The Odnance Survey (https://getoutside.ordnancesurvey…) places the Blacktail Spit at 51.54320145°N, 0.94283312°E, in the Thames estuary. It lists it as "wetland/tidal" and suggests you take a walk there. Someone did so in their little sailboat - apparently called the Talisker 1 - and helpfully posted a bunch of nautical charts at http://www.samingosailing.com/a-f….
The charts abound in annotations like "foul ground" and "historic wreck area". Clearly the shallow waters, strong tide and shifting sand banks make the area a tricky one for a large ship and its escort. Indeed our friends on the Talisker 1 recall near Pyefleet Creek "a large Sailing Vessel heading northeast directly towards us under engine only was making heavy going with wind over tide".
A quick check on the river Lee suggests it's all within greater London, but plugging the above co-ordinates into Google Maps calls up an area that includes the hamlet of Lee-over-Sands, on the estuary of the Colne about 25 km northeast of Blacktail Spit. Perhaps the Lee roads ran/run nearby.
Hello, "General Pen". Welcome to the Diary. Pardon our Sam, he's new to naval affairs and ranks. It would seem you two didn't really hit it off on first meet. I'd wager you'll meet again. Here's to you two becoming best friends forever!
Pyrates, corsairs and Ostenders of course be as everyday commonplaces as, say, lice (scratch) and cholera (shiver). We recently noted a report of Ostenders all the way to Norway, and the Mercurius Politicus lately cited a State Council order for naval escorts in "the Irish Seas, to prevent the great piracies commited theire". But that's not the main reason why "many merchants [ask] to get convoy to the Baltique, which a course was taken for".
On April 1, Montague wrote (from the Swiftsure, perhaps in Sam's hand) to Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper (presently on the State Council): "A few days since, I received an order from the Council of State to appoint a sufficient convoy for securing our trade within the Baltic Sea, which the merchants have represented to be greatly obstructed by the Duke of Brandenburg's lately interdicting all trade to or from any of the Swedish ports, and commissioning above 20 pickeroons to disturb and destroy the said trade". My lord then says he figures that three frigates should be escort enough. (The letter is in the State Papers).
The "duke of Brandenburg" would seem to be no less than Great Elector Frederick William, a fairly considerable military commander who's currently a bit of a French client but busy pumping up Prussia to great-power status. He will all his life alternate between war with Sweden and alliances with Sweden. Right now he's winning Prussia's independence from Sweden as he wraps up the Second Northern War, a 5-year, 15-country affair that has extended all the way to the Crimean Khanate and even to America, where it saw Sweden lose the Delaware valley to the Dutch. And you thought English politics were complicated?
Las, also on the way to the Baltick, is Denmark, recently a war zone too and still aswarm with idle Swedish and Polish troops, and so a good place to have a naval escort. In future years the king of Denmark will also aggravate England by levying stiff fees on its passing ships. Curse those nordick kinglets who presume to impede England's liberty of the seas and god-given right to get all the herring!
The Incident of the Whitewash did fascinate so many, it was reported as far away as Paris, where we have now seen its report, dated April 3, in the Gazette de France dated April 10 (at gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k6450281p/f403.item). It depicts the "painter" as "a man dressed up as a mason" [vn homme traveſti en Maſſon], "accompanied by a Boy" [accompagné d'vn Garçon], "climbed up to the Statue of Queen Elizabeth, under pretence of cleaning it" [monta à la Statüe de la Reyne Elizabeth, ſous prétexte de la nettoyer].
So, bonfires, high-level protection and toasts to the King or not, the Whitewash still isn't something you undertake (especially at the top of a ladder) without a disguise, a lookout and a pretext to give you time to check how the public's taking it. Poor Liz was pretext but at least she got a cleanup, whilst the previous kings were suffer'd to stay under their grime.
"The King's effigies (...) in the Exchange" were likely multiple, but included the one which popped into the news lately, when a mysterious painter whitewashed the "Exit Tyrannus" inscription that had defaced it.
We return to this episode, having now seen the weekly dispatch sent on March 26 by Venetian ambassador Giavarina. The record ain't complete till Giavarina's weekly cable is perused; in this case it adds to other accounts that "two hours before night some daring fellow (...) after washing and cleaning the statue of Queen Elizabeth did the same to that of King James and then washed ever the place of King Charles with several colours, obliterating the inscription completely"; also that "everyone admires the daring and determination of this fellow as he did it all without a mask or other disguise, from which it is concluded that he acted by order and with substantial backing". We suspected as much; also that this was still an act of "daring and determination" in London's unsettled state.
"Two hours before night" corroborates the Mercurius Politicus on the event's timing (5 o'clock, as we recall) but leaves hanging Sam's report of this having taken place "at noon". Or is "noon" any hour in daytime, or in the afternoon?
Background on all these royal statues: Giavarina helpfully explains to the Doge and Senate that "in the city of London in an open public place are statues of all the kings of England in a row, from Edward the Confessor, erected by the city itself on the day of their coronation. (fn. 9) That of King Charles was removed and broken in pieces by order of parliament the day his head was cut off". The Stationery Office compiler of Giavarina's reports (found at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) chimes in with a footnote: "The royal statues were in the quadrangle of the Royal Exchange built by Gresham, placed in niches, immediately above the cloister or colonnade. They were all destroyed in the Great Fire [in 1666]. Wheatley and Cunningham: London, Past and Present, Vol. iii, page 183."
