Of kings exil'd, and what they're good for: There's a long tradition. Wikipedia has a "List of heads of state or government who have been in exile". C2K is in there, between two colleagues from Portugal and China and along with over 300 others from Pisitratus of Athens to Jair Bolsonaro, including another Charles II (of Brunswick). In his exile he's certainly been recogniz'd as the King, but that didn't mean having money, or being promised some and then stiffed (by Spain), or not being used by France as a pawn against Spain, or not being snubbed by various local nobles and governors, or not having to dodge possible kidnap or arrest (recall Charles was recently advised by Monk to stay off Spanish territory, and check out this hilarious episode at the end of the duke of York's memoirs, link supplied by Susan at http://archive.org/stream/memoirs…, when he's dodging the law in Calais). It's just not the same as really being the King.
The Mercurius Politicus (as paraphrased by Thomas Rugg much later) reads like it was right there with an embedded reporter, and has this color to add:
"The Lord Montague received a letter from his Majestie; upon this hee commanded a great gunne, upon which his officers came to him. Bein' all come aborde the Admiral [the Naseby], the letter was read in the presents of [follow the names of only nine captains]. Now at the readinge of this letter the commanders stood up and was all beare headed (...) Then the Generall fired the first gun; then he professed their due obeadince to his Majestie. This don, he said God save the King! God bless his Majesty! Then presently might you have seene the fleet in hir prid, with pendents loose, gunes roaringe, caps flyin', and loud vive le roys echoed from on ship to another. The Generall gave two pipes of conbary to the commanders and gentilmen in his shipe."
Details, details: if nine captains constitute "all" of them, then of the 32 ships which Montague had listed but recently, most indeed have departed for Gibraltar, but that's no longer very much of a fleet. No "pipes of canary" for them, too; those, if we understand well, are not ceremonial pipes inscribed "vive le roy, 3 May 1660" to smoke while reminiscing many years hence, but fairly large barrels of Madeira ("Canary") wine. Sam must have been busy, or already left, to miss My Lord firing the great gunne, which otherwise sounds too good not to be in the Diary.
Then Sam went ship to ship. Hard to believe he wasn't offered a tipple every time, but aye he may have declined at some point, because getting onto and off each ship - at least nine of them, then - must involve dealing with the rope ladder, which is a fairly hard and possibly dangerous thing to do (absent the indignity of being hauled in a basket). However our Sam has good legs and plenty of stamina, and in fact was so pumped up that he didn't even break his account between entries for May 3 and May 4, but carried on with "up again at three in the morning" still in the May 3 entry.
Deal, however, is one of these dismal little ports where the fleet has offloaded its sick and injured, care of the local poor in the absence of any naval hospital. On April 16, Montague wrote to the Admiralty after the folks in Deal petitioned him after getting not one penny for that service in 2 years. It's in the State Papers, and conceivably for any fancy-pants landing at Deal from Montague's ship, it could be in his face should some of the sick-and-injured or their hosts happen to wander by, or to be imbibing in the same tavern.
The "Squadron of ships that are going to-day to the Streights" is a fairly major piece of business. Only two days ago, on April 28, the Council of State ordered the Admiralty to "speedily" provide 20 ships, for patrol duties that had long been neglected (no doubt to the Barbary pirates' endless joy), and to escort the ambassador of Portugal. And two days later, voilà: the ships are sailing.
20 ships, out of Montagu's fleet that only 10 days ago (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) was made up of 32 ships? But wait, undated State Paper No. 133 for the now-ending month of April includes a "list of 40 ships designed for the Sound, under Gen. Montague, Vice-Adm. Wm. Goodson, and Rear-Adm. Rich. Stayner".
A serious scramble for the Streights, anyway: nearly a quarter of the entire fleet. For future reference, the same paper helpfully puts England's naval strength at "total, 180" ships (plus civilians that can always be hired or mobilized); including 105 under admirals Penn and Lawson with 16,269 men and 3,840 guns.
So around 28,000 men for the full navy, which Sam will soon be in charge of supplying with just the right quantity of biscuits (and, ah yes, money). Montague's orders of the 28th also discussed monthly wages, putting them at £7 for a captain, £4 for a master, and 20s. for ordinary seamen (£1, not so bad, except of course it's paid years in arrears, if ever). 5s, a week's wages, seems a reasonably crazy sum to gamble at dice for a drunk seaman in a Deal tavern, so Sam and the other high-rollers weren't doing anything too alien.
The end of each month is when the State Papers' compilers stashed the undated miscellana. This time around there's a huge pile of more or less grovelling requests for favors to the king. Among those we like the "Petition of Jacobus Brower, Walker and Dancer on the ropes": "I and my company" are "the rarest", and had the honor of walking the wire for your majesty's entertainment, and twice, in Antwerp and Breda. Now "our fortunes here [Holland] being small", we'd like a passport to take the circus to England. Cute.
We are the lady's humble servant. We're also now made aware, from some of the last letters which Cromwell's old spymaster John Thurloe received from his spies, that York left on May 3 at 8 pm for Brussels, "whence by all appearances he will return shortly", and that somehow he arrived in Brussels and "spoke to Caracena" indeed, in the morning of May 2, having thus travelled back in time (unless one of those spies fail'd to check his calendar). We find this nearly as remarkable, as that the duke's travels are splashed out in the Gazette within 3 days.
The secret archive of poor John Thurloe, still addressed by various grandees as Monseigneur, &c. but whose destruction is imminent, is at https://www.british-history.ac.uk… in this case. It's brimming over with scandal.
The second letter, dated May 9, adds that "the king of Spain sent a good 600,000 florins for remittance to the king of England, whenever he wishes them credited" ["Le sieur roy d'Espagne a envoié bien six cent mil florins pour conter à roy d'Angleterre, quand il les desire avoir à son profit"]. That'd be a sum; if we believe http://vanosnabrugge.org/docs/dut…, it's enough to buy the nice house which Rembrandt keeps in central Amsterdam about 46 times over. Spain's pipeline to the silver mines of Potosí isn't quite what it used to be, but it's still a country it pays to be nice to.
