. You can be sure the man who truly loves you will jump in after you.”
“Why, Captain, I believe that is a most splendid idea!” she replied, her face lighting up with pleasure. “When will we do this?”
“As soon as the winds have died down,” he replied. “Be sure to wear a light cotton dress and your slippers.”
Two days later, Morgan woke early to discover a beautiful morning without a ripple in sight. The ship was drifting along under full sail, hardly making any headway in the warm Gulf Stream waters. The ocean was a clear turquoise blue, calm and sedate, the sunlight sparkling on the surface like thousands of tiny diamonds. For most of the morning, the ship cruised along on the glassy water at a speed of less than two knots, the sails limp and lifeless. Fertile seaweed brought from the Gulf Stream filled with tiny fish and shells drifted by like floating islands. The passengers were bored and restless as they sat in the roundhouse and on the quarterdeck chairs. They listened to the sails and the yards backing and filling and complained about the fickle air and the lack of forward progress.
When Eliza came up on deck followed by her suitors, Morgan winked at her, turned his head toward the quarter boat in the midsection of the ship, and motioned for her to move in that direction. Morgan had already brought several of the sailors in on his plan, including Icelander and Whipple, who were stationed at the rope tackle to release the rowboat in seconds. Lowery had distracted the normally attentive Mrs. Robinson in the saloon with some of his New Orleans recipes so she had no idea what her daughter was up to directly above her. Eliza played her part expertly. With her three suitors following closely behind, she enticed them over to the side of the ship by flirtatiously suggesting they should all play a game. Once she reached the bulwarks, she took off her slippers, grabbed the lower shrouds at the base of the mizzenmast, and jumped out onto the chain-wale on the vessel’s outer hull, where the deadeyes of the lower rigging were attached.