And so, the inscription now covered (and in "several colours"!) there is indeed a statue to replace. But apparently the iconoclasts who went after Charles' statues in 1649 had left his predecessors unmolested; future revolutionaries in France and Russia will be far more thorough in wiping the slate clean.
Montagu's fleet is beginning to show up in the State Papers, which make clear that its mission isn't just to kick its collective heels 'till it's time to fetch the King, but also to restore some order at sea where Dutch pyrates have been prompt to take advantage of England's anarchy.
In particular, on March 19 a petition "of several masters of ships" in Newcastle was sent by "Robt. Ellison" to Monk, to ask for frigates to convoy them past "several Ostend men-of-war" on their way to business in "the Eastern Seas". The Ostenders, more or less freewheeling Dutch privateers, being always ready to plague the North Sea - indeed as far as "the Naze of Norway, to lie in wait for the English" - at the command of England's French/Dutch/Spanish enemy of the day, or just being pyrates.
On March 26 a Major Burton also writes to Montagu, "I will observe your order" to send frigates to convoy fishing vessels, which are also in fear of the dreaded Ostenders. Burton had written to the Admiralty on March 23 to update a previous request for that convoy, and the matter has since trickled down to Montagu, and probably to Sam's floating office where "your order" must have been one of the papers cluttering his tiny desk.
Gen. Monk's feelings on the monarchy are no longer much of a mysterie, but 'tis also increasingly beside the point, for already we're past the stage of secret meetings about the Forme of Government, and the king is beginning to take over the machinerie of State in its minutiae. To wit, this remarkable dispatch from Monk to Robert Stent, dated March 29 at St. James's:
"I appoint you, by virtue of the power delegated to me by King Charles II, as firemaster to the garrison of Dunkirk".
This of course from the State Papers, which show that Charles is also signing passports - viz., "by the King for Sieur Pierre St. Laurens, merchant (...) to traffic where he pleases without molestation" on March 30 old style, and for "Capt. John Gray (...) for protection in his travels", on March 20.
Whether such passports would be always recognized is another thing, but interestingly the one for Capt. Gray is written out in Latin, presumably for showing, on the continent, to non-English speakers who may have no opinion on who should govern England, and only want a passport to be legal and authentic. Tho', how far the King's writ would be recognized still seems unsure, for the "passport", only "recommend[s]" Gray. But 'tis call'd a Passport none the less.
On March 19 we also saw a "Petition of Roger Dickson, of Middleburg, to the King". But, uh-oh, this one is to "protes[t] his innocence of speaking evil against him [the King]".
To return to MBobryk's question of 2003: does Sam know where he's deploying, or is he waiting for Montagu to open the envelope-in-the-safe once on the open sea?
As of March 19 (new style - March 8 as Sam saw it) what Venetian ambassador Francesco Giavarina knew of the mission, was that "Parliament has (...) ordered [Montagu] to go on board the fleet and put to sea as soon as possible with a squadron, to cruise in the Channel and look after those parts where his presence may be required." Giavarina's dispatch is at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…. He also notes that "with the wind quite contrary Montagu cannot get out of the Thames, although urged to sail", which presumably the Diary will shortly confirm.
This should be the least that Sam and other men-about-town would likely know, but it's hard to believe that Sam in his position wouldn't have got the full briefing; or, in fact, that Montagu's orders are not to be found in some archive, though we're aware that records for the period are a bit of a mess.
Actually the Mercurius Politicus had a different take on the dreadful Anabaptist/Quaker plot for a new St. Barthelemy; says it was all overblown slander, and in Thomas Rugg's retelling,
"Now the common report cried out a great plot was intended there, said that theire was found armes enought for five thousand men; others said that all the Anabaptists were ready to rise and cut all the throats of them that weare not of theire judgment. But this is a true list of armes found in theire houses: Liut.-Col. Kiffin: two drumes, one pattisan [a kind of halberd], five old pikes, six swords; in Mallery House: three pistolls, two swords and his sons Hewlings fowling peece; Gosfrights house: three drumes, on[e] leadinge staff, one sword, and three birdinge pieces belonging' to a Dutch marchant and another frind of his; Captain Hewling: seven pikes, twelve musketts, seventeene swords".
For our purposes however, whether the plot was real, and even whether the fanaticks may have been expected to deem Sam's household "not of theire judgment" - needs not matter; the Fright was on, and Sam must have heard of it if the "common report" was so widespread. Indeed, another Rugg report dated "around march 10" says "att this time in the west country the gentry are very much afrighted, for the people called Quakers and Independents and Anabaptits and threatend to plunder, as report said, gentilmens houses and take away armes from the gentry because they stood for a free Parliment; in so much that gentilmen are forced to keep a garde in theire houses (...)"
