Rough Passage to London(97)

Abraham Morgan scowled at his son but said nothing. Fortunately for both men, Eliza bounced through the door at that moment with a broad smile and a light step. The old man’s face seemed to soften. “Tell me, young lady, how you came to become a member of this family.”

That first evening home for Morgan was a blur of emotions. His father, whose hawklike stare and stern countenance used to terrify him as a boy, now seemed to be somehow diminished. His back was hunched over, his body frail and thin, his face gaunt. He sat up rigid in the high-backed chair. He was an old man now. The chilly reception when they first greeted each other soon gave way to more conviviality. Morgan sat down next to his father by the fire and began to tell him about their journey from New York on board the steamship. He seemed so different. Some of the anger and the bitterness appeared to have gone out of him like a sudden gust of wind in the summer, which fills the sails and then leaves them limp. Even the old man’s voice seemed different. His thunderous shout was replaced with a softer, more balanced tone of voice. His strident manner also seemed quieter and more relaxed.

To his surprise, the vitriolic hatred Abraham Morgan used to have toward all sailors and the seagoing community seemed to have been replaced by an interest, even a curiosity, in hearing about his son’s adventures. He wanted to know about London, the packet trade, and the stormy weather in the Atlantic. In turn, Morgan asked him about Josiah’s new farm, the changes along the river, and all of his brothers and sisters, most of whom were now married. Maria Louisa and Jesse were the holdouts. They lived on the farm and helped with the many errands and chores. His father told him proudly about his many grandchildren. All three of Morgan’s older sisters, Sarah, Asenath, and Nancy, had married deacons in various Congregational meetinghouses in the valley, and all but Nancy had a handful of children now.

His father clearly thought highly of his sons-in-law. Asenath’s Deacon Talcott, Sarah’s Deacon Lord, and Nancy’s Deacon Bushnell were all prominent figures in their communities. Abraham Morgan’s face filled with boyish joy as he talked about Asenath’s and Sarah’s pack of boys along with Josiah’s two children, all of whom he liked to take on hayrides in the summer. Morgan could see that his father was now quite a different person to his grandchildren than he had been with his sons. He even smiled and laughed at their games, which was something he’d never seen him do before.

As Morgan watched his father rub noses and make faces with Josiah’s youngest child, Walter, talking to the little boy about pony rides and cherry pie, he marveled that this was the same man who had raised him. It was almost as if his father was making amends for the cruelty and anger he’d demonstrated toward his own sons in their youth. All that rage seemed to have been silenced. Morgan became aware that his eyes were moist. He wiped them dry with the back of his hand and walked outside onto the porch to breathe in some fresh air. Two of Asenath’s young sons, Will and Sam, ran after him, pulling at the tails of his long coat. “Uncle Ely! Uncle Ely!” they both cried out. He jumped in surprise. He’d never been called that before. He looked down at these two freckle-faced boys, his nephews, and for a moment he saw Abraham and himself years ago. For a moment, he was transported back in time. He and his brother were sitting on the rough-hewn wooden floor of the Lyme country store listening to an old tar tell his adventurous sea tales. Abraham had leaned over, his face flushed with excitement, and whispered that one day he would be a deep-water man just like that sailor.

“Tell us about crossing the ocean! Tell us about pirates and sea monsters.”

Morgan’s gaze lingered on the smiling faces of his two nephews. He held up his hand to his chin to show that he was giving their request some serious thought.

“Have you boys heard about the old ship merchant who felt he was cursed?” Morgan asked with a flourish.

“No, no, we haven’t heard that one. Tell us that story, Uncle Ely!”

Morgan sat down on the rocking chair outside on the porch and motioned for the two boys to share a nearby bench.

“You see there was a proud, rich old gentleman ship merchant who was having his troubles. None of his ships was coming in on time. He was convinced that Satan held a grudge against him. His ships were always running into strong headwinds. So this clever old merchant devised a plan to trick the Devil.”

Morgan raised his eyebrows and contorted his face so that he looked like he was a clever merchant plotting against the Devil. He rubbed his hands together as he continued to play the part of the scheming merchant. His voice now turned into a hushed whisper. “The old gentleman devised a strategy where four of his homeward bound ships would sail simultaneously from the four quarters of the compass. He thought the Devil couldn’t possibly harm him now. At least one of his ships would be in luck and get favorable winds. That’s what the shipping merchant reckoned. He went out and celebrated his clever plan, telling all his fellow merchants he’d outsmarted the Devil.”