“I understand there is opportunity there, Captain, but tell me, exactly how will you take care of my daughter? How can my daughter possibly look forward to a good life as the wife of a shipmaster? Where will you live, other than your ship, of course?”
To calm his nerves, Morgan puffed on his cigar, and then began to talk about how the dangers of a life at sea were greatly exaggerated. He told Mr. Robinson how Eliza would come to know the beauty of Old England, and the many attractions of London. Morgan mentioned how she would be meeting important people on his ship from both sides of the Atlantic. Then he mentioned the case of Henry Champlin’s wife, Amelia, who had accompanied him on many trips across the Atlantic, and how her health had been better at sea than it was on shore.
It may have been Morgan’s meeting with Samuel Robinson, or it may have been the sight of their young, headstrong daughter laughing and joking with the captain, holding his arm as she walked light as a feather through the front door of their brownstone, that changed their minds. Whatever it was, the Robinsons gave up trying to sway their stubborn youngest daughter away from what they considered to be a questionable marriage. She had steadfastly refused to marry the Englishman, and they knew her well enough to know that she would not change her mind. It was not what they had hoped for by any means. Days later, the couple reluctantly gave their blessings to the marriage.
Eliza was barely eighteen when she and Elisha Ely Morgan were married at Trinity Church in Manhattan on July 28. It was a simple service with only Eliza’s parents and a few friends of the Robinson family there. Morgan hadn’t had time to contact his brother or notify his parents before the wedding. He wrote his brother a quick note before boarding the Philadelphia, promising that he and his new bride would come visit over Thanksgiving. They were married at six in the morning because Morgan had to ready the ship for departure that same day. It had all happened rather suddenly, with the final decision coming just a day before the wedding. The newly married couple had rushed from the altar to South Street, where Morgan presented his new bride to the astonished sailors of the ship. He had Mr. Nyles muster the crew and announce to them that the Philadelphia would now have the shipmaster’s wife on board, and they were to behave with better manners. One of the men picked up a fiddle, another a banjo, and they were soon playing a popular tune at the time called “Take Your Time, Miss Lucy,” about a young woman pleading with her father to let her have a beau.
Indeed my dear you’re joking
You’re still too young to know;
So take your time, Miss Lucy
Miss Lucy, Lucy oh.
The entire crew was soon clapping their hands and stomping their feet on the deck as they all got into the spirit of the occasion. Hours later, with the passengers all aboard, the Philadelphia was towed out of the East River by a small steamer. Morgan turned to look at Eliza’s beaming face. Her eyes were sparkling. She had taken off her bonnet and was tilting her face up toward the sun and the sails. The crew, still in high spirits, sang a saltier song as they began hauling on the halyards. The Verrazano Narrows was busy as usual with all types of ships, from incoming sailing packets to shapely coastal schooners under full sail, carving their way into New York harbor. Among the cabin passengers aboard were two Catholic priests from Ireland, Father Flannigan and Father O’Toole. They had come to New York to tend to the growing population of Irish immigrants. Morgan was comforted in having two men of the cloth on board because as he told Eliza, you never know when you might need the power of prayer. By midafternoon, the open ocean lay ahead, the Sandy Hook lighthouse just astern.
“Wind come to our port aft, Captain,” reported the first mate, Mr. Nyles.
“We’re under topsails, topgallant sails, and a forecourse.”
With the wind freshening from the northwest, Morgan called for the full entourage of sails to be raised.
“No humbugging men, haul away!” shouted Mr. Nyles.
Morgan turned to Icelander, who was at the helm.
“Steer due east and keep the buoy off the weather side.”
That night after dinner, as Lowery was passing around generous portions of shoofly pie for dessert, Eliza found good company with some of the other passengers. The melodious strains of the ship’s piano accompanied by a cello and a violin soon filled the saloon. Eliza and the two other musicians were playing some of Chopin’s new waltzes. Two young couples began waltzing in the main saloon while the others played cards. They were laughing as they tried to keep their balance on the moving dance floor. The ship gently swayed back and forth, obligingly pushing the dancing partners closer together. Two spinsters from Philadelphia, along with one of the Irish priests, accosted Morgan to say how distressed they were because he was allowing such vulgar and sinful dancing music to be played on his ship.