So, is Sam concerned about the wife's security if left on her own in chaotic London? He may as well, given that on March 12 (March 1st old style) Venetian ambassador Giavarina, in a particularly fascinating weekly cable (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) had this to report:
"The assembly [Parliament] has decided to establish a fresh militia because it is much afraid that the Anabaptists, Quakers and other very numerous and powerful sectaries, from dislike of the present parliament, entirely composed of Presbyterians and fomented by Lambert, Desbero and many other leaders of their faith, may be contemplating an insurrection. Indeed hearing of some beginnings of commotion in the North General Monch sent off some troops of horse to put it down and suppress any attempts these sectaries might try to make, who are cruel and bloody.
"There are still great numbers of them in this city, and it seems that on Sunday or Tuesday last they had planned to rise, break into the houses and kill all whom they came across. But this was foreseen and prevented by placing strong guards everywhere and by searching the houses in which sectaries might be living. In several they found arms and other warlike instruments with a quantity of knives especially designed for such wicked deeds. Some persons have been arrested and sent to the Tower."
Later in his report Giavarina notes that it's not all about politics and religion only:
"In their perplexity it has been suggested in parliament, to legitimate the coming elections, to summon the peers of the realm and get them to issue the writs in the king's name, inviting his Majesty to return to England, but with conditions and restrictions. But *to this are opposed all those who enjoy goods of the crown and bishops* [emphasis added], which are secularised, and all who had a part in the king's death, the first from the certainty of restitution and the others from fear of punishment."
Was the "one [who] came with a ladder" to whitewash "Exit Tyrannus" just acting on his own private initiative? Perhaps in this case the Mercurius, who calls him "a kind of a painter", was not fully informed, for we find in the State Papers a letter from "Wm. Doneman alias Mr Mills" to Charles' secretary Nicholas, informing him that "Yesterday, the very characters 'Exit tyrannus' (...) were *by order* [emphasis added] publicly obliterated *at noon* [emphasis also added - not around 5 pm as Sam heard], and 'Vive le Roy' put up instead" - nice touch. "There were bonfires in and about the Change".
"By order" of whom, would be nice to know. We likely won't.
At this time, as Sam begins to enter his new naval administrative universe, it also seems fit to record for future reference a State Paper of March 6, which very usefully spells out the Navy's debts as of February 1. This comes to £1,284,452, including £694,112 already paid for victuals and salaries and an "estimate of the charge of setting forth and maintaining a fleet of 13,065 men, for 9 month's service, to end the last of October 1660" that comes to £470,340 - a grand £0.13 per man/day - plus £20,000 (only) for maintenance, the yards' expenses and salaries for the commissioners and other London HQ staff, and £100,000 for contingencies. Even if the money be paid (small detail) this seems tight to say the least. May we already bid you welcome to the Naval budget, Mr. Pepys - ha ha ha ha haaaar.
Navy commissioner Peter Pett, soon to become one of the Diary's major characters, makes an appearance in the State Papers today with a letter to Montague that we think a good illustration for the day's debate on naval appointments, and a showcase piece of the oiliest sort of 17th century favor-seeking:
After presenting Montague with a small gift - two ship models, the hobby which in 1667 is going to cost Pett so dearly - as "testimony of a grateful mind for those many great and undeserved favours plentifully vouchsafed to me and mine" (lowly worm that I am), Pett closes with "It is not good manners to give you the troble of importuning for employment for friends, especially considering how much you are tired of things of this nature, and far more weighty affairs being in hand". Oh yeah, Montague may have sighed at that point.
Pett continues after just a colon of a pause: ", else I should have craved leave to recommend Lieut. Rainborow, for his old employment in the Speaker, if not disposed of".
"Every body now drinks the King’s health without any fear, whereas before it was very private that a man dare do it."
As Thomas Rugg his Diurnall puts it in its summary of the Mercurius Politicus for late February/early March,
"Now the times begane somwhat to cleare up and the dark cloudes to fly away, and good frinds had a littl freedome in theire speech, and peopl was in great hopes of liberty of persons as well altogeather of consience, for divers was freed out of prison, som that had layne ma[n]y years in prison.
"Almost every day men writ theire minds and printed it, and severall pretended letters in print, som from his Majestie, som from Major-Generall Marsey, som from Printed by a Person of Honour, and all to break the ice. These printed papers made towne talke and som beleeved that they ware very true".
The Mercurius Politicus has a lot of color (mostly red) to add to today's executions, so get your popcorn, sit back and enjoy:
"Theire were this day, beeinge the eighteene day of Febuary, one serjent and eight souldiers of the army, who were lately sentenced att the ore[?] cort marshall of the army, fouer of them to die and five of them to be tied to a gibbett with haulters about theire necks for half a houer and be whiped by the executioner on the beare back with a whipcord lash.
"They ware brought to the place of execution, which were att Charing Cross and over against Sumersett House in the Strond, where were two gibbetts erected; but by the mercy of the commissioners for the goverment of the army the fouer condemned to die ware premitted to cast lots for theire lives, two to die and the other two to be spared."
[Here let us pause & ponder the Government its benevolence, in staying of Jack Ketch the fearsome hand. Perfect time for the orange girls to work the Charing Cross crowd.]
"And the lots fell upon the two more notorious to die and the two [less] culpaple to be speared [a miracle!], and accordingly the two on whom the lots fell ware executed on two gibett[s]; the other two in prison till further order. And the other fouer (4) souldiers and serjent were whiped in maner aforesaid: the serjent 40 stripes, and 1 souldier had 21 stripes and the other three souldiers 39 stripes, and made capeabl never to serve in the army, not to bee entertained by any; if so, to have the same punishment inflicted on them againe."