Ah, the painter again. It just gets better with this letter, from Gen. Edward Massey MP to Edward Hyde, soon to be lord chancellor, dated March 16: The painter "was assisted by some soldiers". Not just "a boy", as other accounts had it (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…)
The letter is one of many which Mr. John Thurloe, Cromwell's old spymaster, had kept rifling after he became postmaster general; see it at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…, as part of quite a motherlode.
Fresh intel on York's movements: This dispatch of 6 May (new style) from The Hague, in the French Gazette: He has "gone to Brussels to confer with the Marquess of Caracena [Spain's governor in the Netherlands] on some important matters, for which the latter had already sent the Count of Grammont [probably Philibert, a semi-disgraced French courtier who will shortly exile himself to London] to His Britannic Majesty" [https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148…, page 524]. We suspect the "important matters" had something to do with moolah.
So yes, James is in Spain, technically; just not in Madrid or Cadiz. He could, just conceivably, have been presented as a parting gift with a honorary admiral's commission by the gobernador - not so far-fetched perhaps, as York did fight alongside Spanish troops as recently as 1658, and Charles being returned to England by a Spanish fleet was not ruled out until a few months ago. Yes, Charles could use James-in-Spain as a gentle threat to London, but right now this would surely be highly counter-productive. More likely the Gazette's informant just got things mixed up.
Let's add in defense of the Gazette that its editor, Renaudot, has no way to check reports and just passes them on raw. In the tradition of Italian avvisi and other newsletters-for-the-priviledged, it's probably what its generally savvy readership wants. As a result it's usually a dreadfully serious and boring collection of facts such as "on the 8th current, the Duke of Newbourg returned to Düsseldorf". Not a scandal sheet at all. We wish we had access to a 1660 scandal sheet, though.
We're also interested in the L&M footnote that "many considerations obliged [Charles II] to depart the territories under the obedience of the King of Spain", i.e. Brussels, for Breda, "in this conjuncture of affairs". Spain has just made peace with France, and "their Catholic majesties" of Spain now have much less need of crazy little England.
In fact on May 7 (new style), our friend Venetian ambassador Giavarina reports, in his usual crystal-clear manner (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…; we love this guy) that Charles "is at present at Breda in Holland with his sister, the princess of Orange, and feels confident of being summoned to England before he returns to Brussels his old residence, under the protection of the Spaniards. He does not seem to have much reason to sing their praises, as after leading him to expect 100,000 crowns for so many months, they leave him in difficulty and want." Money money money, is what makes the kings go 'round.
On 15 April the French Gazette, reporting on affairs in Dunkerque since Spain has given it (back) to England in 1659, had also noted that "since the evacuation of Furnes & Bergues [places near Dunkirk], in compliance with the Treaty of the two Crowns [Spain's peace with France], they [Spain] refuse passage to the Boats carrying our [England's] supplies" [this at https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148…]
Since we have the Gazette open on our shiny oak table, we can't resist sharing this tidbit in its further report of 30 April from Breda, as bizarre a canard as it now seems: "the Duke of York has left for Spain to be an Admiral" ["le Duc d'York est parti pour aller en Espagne, exercer la Charge d'Amiral"]. 'Scuse me? The DoY - future James II - has been made an admiral in Spain? And he's chosen this time to try the uniform?
Actually, almost. Wikipedia, quoting biographer James Miller: "James [of York], doubtful of his brother's chances of regaining the throne, considered taking a Spanish offer to be an admiral in their navy. Ultimately, he declined the position". But that was in 1659, and he never got on the boat. Somehow someone in Breda thinks or wants us to think that James-in-Spain is still in play.
OK, end of the Lambert episode. £20 for the messenger who took the newes to London seems generous, but those are big newes, of a sort which 'tis customary indeed to reward extravagantly. Also this wasn't just some postman but one of Ingoldsby's men (likely an officer), and the Mercurius, quoting a letter from "Abell Roper", says "the messenger (...) came in such hast that they could writ noe letter, but brought a gold scale of armes of a Northamptonshire gentilman for testemony of the truth of what hee brought" - not sure what this means, but it sounds showy, and at least it's not Lambert's head in a bag. So here's £20, the last in the till.
We're not completely surprised that the second- or third-hand newes which reach Sam, of Col. Lambert's capture, picture him as having "los[t] his reputation of being a man of courage", being "not able to fight one stroke", and imploring Ingoldsby to let him go, bursting in tears, etc. Now that he's retaken, nobody wants him to be Che Guevara so a bit of character assassination would be in order.
We like the bit about the colonel's Arabian charger getting mired. It hasn't reached the gazettes that are still the only current reports at our disposall, but what has, is a bit more complex than the version Sam's got anyway. First of all, this wasn't a high-noon encounter between the two colonels, on the empty main street of Dodge City: there were a lot of guns and horses. A long account in the French Gazette - the situation in England now clearly being of keen interest to many in Paris - in an "Extraordinaire" (a supplement) to appear on May 14 (new style, https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148… pages 421-432), has it that Ingoldsby was accompanied, first of all, by his regiment and no less than four companies of horse; we're not sure of the size of a company, but 'tseems that could come to over 400 horses in total. The Merucurius Politicus, as summarized by Mr. Rugg, describes a force of two regiments (Ingoldsby and, apparently, a Col. Sam Well) and some local militia.
Also: Lambert was betrayed. "Then came newes that [Lambert] has an intent to rendevouse att Edge Hill", the Mercurius recounts. Fair enough. But the Gazette adds that, when he's found out with four horse companies of his own, one of his commanders - Arthur Haselrig, a prominent former MP whom Wikipedia now describes as anti-Lambert and whom Charles II will later pardon (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Art…) - defected to Ingoldsby upon being captured, and his company "came unhesitatingly to join the Troops of the said Colonal Ingoldsby, who placed it in his right flank".
