Lt. Edward Manton to Miss Martha Manton:

10 July, 1793. Aboard HMS Demeter at anchor, Spithead

Martha, my dear sister,

How can I convey the feelings elicited by your letter arrived today; joy at news from you, only to be saddened by the dissolute state to which Kenneth has so obviously fallen. I had so hoped that the Army would impart to him a sense of order and responsibility. Still, while he breathes there is always the hope of a change. As I am sure Christopher has told you, we must continue to pray for the Lord’s intervention.

So Miss Nicolson has married Mr. Mahan. Do not be so surprised by her apparent lack of a show of feelings. A solicitor stands to make a comfortable, if modest, income and Miss Nicolson would not be the first young lady to marry with an eye toward securing her future.

But what of our favorite local personage? I saw no mention of a suitor for your hand. You are young and there is time. I know you will marry neither out of desperation, nor any cause short of true love. Your independent nature will prevent it. I also know that Christopher, scion of that bastion of English tradition, the church, would never counsel you, much less force you to marry for advantage. Not all women are blessed as you with the fortitude and support to avoid such things however. While I have no doubt that your friend, Miss Post, possesses the necessary personal qualities to pursue her own happiness, I am not so well acquainted with her father as to say that he would not favor a marriage that would advance his social standing. More would be the pity.

Speaking of Miss Post, this is for you. My dear sister tells me that it would not be unseemly for me to include a few lines for you in my epistles to her. While I am not at all opposed to doing so, neither would it offend me were you to respond in kind. My sister chides me for being tongue tied in your presence. I must plead guilty as charged. You however, seem to suffer no such affliction – please do not be offended! I mean this as a compliment. It is not often that one finds a woman who can freely and intelligently express her mind. I seem to be blessed with several in my life. I have often thought, since joining Demeter, what fun it would be to have you engaged in a conversation over dinner in the gunroom (the place where I take my meals aboard.) I can imagine you matching wits with the surgeon, Mr. Marty, and the purser, Mr. Crome (both of whom shall be introduced shortly.) And I have no doubt that you would absolutely scandalize Mr. Price, the master. How I would love to behold such a scene, or any scene with you in it for that matter. But now I presume too much. Please accept my apology. (I should perhaps strike out the last, but it seems that my pen can speak where my tongue cannot. Now that it is out, I shall not recant.)

Martha, you seem to have become quite the bon vivant, traveling in elevated social circles. I am glad that you are enjoying life. As you well know, I would rather tread freshly holystoned deck planks than the polished boards of a dance floor. Perhaps this will prove the undoing of my chance at future happiness, but it serves for the present needs.

As to my own adventures as you call them; what a hectic time this has been. Nary a moment have I had to rest, until now. I had to work the crew mercilessly to have Demeter revictualed and resupplied in time, only to find that now we must await the pleasure of several troop laden transports from Plymouth. It appears that our departure for Admiral Hood’s fleet in the Mediterranean must await the assembling of a supply convoy for Gibraltar. We are to be the convoy’s escort.

On the positive side of things, this delay allows the men an opportunity to spend some time with family and loved ones. Not that the Honorable Cecil LeJorne is foolish enough to allow the men ashore. As is the Navy’s custom, the men may have their “wives” visit them onboard Demeter. I will not offend your finer sensibilities by trying to describe the scene below decks, though I dare say you, dear sister, may not be as offended as others of your kind.

Once the convoy sails, there is always the possibility that we will be set upon by privateers, or perhaps even a small French national cruiser. The prospect of action always seems to enliven the men. The opportunity to cover one’s person with glory, and fill one’s pockets with prize money certainly does not offend either.

Another hidden blessing of this delay is that it affords me this opportunity to again write you before our departure. When last I wrote, I promised that, time permitting, I would try to better acquaint you with my small world. Let it not be said that Lieutenant Edward Manton is not a man of his word!

First, the world itself; that being His Majesty’s Ship Demeter, a sloop of war. Demeter is a 340 ton, three-masted, square rigged vessel with an overall length of just over 100 feet. She is known as a quarterdeck sloop. This means that above the gundeck (the main one containing the bulk of the great guns) is located a quarterdeck. The quarterdeck extends from the mainmast (the middle one) backwards to the aft. Ahead of the foremast (the front one) there is another small deck over the Forecastle. Below the gundeck is the berth deck, where the men sleep. Below this is the darkness of the hold and the orlop deck, little more than platforms set within the hold. Within this space live 125 men. Demeter carries 16 six pound cannon, arrayed eight either side on the gundeck. There are another six 12 pound carronades on the quarterdeck and two more on the forecastle. Carronades are smaller than regular cannon of the same shot weight, with a limited range, but very deadly close in. Within this small world, I am allotted a room 8 feet long by 6 feet wide to call my own. While this may seem harsh to you, dear Martha, bear in mind that it is a veritable palace compared to the accommodations of most onboard. These then, are the physical realities of my world.