If memory serves there's also around 40 of the prentices who rioted along, still in various prisons.
[We now embark on another Embassy to New Spain, far beyond easy reach of the post. We think this fit to Advertise as upon a previous disappearance we were fear'd to be dedd.]
One would expect a torrent of ballads to have been inspired by the lurid scenes. Surprisingly, the English Broadside Ballad Archive has only half a dozen on offer, that are from 1660 and contain the word "rump". Two of them allude to the cooking thereof:
Thats a thing that would please the Butchers and Cooks, To see this stinking Rump quite off the hooks, And Jack-Daw go to pot with the Rooks.
... in "Bumm-Foder, or Waste-Paper Proper to wipe the Nation's RUMP with, or your Own" [http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…] which makes clear that "kiss my Parliment" (that so amused us at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) was only the most demure variation on the theme. This ain't by far the spiciest bit of the song, and Sam would probably have heard them but no way he'd tell us. Also:
A Tail which was eaten up almost of the Pox, That stunck more like Carion, than ever did Fox, Or that which was rosted of late at the Stocks.
... in "The Rump serv'd in with a Grand Sallet [salad, at http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…] So it seems the rumps, not only being roasted, were somehow roasted at the stocks, where criminals normally be displayed. Ingenious!
Those two and a couple of slightly less scatological others, "Arsy Versy: Or, The Second Martyrdom of the RUMP" [http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…, with a stanza for Praise-God too] and "Chipps of the Old Block; or, Hercules Cleansing the Augaean Stable" [http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…] still make for excellent tavern-rousing and tankard-banging.
We're still in shock when remembrancing the Roasting. Can one over-emphasize the extra-ordinariness of the event? Venetian ambassador Giavarina, though hailing from the land of Carnival, does preface his weekly report of February 27 (new style, at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) "I have now to relate the sequel [to his previous dispatch], which is true though it seems impossible (...) No one who did not see it with his own eyes would credit the extravagant things that this fickle climate produces every day and it is hard to give full credence to the reports one receives especially as they refer to matters of extreme importance."
Interestingly the Gazette de France will, in a few days, publish an account of Monk's arrival and subsequent business, with no mention whatsoever of such unruliness in the streets. We infer that the French are so happy under the Sun King, that 'twould be un-Christian to spoil their moode with tales of heretick subversion.
The weekly dispatches of Venetian ambassador Giavarina reach us only now (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) the mails being disturbed. In his dated February 20th (new style; today, old style) he agrees with our earlier comment, "Oooh, can't wait to see what happens tomorrow".
But his tone is darker: "It will be interesting to see what follows and it is much to be feared that in the end London will be put to the sack. The soldiers long for it and make this known everywhere, and certainly if it is granted them they will find incalculable wealth."
The soldiers in question being the mutinous ones that Monk is now trying to push to the countryside and replacing with his own. Note the codicil, "if it is granted" - sacking London perhaps being something that requires permission from, well, someone. It puts in context other reports of folks offering them money.
Oh, and old Barebone and his windows, since we're still on his case. Monk's letter devotes a full page (page 9) to his petition for an anti-royalist oath: "a bold Petition (...) lately presented to you", of "dangerous consequence", of which we "[can]not silence our deep resentment" as it's full of "Venome". He almost seems to have grabbed his quill in response to Praise-God Barebone, though one doesn't just improvise a 14-page letter with 15 co-signatories on impulse. Very much in the eye of the storm, Barebone put 'imself. Or was put ("better if it comes from a saintly poor man like you, brother Praise-God. You'll have our full support of course.")
Next, the Council pulls out a fresh piece of paper and writes to "the several garrisons in England". How to explain the situation, to troops already barely under control? Now, here's a gem for the Museum of Embarrassed Literature:
"We had tought fit to let you know that General Monk, by letter sent to the Parliament yesterday, desired among other things the filling up of their [Parliament's] number with due qualifications". Aye, that letter is spreading as fast as the presses and the post-horses can spread it, but thanks for telling us.
Alas, "many persons (...) who are ready to embrace and improve whatever may advantage the common enemies' interest, took an occasion from thence, groundlessly and falsely, to interpret that he had declared, and is resolved for a full and free Parliament, in that sense wherein those would understand it who long to see the good ends defeated which the Parliament has hitherto labored for, and are now faithfully pursuing, and the honest interest and dear concernments thereof ruined".
Say what? I know it's the 17th century and convoluted sentences are the norm, but we're only poor soldiers and had to re-read this three times to unwind all the hand-wringing. (Actually there ain't a one of us that can read, so it's our colonel who did). "Full and free parliament" doesn't appear in that letter but Monk's said he wants elections, right? "The People will have assurance that they shall have a Succession of Parliaments of their own Election", that be "the sense" at page 13 in https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo…. So ye're toast, Council of State.
Comments
Third Reading
About Thursday 5 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
The Odnance Survey (https://getoutside.ordnancesurvey…) places the Blacktail Spit at 51.54320145°N, 0.94283312°E, in the Thames estuary. It lists it as "wetland/tidal" and suggests you take a walk there. Someone did so in their little sailboat - apparently called the Talisker 1 - and helpfully posted a bunch of nautical charts at http://www.samingosailing.com/a-f….