The Gazette says Lambert then tried to parlay, but this went nowhere and "the Conference only came to the resolution of voiding the dispute by the arms" [vüider le différant par les armes", hard to translate but you see what I mean]. This led two more of Lambert's companions to change sides: Cols. Barther and another Rump celeb, Alured. The Mercurius lists neither of them among "those taken with Colonel Lambertt"; well, they weren't "taken".
Then Lambert gave up. In the meantime some blood had been shed: The Mercurius says, "at the takinge of him [Lambert] one killed and six wounded". Whew, that's a relief - honor is saved; unless this was guys falling off their horses of fighting over girls or dice, as could happen in a party so large.
Wherever the Naseby sits, its location and lack of movement make it easy to reach. We noted recently that a letter was being written in Dover for my Lord's attention; the State Papers show that within 24 hours of its dateline, Montagu has got it and is writing his response. Of course, Dover's not far, but the courier still had to sail around the sand banks and then row, back and forth.
Peering into the future, we found an opinion piece from a naval expert in Defense News on the merits of "dedicated command ships" [https://www.defensenews.com/opini…] Sam is on a "dedicated command ship" now, and we phant'sy he would totally connect with that article, so could someone put it on the next packet from Dover? It says "cramming a senior admiral or general, staff, and radio [ahem, copyist] needs into a combatant ship" ain't no good, as the former have to fit in the tars' spartan cabins (ah, the London's "much bigger" state-room, even if "not so rich") and wet bunks, and the combatant is now less able to combat - in our case, as Susan remarked we seem to be missing our full crew of over 200.
Making a flagship into an admiral's palace also makes it an higher-value target. England's not at war right now, but imagine a fire-ship showing up during one of these merry all-captains parties. That, of course, may well be 2023 thinking; right now, the admiral is fully expected to fight anyway, isn't he. And as we know (or suspect), command-ship only describes part of the Naseby's mission at this time...
A note: If anybody is fluent in German, and so fluent in German as to decipher this fearsome-looking blackletter font German gazettes are still using (we tried but 'twas not for us), there is a nice collection of South German newspapers from 1660 through 1663 (and far beyond, but those are their Pepys years) that awaits your perusing at https://digipress.digitale-sammlu…. Who knows what's in there.
Sadly the renowned Dutch gazettes, and the many, many English journals that have cropped up as the Rump got roasted, seem to remain beyond our reach; buried in library stacks, auctioned off, or long gone as wrapping for the day's Baltick mackerels...
Since we're time-travelling, about this (probable) canard of the fleet flying the royal flag, on May 7 the French Gazette (printed "aux Galleries du Louvre", eh) will print, as a supplement across no less than 13 pages, a "letter from London", purportedly "from an English gentleman" and dated April 24. It extols the joys of the return of English monarchy and the "end of Tyranny" (sounds familiar) and heaps laurels on Monck, calling him an Instrument of God and "a Sun that is not destined to illuminate only one Earth but to give delightful Aspects, at the least, to all of Europe" (no less). Though, interestingly at this late stage and in a document that reads very much like a memo from Vers... from the Louvre on What You Should Think About England, "We well see what he [Monck] has done, but we do not see what he wants to do". Well, the ways of God.
More to our purpose, the only piece of (seemingly) factual hard news in these 13 pages is that "General Montagu had the Royal Standard displayed at the front and aft of the Vessels of the Fleet he commands: & regaled all the Officers, with a superb Banquet, where one drank to the King's health, to the sound of all the cannon" (this at https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148…, pages 481-482). Strange; someone writing from London shouldn't be short of colorful local anecdotes, and have to fish this one from out at sea.
Well, well. And that's supposed to come four days after that letter from Breda. So, either the royal-flag rumor has crossed the channel (and then 'twould be strange if Sam didn't pick it soon), or someone in Ver... in the Louvre, really wants us to picture this royal flag-waving Montagu-fleet in our minds, as concrete evidence that the Restoration will happen. Why? Who needs to be convinced by (apparently fake) concrete evidence?
If we may hypothesize, it looks like someone's trying to manipulate the market. But on what market does England matter to the speculators?
Well, duh, harrumpf and blush, yes Sarah of course you're right. Tho' Louis likes that hunting lodge so much... We must've been touched by a prophetick vision (quick! hide the time machine in the bushes). Yes, that's it: in a later age, L14 will be so completely associated with Versailles, that it will endure as shorthand for power. Indeed it will be hard to even imagine the Sun King in the promiscuous squalor of Paris; kinda like picturing Elvis in Memphis rather than in Vegas. But right now in 1660, Elvis is still in Memphis, and for Versailles please read (and change trains at) Le Louvre.
So at dinner last night we got the happy news that "my Lord was chosen at Dover". That's great! Congratulations. Today Mr Thomas White, in Dover, is also writing to My Lord on how he's utterly unable to fit out the Mermaid as per orders, "because we have neither money nor stores to help us". As always, but White adds that "Some of those of whom I have received necessaries for the State's frigates threaten to arrest me for the money (...) so that I cannot quietly walk the streets for want of money" (all in the State Papers; of course).
White hopefully closes his letter with "We beg you would be pleased to favour this poor town and port, and accept of being our baron in the next ensuing Parliament". Hmmm. Would this entail any walking of the streets? If my Lord had to chose, maybe Cambridge, far from the sea, could indeed be the better choice?
Fake news in the French Gazette? We're shocked - shocked! - that this may even be conceivable in the Sun King's beautifulll kingdom.
Bit of background: The Gazette is (in principle) the sole authorized news-book in France at this time. On French internal matters it only publishes happy news, but the bulk of its content is foreign dispatches. On England it generally tracks the other sources at our disposal. The Gazette would not be above biasing or hand-picking at least some of its reports to push this or that French faction with a stake in the matter, and as such its seemingly factual reports are a bit hard to decode. France (well, Versailles) is sympathetic to Charles II but otherwise still very much sitting on the fence.
But the Gazette of course doesn't have a reporter in Breda who fact-checks and then rushes to a payphone to dictate his copy to the editor, currently Mr. Theophraste Renaudot Jr., son of the founder. Someone in Breda, quite possibly in C2's court, sent a letter which the Gazette reproduced (the professional press of the more enlightened ages to come will of course shy away from copy-pasting press releases, pwah).
