Rough Passage to London: A Sea Captain's Tale (28 page)

Bonaparte had shrugged off the English criticism and said something in French Morgan couldn’t understand: “Il faut faire le dos rond et laisser la pluie tomber.” Morgan asked Bonaparte’s personal secretary, Monsieur Louis Mailliard, what that meant. “It means, Captain Morgan, that sometimes you have to resign yourself to take criticism. Literally in French, you have to round your back and let the rain fall.”

Morgan had smiled at this image.

“That’s one I should remember, Monsieur Mailliard.”

He recalled that night well. His first mate was tending to the ship. Lowery had just served an entire meal in French, showing off his New Orleans roots. They had
potage de tortue
,
côtelettes de veau
,
quenelles de brochet avec une sauce de crème
et de caviar Américain
, and a distinctively American dessert, apple fritters with maple syrup. The moody Bonaparte had retired early after losing several games of backgammon, but Morgan had stayed up with Mailliard to continue their discussion and finish off a decanter of sherry from Spain. They were talking about whether the French would soon abolish slavery. Under Louis Philippe, the French government had recently made the slave trade a crime, but they had not freed their slaves despite a growing clamor to do so in the Chamber of Deputies. That was when Mailliard brought up the horrors of the infamous French slaving ship
Le Rodeur
. He explained how the dramatic story of that ship’s voyage had been a rallying cry of French abolitionists for years.

“Ecoutez-moi, Capitan Morgan, c’est une histoire triste. Le voyage commençait à Le Havre en 1819.
Le Rodeur
picked up a full load of 160 Africans on the Calabar River in West Africa and set sail for Guadeloupe. Somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, the slaves in the cargo hold started to go blind. Imaginez l’horreur! Even though the crew was lowering food down to the Africans in slings, the mysterious disease began to quickly spread. The men’s weepy eyes burned and crusted over, swelling shut. The captain and his mate soon became stone blind, as did most of the sailors. The slaves were left below, writhing in misery in a dark world. They were all infected with ophthalmia.”

The similarity with his brother’s journal was uncanny.

“What happened to that ship?” Morgan had asked as he poured himself and Monsieur Mailliard another glass of sherry.

“
Le Rodeur
arrived in Guadeloupe, but most all of the slaves and their captors were either blind or partially so. Had you never heard this story before, Captain?”

Morgan shook his head, but then added, “I have heard a similar story about a different ship in 1816, but I don’t know what happened to it.”

The Frenchman nodded soberly before speaking again.

“It is stories like
Le Rodeur
that j’espère, I hope, may one day persuade the French to finally end this horrible practice of human bondage.”

Morgan rubbed the ivory figure in his right hand as he looked at the same pool of sunlight that had now shifted to his mahogany desk. He thought again of his brother, and the troubling words in his journal. The story of
Le Rodeur
had given him a faint hope that Abraham might still be alive. The
Charon
, a British ship, had been a slave trader. That was clear. His brother had been infected with ophthalmia, but that didn’t mean that he had gone blind like some of the others. He knew that John Taylor had not; nor had Blackwood. Maybe there was hope. He put the ivory figure of the king down and got up out of his chair to look at himself again in the small mirror. He heard the mate’s voice pierce the early morning air, and he knew he would soon be needed on deck. His important visitor would be arriving soon. He straightened his cravat and told himself that today he needed to look his best.

23

Hours later, Morgan stood nervously on the ship’s quarterdeck, scanning the docks. All the preparations had been made. He had been told that his special guest would arrive in her own closed carriage at eleven o’clock. The church bells in the distance had just struck the hour. He looked up above him at the ship’s masts. All the sailors were dressed in their red shirts and were standing erect in the yards. Then he heard the scraping of the heavy metal gates open. He spotted an ornate black and yellow carriage drawn by a handsome pair of grays glide through the gates at St. Katherine’s. Moments later, another carriage, pulled by two high-stepping bays, followed. The horses clip-clopped their way toward his ship. Morgan had never been so nervous. He could just make out a young woman’s face inside the carriage, peering out at the ships. Seated next to her was a man in a high-collared black coat. Within moments, the two carriages had drawn up adjacent to his ship.

