The Spirit of the Sea is a fictional craft, but the materials and designs of the 19th century are accurate, only introducing the concept of a cargo-carrying trimaran decades earlier. A reminder that Hugh Maximillian Elliot was a real historical figure, likely in Chennai at this time. The other crew members of the Spirit of the Sea are caricatures of historical accounts of their positions. And 1815 was known as the year wtihout summer and without monsoons thanks to a volcanic eruption. Cheers!
Winter 1815
The scent of jasmine and cardamon mingled in the salty air of early morning as Anthony and Hugh waited for the masula boat to take him out to the ship. There were already dozens of the large, flat-bottomed, high-sided open boats made of mango wood planks and sewed together with strands of coir dotting the harbor waters. Those carrying primarily passengers were crewed by eight bamboo paddlers and those with cargo twelve. While Anthony knew the locals had a system for knowing which boat was going to which ship, it looked like barely organized chaos from where he stood on the dock waiting. He was grateful for both Hugh and the dockmaster standing by his sides. Otherwise, he would have likely stepped aboard the wrong boat and ended up on the wrong ship.
"How are you faring?" Hugh spoke to the dockmaster, wiling the time away with polite conversation. "Have any of your family suffered from the droughts?"
"My mother's family has suffered the most," the dockmaster, a local of Madras Patnam, spoke with a British-accented tone, schooled by missionaries in the city before taking up this position. "I believe these will be the last ships we see leaving our port for quite a while. Without the monsoons, the rivers from Nellore and Cuddalore are too low to feed the port sufficiently for the ships to come in closer, and the masulas are already being stretched with how far out they travel at present."
A commotion further down the dock caught their attention, with the dockmaster excusing himself moments later. Hugh glanced at Anthony a moment before sniffing and reaching into his coat pocket. Anthony watched with bemusement as his friend pulled out a thick leaflet printed on cheap paper stock and flipped through it as if searching for printed treasure.
"What, pray tell, is that?" Anthony couldn't help asking when Hugh offered no explanation voluntarily.
"This," he paused in his perusal long enough to wave the leaflet around, "is the record of all ships that come and go through the Orient. While most are British, Dutch, and French, there are a few Americans to be found and I was hoping to find yours." Hugh glanced at Anthony a moment before smirking, "Considering this will be your first venture on an American vessel, I thought it pertinent of us to know as much about it as possible."
Anthony said nothing as his friend searched the leaflet as if it were the scriptures themselves. Instead, he let his eyes and his thoughts wander, knowing that Hugh would share his bounty whenever he found what he was looking for. It was true, this would be his first time aboard an American vessel, and if he'd had a choice between this or a vessel from home, Anthony would have chosen a tried and true British ship. However, partially due to the time of year and the weather, the only ship offering a berth to well-paying passengers presently in port was the American, and he would have to make do with what was available. While Anthony held no personal ill-will towards the Americans, he had yet to meet any it would sadden him to never meet again.
"Ah ha!" Hugh's exclamation jerked Anthony from his musings. His finger trailing over the words, Hugh read aloud from the leaflet. "'E. L. Carney, an associate of the Morris shipping conglomerate, designed the Spirit of the Sea.'" Hugh started Anthony when he tapped the leaflet against Anthony's shoulder in sudden thought. "The Morris conglomerate was the one to back the Empress of the Sea. I remember my father speaking about that, damning the Americans for their ingenious naval architects, ruining our grip on the trade routes." Anthony shook his head. He'd never paid much attention to maritime trade or naval innovations. Hugh looked bored with Anthony's ignorance and returned his attention to the leaflet, continuing to read aloud. "'She is a composite ship, with a basic skeleton of iron covered by a wooden skin with hulls sheathed in copper. Comprised of two main hulls, with a supporting central sponson, each with triangular forwards and bell-shaped afts, the Spirit is a one-of-a-kind experimental ship that took nearly five years to build and perfect before it officially set sail in 1813. The two main hulls boast the typical foremast, mainmast, and mizzenmast for the American clipper ships, with the middle hull holds the flying jib, outer jib, inner jib, and inner jib spanker. Her keel, stem, sternpost and waterways are all made of wood, with her bulwarks paneled in teak. Her side framing, floors, stringers, sheer strake, deck beams, and deck tie plates are of iron. With all bolt fastenings, copper and her rails are solid brass.'"