So this news of "the Fleet of Montagu" flying the King's three lions rampant rather than (maybe) the cross-and-Irish-harp (see those banners at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fla… and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roy…) may well be completely invented - some Breda courtier running ahead of the story, or wanting to convince Europe that the cake's already baked. Or maybe Renaudot embellished, to please the pro-C2 faction in Versailles. It doesn't matter. Charles himself should know what's going on aboard the Naseby if young Mr Montagu was indeed visiting him latelt, but what the ships are doing out at sea is pretty much impossible for anyone in France (or even in Breda) to prove or disprove.
However, the Gazette in the 1660s (says a history quoted at https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_…) prints around 8,000 copies. It's a lot. Everyone in Versailles or in the merchant quarters of Paris and Lyons now "knows" what Sam still doesn't, or isn't quite sure of: The boat he's on (more or less) resounds with "vive le Roy" and is one ardent king-carrying machine. Now if the Gazette fell into Sam's hands right now, would he be pleased or plain horrified?
Aye, we seem to be treading water, but we're a command ship, a hub in glorious immovability like an aircraft carrier, and others do the movin' around. In an attachment to his recent report to the Admiralty on the subject of mackerels (which we pars'd at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) Montague yesterday sent an order of battle listing 32 ships. A considerable fleet, tho' from Sam's account alone you'd think we're alone on the gleaming sea.
Meanwhile, who wants news from Breda? The French Gazette has them! (Get it at https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148…, page 394). Its report is dated April 20, but of course that's new style, so for us in our smelly cabins on the Naseby it's April 9 and already old news. And it says:
"The King of the Great Britain is, for some days, in this city [Breda], where the Court is flocking in the greatest numbers [ſe rend des plus groſſes], as from all parts come the English Lords & Gentlemen. His British Majesty is working, meanwhile, to make his Train of the most magnificent, hoping to soon pass to his Domains, on the advice that the Fleet of Montaigu, had displayed the Royal Standard, & that in a Banquet offered to all of the Officers, one had toasted, several times, the health of His said Majesty, to the sound of the gun's salute".
Now waiiit a minute. Yes, we had from Sam a few reports, on April 2 and more grandly on April 9-10, that "all or most" of the captains had come for a merry dinner. If the more recent Banquet is what the Gazette is reporting with a dateline on (in old style) the same date, then the news are sure moving fast - not impossible, unless that report was really already written in advance, like a press release; or maybe the Gazette's datelines are not really when the writing was done (that particular edition was printed on May 1st).
Sam on the 10th did hear a "great rattling of guns". Nothing from him, however, on all the captains toasting H.M.'s health - a bit odd, since he reports every whisper of royalism he comes across. He hadn't been at that dinner - instead he had private dinners, notably his own boisterous evening on the 9th with the lieutenant and poor Rev. Ibbot - but it's hard to believe he didn't have his ear on the wall, figuratively or literally, to monitor the seniors' doings in the nearby great cabin. OK, maybe they didn't all shout "long live the King" in a chorus before tossing their glasses at the walls. Maybe they did so just when Ibbot threw his caudle at Sam.
But so - we're flying the king's flag? The King is packing his bags "ſur l'avis que la Flotte de Montaigu, avoit aboré l'Etendart Royal". Remarkable, on a ship whose gilded figurehead is still Cromwell's mug (with laurels). But when did Sam mention this extraordinary display?
What a relief for the very sober and upright Rev. Ibbot. Why, the Sam who gave him such a hard time a few days ago was a Beast, drunk on the brisk sea air, on a day spent ogling the ladies with his pal the lieutenant, and perhaps on the special bottle the captain keeps for seasick VIPs; and likely a difficult one to debate with, as Sam will soon be a sermon critic whose verdict on many (most?) of those he'll attend will come to "booooorrring!" We phant'sy that Sam was "free to make mirth" with the good minister's talent for improvisation, his pronunciation, projection and elocution, the rhytm and scansion of his sermons - pah, all terrible, and no presence on the stage! Perhaps he also bandied jokes in (freshly learn'd) naval slang with the lieutenant - unwise, given Ibbot's abundant experience at sea. Wait, did Sam reach for his knotted cane, until Lt. Lambert (who keeps to small beer, having a ship to manage) puts a restraining hand on his arm?
But today's Sam, now refocused on keeping his papers in order and who spent last night alone with his vialin - now that's better. Perhaps my lord, who seems to know Ibbot quite well too, had a quiet word with Sam on this being a business trip?
And England is not a neutral party in this situation: while the bosses in London are sorting themselves out, the ambassadors of England and France in Denmark are mediating the end of the Second Northern War, between Denmark, Sweden and Holland. Right now, the Gazette reports from Cronenbourg (ibid., page 387) they're putting pressure on Denmark. A mis-step, and no more mackerel. Montagu, directing these fareway fleet movements from the Naseby through the paper flow in Sam's "study" ('coz now he's got a "study"), is an important cog in this tangle of fish and diplomats.
Tomorrow April 18, my lord Montagu will send to the Admiralty a report on his meeting with vice-admiral Lawson (which the State Papers will preserve at https://books.google.fr/books?id=…) Perhaps it's not the only one but, surprise, all he talks about is "the mackerel fishery", and the escorts he's sending here and there to protect the fishing fleet.
Somehow we're not surprised that Sam, whatever his reasons for writing the Diary - aide-mémoire on the political currents, edification of future generations - focuses on who's in/who's out, rather than on the mackerel. But the mackerel matters, because the people want fish, and the wars of northern Europe make it tricky to get. Montagu mentions deployments from Newfoundland to Gibraltar - where "the ship that goes in June had best be a [hired] Flemish vessel". Later generations will lament their roast having come all the way from New Zealand, but already the global food trade requires all the resources of the Royal Navy and of the beautiful mappamundi that may have adorned the Admiral's cabin, and rule Britannia.