The charts abound in annotations like "foul ground" and "historic wreck area". Clearly the shallow waters, strong tide and shifting sand banks make the area a tricky one for a large ship and its escort. Indeed our friends on the Talisker 1 recall near Pyefleet Creek "a large Sailing Vessel heading northeast directly towards us under engine only was making heavy going with wind over tide".
A quick check on the river Lee suggests it's all within greater London, but plugging the above co-ordinates into Google Maps calls up an area that includes the hamlet of Lee-over-Sands, on the estuary of the Colne about 25 km northeast of Blacktail Spit. Perhaps the Lee roads ran/run nearby.
About Wednesday 4 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Hello, "General Pen". Welcome to the Diary. Pardon our Sam, he's new to naval affairs and ranks. It would seem you two didn't really hit it off on first meet. I'd wager you'll meet again. Here's to you two becoming best friends forever!
About Tuesday 3 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Pyrates, corsairs and Ostenders of course be as everyday commonplaces as, say, lice (scratch) and cholera (shiver). We recently noted a report of Ostenders all the way to Norway, and the Mercurius Politicus lately cited a State Council order for naval escorts in "the Irish Seas, to prevent the great piracies commited theire". But that's not the main reason why "many merchants [ask] to get convoy to the Baltique, which a course was taken for".
On April 1, Montague wrote (from the Swiftsure, perhaps in Sam's hand) to Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper (presently on the State Council): "A few days since, I received an order from the Council of State to appoint a sufficient convoy for securing our trade within the Baltic Sea, which the merchants have represented to be greatly obstructed by the Duke of Brandenburg's lately interdicting all trade to or from any of the Swedish ports, and commissioning above 20 pickeroons to disturb and destroy the said trade". My lord then says he figures that three frigates should be escort enough. (The letter is in the State Papers).
The "duke of Brandenburg" would seem to be no less than Great Elector Frederick William, a fairly considerable military commander who's currently a bit of a French client but busy pumping up Prussia to great-power status. He will all his life alternate between war with Sweden and alliances with Sweden. Right now he's winning Prussia's independence from Sweden as he wraps up the Second Northern War, a 5-year, 15-country affair that has extended all the way to the Crimean Khanate and even to America, where it saw Sweden lose the Delaware valley to the Dutch. And you thought English politics were complicated?
Las, also on the way to the Baltick, is Denmark, recently a war zone too and still aswarm with idle Swedish and Polish troops, and so a good place to have a naval escort. In future years the king of Denmark will also aggravate England by levying stiff fees on its passing ships. Curse those nordick kinglets who presume to impede England's liberty of the seas and god-given right to get all the herring!
About Friday 16 March 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
The Incident of the Whitewash did fascinate so many, it was reported as far away as Paris, where we have now seen its report, dated April 3, in the Gazette de France dated April 10 (at gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k6450281p/f403.item). It depicts the "painter" as "a man dressed up as a mason" [vn homme traveſti en Maſſon], "accompanied by a Boy" [accompagné d'vn Garçon], "climbed up to the Statue of Queen Elizabeth, under pretence of cleaning it" [monta à la Statüe de la Reyne Elizabeth, ſous prétexte de la nettoyer].
So, bonfires, high-level protection and toasts to the King or not, the Whitewash still isn't something you undertake (especially at the top of a ladder) without a disguise, a lookout and a pretext to give you time to check how the public's taking it. Poor Liz was pretext but at least she got a cleanup, whilst the previous kings were suffer'd to stay under their grime.
About Thursday 29 March 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
"The King's effigies (...) in the Exchange" were likely multiple, but included the one which popped into the news lately, when a mysterious painter whitewashed the "Exit Tyrannus" inscription that had defaced it.
We return to this episode, having now seen the weekly dispatch sent on March 26 by Venetian ambassador Giavarina. The record ain't complete till Giavarina's weekly cable is perused; in this case it adds to other accounts that "two hours before night some daring fellow (...) after washing and cleaning the statue of Queen Elizabeth did the same to that of King James and then washed ever the place of King Charles with several colours, obliterating the inscription completely"; also that "everyone admires the daring and determination of this fellow as he did it all without a mask or other disguise, from which it is concluded that he acted by order and with substantial backing". We suspected as much; also that this was still an act of "daring and determination" in London's unsettled state.
"Two hours before night" corroborates the Mercurius Politicus on the event's timing (5 o'clock, as we recall) but leaves hanging Sam's report of this having taken place "at noon". Or is "noon" any hour in daytime, or in the afternoon?
Background on all these royal statues: Giavarina helpfully explains to the Doge and Senate that "in the city of London in an open public place are statues of all the kings of England in a row, from Edward the Confessor, erected by the city itself on the day of their coronation. (fn. 9) That of King Charles was removed and broken in pieces by order of parliament the day his head was cut off". The Stationery Office compiler of Giavarina's reports (found at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) chimes in with a footnote: "The royal statues were in the quadrangle of the Royal Exchange built by Gresham, placed in niches, immediately above the cloister or colonnade. They were all destroyed in the Great Fire [in 1666]. Wheatley and Cunningham: London, Past and Present, Vol. iii, page 183."
