Today John Tinker advises Sam that he's contracted for 40 pairs of oars, "not to be delivered till there be money to pay for them" (State Papers No. 187, https://play.google.com/books/rea…) Maybe a workable compromise, if it's OK with the oar-makers.
And, still tracking M. de la Roche: He's in Cowes. His English soldiers (now of dubious legality) include a son of Sir John Skelton. He's there to "prevent the Ostend privateers", and apparently didn't slaughter them all when he caught some. So, a gentleman on a mission for Good, with quality people aboard and good manners. Really nothing to worry about (State Papers No. 190).
The boxes make a lot of sense. It seems inconceivable that Sam, who is so fussy as to reject books that don't fit in the bookcases, would deface his beautiful (and expensive, and already labelled) book bindings with hundreds of little paper labels. Imagine the mess, with the glop that 1668 glue must have been; also, we see no labels or glue stains on the (few) books visible on Magdalene College's website. However, the office must have been awash in loose-leaf material, what with all these letters, and pamphlets, and the continual whirlwind of business, especially with no office-cleaning for a year. What to do with all that stuff? Folders? The history of file folders seems to start in the 19th century (we imagine that Sam would have killed for them). Boxes? Cardboard boxes are still 150+ years in the future, so wooden boxes; maybe pigeonholes. Those would need labels; would the girls, admirable creatures that they are, have been trusted with filing? Maybe not, but the boxes would need labels and, Sam being Sam, those would have to be all exactly the same size, and written just so.
Not really in Sam's department, beggin' your pardon, but we resist not mentioning the news sent this day by Capt. Silas Taylor from Harwich, that the ship which the Postmaster General of Holland, the delightfully named Mynheer Quack, had boarded last month to personally deliver the mail to England, and of which there had been no news, "was taken up safe in Camphere Downs with all his letters (...); the vessel had not shipped water, but no one was in her" (State Papers, No. 180, https://play.google.com/books/rea…)
Hopes that Quack & crew had jumped ships and were in Sweden (whatever for?) were disillusioned, as they never reappeared. And so here we are in Camphere Downs (wherever that is): a ghost ship! The Flying Dutchman, a century before its (reputed) time!
On this day the Very Busyness at the Office included a bit of unpleasantness, the writing with Lord Brouncker of a letter to the Governors of the Chest - the Chatham Chest, the fund for sick and wounded sailors which the recently departed Will Batten had managed and about which Sam had suspected Batten of hiding something. As he finally gets his hands on Batten's papers Sam has found that the rapscallion had indeed filched out £500 from the fund:
-- "Now, we think ourselves obliged to take notice of two particulars demanded in the account which we can by no means think (...) justifiable for us to allow, namely (...) £500 by Sir W. Batten himself in consideration of his pains. We are sorry this ill office was left to us to do after the death of Sir W. Batten, but you well knowing what endeavours were used by us in his lifetime to the obtaining a state of this account, and how he to the time of his death did avoid the giving of the same (...) [F]or this reward of £500 to himself, we do declare ourselves totally unsatisfied therewith, it being a work taken upon him with profession during his whole life of doing it in charity for the Chest, without any the least intimation in all his discourses of anything of profit expected by him for the same (...)"
And so the office would like the £500 "expunged", and disclaims liability. The angry letter (you don't want to meet a "Totally Unsatisfied" Sam Pepys), not part of this Society's collection, is in "The Letters of Samuel Pepys, 1656-1703" (Boydell Press, 2006) and may be viewed at the usual Hours at https://books.google.fr/books?id=…
Finally, we wish to briefly bookmark today's entry as a very rare instance of a clear historical record of a wink (one of only two in the whole Corpus Pepsycus). Non-verbal communication rarely fossilizes, and the learned Mr. Google, queried on the "history of winking", could tell us little more than the antiquity of the word, suggesting the act was, in Northern Europe, one of reverence to Odin the one-eyed god and, in the Biblical Levant (as per https://www.bible-history.com/isb…) evil except when made by God.
Speaking of intelligence and the French, ours is that Monsieur le Capitaine de la Roche has surfaced at Cowes, on the Isle of Wight, still tracking down his ships scattered by the storms and the Ostenders (the Gazette will report on it next week in its No. 236, but our sources run faster). Here's a man worth paying some spies to watch.
Secretary Morrice's sally on his intel budget in fact seems part of a tussle that might have been going on for at least a month, as he and Arlington were instructed sometime in January to "reduce the expense of intelligence to 4,000L a year" (State Papers No. 147, https://play.google.com/books/rea…) We expect that number to stick. Whether Sir Stephen's £6,000 should be added or pays for "secret services" other than riffling the letters of foreign princes, who knows; as paymaster of the forces he could pay for all manners of skull-crushing, or pyrate tracking, or even to hush up some great lady's gambling debt.