Small bombshell in that letter of April 18: "I have discoursed concerning the mackerel fishery with Vice-Adm. Lawson", Montagu writes, "who says there is an agreement settled beyween him and the Ostenders, that the fresh fishers on either side shall receive no interruption (...) and need no convoy". Wow. So the Ostenders, a notch above being a bunch of pyrates but still privateers in service to whoever pays most or rules Ostend (currently Dutch rebels to Spanish rule, if we're not mistaken) have "an agreement" with an English vice-admiral. How we would have lik'd to be a fly on the wall when that was haggled over.
Curiously the letter doesn't mention the Baltic, where Montagu had dispatched an escort a couple of weeks ago (see https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) There the herring swim in a war zone. On April 9 (new style, late March for Sam) a report from Copenhagen, cited in the French Gazette dated May 1 (at gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k6, page 386) said "the Swede, who are still absolute on the Baltic sea, capture all the Vessels they meet, except those of the United Provinces [the Dutch; "les Süédois, qui sont, touſjours, abſolus sur la mer Baltique, enlèvent tous les Vaiſseaux qu'ils rencontrent, à la réſerve de ceux des Eſtats Généraux des Provinces Vnies"]. On April 13 another report from Cologne (ibid., page 368) will confirm that "the Dutch and the Swede", while observing a truce, "have made themselves such absolute masters of the Baltic Sea, that no Vessel may pass without falling into their hands" ["les Holandois & les Süédois: qui (...) s'eſtoyent rendus maiſtres ſi abſolus de la Mer Baltique, qu'aucun Vaiſſeau n'y pouvoit paſſer ſans tomber entre leurs mains"].
Comments
Third Reading
About Thursday 3 May 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Of kings exil'd, and what they're good for: There's a long tradition. Wikipedia has a "List of heads of state or government who have been in exile". C2K is in there, between two colleagues from Portugal and China and along with over 300 others from Pisitratus of Athens to Jair Bolsonaro, including another Charles II (of Brunswick). In his exile he's certainly been recogniz'd as the King, but that didn't mean having money, or being promised some and then stiffed (by Spain), or not being used by France as a pawn against Spain, or not being snubbed by various local nobles and governors, or not having to dodge possible kidnap or arrest (recall Charles was recently advised by Monk to stay off Spanish territory, and check out this hilarious episode at the end of the duke of York's memoirs, link supplied by Susan at http://archive.org/stream/memoirs…, when he's dodging the law in Calais). It's just not the same as really being the King.
About Thursday 3 May 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
The Mercurius Politicus (as paraphrased by Thomas Rugg much later) reads like it was right there with an embedded reporter, and has this color to add:
"The Lord Montague received a letter from his Majestie; upon this hee commanded a great gunne, upon which his officers came to him. Bein' all come aborde the Admiral [the Naseby], the letter was read in the presents of [follow the names of only nine captains]. Now at the readinge of this letter the commanders stood up and was all beare headed (...) Then the Generall fired the first gun; then he professed their due obeadince to his Majestie. This don, he said God save the King! God bless his Majesty! Then presently might you have seene the fleet in hir prid, with pendents loose, gunes roaringe, caps flyin', and loud vive le roys echoed from on ship to another. The Generall gave two pipes of conbary to the commanders and gentilmen in his shipe."
Details, details: if nine captains constitute "all" of them, then of the 32 ships which Montague had listed but recently, most indeed have departed for Gibraltar, but that's no longer very much of a fleet. No "pipes of canary" for them, too; those, if we understand well, are not ceremonial pipes inscribed "vive le roy, 3 May 1660" to smoke while reminiscing many years hence, but fairly large barrels of Madeira ("Canary") wine. Sam must have been busy, or already left, to miss My Lord firing the great gunne, which otherwise sounds too good not to be in the Diary.
Then Sam went ship to ship. Hard to believe he wasn't offered a tipple every time, but aye he may have declined at some point, because getting onto and off each ship - at least nine of them, then - must involve dealing with the rope ladder, which is a fairly hard and possibly dangerous thing to do (absent the indignity of being hauled in a basket). However our Sam has good legs and plenty of stamina, and in fact was so pumped up that he didn't even break his account between entries for May 3 and May 4, but carried on with "up again at three in the morning" still in the May 3 entry.
About Monday 30 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Deal, however, is one of these dismal little ports where the fleet has offloaded its sick and injured, care of the local poor in the absence of any naval hospital. On April 16, Montague wrote to the Admiralty after the folks in Deal petitioned him after getting not one penny for that service in 2 years. It's in the State Papers, and conceivably for any fancy-pants landing at Deal from Montague's ship, it could be in his face should some of the sick-and-injured or their hosts happen to wander by, or to be imbibing in the same tavern.
About Monday 30 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
The "Squadron of ships that are going to-day to the Streights" is a fairly major piece of business. Only two days ago, on April 28, the Council of State ordered the Admiralty to "speedily" provide 20 ships, for patrol duties that had long been neglected (no doubt to the Barbary pirates' endless joy), and to escort the ambassador of Portugal. And two days later, voilà: the ships are sailing.
20 ships, out of Montagu's fleet that only 10 days ago (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) was made up of 32 ships? But wait, undated State Paper No. 133 for the now-ending month of April includes a "list of 40 ships designed for the Sound, under Gen. Montague, Vice-Adm. Wm. Goodson, and Rear-Adm. Rich. Stayner".
A serious scramble for the Streights, anyway: nearly a quarter of the entire fleet. For future reference, the same paper helpfully puts England's naval strength at "total, 180" ships (plus civilians that can always be hired or mobilized); including 105 under admirals Penn and Lawson with 16,269 men and 3,840 guns.
So around 28,000 men for the full navy, which Sam will soon be in charge of supplying with just the right quantity of biscuits (and, ah yes, money). Montague's orders of the 28th also discussed monthly wages, putting them at £7 for a captain, £4 for a master, and 20s. for ordinary seamen (£1, not so bad, except of course it's paid years in arrears, if ever). 5s, a week's wages, seems a reasonably crazy sum to gamble at dice for a drunk seaman in a Deal tavern, so Sam and the other high-rollers weren't doing anything too alien.
