Rough Passage to London(76)

Instead, Mrs. Robinson, stern-faced and unsmiling, had studiously avoided his glance as she stepped off the ship onto the busy Pine Street wharf, holding Eliza’s hand tightly. Eliza had gazed back at him with a panicked look as she and her mother disappeared into the crowded docks. Morgan watched from the top of the gangway as mobs of people swallowed them like a swarming hive of bees. He wondered what could have happened to make Mrs. Robinson so unfriendly. They had shared warm recollections about Connecticut as he had discovered late in the voyage that she had grown up in the town of Durham, twenty miles to the west of Lyme. He told himself that maybe she was just eager to get on land after the long passage.

Taking a wife had never seemed practical to him. He was more connected to the sea than the land. He knew he would be spending most of his life on board a ship. But he had been lonely and Eliza seemed a perfect match. She loved the ocean and she was fearless. Even the mutiny did not appear to have fazed her. He was certain this young woman had captured his heart. When he looked at her, he forgot where he was. He couldn’t stop hearing her feisty voice, her infectious laugh, so willful and irreverent, the smell of lavender in her hair, her bare neck, her tiny hands in his grasp, so warm, so real. All of that had awakened his sensations. Hours after she and her mother left the ship, Eliza’s sparkling, amber-colored eyes were still with him, as was the memory of the light touch of her lips. The very next day a lovesick Morgan sent her a letter, professing his devotion to her, asking when they could see each other again. Each morning for the next few days, he waited shipside for the mailman to deliver a reply, but none came. He began to despair. At first he was puzzled, as she had seemed genuinely drawn to him. Then he fell into a much darker mood. He began to wonder if she had deceived him like Laura. He cursed himself for being so gullible. He was such a fool. Perhaps she had simply used him to make one of her other suitors jealous? He began to suspect that all women were naturally skilled at the art of deceiving men. His mood grew darker.

Finally, three days later, a small, sealed letter in her handwriting came to him. He opened it with trepidation, his hands shaking. His heart sank as he read the blunt words telling him she wasn’t sure that she loved him, but then a few lines later he found reason for hope.

By not responding promptly to your affectionate letter, my dear Captain, you may have thought I have forgotten you entirely. I can assure you that is not the case. Perhaps you have even questioned my sincerity? Let me affirm to you it is entirely impossible for my heart to forget our evening embrace on the deck of the Philadelphia.

She asked him to meet her at the Battery the next day. She would find a way to free herself from her mother.





When he saw her seated on a bench looking out at the anchored ships off the Battery, she was wearing the same white empire-waisted dress she’d had on that evening on the ship’s deck, the same black Spanish lace draped across her shoulders. Her hair was drawn back underneath a broad-rimmed bonnet. He grabbed her hands and looked at her reassuringly. They embraced and kissed, but he knew something was wrong. Her shoulders were tense, her face downcast, and the edges of her eyes were red. Her hands were clutching a moist handkerchief. He quickly realized he was sailing into stronger headwinds than he had anticipated. Eliza didn’t know what to do. She told him how her mother had approached her on the ship with news that Sir Charles was so taken with her that he wanted to ask for her hand in marriage. Her mother was overjoyed, bubbling with excitement. She’d burst into Eliza’s stateroom and blurted out the news that she had won over the old Englishman. Eliza became distraught, saying she wouldn’t have him. Her mother couldn’t understand why her daughter wasn’t glowing about this enviable catch.

“Who is it?” she had asked breathlessly. “Is it that gracious, delightful French count? Is it that nice young man from Philadelphia?”

“None of the above, Mother. It’s someone else. I love someone else.”

“Who is it?” She paused and then her nostrils began to flare. “It’s not . . .” She stopped midsentence. “No, it can’t be. You haven’t fallen for that ship captain, have you? I saw you looking at him.”

Eliza’s silence gave her feelings away. Her mother’s face became red as she looked at her daughter with a pained expression.

“What did that ship captain do? He didn’t kiss you, did he?”

“How can you say that? No, Mother.”

“Tell me the truth, Eliza.”

“We just walked on the deck, that’s all.”

“How could you, Eliza? A ship captain? There’s nothing worse for any woman than a sailor. You should know that and certainly he should have spared you this. With marriage you need to be practical, dear. Consider the lives of these sailormen. They’re coarse men who eventually end up at the other end of a bottle. Human driftwood, they call them, worthy of no shore. Who knows how many wicked girls that man has had in his life? Who knows how many he has right here in New York? Be sensible, Eliza.”