As to the social realities, meaning those I live and work with, let me now turn my attention. As I have previously mentioned, my captain is Master and Commander the Honorable Cecil LeJorne. Blond haired, blue eyed and well proportioned, the Honorable Cecil is what I believe you ladies call a handsome figure of a man. At age 25, the Honorable Cecil obviously owes his current rank and position to the effects of “interest.” (Interest, the practice of having an influential patron bring their weight to bear on your behalf, for the betterment of your career. A practice that is looked upon as the bane of the service by all of us who fail to benefit by it.) He is not a bad sort, for a blueblood. When he forgets his place in the hierarchy, both social and naval, he can be quite affable. The younger son of a peer, the honorable Cecil has decided to make his fortune at sea. Given time, and proper instruction, he just may succeed. He needs work as a seaman and navigator. Fortunately, he has the intelligence to recognize these shortcomings, and the wisdom to accept instruction and advice. Both the master, Mr. Price, and I have been trying to improve him here. As I said, it seems well accepted so long as we do it in a manner that does not affect his standing in the eyes of the men. As I mentioned in my last letter, the Honorable Cecil is an aggressive fighter, though not recklessly so. He truly seems to care about the men and has earned their respect. (One thing I will never understand is the common tar’s preference to be led by the aristocracy, as though blueblood confers some special talent to be competent at any task. I had best be careful what I say here or I may be accused of harboring republican sympathies.) He tries to be fair, though he is too quick to order a flogging for my taste. Still, he does moderate this tendency by handing out half the number of lashes that the offence would normally draw.

After the captain, perhaps the most important man aboard is the sailing master. Mr. James Price is a short, portly man of 42 years. A former merchant master, he is a thoroughgoing seaman and navigator. Fortunately, he is also possessed of the tact and sensitivity necessary to permit him to “instruct” our young captain. He has adopted a fatherly attitude, in so far as his position as a subordinate will allow, toward the Honorable Cecil. It is not uncommon to see the two upon the quarterdeck engaged in discussion, Mr. Price’s ever-present pipe bouncing up and down as he speaks. Mr. Price is a strict disciplinarian and believes that the Honorable Cecil is too lenient with the men. Fortunately, for the men, and the happiness of Demeter, it is the master’s responsibility to see to the seaworthiness of the ship, as well as to advise the captain on points of sailing and navigation – not discipline. Mr. Price is involved in Tory politics, so you can imagine how I feel when he brings the subject up at dinner. (Imagine him having to contend with such an outspoken and unconventional woman as Miss Post.) Other than that, I fend him an agreeable and competent shipmate.

While the captain eats alone, occasionally inviting one or more of us to dine with him, I share my meals with my fellow officers and gentlemen. Besides the master, Mr. Price, this includes Thomas Marty, the Demeter’s surgeon, and the purser, Stuart Crome. The surgeon is not a physician or regular doctor. Rather, he is some one who has trained in the art of treating battle injuries and shipboard illnesses. This training is acquired through an apprenticeship program, much as a naval officer learns his trade as a midshipman. The surgeon’s apprenticeship can be a grizzly affair, and a great many are reputed to be drunken incompetents. Mr. Thomas Marty is neither. At 50, he is overweight, balding, and his vision is showing the effects of too much time spent in the dark confines of the cockpit. Over the years, Mr. Marty has become a keen observer of the human condition. He is an avid diarist, deeply religious, and married. His wife, Elizabeth, takes care of their three daughters: Judith, 15; Sarah, 10; and Rachel, 6.

The purser is responsible for purchasing, keeping track of, and distributing the victuals and provisions to the crew. If the ship comes up short, he must make up the difference out of his own pocket. If there is excess, the Navy allows him to sell it, as compensation for his financial risk. Given this situation, it is not surprising that many pursers have gained a reputation as miserly cheats who always short an honest tar. Like our surgeon, our purser, Mr. Stuart Crome, does not fit the professional mold. While he evidences an obvious practical and pragmatic streak, Mr. Crome freely helps any sailor in need – with money from his own pocket! No one knows where this money comes from. 34 years old, stylish and mannered, Mr. Crome never speaks of home and always redirects any questions in that area. An avowed atheist, Mr. Crome calls himself a rationalist and delights in engaging the surgeon in theological debate. He also seems to enjoy the prospect of battle, especially hand-to-hand. His preferred weapon is the smallsword. He has suggested giving me lessons in its use in exchange for training on navigation and seamanship. A most atypical purser (man of business.)