The end of each month is when the State Papers' compilers stashed the undated miscellana. This time around there's a huge pile of more or less grovelling requests for favors to the king. Among those we like the "Petition of Jacobus Brower, Walker and Dancer on the ropes": "I and my company" are "the rarest", and had the honor of walking the wire for your majesty's entertainment, and twice, in Antwerp and Breda. Now "our fortunes here [Holland] being small", we'd like a passport to take the circus to England. Cute.
About Friday 27 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
We are the lady's humble servant. We're also now made aware, from some of the last letters which Cromwell's old spymaster John Thurloe received from his spies, that York left on May 3 at 8 pm for Brussels, "whence by all appearances he will return shortly", and that somehow he arrived in Brussels and "spoke to Caracena" indeed, in the morning of May 2, having thus travelled back in time (unless one of those spies fail'd to check his calendar). We find this nearly as remarkable, as that the duke's travels are splashed out in the Gazette within 3 days.
The secret archive of poor John Thurloe, still addressed by various grandees as Monseigneur, &c. but whose destruction is imminent, is at https://www.british-history.ac.uk… in this case. It's brimming over with scandal.
The second letter, dated May 9, adds that "the king of Spain sent a good 600,000 florins for remittance to the king of England, whenever he wishes them credited" ["Le sieur roy d'Espagne a envoié bien six cent mil florins pour conter à roy d'Angleterre, quand il les desire avoir à son profit"]. That'd be a sum; if we believe http://vanosnabrugge.org/docs/dut…, it's enough to buy the nice house which Rembrandt keeps in central Amsterdam about 46 times over. Spain's pipeline to the silver mines of Potosí isn't quite what it used to be, but it's still a country it pays to be nice to.
About Thursday 29 March 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Ah, the painter again. It just gets better with this letter, from Gen. Edward Massey MP to Edward Hyde, soon to be lord chancellor, dated March 16: The painter "was assisted by some soldiers". Not just "a boy", as other accounts had it (https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…)
The letter is one of many which Mr. John Thurloe, Cromwell's old spymaster, had kept rifling after he became postmaster general; see it at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…, as part of quite a motherlode.
About Friday 27 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Fresh intel on York's movements: This dispatch of 6 May (new style) from The Hague, in the French Gazette: He has "gone to Brussels to confer with the Marquess of Caracena [Spain's governor in the Netherlands] on some important matters, for which the latter had already sent the Count of Grammont [probably Philibert, a semi-disgraced French courtier who will shortly exile himself to London] to His Britannic Majesty" [https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148…, page 524]. We suspect the "important matters" had something to do with moolah.
So yes, James is in Spain, technically; just not in Madrid or Cadiz. He could, just conceivably, have been presented as a parting gift with a honorary admiral's commission by the gobernador - not so far-fetched perhaps, as York did fight alongside Spanish troops as recently as 1658, and Charles being returned to England by a Spanish fleet was not ruled out until a few months ago. Yes, Charles could use James-in-Spain as a gentle threat to London, but right now this would surely be highly counter-productive. More likely the Gazette's informant just got things mixed up.
Let's add in defense of the Gazette that its editor, Renaudot, has no way to check reports and just passes them on raw. In the tradition of Italian avvisi and other newsletters-for-the-priviledged, it's probably what its generally savvy readership wants. As a result it's usually a dreadfully serious and boring collection of facts such as "on the 8th current, the Duke of Newbourg returned to Düsseldorf". Not a scandal sheet at all. We wish we had access to a 1660 scandal sheet, though.
About Friday 27 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
We're also interested in the L&M footnote that "many considerations obliged [Charles II] to depart the territories under the obedience of the King of Spain", i.e. Brussels, for Breda, "in this conjuncture of affairs". Spain has just made peace with France, and "their Catholic majesties" of Spain now have much less need of crazy little England.
In fact on May 7 (new style), our friend Venetian ambassador Giavarina reports, in his usual crystal-clear manner (at https://www.british-history.ac.uk…; we love this guy) that Charles "is at present at Breda in Holland with his sister, the princess of Orange, and feels confident of being summoned to England before he returns to Brussels his old residence, under the protection of the Spaniards. He does not seem to have much reason to sing their praises, as after leading him to expect 100,000 crowns for so many months, they leave him in difficulty and want." Money money money, is what makes the kings go 'round.
On 15 April the French Gazette, reporting on affairs in Dunkerque since Spain has given it (back) to England in 1659, had also noted that "since the evacuation of Furnes & Bergues [places near Dunkirk], in compliance with the Treaty of the two Crowns [Spain's peace with France], they [Spain] refuse passage to the Boats carrying our [England's] supplies" [this at https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148…]
Since we have the Gazette open on our shiny oak table, we can't resist sharing this tidbit in its further report of 30 April from Breda, as bizarre a canard as it now seems: "the Duke of York has left for Spain to be an Admiral" ["le Duc d'York est parti pour aller en Espagne, exercer la Charge d'Amiral"]. 'Scuse me? The DoY - future James II - has been made an admiral in Spain? And he's chosen this time to try the uniform?
Actually, almost. Wikipedia, quoting biographer James Miller: "James [of York], doubtful of his brother's chances of regaining the throne, considered taking a Spanish offer to be an admiral in their navy. Ultimately, he declined the position". But that was in 1659, and he never got on the boat. Somehow someone in Breda thinks or wants us to think that James-in-Spain is still in play.
About Friday 27 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
OK, end of the Lambert episode. £20 for the messenger who took the newes to London seems generous, but those are big newes, of a sort which 'tis customary indeed to reward extravagantly. Also this wasn't just some postman but one of Ingoldsby's men (likely an officer), and the Mercurius, quoting a letter from "Abell Roper", says "the messenger (...) came in such hast that they could writ noe letter, but brought a gold scale of armes of a Northamptonshire gentilman for testemony of the truth of what hee brought" - not sure what this means, but it sounds showy, and at least it's not Lambert's head in a bag. So here's £20, the last in the till.