Anthony sighed, interrupting, "You realize I only understand a portion of what you are saying? You say these terms as if I was a shipbuilder or seamen. Will they quiz me on these things before I am allowed on board?"
"The British are known as the master's of the sea, Anthony. It is most bothersome that you are so wholly oblivious of maritime matters." Hugh heaved an exaggerated sigh, scanning over more details found in the leaflet before nodding to himself and adding, "Fine, this will interest you. 'The Spirit of the Sea presently holds the record for daily distance covered by a cargo clipper, averaging 300 miles in a day and reaching speeds up to twenty-four nautical miles per hour.' That means you should make England faster if the ship holds together in the process."
"What is that supposed to mean? I thought you said it was launched in 1813."
Hugh smiled mischievously before continuing, choosing to ignore Anthony's voiced concern. "'It has made the Oriental trading voyage twice in its years of service, no loss of life to its crew complement of thirty-five, and minimal damage to cargo.' There is your answer. The same crew that set to sea in 1813 is still aboard, alive and well."
The dockmaster returned then, accompanied by a lad of the looks of sixteen and a sturdy-looking middle-aged woman. They both carried bundles and satchels as if they'd just finished a last-minute stint in the morning market. Shifting to stand to the side, the dockmaster gestured to Anthony first for introductions.
"This is Lord Anthony Bridgerton. He is the passenger coming aboard the Spirit. And this is Mister Hugh Elliot." Anthony didn't miss the not-so-subtle eyes-widening of the lad. "This is one of the Spirit's boys, Mister George Flavel, and the Spirit's stewardess, Missus Edwina Philips."
Anthony was saved his question by Hugh's chuckle. "Stewardess? Forgive my unfamiliarity, but why would the Spirit have need of a stewardess? Or, is the captain's wife aboard?" Hugh looked to Anthony as if he would find the answer in Anthony's confirming smile.
"Captain Alexanderson is widowed, sir."
"There are no wives aboard the Spirit of the Sea, sir."
Both the stewardess and ship's boy spoke simultaneously, managing to answer and not answer Hugh's question. They were prevented further clarifying questions with the arrival of another man wearing a more formal version of the same uniform Mister Flavel was wearing, an affair of brass buttons atop a blue coat and khaki-colored trousers with knee-high black boots and his auburn hair covered with a shiny top hat.
"Mister Morris," Mister Flavel stood straighter at the man's approach while Missus Philips gave a polite half-curtsy.
The new man, Morris, observed Hugh and Anthony with an appraising eye, quickly taking in the trunk containing Anthony's belongings positioned just behind Anthony on the dock. The studious moment lasted a heartbeat before an affable smile spread across the man's sea-hardened features. He held out a hand to Hugh first.
"Mister Elliot, I believe." Hugh accepted the American-style handshake with a polite smile. "I met your father some years ago in London after reading of his wartime antics. He is quite the force to contend with." Letting go of Hugh's hand, Morris didn't hesitate before holding his hand out for Anthony. Unaccustomed but not against this style of greeting, Anthony was slower to accept but no less responsive to the greeting than Hugh. "And you must by Lord Bridgerton. I am Oliver Morris, the supercargo of the Spirit of the Sea."
"Supercargo?" Anthony asked before he could help himself, imagining he could hear Hugh's eyes rolling at yet another display of Anthony's lack of maritime knowledge.