He had been told that this would be an informal visit with little fanfare, but the crowds within the docks began cheering loudly as soon as the small woman dressed in a white ruffled dress was helped out of her carriage. The man with the high-collared coat followed closely behind her. Morgan was surprised at how young she seemed, but then he reminded himself that she was only twenty-four years old. It was hard for him to fathom that the Queen of England, the sovereign of the world’s richest and most powerful country, had come to visit his ship, which bore her name.

Morgan was waiting to receive the queen and the crown prince in the center of the
Victoria
’s quarterdeck. His mouth was dry, and his stomach churned. The royal couple seemed relaxed as they made their way across the quarterdeck, smiling and joking with each other. As he watched the small queen come down the companionway stairs, Morgan looked more closely at this illustrious young woman. Her high forehead and long brown hair, parted in the middle and partially tied up in a bun, reminded him somewhat of Eliza. Her lower face and small mouth narrowed and seemed pinched, giving the impression of a stubborn, independent young woman, but her lively laugh suggested a fun-loving personality. She wore a large diamond that dangled down low on her pale open neck, but it was her eyes that caught his attention. Her blue, oval-shaped eyes seemed to sparkle with life.

At her side was Prince Albert, his chestnut hair slicked back on his head, his small moustache slightly waxed. Even Morgan had to admit he cut a striking figure. He carried himself like a well-trained military man on parade with a protruding chin and a stiff carriage, but like her he seemed to reveal a slightly more informal side as they emerged in the satinwood-paneled saloon with its zebrawood trim and he scanned his new surroundings.

“Tell me about your new ship, Captain,” Prince Albert asked. “How big is she?”

“The Victoria is almost 1,000 tons, 156 feet in length, and 36 feet in width,” Morgan proudly explained to the royal couple as he led them around the saloon. The stewards had decorated the small tables with vases of clove-scented Sweet Williams, and Lowery had placed a large gilded cake in the shape of a crown in the center of the dining table.

“She can carry almost an acre of canvas,” Morgan continued. “It took twenty-four tons of hemp to make her rigging. And from the royals to the keelson, the main mast is 155 feet high.”

The crown prince politely nodded his head.

“How many passengers can she carry, Captain?”

“We have twenty-two first-class cabin suites here in the saloon, each with two berths, and a new second-class cabin amidships for another thirty passengers.”

Prince Albert again nodded with interest even as Queen Victoria peered into one of the open staterooms. He escorted the royal party into the carpeted ladies cabin with its white and gold ceiling, where Queen Victoria was seated on a light blue and white silk damask-upholstered couch facing a white marble table. Her face lit up with pleasure at the sight of the ground glass windowpanes decorated with views of Windsor Castle and Buckingham Palace. As Lowery passed around a tray of cool drinks, she began to question Morgan about the Sketching Club. She wanted to hear how an American ship captain had fallen in with these well-known English artists.

“It is through Mr. Leslie and Mr. Landseer that I heard about your fine ship! I am quite familiar with the London Sketching Club. I have many of those artists’ sketches. Several of the men in your club taught me watercolors over the years. In fact, many of them, including your good friend Mr. Leslie, have executed portraits of myself and the crown prince which we are quite fond of. One evening at one of their meetings I was even invited to give them themes for their sketches.”

“Really! I wasn’t aware of that, Your Majesty. What were the topics?”

“‘Danger’ was one. ‘Elevation’ the other,” she replied enthusiastically.

“I can think of several places right here on the
Victoria
, Your Majesty, where you might find both, particularly out on the Atlantic highway.”

The queen smiled. “Perhaps you can point those out, Captain, but from the safety of the deck.” They both laughed.

“Are you an artist as well, Captain? I don’t detect any trace of oil and varnish on you.”

“No, Your Majesty, I can’t say that I am. Although Mr. Leslie once told me that sailing a packet ship with its many sails is like a painter with brushes and colors in hand.”

“Indeed,” she replied. “Then Edwin Landseer should make a good sailor. Did you know, Captain, he has the ability to paint with both hands at the same time? He is a particular favorite of mine. He taught Albert and me how to do etchings.”

It was while Lowery and the new steward, Sam Junkett, were serving cucumber sandwiches to the royal entourage that the Duke of Newcastle smugly asked the captain why he had never called one of his ships after Her Majesty before.