About Friday 27 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
We're not completely surprised that the second- or third-hand newes which reach Sam, of Col. Lambert's capture, picture him as having "los[t] his reputation of being a man of courage", being "not able to fight one stroke", and imploring Ingoldsby to let him go, bursting in tears, etc. Now that he's retaken, nobody wants him to be Che Guevara so a bit of character assassination would be in order.
We like the bit about the colonel's Arabian charger getting mired. It hasn't reached the gazettes that are still the only current reports at our disposall, but what has, is a bit more complex than the version Sam's got anyway. First of all, this wasn't a high-noon encounter between the two colonels, on the empty main street of Dodge City: there were a lot of guns and horses. A long account in the French Gazette - the situation in England now clearly being of keen interest to many in Paris - in an "Extraordinaire" (a supplement) to appear on May 14 (new style, https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148… pages 421-432), has it that Ingoldsby was accompanied, first of all, by his regiment and no less than four companies of horse; we're not sure of the size of a company, but 'tseems that could come to over 400 horses in total. The Merucurius Politicus, as summarized by Mr. Rugg, describes a force of two regiments (Ingoldsby and, apparently, a Col. Sam Well) and some local militia.
Also: Lambert was betrayed. "Then came newes that [Lambert] has an intent to rendevouse att Edge Hill", the Mercurius recounts. Fair enough. But the Gazette adds that, when he's found out with four horse companies of his own, one of his commanders - Arthur Haselrig, a prominent former MP whom Wikipedia now describes as anti-Lambert and whom Charles II will later pardon (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Art…) - defected to Ingoldsby upon being captured, and his company "came unhesitatingly to join the Troops of the said Colonal Ingoldsby, who placed it in his right flank".
The Gazette says Lambert then tried to parlay, but this went nowhere and "the Conference only came to the resolution of voiding the dispute by the arms" [vüider le différant par les armes", hard to translate but you see what I mean]. This led two more of Lambert's companions to change sides: Cols. Barther and another Rump celeb, Alured. The Mercurius lists neither of them among "those taken with Colonel Lambertt"; well, they weren't "taken".
Then Lambert gave up. In the meantime some blood had been shed: The Mercurius says, "at the takinge of him [Lambert] one killed and six wounded". Whew, that's a relief - honor is saved; unless this was guys falling off their horses of fighting over girls or dice, as could happen in a party so large.
About Tuesday 24 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Wherever the Naseby sits, its location and lack of movement make it easy to reach. We noted recently that a letter was being written in Dover for my Lord's attention; the State Papers show that within 24 hours of its dateline, Montagu has got it and is writing his response. Of course, Dover's not far, but the courier still had to sail around the sand banks and then row, back and forth.
Peering into the future, we found an opinion piece from a naval expert in Defense News on the merits of "dedicated command ships" [https://www.defensenews.com/opini…] Sam is on a "dedicated command ship" now, and we phant'sy he would totally connect with that article, so could someone put it on the next packet from Dover? It says "cramming a senior admiral or general, staff, and radio [ahem, copyist] needs into a combatant ship" ain't no good, as the former have to fit in the tars' spartan cabins (ah, the London's "much bigger" state-room, even if "not so rich") and wet bunks, and the combatant is now less able to combat - in our case, as Susan remarked we seem to be missing our full crew of over 200.
Making a flagship into an admiral's palace also makes it an higher-value target. England's not at war right now, but imagine a fire-ship showing up during one of these merry all-captains parties. That, of course, may well be 2023 thinking; right now, the admiral is fully expected to fight anyway, isn't he. And as we know (or suspect), command-ship only describes part of the Naseby's mission at this time...
About Saturday 21 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
A note: If anybody is fluent in German, and so fluent in German as to decipher this fearsome-looking blackletter font German gazettes are still using (we tried but 'twas not for us), there is a nice collection of South German newspapers from 1660 through 1663 (and far beyond, but those are their Pepys years) that awaits your perusing at https://digipress.digitale-sammlu…. Who knows what's in there.
The Bavarian State Library's newspaper collection at https://digipress.digitale-sammlu… is a treasure trove in itself, but this is the main page for us. There's a few others at https://digipress.digitale-sammlu… and at https://digipress.digitale-sammlu…. All in German, all in blackletter, none of it machine-readable.
Sadly the renowned Dutch gazettes, and the many, many English journals that have cropped up as the Rump got roasted, seem to remain beyond our reach; buried in library stacks, auctioned off, or long gone as wrapping for the day's Baltick mackerels...
About Thursday 19 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Since we're time-travelling, about this (probable) canard of the fleet flying the royal flag, on May 7 the French Gazette (printed "aux Galleries du Louvre", eh) will print, as a supplement across no less than 13 pages, a "letter from London", purportedly "from an English gentleman" and dated April 24. It extols the joys of the return of English monarchy and the "end of Tyranny" (sounds familiar) and heaps laurels on Monck, calling him an Instrument of God and "a Sun that is not destined to illuminate only one Earth but to give delightful Aspects, at the least, to all of Europe" (no less). Though, interestingly at this late stage and in a document that reads very much like a memo from Vers... from the Louvre on What You Should Think About England, "We well see what he [Monck] has done, but we do not see what he wants to do". Well, the ways of God.
More to our purpose, the only piece of (seemingly) factual hard news in these 13 pages is that "General Montagu had the Royal Standard displayed at the front and aft of the Vessels of the Fleet he commands: & regaled all the Officers, with a superb Banquet, where one drank to the King's health, to the sound of all the cannon" (this at https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148…, pages 481-482). Strange; someone writing from London shouldn't be short of colorful local anecdotes, and have to fish this one from out at sea.
Well, well. And that's supposed to come four days after that letter from Breda. So, either the royal-flag rumor has crossed the channel (and then 'twould be strange if Sam didn't pick it soon), or someone in Ver... in the Louvre, really wants us to picture this royal flag-waving Montagu-fleet in our minds, as concrete evidence that the Restoration will happen. Why? Who needs to be convinced by (apparently fake) concrete evidence?
