Jane Orcutt - All the Tea in China

“Your appearance is pleasing,” he said. “That brown dress…”

“It is certainly a suitable color for being a missionary but not, I confess, a color to which I am much accustomed.” I do not know why I sought Snowe’s approval, but in truth, I did. “Is my appearance suitable… for dinner with the captain, I mean.”

“Your appearance is pleasing,” he repeated, this time with a bit more gruffness. “Miss Goodrich, there is something I-”

“Yes?”

Somewhere a drumroll sounded. “That would be the announcement for dinner,” he said, sounding relieved. “If you are ready… sister, we should proceed. We would not want to keep Captain Malfort waiting.”

He took my arm and led me from the cabin. It was only then that I wondered how a missionary such as himself had acquired the experience of arranging ladies’ hair.

The cuddy seemed a different place from earlier, when Julia Whipple and I had strolled through. The table was laden with a fine linen cloth, silver candelabra, and the most attractive blue-and-white patterned place settings that must surely be Wedgwood. I remembered to keep my mouth closed and a pleasant smile on my face, though in truth my jaw longed to go slack and my eyes widen. I had never imagined such beauty and sumptuousness on a seagoing vessel.

An older officer-not one of the young midshipmen- seated Julia Whipple. She had changed into a lovely blue muslin with a floral print. As much as I tried to think Christian thoughts, I coveted that dress. Couldn’t a woman be a missionary and dress stylishly? Surely it would bring comfort to the poor and downtrodden to have an angel of mercy clothed in fine raiment! I tried not to picture how like a mouse I must appear in my brown frock.

“Mr. Snowe, Miss Goodrich.” Captain Malfort beckoned us to the table, bestowing us with seats of honor next to him. Snowe sat at his left hand, and I at the captain’s right. The officer who had seated Miss Whipple sat to my immediate right, and she sat across the table. The midshipmen sat at the end of the table, removed, ostensibly, from the main conversation. I surmised from their schoolboy awkwardness and efforts to avoid fidgeting that they did not normally dine at the captain’s table.

The captain made the proper introductions, and I learned that my companion was the chief mate, Thomas Gilpin. He seemed serious and proper and several years older than I. The same could be said of the second mate, whom Captain Malfort introduced as Joseph Baggott. Perhaps one or both of these gentlemen were already married, but I wondered fleetingly whether an introduction to naval personnel years ago might have secured me a husband. It was most peculiar that Flora had not thought of this and dragged me to a port city long ago to introduce me into their society…

No matter. I was duty bound and determined in my current course. It was, after all, ordained by God. The Chinese translation, the slippers, and the tea had proven that to be true.

“Are you feeling better, Miss Goodrich?” Mr. Gilpin said.

“Yes, thank you. I believe that I am.” I hoped that the evening’s conversation would not center around my antics. I had already caused enough embarrassment. No need to rewarm it like second-day gruel.

Fortunately, the servants set the courses before us. What a feast! The sumptuousness of the table setting was far outweighed by the food on which we dined. I had suspected our fare for the entire voyage would be some sort of salted meat (and I worried that that was, indeed, the average sailors’ meal), but we were served pea soup, mutton, chicken, ham, duck, and cabbages and potatoes. I was certain to be the most rotund missionary in China ere we arrived.

I tried not to smack my lips, but I still had hunger pangs from the time spent in the cattle stall. While Snowe conversed with Captain Malfort, and Miss Whipple apparently charmed Mr. Baggott, I tried to engage Mr. Gilpin in conversation between mouthfuls of meat and vegetables. This, I hoped, would force me to eat more slowly. “Have you made more than one voyage with this ship, Mr. Gilpin?”

“This is my fourth,” he said. “The Dignity is the most solid East Indiaman I have had the pleasure to serve on.”

“Really?” Oh, fiddle, the peas! I wanted to shovel them into my mouth but was forced to pick them out carefully, as a lady should.

Mr. Gilpin sliced his ham with grave precision. I could not help admiring his attention to detail. It was plain to see why he had been considered officer material! “It may interest you to know that the Dignity was built in Bombay nearly seven years ago,” he said.

At that moment, I am ashamed to say I was more interested in filling my stomach. “I should think all the East India Company’s ships would be British built.” I forked some of the stewed cabbage. Oh, heavenly leaf!

“Ships built with British oak are often eaten through by sea worms. The teak found in India is a better hardwood not only for construction but durability.”

I was certainly in favor of a ship’s durability. Particularly the Dignity. “Then she is not only beautiful but solid,” I said.

It suddenly occurred to me why sailors spoke lovingly of ships in female terms. Men desired to have both ships and wives with the admirable traits of beauty and solidness. And an absence of worms, of course.

Mr. Gilpin laid down his fork and smiled. “She is a fine ship, Miss Goodrich. Steady and dependable.”

There. I was right. “Miss Whipple and I strolled aboard deck this morning. I have never been away from land before.”

“How did you find the Dignity?”

“I am certain she is as fine as the Victory,” I said.

“Oh, have you seen Nelson’s ship?”

I shook my head, chewing thoughtfully (and somewhat greedily, I am afraid) on a portion of duck.

“It is moored at Portsmouth,” Mr. Gilpin said, his voice lowering to a sad pitch. “My father was killed during the Battle of Trafalgar aboard ship. I visit the Victory whenever I am home in England.”

I ceased chewing and sipped my wine. My appetite fled as I thought of poor Mr. Gilpin’s loss. “How dreadful.”

He smiled. “I am at peace with his sacrifice. After all, it is what prompted me to seek a naval career myself. I considered joining the Royal Navy but could not bear the thought of my mother losing another family member to battle.”

“Yet merchant ships are not without danger too,” I said, then winced. When would I learn to put thought before speech?

Mr. Gilpin’s smile broadened. “Your honesty is refreshing, Miss Goodrich. Yes, that is true. There is always the danger of privateers, particularly in Eastern waters, but nothing for you to worry about. Come, let us speak of happier matters.”

If it was nothing for me to worry about, why did he make mention? Must men always feel compelled to protect the fairer sex? I daresay we ladies would be better off by half if they would but tell us of worldly dangers and allow us to have a voice or hand in our own defense.

Captain Malfort turned to me. “Forgive me, Miss Goodrich. I have spent far too much time talking to Mr. Snowe and not you.”

“Mr. Gilpin has been kind enough to discuss ships with me,” I said. “I find them fascinating and would like to learn more.”

“Then you are more interested in vessels than the cargo they carry?” He took a large sip of wine.

In an awkward moment, all conversation at the table ceased, and I found myself the center of attention. I smiled. “In truth, I had not given much regard to what would return with the Dignity, for I shall disembark at Canton.”

“Ah, yes. Your missionary duties. So you have no desire to follow your brother and his work?”

The smile froze on my face. “Why, yes, of course. That is why I wish to serve in China. With, er, Phineas.”