“After all, Captain, Her Majesty has been on the throne for nearly six years. Why have you been so slow to recognize and honor the queen?”

Morgan was smart enough to know that the old duke, who was known as an outspoken conservative, was trying to trip him up. All conversation came to a stop at the table. Even the stewards stopped passing the platter of tea sandwiches. Morgan’s mind was working quickly. He could either apologize, and say something embarrassing about his own shipping line, or he could say something the English would interpret as demeaning to their queen and to England. After a few seconds pause, he looked back at the smiling face of the duke and responded smoothly: “Because, Your Lordship, we never built a ship before that was worthy of Her Majesty.”

Queen Victoria’s face beamed with pleasure. As if on cue everyone surrounding the royal couple began smiling as well. The duke was quite aware he was now on the defensive.

“Well, quite right, Captain,” he responded. “It is indeed a fine ship and most worthy of Her Majesty.”

He then abruptly changed the topic.

“If I may be so bold to ask, Captain, how fast have you made it across on the difficult westbound passage?”

Morgan paused for a second before answering.

“Twenty days, Your Lordship, I believe is my fastest crossing on the run westbound to New York.”

“If I am not mistaken, Captain, the Great Western and the English Cunard Line paddle steamers are considerably faster. They can make it over in fourteen days, no matter that they are traveling east or west. Is that not so?”

Morgan’s head dropped as he felt the sting of the Englishman’s comment, but then he recovered.

“I readily admit, Your Lordship, a steamer is oftentimes faster, particularly on the westward passage, but most nautical experts acknowledge the risks are greater. You would have to ask yourself which you prefer, fourteen days of danger at sea on a sooty steamship or twenty days of relative safety on board a sailing packet. We in the packet shipping business think that there is room for both steam and sail on the Atlantic.”

That ended the conversation. Even two years after the dramatic sinking of the British steamship the
President
, where 136 people perished, among them the popular Irish comedian Tyrone Power, the safety of traveling the Atlantic by paddle wheeler was still questioned by many travelers. The duke turned his attention elsewhere.

When the luncheon and tour were over and the carriages had left the docks, Morgan went below to congratulate Lowery and his new assistant, Sam Junkett, and then in the privacy of his own cabin savored the moment. He let out a deep breath. The afternoon sun had warmed his cabin, so he opened one of the portholes. He scanned the captain’s quarters, and without thinking picked up one of the ivory figures on the chessboard and rubbed it with his fingers. This time it was the queen. The touch of the ivory figure at first was reassuring, but then it triggered an unexpected measure of unease. His mind drifted back to the British raid on the Connecticut River when he and Abraham were two frightened boys rowing for their lives. They’d raced away from certain death at the hands of the British redcoats. Now here he was so many years later entertaining the British queen whose grandfather was King George III. Had he forgotten who he was and where he came from? His mind wandered back to his days on the foredeck and he thought of his old friend Hiram. No doubt his old shipmate would have viewed his elevated status with disdain. He might have called him a “frothy lady’s captain.” That was the way he used to refer to Henry Champlin, when the captain spent all of his time below entertaining his guests rather than tending to the sailing of the ship.

Morgan put the figure of the queen back down on the chessboard and picked up one of the small pawns, holding it in his hand, squeezing it as hard as he could. The feelings of guilt that now enveloped him shifted to memories of Abraham. He felt a wave of self-doubt sweep over him. He squeezed the ivory pawn again. Then he shook his head and told himself he needed to look ahead. He had his own family to think of. He sat down at his desk to write a letter to Eliza to tell her all about Queen Victoria’s visit. He thought of the chubby faces of his two children and he smiled. Then he thought of Eliza’s condition. He wrote that he would do his best to be back by early November for the due date and that he would be spending Thanksgiving at home this year. He continued writing:

It made me feel bad when I left you with Ruth crying and William teary eyed. You must tell the children that they must keep up good courage, and you, my dear, must keep up a strong heart. Give them all a kiss for me. I have bought Ruth a doll, and a storybook for William. Tell them that I will be coming home as soon as my ship comes back. I will have a story for them about their Papa meeting the Queen. Tell them I will try to stay longer this time.