Knicknacks for foreign ambassadors are surely not always just for good memories either, wink wink. In that department, the Spanish ambassador who got ear pendants could sigh at the (unfortunately not easily searchable) Gazette de France, which last year reported that more than one of his colleagues walked out of Versailles with their entire portrait made out of diamonds and rubies.
We are advised from Plymouth this day (by https://play.google.com/books/rea…) that two French men-of-war departed from Looe and Fowey in Cornwall, having taken 160 soldiers, and then "dealt rudely" with some English vessels. Odd but... No. We disgress. Ships come and ships go, 'tis as ordinary as the French being insolent. Surely nothing larger will come from the incident. Pray forgive the interruption.
Routine memo on office trivia: On this day Sam is victualling Sir Thomas Allin. There's no fish left, so they get beef and peas (https://play.google.com/books/rea…) Yawn. One wonder where Allin is going, what his adventures will be? The expectation is the Streights and sunny Barbary - nice at this season, but you never know. How droll if he should come across his old nemesis, the gallant French admiral Gilles de La Roche Saint-André... an important man now, and what mustache! They could have a gentlemanly reunion and talk around coffee of Anglo-French friendship and reminiscences.
The Royal Society today at Arundel House – from its Secret Archyves:
mr Pepys: letter fovnd from an Anonymovs Gentleman on a book lately pvblished in Paris cavsing Rigidness of the Body and Expression of Hvmors. The Company ordered mr Oldenburg to obtain the Book with all expediency; the Cvrator to procure a dog for Experimenting the reported effects.
Nobody is terrorizing the south coast right now (for which God be praised), but that could change if England goes too far in its friendship with Spain, and providing help and shelter to their current privateers the Ostenders could qualify. What Louis thinks of the English Navy, we'll have to ask him, but it's still got a lot of ships and occasionally he gets walloped in the West Indies, so "toothless and defenceless" shouldn't be in it. But yeah, some of the ports are a bit lonely, and burning down one or two would be easy, and arguably the logical thing to do against piracy.
So, given the recent deals with Spain and the States and the fury in which Louis reportedly flew when he learned of the latter, 'tis the season to not be nasty to the Frogs. On this very day, another 12 horses are on their way as a personal gift from Charles (maybe with large tattoos that say "personal gift from Charles, your brother") to no less than the marquis de Turenne, who happens to command all French troops in Flanders (https://play.google.com/books/rea…) Whether a treaty is in the works, we're not sayin', but the all-knowing Venetian ambassador reported today that Temple had actually threatened De Witz to sign one with France if the Dutch didn't (No. 277 in https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) And remember that St. Albans was in Paris recently; and it surely wasn't to visit the Eiffel tower.
Speaking of mysteries however, here's another one: a rumor in France, which agent Anthony Thorold is picking up from arriving vessels and preparing to report (it will appear at https://play.google.com/books/rea…) that Louis expects to capture all of Flanders by summertime, "except Ostend". Except Ostend? Is it that well defended? Or would Louis consider that missile launchpad better potentially too useful to burn to the ground? And useful against who, then?
Apart from that, in the next few days Sam will be Very Busy with a letter sent him this day by a Captain John Poyntz, who "would undertake to make a lighthouse, and build a castle on the Goodwin Sands (...) and if I did not complete them this summer, would be bound to lose my life". Poyntz then says it would be cheap, too, and asks Sam to get "the King and Council" to provide him, among other supplies, "2 open vessels of 30 tons each (...) with 100 carpenters, seamen, and labourers to be in the King's pay". (State Papers, No. 111, https://play.google.com/books/rea…) It's tempting to imagine that letter being passed around the Office as the day's crank piece ("he bets his life on building a castle on sand? How' bout just his honor, if he don't deliver we could do him like it says in that book of yours, Mr. Sam"), but next week Sam will draft no less than four letters to the Commissioners, so it may have been taken seriously.
Captain Poyntz isn't unknown, in 1664 he was Clerk Comptroller of the office of the Master of the Revels, which licensed lotteries and entertainment of all sorts (https://www.pepysdiary.com/encycl…) So of course now he could be building a lighthouse; why, you Office boys could then visit for, you know, Revels. A lighthouse on the Goodwin Sands would indeed have been a good idea, as the treacherous sandbank will cause shipwrecks by the thousands, but it won't be acted upon before around 200 years (https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/…) We wish Poyntz had kept a Journall too.
The proclamation which the State Papers calendars as of February 8 is actually slightly more lenient in the version, dated February 7 (of which our spy brought us the galley proofs yesterday), to appear in the next Gazette. We now wonder at which may be the version of record, however the Gazette version is more detailed, printed by Authority, and is what the Publick at large will have seen. Significantly, it doesn't prohibit all sales of prize goods, only those from "Privateers with foreign Commission" (pfew, big sigh of relief there). It also doesn't quite shut the door on foreign adventures, except "without leave from His Majesty", or HRH or the High Admiral. For the record it also doesn't ask port officers to restrain mutual enemies for two tides, which may be a long time to delay a foreign warship intent on action, but to keep them from sailing on the same tide - within the reach of "just one more signature" or "we can't find the key" delaying tactics. (Or maybe, "we're trying to get through to a Mr Pepys in London but at this time he's often in the theater, so sorry captain").
