Sylvia reckons with her place on the changed ship.
A tale of queer love and mutiny on the high seas! Tune into the Voyage of the August, a nine-episode serial radio drama chronicling the final voyage of a merchant ship bound for England in 1717, whose crew takes their fate into their own hands. The story centers around the August’s first mate, Robert Maddox, a well-respected officer with frustrated ambitions; Dr. Leon de Isla, a surgeon with an unhappy past who follows Maddox to sea for reasons of the heart; and Sophia Montague, the willful daughter of the shipping line’s owner. Exploring 18th century nautical culture, queer history, and shipboard conflict, this work of historical fiction will be be released in nine weekly installments starting August 1st, 2020. Find episodes weekly on our website and also on the Electric Lite Collective Youtube channel.
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Cast (in order of appearance)
Caraid O'Brien as the Intro Voiceover
Sebas Ward as Robert Maddox
Tiz Rome as Leon Francesca de Isla and Harold Blackwall
Daniel Haas as Richard Montague
CJ Humphries as Ambrose Teague
Minna Gorry-Hines as Cecil Laurence
Ernie Alugas as James Douglas
Memphis Washington as Sophia Montague
Katie Faust-Little as Silvia Montague
Special thanks to Jim Wald, Will Ryan, and Ezekiel Baskin.
Voyage of the August is written, directed, and sound designed by Wynn MacKenzie and Sean French-Byrne, with shanties arranged and directed by Wynn MacKenzie and acoustic tracks written and performed by Sebas Ward. Sound effects courtesy of the community of freesound.org.
Full Attributions:
“LS_33882_PH_PebbleBeach.wav” by kevp888 of Freesound.org
“Birds Ambience Loud.wav” by Doc Jon of Freesound.org
“BIRD NIGHTJAR fem.mp3” by Geldart of Freesound.org
“Waves and seagulls.wav” by justkiddink of Freesound.org
Episode Eight: Independence
Inside Sophia and Sylvia’s cabin on the August.
*Outside, the soft sound of rain can be heard, just above the creak of the ship’s timbers. The creak of the timbers is joined by the groan of a hinge as SOPHIA pulls open her chest. The sound of cloth rustling begins and becomes progressively more frustrated as SOPHIA pulls out her clothes.
SOPHIA: (to herself) There must be something suitable…
The bed creaks slightly as SYLVIA shifts to look at SOPHIA.
SYLVIA: Sophia.
SOPHIA: (startled) Mother! I- I didn’t mean to wake you-
SYLVIA: Even if I had been asleep, I surely couldn’t have remained that way, not with you tiptoeing around the cabin like some sort of amateur cutpurse.
SOPHIA: Mother-
SYLVIA: What do you suppose they will do with us?
SOPHIA: Whatever do you mean?
SYLVIA: (musing, detached, almost curious) The crew, having mutineered and overthrown law and order in favor of piracy and crime, must surely find our continued presence inconvenient. Or perhaps not? I suppose your father would offer up some sum if pressed for ransom, to secure your release at least.
SOPHIA: Mother- are you feeling alright… ? I could fetch Doctor de Isla…
SYLVIA: Don’t treat me like a child, Sophia. I’m well aware of what transpired. I find it unlikely they will actually ransom us, given the distance and the risk. No, they’re more like to slit our throats and leave us to the abyss, wouldn’t you say?
SOPHIA: Mother-! The men-
SYLVIA: Am I wrong? Am I mistaken? Has there not been a violent overthrow of the captain?
SOPHIA: … There has. But you’re in no more danger than you were when Captain Blackwall was in command. Mr. Maddox- Captain Maddox-
SYLVIA: Trusting that sort of man is always folly.
Beat.
SOPHIA: We are planning to leave the passengers on Sao Miguel, with the Portuguese, safe and sound. You will be back in Boston and comfortably ensconced in our townhouse soon enough.
SYLVIA: My dear, I fear you are vastly overstating the ease and safety of such a journey from the Azores to Boston. At least several stops will be necessary between here and there.
SOPHIA: You do love your own dry wit, don’t you, Mother.
SYLVIA: One of the...few qualities we both share.
SOPHIA: (somber) ...Mother, you realize that after this day it is a small chance indeed that you will ever see me again. (quietly) You will finally be rid of me.
SYLVIA: God be praised.
SOPHIA: I am being serious! The sea is a dangerous place and we both of us may die before we make a return to Boston, or England. I...do not wish our farewell to be...insincere.
SYLVIA: Sophia, child, do you truly mean to become a fugitive of the law and join the crew of this ship?
SOPHIA: Yes, Mother. I do.
SYLVIA: Then there is nobody I still wish to say goodbye to. You have sealed your fate, and your death.
SOPHIA: Don’t say that!