Both the surgeon and the purser are known as “idlers.” An idler is some one who is not assigned to a regular watch, working four hours then off duty for four hours. Rather, they work a “normal” day. Normally, the rest of the officer’s mess would be filled out with additional Lieutenants and the Marine Officers. However, on a ship the size of Demeter, there are none. Nor is there space sufficient to maintain a separate wardroom (officers’ mess) and gunroom (petty officers’ mess.) Therefore, my bonny dinner companions also include the individuals to follow.

Mr. Timothy Greene is the master’s mate. He assists the sailing master, Mr. Price. Tall, slim, and 28, Mr. Greene is the eternal optimist. He is caught in the situation of having passed his Lieutenant’s exam but lacking the necessary interest to secure a commission. Still, he is confident that it is just a question of time. While I wish him well, I am not overly eager to see him advance, as my death would provide the acting lieutenancy he needs. As the senior, and Demeter’s only, master’s mate, Mr. Greene is responsible for instructing the midshipmen. A lesser man would have become embittered by his fate and taken it out upon his unfortunate charges. Mr. Greene, however, seems to enjoy his responsibilities. A strong swimmer, he recently saved the life of one of the men who had slipped aloft and fallen to the sea. For this, and his optimism, he is well liked by the crew. He was seen ashore today with a fine looking lass on his arm, whether sister or sweetheart he is not saying. (If it be his sister, I will encourage him to write to you. I know, you don’t require my assistance. But Mr. Greene is a most agreeable person to be around.)

Mr. Robert Burch, a 17-year-old Scotsman, is the senior midshipman. Of average build, he is agile and a good climber, preferring to spend as much time as possible aloft. He is possessed of a natural talent for seamanship and boathandling. However, his problems with mathematics and navigation may prevent his ever becoming a commissioned officer.

15-year-old Isaac Johns excels at navigation. He is meticulous and serious in his studies. While he will most likely pass for Lieutenant, should he survive that long, his timid nature will prevent his ever rising to command.

Matthew Urqhart, at 14 the junior midshipman, is a family friend of the Honorable Cecil. While he originally expected preferential treatment, he quickly learned the realities of naval life. (As I said earlier, the Honorable Cecil is a fair man.) In fact, Mr. Urqhart is a fast learner in general. He particularly enjoys exercising the great guns, and will not leave Mr. Burton, the gunner, a moment’s solitude. Mr. Urqhart has a fear of heights. In an effort to help him overcome this, the captain frequently finds reasons to masthead him. (Mastheading is when a midshipman is sent to spend time alone at the upper parts of the mast. It is an excellent opportunity for quiet study and contemplation; so do not think the Honorable Cecil cruel dear sister.) Mr. Urqhart’s appearance is what would be called aquiline.

John East is the Boatswain, or as he is commonly called, the bosun. He is responsible to assist the master in maintaining the ship in a seaworthy state as well as to “motivate” the crew. The bosun rises from among the ranks of common seaman after demonstrating both leadership and seamanship. Mr. East is a muscular, no nonsense sailor who has the confidence and respect of both superiors and subordinates. Like the master, he believes that the captain is too lenient. As befits his class, Bosun East is a career Navy man, having spent most of his 38 years on King’s ships. He sings in a rich baritone and is very popular with the ladies ashore.

The gunner, Samuel Burton, is responsible for assuring that the great guns and their ammunition are ready for action at a moment’s notice. (The actual training and firing of the guns falls to the lieutenants and midshipman.) He is a solid 41 year old who walks with a limp from an old injury. Always diligent in performing his duties, he is quick to chide anyone who does not appear to be taking proper care of their gun. He is like a child when the great guns fire, and does not seem to mind in the least the constant pestering of Midshipman Urqhart. Gunner Burton is married. Her name is unknown, as he always refers to “the Missus.”

There you have it, my world and my immediate companions. I am not sure how long before we put to sea. If your letters do not reach me here, they will be forwarded to Gibraltar. Remember me, and all our brave tars, in your prayers dear Martha.

Your loving brother,
Edward