Neutrality (for now) indeed seems a good idea as the Most Christian seems so intent on dragging half of Europe into war, and England (for now, in the person of Sandwich) being the peacemaker between Spain and Portugal, but the decree would also serve a Noble Purpose in fixing some of the chaos in the Channel and North Sea. The Gazette version's preamble references "the Insolencies of private Men of War", a clear allusion to the Ostenders' unrestrained plundering of French ships (a favorite tactic is to strip the crew, we wonder how thoroughly), then often dragging them for sale into English ports (imagine the complications if they got resold there). They tend to leave English vessels alone, but not always, and recall that they recently plucked a Portuguese right from an English dock. English privateers are also going by the hundreds to the Continent and, apart from their getting into contact with the French, have turned up en masse in Dutch crews, boasting it pays better than the Navy. Ultimately this all seems favorable to the French; Charles wouldn't be laying the groundwork for an alliance with them, now?
In the background to today's discourse on securing the Medway there continues to be quite a bit of administrative housecleaning and overhaul. Predictably, Peter Pett's commission has just been revoked (terse notice in the State Papers, https://play.google.com/books/rea…) and he will now disappear from the Pepys radar, supposedly to be replaced by a "John Taylor" though that seems to be a typo for John Tippets.
Also today, Mr. Williamson was handed one hell of a royal decree to insert in the Gazette, at which he must have grumbled because it will take nearly half of the space in No. 233, covering February 6-10. Dated "Whitehall, Feb. 7", in a nutshell it enjoins everyone to be nice to each other while their ships are in an English port - a certain recent incident involving a Portuguese ship comes to mind - but it also prohibits his Majesties Subjects from entering "the Martial service of any Foreign Prince or State (...) or go in any Merchant, or Fishing voyage, in any Ship or Vessel, than such as belong to His Majesties own Subjects, without leave"; anyone in such foreign employ, even to fish herring, being commanded to appear and register "upon pain of being reputed and punished as Pirats". Not really in Sam's department but we expect it will be fodder for tavern talk at the Swan, and you may want to tell your friends who went on mercenary adventures in Flanders or who took employment with French fishermen and who don't keep up with the Gazette.
Well, surely this day was as fit for a diary as any. But is Sam a True Englishman? We ask, because on this day some self-styled "True Englishmen" sent Parliament their "complaints", a 16-page tract (in verse!) called "Vox & Lacrimae Anglorum". The authorship isn't clear and it's hardly an opinion poll, but since we won't get any for at least a couple of centuries it's interesting to check which boxes Sam, often pessimistic on the Kingdom's state and prospects, would tick in the fairly broad range of what the Anglorum consider the issues of the day. The summary is in the State Papers, No. 85, https://play.google.com/books/rea…
Tick eagerly: "want of pay for the seamen; (...) the money spent on the Queen mother and on the King's mistresses; (...) praying for (...) the relief of debtors" [Sam having to relieve debtors himself often enough].
Maybe tick: "partiality in the administration of justice; (...) praying for (...) the restoration of faithful ministers".
Not ticking, or no stated opinion: "heavy taxation [well, Sam's on the side that spends the taxes anyway], decrease of trade; (...) predominance of Popery, and persecution of nonconformists [at least, not for now]; of want of justice against those who set London on fire [Sam's not a conspirationist]; (...) of religion being made a stalking horse to idolatry. Praying for (...) the putting down of monopolies [what monopolies?], (...) encouragement of husbandry [ha ha, maybe he would dodge that one], and justice against 'perfidious Clarendon'". The latter may or may not reflect public sentiment; we suspect it's prudent to put "down with Clarendon" on every document including the baker's bill these days.
Not mentioned in the "Vox & Lacrimae", but big issues on planet Sam: insecurity in the Ruines; insipid plays with bad actors; cost of coach rides; intrusive committees.
While Sam wanders from tavern to tavern, worrying that maybe Cocke this and maybe the plate that, and before he vents all this tension at poor Hewer and ultimately in today's slightly long, long and slightly rambling Journall entry, our spy at the Savoy brought us a dispatch, dated this day from Whitehall, which will appear in the next issue (No. 222) of the Gazette, dated February 3-6.
It says His Majesty told the Council board last week (on January 31) that four standing committees would henceforth manage the biggest chunks of its daily business. There is to be one for Foreign Affairs, one for Trade, one for "Complaints and Grievances" (good luck with that one) and a "Committee for such matters as concern the Admiralty and Navy, as also all Military affairs, Fortifications, &c.", chaired by HRH.
So, it looks like someone has invented the Ministry of Defence. Sam, who hates shambolic meetings where incompetents toss problems around with no agenda or results, should be all for it and could thrive in this new world of efficiency and planning. Except it's one more committee on top of him, and possibly a new layer between him and the Top, isn't it.
