Rough Passage to London(74)

“Look, I’m standing in the chains!” she cried out with delight. Her light cotton dress made her seem even more youthful than she was. “This is where the leadsman stands to throw his long line into the sea to determine the depth of the water. Who will join me?”

Eliza pretended to hurl the blue pigeon as the sailors called the lead, shouting out a fictional number of fathoms. Her gentlemen friends were laughing at the courage and foolishness of this lively young woman even as they reached out to try to bring her back aboard.

“Mon Dieu!” cried the French count. “Elle est incroyable. Une femme avec le coeur d’un lion.” Sir Charles Molesworth and young Mr. Norris, clearly more alarmed at the risks Eliza was taking, were struggling to pull themselves up onto the bulwarks when suddenly she let out a scream.

Her hands slipped their grip on the shrouds and her feet slid off the chain-wale as she fell backward. She hit the water with a loud splash, immediately triggering the sailors high atop the yards to give out the warning.

“Man overboard!”

There was a scramble on deck as passengers and crew rushed to the side to see what had happened. Some sixteen feet below them, Eliza’s head with her calico bonnet still attached was bobbing up and down, her arms thrashing about.

“Help! Help! I can’t swim!”

This was a lie, of course, but none of her suitors knew that. The French count was the first one to dive in after her, followed closely by the American. Sir Charles Molesworth clearly gave it a few seconds of thought, but seeing his competitors already swimming toward her, he took the plunge, jumping in feet first with a huge splash. Morgan looked down at this scene with great amusement while most of his passengers were caught up in the drama. Even before she jumped, he had signaled Whipple and Icelander to lower the quarter boat to retrieve Eliza. The plan seemed like an excellent idea, but there were some unexpected results.

None of the men, it turned out, were good swimmers. All three were dressed in a full suit of clothes with heavy black boots. Count D’Aubusson was soon floundering and thrashing about in the ocean. Sir Charles wasn’t able to make any headway and, alarmingly, he began to sink like a stone. Mr. Norris’s arms and kicking feet were whirling about, stirring up the water like a paddlewheel steamer making its way up the Mississippi River.

Icelander and Whipple first picked up Eliza and then rescued the swimmers. Sir Charles was so overweight he had to be held up on the side of the quarter boat until the sailors on deck could lift him up by block and tackle. When they were finally all safely aboard, all three of the dripping trio presented themselves on the ship’s deck in front of an equally wet Eliza. She’d lost her bonnet, and her long brown hair, normally neatly drawn back, was now hanging down in stringy strands. Morgan looked into her eyes, but didn’t know what to say, so he turned to the three dripping men and gave each of them a pat on the back.

“Miss Robinson should count herself a lucky woman indeed to have so many chivalrous gentlemen ready to jump to rescue her. I don’t know which one of you I would commend the most.”

Morgan was savoring the moment. The three suitors were a picture of misery, their fine cotton and satin clothes ruined, their boots filled with water. Eliza thanked each of them for their bravery, apologized for her clumsiness, and then quickly left for her cabin, where she stayed throughout the two-hour-long dinner. Later, she sent a message with Lowery to the captain, asking him to escort her on a stroll around the deck.

That night they walked to a shadowy corner on the leeward side of the taffrail where they could have privacy. The deck was quiet, and only a few faint voices could be heard below in the saloon. It was a dark night with not a star in the sky, no gleam on the water, just a fitful puff of wind driving the ship forward. No one had seen them, not even the helmsman.

“What am I to do now, Captain,” she cried in despair. “What am I to do?” After sweeping her hand across her face to wipe her tears, she continued, “Those were not the results I expected from your little contest. You have just made things worse than they already were. How will I ever choose?”

“Ah, my dear,” replied Morgan with a twinkle in his eye as he reached out to grab the varnished rail. “It is indeed a difficult decision. Those are three brave, chivalrous men, and as I said, if I were you, I don’t know which one of your wet suitors I would choose. They all passed the test, and you can’t marry all three.”

Eliza looked at him with a repugnant stare as she angrily shook her head. She drew her shawl closely around her shoulders.

“You are a cruel man, Captain. You are mocking me. I think it is time for you to leave me in my misery.”