Morris didn't miss a beat nor react as if he found Anthony's question noisome. "I am employed directly by the Morris-Carney shipping company to oversee the sale of the cargo in ports as well as the purchasing and movement of goods in trade to be carried back to our home port in New York. Unless stated by other contracts or agreements, I have complete control of the cargo. For example, I do not have 'control' over your berth, Lord Bridgerton. That is directly under the influence of the captain. Though your own cargo," Morris looked past Anthony to his trunk, "will be placed temporarily under my care until we make London."
"Morris-Carney shipping, you say?" It was Hugh's turn to interrupt. "I remember the Morris company backed the Empress of the Sea years ago, and I recently read up on the Spirit of the Sea, noting that E. L. Carney was the naval architect behind it. Apprenticed directly with Mister Peck, am I right, the designer of the Empress?" Anthony couldn't help but stare near gape-mouthed at his friend, thoroughly impressed with his friend's knowledge.
"You are correct, Mister Elliot. E. L. Carney apprenticed with Peck for many years before the designs for the Spirit came to light. The 7th Viscount of Roscullen, Borlas Carney, married into the Morris family in 1800. He was a hobby naval architect himself and found the early designs of the Spirit of the Sea worth backing, though the official merging of Morris and Carney happened in 1806, soon after my uncle Robert's death." Morris smiled and nodded at Hugh's questioning look. "The name is not just a coincidence. Sadly, Borlas did not live to see the final launching of the Spirit. He died in 1811 from a blood infection."
"That is a shame indeed." Hugh looked out to the port waters, shading his eyes from the early morning sun. "It is also a shame she sits so far out that I cannot get a good look at her from here. She goes so fast. I doubt many pirates dare cross her."
Anthony's eyes widened. He had given no thought to pirates. Even when he'd first come to India months ago, the reality of pirates prowling the waters had never surfaced. He'd been so consumed with his grief that he'd paid them no mind if those details had been shared.
"While that is true, we are not without teeth, if any are bold enough to try. Each bow and stern have a chaser gun. Below deck, at the mizzenmast on both hulls we have cutlasses, boarding pikes, and both round shot and grape shot for our eight carronades, four on each main hull, and we have enough muskets for each seaman and boy to use if necessary." Glancing at Missus Philips first, Morris added softly, "We will be making a new stop in Muscat before making for Gibraltar, and then on to London. As such, we made some additional purchases and installed some new additions, already on board, in case we meet with unexpected mischief."
A masula boat bumped against the dock nearby. The dockmaster was quick to order assistance in handing down Anthony's trunk before all but Hugh and Morris began to climb aboard. Morris smiled and nodded towards the port side market at Hugh's questioning look.
"We have one more yet to arrive before we can leave." His eyes moved to meet Anthony's gaze. "You have the distinct privilege of putting to sea with the Spirit's designer."
Hugh looked close to jumping up and down like a child on Christmas morning, his eyes scanning the crowd for a similarly dressed man. "Oh truly? I would love to meet the man."
Morris laughed while Missus Philips and Mister Flavel hid their strange amusement behind coughs.
"And it is a pleasure to meet you," a lilting feminine voice, the accent tinged with French undertones, drew their attention to a woman wearing a turquoise salwar with golden thread embroidery matched with an ocean blue loose fitted kemeez. Dark hair pulled back into the traditional plaited bun of the locals, her head was covered with an orange scarf. Her olive skin bronzed from the sun, the woman's upturned honeyed brown eyes held mirth as she emerged from behind the loading cart that had obstructed their view of her approach.
Before either Hugh or Anthony could make fool's of themselves, Morris stepped forward and gestured toward the woman with as much formality as if he were introducing a monarch. "Gentlemen, may I present my cousin, Missus Ellen Louise Carney nee Morris, former viscountess of Roscullen, and the architect behind the Spirit of the Sea."
The immediate response to Morris' introduction were sea birds' cries and blinking stares from dumbfounded men.