We tend to agree that it's hard to see what a solemn letter to His Grace can change exactly. Everybody knows England is broke and the Duke sees the Commissioners all the time. But this letter we only learn of now cannot be just the morning's idea and it may be meant to circulate more broadly. If examples are needed to illustrate the situation, Sam won't have to dig very deep in the mailbag, which provides an endless stream of whimperings about money and in which, on this day in Portsmouth, John Tinker is throwing the following to Sam's attention:
-- Capt. John Tinker to Sam Pepys: (...) The oar-makers are content to make 20s. and to comply with their contract, but doubt the goodness of the pay, alleging that they sold goods to the purveyor for ready money, and are yet unpaid; their faith is weak. If I make it my own debt, they will be contented. (...) [State Papers, No. 43, https://play.google.com/books/rea…]
And so on and so forth, from the oar-makers, the sail-makers, the rope-makers, the timbermen, the caulkers and all the rest. On January 29 Chris Pett wrote of trying to recover eight caulkers "employed in the river", apparently in private business, who told him "they will rather be hanged than come, unless they can be better paid"; and so he asked for a press warrant. Enough expedients are found for some business to continue, notably big salvage projects to rebuild the Royal Oak and a first-rate newbuild, the Charles. It's actually not so bad; according to threedecks.org over 1667-68 the Navy will acquire 55 ships of all sizes, while the Dutch State Navy and its five admiralties will add 33, and the warmongering French 35. But the incessant battering of grouchy and grubby tradesmen is surely enough to make a honest clerk want to go paste labels in his library.
On this day William Acworth, a man Sam (he will later say) rather likes, and who holds the dangerous job of storekeeper at the Woolwich dockyard, writes to Sam for a copy of a petition filed against him by a Mr. Clayton (not readily traceable). Sam hasn't written of Acworth since 1665, but this year he will spend quite a bit of time on the Acworth saga, which centers on accusations of stealing (what else) cordage. So stay tuned. For now the letter is in the State Papers, at https://play.google.com/books/rea…. Its summary is not especially fascinating except where it also mentions the stores receiving 140 tons of hemp. 140 tons. Imagine how far we could go if just 0.01% of that should happen to fall off the cart.
If Sam read the Most Christian's pamphlet in the Gazette, as L&M says and seems most probable, then what he had in hand was Gazette No. 29, dated January 23-27 and containing items dated through the 25th. Indeed the "Circulatory Letter" from Versailles is datelined "Whitehall, Jan. 25". This is indeed the latest issue, the ink still smudgy on Sam's fingers, a useful calibration point on how fast he gets the paper. The Carte collection retains a 3-page copy of the letter in French (Carte 46, dated Jan. 27), so it also circulated in pamphlet form and it's possible Sam got hold of one.
In typical style Louis presents himself as the greatest Friend to Peace there ever was, and says "he has no Design by this Expedition to put any Obstacle to the Peace". But of course. By all reports the French conquest of Brussels, Lille and the surrounding country has been increasingly brutal. It's also been no picnic for the French forces so, seen from London, a second front in Franche Comte can look like a welcome diversion from the northern theater.
Interestingly, the Louis letter is printed in the Gazette in a font about twice as large as the rest of the news. It could be deference to the majestic author. Or - though Gazette 229 covers more or less the usual time interval, of 3-4 days - it could be that the news was indeed considered so hot as to warrant rushing publication and spreading it in all the space that remained available on page 2. Williamson may have been scooping out someone, or ordered by "Whitehall, Jan. 25" to print it a.s.a.p.
The pilferers *were* publicly punished in the stocks? But Sam wanted to go! Why are they telling him after the fact? He had saved a whole crate of rotten vegetables for the Tormenting & Pelting! Why does he always get all the work and none of the fun?
And soon, you'll see, they'll be in his lap, whining until they "obtain it from the Navy Commissioners".
Sigh. Ah well. Let's look at the bright side. The letter doesn't say they got their ears cut off, so maybe Sam didn't miss so much after all. Of course. Setting the example is fine but we need the ropemakers; can't antagonize those who possess the Art. And at least they don't know who Sam is.
Perhaps they could get transported to Tangiers? Once there they'd be rescued by the graceful Lord Pepys, and put to good use in new Tangiers Ropeyards. In five years it would be an empire, our ropes would sell all the way to Tartary.
Nah. Get real. Sam is no Houblon. Let's not be hubristic on Lord's day.
What to do with the veggies now? Take them to the theater maybe. Or feed them to the Boy.
Comments
Second Reading
About Sunday 16 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
Today John Tinker advises Sam that he's contracted for 40 pairs of oars, "not to be delivered till there be money to pay for them" (State Papers No. 187, https://play.google.com/books/rea…) Maybe a workable compromise, if it's OK with the oar-makers.