SYLVIA: (with an echo of SOPHIA’s iron) It is true. It is the tragic plight of womankind to be something of a whole population of automatons--merely pretty bodies, with the soul of a person caged inside. If you smother the cage with enough beautiful cloth, in order to decrease the crying of the bird inside, there will come a day that the bird cannot cry at all, and indeed never will again.
SOPHIA: (voice breaking) Don’t speak to me in metaphors, please--
SYLVIA: (disaffected) You, on the other hand, have committed a different kind of death. You have opened the door of the cage, and let the bird escape, and now it will also die, just as surely as if you had taken a knife to its singing throat. All I see left of you is the fading prettiness of an empty cage.
SYLVIA (pitying) We are both of us not long for this world.
SOPHIA: (trying to be dignified and failing miserably) You--the laudanum has corrupted your mind! I will tolerate no more of this!
SOPHIA runs out of the cabin, trailing pieces of clothing. SYLVIA sighs and turns over, sinking deep into thought for a time.
Distantly, SOPHIA, DOUGLAS and CECIL’s voices can be heard.
DOUGLAS: Are you well, Sophia? Y’look a bit pale.
SOPHIA: Not to worry, Douglas, merely a touch of faintness. The sun and the sea will fix me soon enough.
CECIL: I thought you were going to fetch pants.
SOPHIA: Oh, aye, I, uh, couldn’t find anything suitable.
DOUGLAS: I’ll fetch you a pair of mine, we’re about the same size.
SOPHIA: That would do very well, Jamie, thank you.
CECIL: Well, after you’ve got Jamie’s pants on, you’d best keep your wits about you up in the rigging. It may look calm down here, but the winds aloft are a sight crueler.
SOPHIA: Aloft?
CECIL: Aye, all the way through the cat-hole and to the crow’s nest.
SOPHIA: Fair warning, Mr. Lawrence, I believe the last thing I climbed was an apple tree on the estate of my childhood.
CECIL: Well, you’re a strong lass, and the rigging is nothing more than a great spiderweb of rope to hold onto. As I remember, it’s mostly the strength of your mind that’s required to scale the mast your first time, and I believe you have that particular quality in spades. Thank you, Jamie, for fetching pants.
DOUGLAS: Aye, Cecil!
CECIL: Now, the ratlines down here, they’re not so bad…
The sound of voices fades, into the wind and the sea.
Six bells ring for the forenoon watch - 11AM
There is a sharp knock on the door.
MADDOX: What is it?
SYLVIA: I would speak with you, Maddox.
The door creaks open, and the sound of footsteps is heard as SYLVIA steps inside without invitation.
SYLVIA: You’ve lost no time turning this place into your own, I see.
MADDOX: Mrs. Montague-
SYLVIA: Please, Maddox. Or may I call you Robert? That is your given name, is it not? I think you may call me Sylvia. Given the circumstances. (She laughs dryly).
MADDOX: Mrs. Montague, might I ask what brings you here?
SYLVIA: I know what kind of man you are.
MADDOX: Excuse me?
SYLVIA: I feel a certain duty to be honest, since no one else on the ship is willing. Perhaps they do not see it yet. But outside the boundaries of the rules, of what is neat and clean and expected, your sort of facade wears far more quickly, Robert.
SYLVIA: I see in you a cruel heart. An ambitious one. One who does not truly rest easy until the power is in his hands.
MADDOX: Mrs. Montague, I insist-
SYLVIA: I insist you listen to me, Robert, and dispense with the veneers. ‘Mrs. Montague’ this, ‘Mrs. Montague’ that. There’s no use clinging to civility when all it does is allow you to pretend you wouldn’t kill me if it were more convenient. You are the sort of man who corrupts those around you. If Sophia does as she insists she will- if she stays- you will corrupt her as well.
SYLVIA: Perhaps your conscience could bear that, but could your self image?
MADDOX: (with an incredulous laugh) You think I could corrupt Sophia?
SYLVIA: Sophia is naive, enamored with the sea, and entirely unaware of how the few choices she is allowed will come to weigh on her.
MADDOX: Sophia is just as ‘corrupted’ as I, or Leon, or… any of us, and far smarter than you give her credit. What did you expect when it is obvious that I did more the job of raising her than you or old Montague ever did?
SYLVIA: And so be it! Sophia was never a burden I chose to carry in the first place. What use is a daughter in this world when my husband already had his golden child of a son? Our dignity as women is all we have left, after men like you take of us until we are barren.
MADDOX: Is that a pun you just made, Sylvia?
SYLVIA: (with iron) If you refuse to engage me as a peer, there will be no end to the misery I can visit upon your pathetic, grasping life.
MADDOX: I don’t think you’re in much of a position to be making threats, miss.
