Flying Cloud by David W. Shaw

Author:David W. Shaw
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

Old horse! Old horse! what brought you here?

—From Sacarap to Portland pier

I’ve carted stone this many a year,

Till, killed by blows and sore abuse,

They salted me down for sailors’ use.

The sailors they do me despise,

They turn me over and damn my eyes,

Cut off my meat, and pick my bones,

And pitch the rest to Davy Jones.

A common story passed around the waterfront told of a beef dealer who was caught selling horse instead of beef. The unscrupulous man was sentenced to remain in jail until he himself ate his foul wares. The outcome universally amused sailors throughout the world, regardless of whether it was true or not, and the story spread from forecastle to forecastle from Canton to Cape Town.

While the crew enjoyed however they could their Fourth of July dinner, under Ellen’s watchful eye the steward and young Ching set the table in the great cabin. They folded the linen napkins and laid out the silverware. They set out crystal glasses and bottles of claret, champagne, Madeira, and brandy. Silver serving bowls and china platters they placed on the sideboard ready for the meal. With the easy motion of the ship in the near calm, the dinnerware stayed put. Admiring their work, the steward and Ching checked once more to see that all was right, every detail attended to, as the captain’s wife had ordered.

“Everything looks wonderful, just wonderful,” Ellen said, and smiled at the men. They thanked her politely and went forward to help the cook. Ellen followed them up the companionway stairs to the weather deck, where she joined Perkins and mingled with the passengers, all dressed in their finest clothes out of respect for the occasion.

The men without significant means, Willie Hall and Whitney Lyon, wore simple suits—brown-and-white-plaid pantaloons, plain vests over white shirts, black cravats tied in a loose bow, and light cotton jackets. Wide-brimmed felt hats topped them off. The more dashing of the men wore white piqué trousers, embroidered vests, and flashy knee-length, tight-fitting coats with full skirts, set off with high hats. Laban Coffin and Francesco Wadsworth both sported diamond pins, which the ladies admired.

The ladies of means, which accounted for Mrs. Gorham and Sarah Bowman, dressed in fancy gowns with V-design bodices and full lower skirts. Sarah and Ellen Lyon dressed in tasteful but simple plaid or checked calico dresses with wide, low necklines, straight bodices, and a narrow waistline.

Perkins dressed in his customary tight-fitting gray coat, dark pants and vest, and white shirt with a black cravat. He cut a stern figure among the more colorfully adorned men, revealing in his dress a conservative side to his nature. On this day, he allowed himself to relax a little. He looked down at his wife, whom he had arm in arm. Artificial flowers decorated the delicate bun knotted at the back of her neck. With her hair pulled back, the gentle contours of her cheeks, fine brows, hazel eyes, and angular nose accented her smile. Her formal gown was of pale green satin with sheer white lace.

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