And, still tracking M. de la Roche: He's in Cowes. His English soldiers (now of dubious legality) include a son of Sir John Skelton. He's there to "prevent the Ostend privateers", and apparently didn't slaughter them all when he caught some. So, a gentleman on a mission for Good, with quality people aboard and good manners. Really nothing to worry about (State Papers No. 190).
About Saturday 15 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
The boxes make a lot of sense. It seems inconceivable that Sam, who is so fussy as to reject books that don't fit in the bookcases, would deface his beautiful (and expensive, and already labelled) book bindings with hundreds of little paper labels. Imagine the mess, with the glop that 1668 glue must have been; also, we see no labels or glue stains on the (few) books visible on Magdalene College's website. However, the office must have been awash in loose-leaf material, what with all these letters, and pamphlets, and the continual whirlwind of business, especially with no office-cleaning for a year. What to do with all that stuff? Folders? The history of file folders seems to start in the 19th century (we imagine that Sam would have killed for them). Boxes? Cardboard boxes are still 150+ years in the future, so wooden boxes; maybe pigeonholes. Those would need labels; would the girls, admirable creatures that they are, have been trusted with filing? Maybe not, but the boxes would need labels and, Sam being Sam, those would have to be all exactly the same size, and written just so.
About Saturday 15 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
Not really in Sam's department, beggin' your pardon, but we resist not mentioning the news sent this day by Capt. Silas Taylor from Harwich, that the ship which the Postmaster General of Holland, the delightfully named Mynheer Quack, had boarded last month to personally deliver the mail to England, and of which there had been no news, "was taken up safe in Camphere Downs with all his letters (...); the vessel had not shipped water, but no one was in her" (State Papers, No. 180, https://play.google.com/books/rea…)
Hopes that Quack & crew had jumped ships and were in Sweden (whatever for?) were disillusioned, as they never reappeared. And so here we are in Camphere Downs (wherever that is): a ghost ship! The Flying Dutchman, a century before its (reputed) time!
Whatever you do, don't accept those letters!
About Thursday 6 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
On this day the Very Busyness at the Office included a bit of unpleasantness, the writing with Lord Brouncker of a letter to the Governors of the Chest - the Chatham Chest, the fund for sick and wounded sailors which the recently departed Will Batten had managed and about which Sam had suspected Batten of hiding something. As he finally gets his hands on Batten's papers Sam has found that the rapscallion had indeed filched out £500 from the fund:
-- "Now, we think ourselves obliged to take notice of two particulars demanded in the account which we can by no means think (...) justifiable for us to allow, namely (...) £500 by Sir W. Batten himself in consideration of his pains. We are sorry this ill office was left to us to do after the death of Sir W. Batten, but you well knowing what endeavours were used by us in his lifetime to the obtaining a state of this account, and how he to the time of his death did avoid the giving of the same (...) [F]or this reward of £500 to himself, we do declare ourselves totally unsatisfied therewith, it being a work taken upon him with profession during his whole life of doing it in charity for the Chest, without any the least intimation in all his discourses of anything of profit expected by him for the same (...)"
And so the office would like the £500 "expunged", and disclaims liability. The angry letter (you don't want to meet a "Totally Unsatisfied" Sam Pepys), not part of this Society's collection, is in "The Letters of Samuel Pepys, 1656-1703" (Boydell Press, 2006) and may be viewed at the usual Hours at https://books.google.fr/books?id=…
About Friday 14 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
Finally, we wish to briefly bookmark today's entry as a very rare instance of a clear historical record of a wink (one of only two in the whole Corpus Pepsycus). Non-verbal communication rarely fossilizes, and the learned Mr. Google, queried on the "history of winking", could tell us little more than the antiquity of the word, suggesting the act was, in Northern Europe, one of reverence to Odin the one-eyed god and, in the Biblical Levant (as per https://www.bible-history.com/isb…) evil except when made by God.
About Friday 14 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
Speaking of intelligence and the French, ours is that Monsieur le Capitaine de la Roche has surfaced at Cowes, on the Isle of Wight, still tracking down his ships scattered by the storms and the Ostenders (the Gazette will report on it next week in its No. 236, but our sources run faster). Here's a man worth paying some spies to watch.
About Friday 14 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
Secretary Morrice's sally on his intel budget in fact seems part of a tussle that might have been going on for at least a month, as he and Arlington were instructed sometime in January to "reduce the expense of intelligence to 4,000L a year" (State Papers No. 147, https://play.google.com/books/rea…) We expect that number to stick. Whether Sir Stephen's £6,000 should be added or pays for "secret services" other than riffling the letters of foreign princes, who knows; as paymaster of the forces he could pay for all manners of skull-crushing, or pyrate tracking, or even to hush up some great lady's gambling debt.
Knicknacks for foreign ambassadors are surely not always just for good memories either, wink wink. In that department, the Spanish ambassador who got ear pendants could sigh at the (unfortunately not easily searchable) Gazette de France, which last year reported that more than one of his colleagues walked out of Versailles with their entire portrait made out of diamonds and rubies.