SYLVIA: Then kill me, you prideful worm, if you have the guts. It does not matter to me if I die by your hand, or another’s, or my own.
MADDOX: Do you really care so little for...living, in this world? What do you hope to gain, here?
SYLVIA: ...Merely some manner of...control. Stability. Justice, perhaps, if the opportunity presents itself.
MADDOX: We’ll be leaving you off at the Azores once we make anchor. There’s a colony of Portuguese on the island of Sao Miguel, you should be able to find passage back to England and eventually Boston.
MADDOX: Your fate will be your own...for a time.
SYLVIA: (sniffs) Dare we presume any of our fates are really our own?
MADDOX: Fates our own or not, I have nothing more to say to you.
SYLVIA: And I, you.
MADDOX: We’ll be ashore within the hour. Be ready to leave this ship, and not return.
SYLVIA: Very well.
SYLVIA leaves the cabin, cold and imperious. Outside it is a gentle, sunny day of unbelievable purity, with nothing but a soft wind disturbing the surface of the tropical water.
CECIL sits in the foc'sle, picking at a half-finished scrimshaw without any great dedication as DOUGLAS and SOPHIA swing about in the rigging a hundred feet above. Over the sound of the sea, they can be heard laughing and yelling.
SYLVIA: So I’ll have you to thank if my offspring falls and breaks her neck on the deck of this wretched ship.
CECIL: I think you’ll find that my supervision, or lack thereof, will have no bearing on Sophia’s fate. If she is strong, and wants it badly enough, she will have a life with us on the August. And I am inclined to believe she meets those requirements, a hundred times over.
SYLVIA: You forget that you did not have to be strong, or want this life badly enough, to be welcomed into it.
CECIL puts down his scrimshaw and regards SYLVIA for a moment, giving her the full weight of his attention.
SYLVIA: What do you have to say to that?
CECIL: (musing) You are not a...happy woman, Mrs. Montague. You have not been happy for a very long time. And yet you are of sound body, of quick mind, of full purse and full family--few among us can claim such blessings, and fewer still can claim to have the freedom of the sort of choice presented to you here. If you wished to join us, you need only want it, and we would find a place for you in our ranks.
SYLVIA: (holding onto her temper) You assume much, Mr. Lawrence. You assume much, and you know very little of the...choices, that I have had to make. The lengths that I have gone.
CECIL: (still calm and detached) I believe that I know more than you might think, Mrs. Montague.
SYLVIA: (bitter) Pray tell me, how you might come to know of a life like mine.
CECIL: I know of a life like yours because it was the one that I was raised in, as a young lass, to a rich merchant family in fair Ireland.
SYLVIA: As...a girl?
CECIL: Yes.
SYLVIA: And yet you are now a man.
CECIL: Indeed I am.
SYLVIA: (at a loss for words) I…apologize…for my hasty words...
CECIL: Hasty words do not bother me, Mrs. Montague. I have endured enough unhasty words in this life to assure you there is little you could say or do that would compare.
SYLVIA: And this..was your choice? To live as a man?
CECIL: I found womanhood rather confining, and an ill fit for a soul like mine.
SYLVIA: Are there other people like you?
CECIL: (sighing) I wager. There are those like me who choose to live as they desire, and seek to forget their past life entirely. There are also those who pass through identities like so many doors, taking on those different aspects which most benefit them. What might come easily to one as a woman one week, may come more easily to a man the next.
SYLVIA: So in that way one might capitalize on the advantages of each sex, without remaining confined by their pitfalls.
CECIL: I see you are warming to this idea.
SYLVIA: I would presume to say I understand its allure, Mr. Lawrence. That is all.
CECIL: (noncommittally) I had no expectations, Mrs. Montague. I wish only to assure you that I indeed have a great deal of respect for you, the same as I would for a fellow sailor. We all of us have our particular battles.
SYLVIA: (regaining her dignity) I appreciate your candor. I know I have not made myself an ally to you, precisely, but you may rest assured that I will not betray your confidences. You have given me a great deal to consider.
CECIL: Undoubtedly.
SYLVIA: Keep her safe, Mr. Lawrence.
SYLVIA turns without waiting for Cecil to answer, and walks back towards the lower deck hatch. As she crosses the deck of the August, she stops, and puts her hand on the railing. She gazes over the side of the ship, into the blue belly of the tropical ocean. She stands, transfixed.
Distantly, DOUGLAS and SOPHIA can be heard laughing, and CECIL yelling up at them and also laughing, and the sweet sound of LEON picking at his guitar is carried by the wind to SYLVIA. A few sailors raise their voices in song - Roll the Old Chariot. The sea whispers softly, all around her. It is beautiful, almost painfully so.
Guitar + Roll the Old Chariot