And so, the inscription now covered (and in "several colours"!) there is indeed a statue to replace. But apparently the iconoclasts who went after Charles' statues in 1649 had left his predecessors unmolested; future revolutionaries in France and Russia will be far more thorough in wiping the slate clean.
About Monday 26 March 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Montagu's fleet is beginning to show up in the State Papers, which make clear that its mission isn't just to kick its collective heels 'till it's time to fetch the King, but also to restore some order at sea where Dutch pyrates have been prompt to take advantage of England's anarchy.
In particular, on March 19 a petition "of several masters of ships" in Newcastle was sent by "Robt. Ellison" to Monk, to ask for frigates to convoy them past "several Ostend men-of-war" on their way to business in "the Eastern Seas". The Ostenders, more or less freewheeling Dutch privateers, being always ready to plague the North Sea - indeed as far as "the Naze of Norway, to lie in wait for the English" - at the command of England's French/Dutch/Spanish enemy of the day, or just being pyrates.
On March 26 a Major Burton also writes to Montagu, "I will observe your order" to send frigates to convoy fishing vessels, which are also in fear of the dreaded Ostenders. Burton had written to the Admiralty on March 23 to update a previous request for that convoy, and the matter has since trickled down to Montagu, and probably to Sam's floating office where "your order" must have been one of the papers cluttering his tiny desk.
About Tuesday 27 March 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Gen. Monk's feelings on the monarchy are no longer much of a mysterie, but 'tis also increasingly beside the point, for already we're past the stage of secret meetings about the Forme of Government, and the king is beginning to take over the machinerie of State in its minutiae. To wit, this remarkable dispatch from Monk to Robert Stent, dated March 29 at St. James's:
"I appoint you, by virtue of the power delegated to me by King Charles II, as firemaster to the garrison of Dunkirk".
This of course from the State Papers, which show that Charles is also signing passports - viz., "by the King for Sieur Pierre St. Laurens, merchant (...) to traffic where he pleases without molestation" on March 30 old style, and for "Capt. John Gray (...) for protection in his travels", on March 20.
Whether such passports would be always recognized is another thing, but interestingly the one for Capt. Gray is written out in Latin, presumably for showing, on the continent, to non-English speakers who may have no opinion on who should govern England, and only want a passport to be legal and authentic. Tho', how far the King's writ would be recognized still seems unsure, for the "passport", only "recommend[s]" Gray. But 'tis call'd a Passport none the less.
On March 19 we also saw a "Petition of Roger Dickson, of Middleburg, to the King". But, uh-oh, this one is to "protes[t] his innocence of speaking evil against him [the King]".
About Sunday 18 March 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
To return to MBobryk's question of 2003: does Sam know where he's deploying, or is he waiting for Montagu to open the envelope-in-the-safe once on the open sea?
As of March 19 (new style - March 8 as Sam saw it) what Venetian ambassador Francesco Giavarina knew of the mission, was that "Parliament has (...) ordered [Montagu] to go on board the fleet and put to sea as soon as possible with a squadron, to cruise in the Channel and look after those parts where his presence may be required." Giavarina's dispatch is at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…. He also notes that "with the wind quite contrary Montagu cannot get out of the Thames, although urged to sail", which presumably the Diary will shortly confirm.
This should be the least that Sam and other men-about-town would likely know, but it's hard to believe that Sam in his position wouldn't have got the full briefing; or, in fact, that Montagu's orders are not to be found in some archive, though we're aware that records for the period are a bit of a mess.
About Tuesday 13 March 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Actually the Mercurius Politicus had a different take on the dreadful Anabaptist/Quaker plot for a new St. Barthelemy; says it was all overblown slander, and in Thomas Rugg's retelling,
"Now the common report cried out a great plot was intended there, said that theire was found armes enought for five thousand men; others said that all the Anabaptists were ready to rise and cut all the throats of them that weare not of theire judgment. But this is a true list of armes found in theire houses: Liut.-Col. Kiffin: two drumes, one pattisan [a kind of halberd], five old pikes, six swords; in Mallery House: three pistolls, two swords and his sons Hewlings fowling peece; Gosfrights house: three drumes, on[e] leadinge staff, one sword, and three birdinge pieces belonging' to a Dutch marchant and another frind of his; Captain Hewling: seven pikes, twelve musketts, seventeene swords".
For our purposes however, whether the plot was real, and even whether the fanaticks may have been expected to deem Sam's household "not of theire judgment" - needs not matter; the Fright was on, and Sam must have heard of it if the "common report" was so widespread. Indeed, another Rugg report dated "around march 10" says "att this time in the west country the gentry are very much afrighted, for the people called Quakers and Independents and Anabaptits and threatend to plunder, as report said, gentilmens houses and take away armes from the gentry because they stood for a free Parliment; in so much that gentilmen are forced to keep a garde in theire houses (...)"
About Tuesday 13 March 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
So, is Sam concerned about the wife's security if left on her own in chaotic London? He may as well, given that on March 12 (March 1st old style) Venetian ambassador Giavarina, in a particularly fascinating weekly cable (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) had this to report:
"The assembly [Parliament] has decided to establish a fresh militia because it is much afraid that the Anabaptists, Quakers and other very numerous and powerful sectaries, from dislike of the present parliament, entirely composed of Presbyterians and fomented by Lambert, Desbero and many other leaders of their faith, may be contemplating an insurrection. Indeed hearing of some beginnings of commotion in the North General Monch sent off some troops of horse to put it down and suppress any attempts these sectaries might try to make, who are cruel and bloody.