About Wednesday 12 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
We are advised from Plymouth this day (by https://play.google.com/books/rea…) that two French men-of-war departed from Looe and Fowey in Cornwall, having taken 160 soldiers, and then "dealt rudely" with some English vessels. Odd but... No. We disgress. Ships come and ships go, 'tis as ordinary as the French being insolent. Surely nothing larger will come from the incident. Pray forgive the interruption.
About Monday 10 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
Routine memo on office trivia: On this day Sam is victualling Sir Thomas Allin. There's no fish left, so they get beef and peas (https://play.google.com/books/rea…) Yawn. One wonder where Allin is going, what his adventures will be? The expectation is the Streights and sunny Barbary - nice at this season, but you never know. How droll if he should come across his old nemesis, the gallant French admiral Gilles de La Roche Saint-André... an important man now, and what mustache! They could have a gentlemanly reunion and talk around coffee of Anglo-French friendship and reminiscences.
About Sunday 9 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
The Royal Society today at Arundel House – from its Secret Archyves:
mr Pepys: letter fovnd from an Anonymovs Gentleman on a book lately pvblished in Paris cavsing Rigidness of the Body and Expression of Hvmors. The Company ordered mr Oldenburg to obtain the Book with all expediency; the Cvrator to procure a dog for Experimenting the reported effects.
About Saturday 8 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
Nobody is terrorizing the south coast right now (for which God be praised), but that could change if England goes too far in its friendship with Spain, and providing help and shelter to their current privateers the Ostenders could qualify. What Louis thinks of the English Navy, we'll have to ask him, but it's still got a lot of ships and occasionally he gets walloped in the West Indies, so "toothless and defenceless" shouldn't be in it. But yeah, some of the ports are a bit lonely, and burning down one or two would be easy, and arguably the logical thing to do against piracy.
So, given the recent deals with Spain and the States and the fury in which Louis reportedly flew when he learned of the latter, 'tis the season to not be nasty to the Frogs. On this very day, another 12 horses are on their way as a personal gift from Charles (maybe with large tattoos that say "personal gift from Charles, your brother") to no less than the marquis de Turenne, who happens to command all French troops in Flanders (https://play.google.com/books/rea…) Whether a treaty is in the works, we're not sayin', but the all-knowing Venetian ambassador reported today that Temple had actually threatened De Witz to sign one with France if the Dutch didn't (No. 277 in https://www.british-history.ac.uk…) And remember that St. Albans was in Paris recently; and it surely wasn't to visit the Eiffel tower.
Speaking of mysteries however, here's another one: a rumor in France, which agent Anthony Thorold is picking up from arriving vessels and preparing to report (it will appear at https://play.google.com/books/rea…) that Louis expects to capture all of Flanders by summertime, "except Ostend". Except Ostend? Is it that well defended? Or would Louis consider that missile launchpad better potentially too useful to burn to the ground? And useful against who, then?
About Saturday 8 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
Apart from that, in the next few days Sam will be Very Busy with a letter sent him this day by a Captain John Poyntz, who "would undertake to make a lighthouse, and build a castle on the Goodwin Sands (...) and if I did not complete them this summer, would be bound to lose my life". Poyntz then says it would be cheap, too, and asks Sam to get "the King and Council" to provide him, among other supplies, "2 open vessels of 30 tons each (...) with 100 carpenters, seamen, and labourers to be in the King's pay". (State Papers, No. 111, https://play.google.com/books/rea…) It's tempting to imagine that letter being passed around the Office as the day's crank piece ("he bets his life on building a castle on sand? How' bout just his honor, if he don't deliver we could do him like it says in that book of yours, Mr. Sam"), but next week Sam will draft no less than four letters to the Commissioners, so it may have been taken seriously.
Captain Poyntz isn't unknown, in 1664 he was Clerk Comptroller of the office of the Master of the Revels, which licensed lotteries and entertainment of all sorts (https://www.pepysdiary.com/encycl…) So of course now he could be building a lighthouse; why, you Office boys could then visit for, you know, Revels. A lighthouse on the Goodwin Sands would indeed have been a good idea, as the treacherous sandbank will cause shipwrecks by the thousands, but it won't be acted upon before around 200 years (https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/…) We wish Poyntz had kept a Journall too.
About Saturday 8 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
The proclamation which the State Papers calendars as of February 8 is actually slightly more lenient in the version, dated February 7 (of which our spy brought us the galley proofs yesterday), to appear in the next Gazette. We now wonder at which may be the version of record, however the Gazette version is more detailed, printed by Authority, and is what the Publick at large will have seen. Significantly, it doesn't prohibit all sales of prize goods, only those from "Privateers with foreign Commission" (pfew, big sigh of relief there). It also doesn't quite shut the door on foreign adventures, except "without leave from His Majesty", or HRH or the High Admiral. For the record it also doesn't ask port officers to restrain mutual enemies for two tides, which may be a long time to delay a foreign warship intent on action, but to keep them from sailing on the same tide - within the reach of "just one more signature" or "we can't find the key" delaying tactics. (Or maybe, "we're trying to get through to a Mr Pepys in London but at this time he's often in the theater, so sorry captain").