"There are still great numbers of them in this city, and it seems that on Sunday or Tuesday last they had planned to rise, break into the houses and kill all whom they came across. But this was foreseen and prevented by placing strong guards everywhere and by searching the houses in which sectaries might be living. In several they found arms and other warlike instruments with a quantity of knives especially designed for such wicked deeds. Some persons have been arrested and sent to the Tower."
Later in his report Giavarina notes that it's not all about politics and religion only:
"In their perplexity it has been suggested in parliament, to legitimate the coming elections, to summon the peers of the realm and get them to issue the writs in the king's name, inviting his Majesty to return to England, but with conditions and restrictions. But *to this are opposed all those who enjoy goods of the crown and bishops* [emphasis added], which are secularised, and all who had a part in the king's death, the first from the certainty of restitution and the others from fear of punishment."
About Friday 16 March 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Was the "one [who] came with a ladder" to whitewash "Exit Tyrannus" just acting on his own private initiative? Perhaps in this case the Mercurius, who calls him "a kind of a painter", was not fully informed, for we find in the State Papers a letter from "Wm. Doneman alias Mr Mills" to Charles' secretary Nicholas, informing him that "Yesterday, the very characters 'Exit tyrannus' (...) were *by order* [emphasis added] publicly obliterated *at noon* [emphasis also added - not around 5 pm as Sam heard], and 'Vive le Roy' put up instead" - nice touch. "There were bonfires in and about the Change".
"By order" of whom, would be nice to know. We likely won't.
About Thursday 8 March 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
At this time, as Sam begins to enter his new naval administrative universe, it also seems fit to record for future reference a State Paper of March 6, which very usefully spells out the Navy's debts as of February 1. This comes to £1,284,452, including £694,112 already paid for victuals and salaries and an "estimate of the charge of setting forth and maintaining a fleet of 13,065 men, for 9 month's service, to end the last of October 1660" that comes to £470,340 - a grand £0.13 per man/day - plus £20,000 (only) for maintenance, the yards' expenses and salaries for the commissioners and other London HQ staff, and £100,000 for contingencies. Even if the money be paid (small detail) this seems tight to say the least. May we already bid you welcome to the Naval budget, Mr. Pepys - ha ha ha ha haaaar.
About Thursday 8 March 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Navy commissioner Peter Pett, soon to become one of the Diary's major characters, makes an appearance in the State Papers today with a letter to Montague that we think a good illustration for the day's debate on naval appointments, and a showcase piece of the oiliest sort of 17th century favor-seeking:
After presenting Montague with a small gift - two ship models, the hobby which in 1667 is going to cost Pett so dearly - as "testimony of a grateful mind for those many great and undeserved favours plentifully vouchsafed to me and mine" (lowly worm that I am), Pett closes with "It is not good manners to give you the troble of importuning for employment for friends, especially considering how much you are tired of things of this nature, and far more weighty affairs being in hand". Oh yeah, Montague may have sighed at that point.
Pett continues after just a colon of a pause: ", else I should have craved leave to recommend Lieut. Rainborow, for his old employment in the Speaker, if not disposed of".
About Tuesday 6 March 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
"Every body now drinks the King’s health without any fear, whereas before it was very private that a man dare do it."
As Thomas Rugg his Diurnall puts it in its summary of the Mercurius Politicus for late February/early March,
"Now the times begane somwhat to cleare up and the dark cloudes to fly away, and good frinds had a littl freedome in theire speech, and peopl was in great hopes of liberty of persons as well altogeather of consience, for divers was freed out of prison, som that had layne ma[n]y years in prison.
"Almost every day men writ theire minds and printed it, and severall pretended letters in print, som from his Majestie, som from Major-Generall Marsey, som from Printed by a Person of Honour, and all to break the ice. These printed papers made towne talke and som beleeved that they ware very true".
About Saturday 18 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
The Mercurius Politicus has a lot of color (mostly red) to add to today's executions, so get your popcorn, sit back and enjoy:
"Theire were this day, beeinge the eighteene day of Febuary, one serjent and eight souldiers of the army, who were lately sentenced att the ore[?] cort marshall of the army, fouer of them to die and five of them to be tied to a gibbett with haulters about theire necks for half a houer and be whiped by the executioner on the beare back with a whipcord lash.
"They ware brought to the place of execution, which were att Charing Cross and over against Sumersett House in the Strond, where were two gibbetts erected; but by the mercy of the commissioners for the goverment of the army the fouer condemned to die ware premitted to cast lots for theire lives, two to die and the other two to be spared."
[Here let us pause & ponder the Government its benevolence, in staying of Jack Ketch the fearsome hand. Perfect time for the orange girls to work the Charing Cross crowd.]