Neutrality (for now) indeed seems a good idea as the Most Christian seems so intent on dragging half of Europe into war, and England (for now, in the person of Sandwich) being the peacemaker between Spain and Portugal, but the decree would also serve a Noble Purpose in fixing some of the chaos in the Channel and North Sea. The Gazette version's preamble references "the Insolencies of private Men of War", a clear allusion to the Ostenders' unrestrained plundering of French ships (a favorite tactic is to strip the crew, we wonder how thoroughly), then often dragging them for sale into English ports (imagine the complications if they got resold there). They tend to leave English vessels alone, but not always, and recall that they recently plucked a Portuguese right from an English dock. English privateers are also going by the hundreds to the Continent and, apart from their getting into contact with the French, have turned up en masse in Dutch crews, boasting it pays better than the Navy. Ultimately this all seems favorable to the French; Charles wouldn't be laying the groundwork for an alliance with them, now?
About Friday 7 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
In the background to today's discourse on securing the Medway there continues to be quite a bit of administrative housecleaning and overhaul. Predictably, Peter Pett's commission has just been revoked (terse notice in the State Papers, https://play.google.com/books/rea…) and he will now disappear from the Pepys radar, supposedly to be replaced by a "John Taylor" though that seems to be a typo for John Tippets.
Also today, Mr. Williamson was handed one hell of a royal decree to insert in the Gazette, at which he must have grumbled because it will take nearly half of the space in No. 233, covering February 6-10. Dated "Whitehall, Feb. 7", in a nutshell it enjoins everyone to be nice to each other while their ships are in an English port - a certain recent incident involving a Portuguese ship comes to mind - but it also prohibits his Majesties Subjects from entering "the Martial service of any Foreign Prince or State (...) or go in any Merchant, or Fishing voyage, in any Ship or Vessel, than such as belong to His Majesties own Subjects, without leave"; anyone in such foreign employ, even to fish herring, being commanded to appear and register "upon pain of being reputed and punished as Pirats". Not really in Sam's department but we expect it will be fodder for tavern talk at the Swan, and you may want to tell your friends who went on mercenary adventures in Flanders or who took employment with French fishermen and who don't keep up with the Gazette.
About Thursday 6 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
Well, surely this day was as fit for a diary as any. But is Sam a True Englishman? We ask, because on this day some self-styled "True Englishmen" sent Parliament their "complaints", a 16-page tract (in verse!) called "Vox & Lacrimae Anglorum". The authorship isn't clear and it's hardly an opinion poll, but since we won't get any for at least a couple of centuries it's interesting to check which boxes Sam, often pessimistic on the Kingdom's state and prospects, would tick in the fairly broad range of what the Anglorum consider the issues of the day. The summary is in the State Papers, No. 85, https://play.google.com/books/rea…
Tick eagerly: "want of pay for the seamen; (...) the money spent on the Queen mother and on the King's mistresses; (...) praying for (...) the relief of debtors" [Sam having to relieve debtors himself often enough].
Maybe tick: "partiality in the administration of justice; (...) praying for (...) the restoration of faithful ministers".
Not ticking, or no stated opinion: "heavy taxation [well, Sam's on the side that spends the taxes anyway], decrease of trade; (...) predominance of Popery, and persecution of nonconformists [at least, not for now]; of want of justice against those who set London on fire [Sam's not a conspirationist]; (...) of religion being made a stalking horse to idolatry. Praying for (...) the putting down of monopolies [what monopolies?], (...) encouragement of husbandry [ha ha, maybe he would dodge that one], and justice against 'perfidious Clarendon'". The latter may or may not reflect public sentiment; we suspect it's prudent to put "down with Clarendon" on every document including the baker's bill these days.
Not mentioned in the "Vox & Lacrimae", but big issues on planet Sam: insecurity in the Ruines; insipid plays with bad actors; cost of coach rides; intrusive committees.
About Wednesday 5 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
While Sam wanders from tavern to tavern, worrying that maybe Cocke this and maybe the plate that, and before he vents all this tension at poor Hewer and ultimately in today's slightly long, long and slightly rambling Journall entry, our spy at the Savoy brought us a dispatch, dated this day from Whitehall, which will appear in the next issue (No. 222) of the Gazette, dated February 3-6.
It says His Majesty told the Council board last week (on January 31) that four standing committees would henceforth manage the biggest chunks of its daily business. There is to be one for Foreign Affairs, one for Trade, one for "Complaints and Grievances" (good luck with that one) and a "Committee for such matters as concern the Admiralty and Navy, as also all Military affairs, Fortifications, &c.", chaired by HRH.