"And the lots fell upon the two more notorious to die and the two [less] culpaple to be speared [a miracle!], and accordingly the two on whom the lots fell ware executed on two gibett[s]; the other two in prison till further order. And the other fouer (4) souldiers and serjent were whiped in maner aforesaid: the serjent 40 stripes, and 1 souldier had 21 stripes and the other three souldiers 39 stripes, and made capeabl never to serve in the army, not to bee entertained by any; if so, to have the same punishment inflicted on them againe."
If memory serves there's also around 40 of the prentices who rioted along, still in various prisons.
[We now embark on another Embassy to New Spain, far beyond easy reach of the post. We think this fit to Advertise as upon a previous disappearance we were fear'd to be dedd.]
About Saturday 11 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
One would expect a torrent of ballads to have been inspired by the lurid scenes. Surprisingly, the English Broadside Ballad Archive has only half a dozen on offer, that are from 1660 and contain the word "rump". Two of them allude to the cooking thereof:
Thats a thing that would please the Butchers and Cooks,
To see this stinking Rump quite off the hooks,
And Jack-Daw go to pot with the Rooks.
... in "Bumm-Foder, or Waste-Paper Proper to wipe the Nation's RUMP with, or your Own" [http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…] which makes clear that "kiss my Parliment" (that so amused us at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) was only the most demure variation on the theme. This ain't by far the spiciest bit of the song, and Sam would probably have heard them but no way he'd tell us. Also:
A Tail which was eaten up almost of the Pox,
That stunck more like Carion, than ever did Fox,
Or that which was rosted of late at the Stocks.
... in "The Rump serv'd in with a Grand Sallet [salad, at http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…] So it seems the rumps, not only being roasted, were somehow roasted at the stocks, where criminals normally be displayed. Ingenious!
Those two and a couple of slightly less scatological others, "Arsy Versy: Or, The Second Martyrdom of the RUMP" [http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…, with a stanza for Praise-God too] and "Chipps of the Old Block; or, Hercules Cleansing the Augaean Stable" [http://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/ball…] still make for excellent tavern-rousing and tankard-banging.
About Saturday 11 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
We're still in shock when remembrancing the Roasting. Can one over-emphasize the extra-ordinariness of the event? Venetian ambassador Giavarina, though hailing from the land of Carnival, does preface his weekly report of February 27 (new style, at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) "I have now to relate the sequel [to his previous dispatch], which is true though it seems impossible (...) No one who did not see it with his own eyes would credit the extravagant things that this fickle climate produces every day and it is hard to give full credence to the reports one receives especially as they refer to matters of extreme importance."
Interestingly the Gazette de France will, in a few days, publish an account of Monk's arrival and subsequent business, with no mention whatsoever of such unruliness in the streets. We infer that the French are so happy under the Sun King, that 'twould be un-Christian to spoil their moode with tales of heretick subversion.
About Friday 10 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
The weekly dispatches of Venetian ambassador Giavarina reach us only now (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) the mails being disturbed. In his dated February 20th (new style; today, old style) he agrees with our earlier comment, "Oooh, can't wait to see what happens tomorrow".
But his tone is darker: "It will be interesting to see what follows and it is much to be feared that in the end London will be put to the sack. The soldiers long for it and make this known everywhere, and certainly if it is granted them they will find incalculable wealth."
The soldiers in question being the mutinous ones that Monk is now trying to push to the countryside and replacing with his own. Note the codicil, "if it is granted" - sacking London perhaps being something that requires permission from, well, someone. It puts in context other reports of folks offering them money.
About Sunday 12 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Oh, and old Barebone and his windows, since we're still on his case. Monk's letter devotes a full page (page 9) to his petition for an anti-royalist oath: "a bold Petition (...) lately presented to you", of "dangerous consequence", of which we "[can]not silence our deep resentment" as it's full of "Venome". He almost seems to have grabbed his quill in response to Praise-God Barebone, though one doesn't just improvise a 14-page letter with 15 co-signatories on impulse. Very much in the eye of the storm, Barebone put 'imself. Or was put ("better if it comes from a saintly poor man like you, brother Praise-God. You'll have our full support of course.")
About Sunday 12 February 1659/60
Stephane Chenard • Link
Next, the Council pulls out a fresh piece of paper and writes to "the several garrisons in England". How to explain the situation, to troops already barely under control? Now, here's a gem for the Museum of Embarrassed Literature:
"We had tought fit to let you know that General Monk, by letter sent to the Parliament yesterday, desired among other things the filling up of their [Parliament's] number with due qualifications". Aye, that letter is spreading as fast as the presses and the post-horses can spread it, but thanks for telling us.
Alas, "many persons (...) who are ready to embrace and improve whatever may advantage the common enemies' interest, took an occasion from thence, groundlessly and falsely, to interpret that he had declared, and is resolved for a full and free Parliament, in that sense wherein those would understand it who long to see the good ends defeated which the Parliament has hitherto labored for, and are now faithfully pursuing, and the honest interest and dear concernments thereof ruined".
Say what? I know it's the 17th century and convoluted sentences are the norm, but we're only poor soldiers and had to re-read this three times to unwind all the hand-wringing. (Actually there ain't a one of us that can read, so it's our colonel who did). "Full and free parliament" doesn't appear in that letter but Monk's said he wants elections, right? "The People will have assurance that they shall have a Succession of Parliaments of their own Election", that be "the sense" at page 13 in https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo…. So ye're toast, Council of State.