So, it looks like someone has invented the Ministry of Defence. Sam, who hates shambolic meetings where incompetents toss problems around with no agenda or results, should be all for it and could thrive in this new world of efficiency and planning. Except it's one more committee on top of him, and possibly a new layer between him and the Top, isn't it.
About Tuesday 4 February 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
We tend to agree that it's hard to see what a solemn letter to His Grace can change exactly. Everybody knows England is broke and the Duke sees the Commissioners all the time. But this letter we only learn of now cannot be just the morning's idea and it may be meant to circulate more broadly. If examples are needed to illustrate the situation, Sam won't have to dig very deep in the mailbag, which provides an endless stream of whimperings about money and in which, on this day in Portsmouth, John Tinker is throwing the following to Sam's attention:
-- Capt. John Tinker to Sam Pepys: (...) The oar-makers are content to make 20s. and to comply with their contract, but doubt the goodness of the pay, alleging that they sold goods to the purveyor for ready money, and are yet unpaid; their faith is weak. If I make it my own debt, they will be contented. (...) [State Papers, No. 43, https://play.google.com/books/rea…]
And so on and so forth, from the oar-makers, the sail-makers, the rope-makers, the timbermen, the caulkers and all the rest. On January 29 Chris Pett wrote of trying to recover eight caulkers "employed in the river", apparently in private business, who told him "they will rather be hanged than come, unless they can be better paid"; and so he asked for a press warrant. Enough expedients are found for some business to continue, notably big salvage projects to rebuild the Royal Oak and a first-rate newbuild, the Charles. It's actually not so bad; according to threedecks.org over 1667-68 the Navy will acquire 55 ships of all sizes, while the Dutch State Navy and its five admiralties will add 33, and the warmongering French 35. But the incessant battering of grouchy and grubby tradesmen is surely enough to make a honest clerk want to go paste labels in his library.
About Thursday 30 January 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
On this day William Acworth, a man Sam (he will later say) rather likes, and who holds the dangerous job of storekeeper at the Woolwich dockyard, writes to Sam for a copy of a petition filed against him by a Mr. Clayton (not readily traceable). Sam hasn't written of Acworth since 1665, but this year he will spend quite a bit of time on the Acworth saga, which centers on accusations of stealing (what else) cordage. So stay tuned. For now the letter is in the State Papers, at https://play.google.com/books/rea…. Its summary is not especially fascinating except where it also mentions the stores receiving 140 tons of hemp. 140 tons. Imagine how far we could go if just 0.01% of that should happen to fall off the cart.
About Monday 27 January 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
If Sam read the Most Christian's pamphlet in the Gazette, as L&M says and seems most probable, then what he had in hand was Gazette No. 29, dated January 23-27 and containing items dated through the 25th. Indeed the "Circulatory Letter" from Versailles is datelined "Whitehall, Jan. 25". This is indeed the latest issue, the ink still smudgy on Sam's fingers, a useful calibration point on how fast he gets the paper. The Carte collection retains a 3-page copy of the letter in French (Carte 46, dated Jan. 27), so it also circulated in pamphlet form and it's possible Sam got hold of one.
In typical style Louis presents himself as the greatest Friend to Peace there ever was, and says "he has no Design by this Expedition to put any Obstacle to the Peace". But of course. By all reports the French conquest of Brussels, Lille and the surrounding country has been increasingly brutal. It's also been no picnic for the French forces so, seen from London, a second front in Franche Comte can look like a welcome diversion from the northern theater.
Interestingly, the Louis letter is printed in the Gazette in a font about twice as large as the rest of the news. It could be deference to the majestic author. Or - though Gazette 229 covers more or less the usual time interval, of 3-4 days - it could be that the news was indeed considered so hot as to warrant rushing publication and spreading it in all the space that remained available on page 2. Williamson may have been scooping out someone, or ordered by "Whitehall, Jan. 25" to print it a.s.a.p.
About Sunday 26 January 1667/68
Stephane Chenard • Link
The pilferers *were* publicly punished in the stocks? But Sam wanted to go! Why are they telling him after the fact? He had saved a whole crate of rotten vegetables for the Tormenting & Pelting! Why does he always get all the work and none of the fun?
And soon, you'll see, they'll be in his lap, whining until they "obtain it from the Navy Commissioners".
Sigh. Ah well. Let's look at the bright side. The letter doesn't say they got their ears cut off, so maybe Sam didn't miss so much after all. Of course. Setting the example is fine but we need the ropemakers; can't antagonize those who possess the Art. And at least they don't know who Sam is.
Perhaps they could get transported to Tangiers? Once there they'd be rescued by the graceful Lord Pepys, and put to good use in new Tangiers Ropeyards. In five years it would be an empire, our ropes would sell all the way to Tartary.
Nah. Get real. Sam is no Houblon. Let's not be hubristic on Lord's day.
What to do with the veggies now? Take them to the theater maybe. Or feed them to the Boy.