If we may hypothesize, it looks like someone's trying to manipulate the market. But on what market does England matter to the speculators?
About Thursday 19 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Well, duh, harrumpf and blush, yes Sarah of course you're right. Tho' Louis likes that hunting lodge so much... We must've been touched by a prophetick vision (quick! hide the time machine in the bushes). Yes, that's it: in a later age, L14 will be so completely associated with Versailles, that it will endure as shorthand for power. Indeed it will be hard to even imagine the Sun King in the promiscuous squalor of Paris; kinda like picturing Elvis in Memphis rather than in Vegas. But right now in 1660, Elvis is still in Memphis, and for Versailles please read (and change trains at) Le Louvre.
About Friday 20 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
So at dinner last night we got the happy news that "my Lord was chosen at Dover". That's great! Congratulations. Today Mr Thomas White, in Dover, is also writing to My Lord on how he's utterly unable to fit out the Mermaid as per orders, "because we have neither money nor stores to help us". As always, but White adds that "Some of those of whom I have received necessaries for the State's frigates threaten to arrest me for the money (...) so that I cannot quietly walk the streets for want of money" (all in the State Papers; of course).
White hopefully closes his letter with "We beg you would be pleased to favour this poor town and port, and accept of being our baron in the next ensuing Parliament". Hmmm. Would this entail any walking of the streets? If my Lord had to chose, maybe Cambridge, far from the sea, could indeed be the better choice?
About Thursday 19 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Fake news in the French Gazette? We're shocked - shocked! - that this may even be conceivable in the Sun King's beautifulll kingdom.
Bit of background: The Gazette is (in principle) the sole authorized news-book in France at this time. On French internal matters it only publishes happy news, but the bulk of its content is foreign dispatches. On England it generally tracks the other sources at our disposal. The Gazette would not be above biasing or hand-picking at least some of its reports to push this or that French faction with a stake in the matter, and as such its seemingly factual reports are a bit hard to decode. France (well, Versailles) is sympathetic to Charles II but otherwise still very much sitting on the fence.
But the Gazette of course doesn't have a reporter in Breda who fact-checks and then rushes to a payphone to dictate his copy to the editor, currently Mr. Theophraste Renaudot Jr., son of the founder. Someone in Breda, quite possibly in C2's court, sent a letter which the Gazette reproduced (the professional press of the more enlightened ages to come will of course shy away from copy-pasting press releases, pwah).
So this news of "the Fleet of Montagu" flying the King's three lions rampant rather than (maybe) the cross-and-Irish-harp (see those banners at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fla… and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roy…) may well be completely invented - some Breda courtier running ahead of the story, or wanting to convince Europe that the cake's already baked. Or maybe Renaudot embellished, to please the pro-C2 faction in Versailles. It doesn't matter. Charles himself should know what's going on aboard the Naseby if young Mr Montagu was indeed visiting him latelt, but what the ships are doing out at sea is pretty much impossible for anyone in France (or even in Breda) to prove or disprove.
However, the Gazette in the 1660s (says a history quoted at https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_…) prints around 8,000 copies. It's a lot. Everyone in Versailles or in the merchant quarters of Paris and Lyons now "knows" what Sam still doesn't, or isn't quite sure of: The boat he's on (more or less) resounds with "vive le Roy" and is one ardent king-carrying machine. Now if the Gazette fell into Sam's hands right now, would he be pleased or plain horrified?
About Thursday 19 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Aye, we seem to be treading water, but we're a command ship, a hub in glorious immovability like an aircraft carrier, and others do the movin' around. In an attachment to his recent report to the Admiralty on the subject of mackerels (which we pars'd at https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) Montague yesterday sent an order of battle listing 32 ships. A considerable fleet, tho' from Sam's account alone you'd think we're alone on the gleaming sea.
Meanwhile, who wants news from Breda? The French Gazette has them! (Get it at https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148…, page 394). Its report is dated April 20, but of course that's new style, so for us in our smelly cabins on the Naseby it's April 9 and already old news. And it says:
"The King of the Great Britain is, for some days, in this city [Breda], where the Court is flocking in the greatest numbers [ſe rend des plus groſſes], as from all parts come the English Lords & Gentlemen. His British Majesty is working, meanwhile, to make his Train of the most magnificent, hoping to soon pass to his Domains, on the advice that the Fleet of Montaigu, had displayed the Royal Standard, & that in a Banquet offered to all of the Officers, one had toasted, several times, the health of His said Majesty, to the sound of the gun's salute".
Now waiiit a minute. Yes, we had from Sam a few reports, on April 2 and more grandly on April 9-10, that "all or most" of the captains had come for a merry dinner. If the more recent Banquet is what the Gazette is reporting with a dateline on (in old style) the same date, then the news are sure moving fast - not impossible, unless that report was really already written in advance, like a press release; or maybe the Gazette's datelines are not really when the writing was done (that particular edition was printed on May 1st).
Sam on the 10th did hear a "great rattling of guns". Nothing from him, however, on all the captains toasting H.M.'s health - a bit odd, since he reports every whisper of royalism he comes across. He hadn't been at that dinner - instead he had private dinners, notably his own boisterous evening on the 9th with the lieutenant and poor Rev. Ibbot - but it's hard to believe he didn't have his ear on the wall, figuratively or literally, to monitor the seniors' doings in the nearby great cabin. OK, maybe they didn't all shout "long live the King" in a chorus before tossing their glasses at the walls. Maybe they did so just when Ibbot threw his caudle at Sam.
But so - we're flying the king's flag? The King is packing his bags "ſur l'avis que la Flotte de Montaigu, avoit aboré l'Etendart Royal". Remarkable, on a ship whose gilded figurehead is still Cromwell's mug (with laurels). But when did Sam mention this extraordinary display?
About Wednesday 11 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
What a relief for the very sober and upright Rev. Ibbot. Why, the Sam who gave him such a hard time a few days ago was a Beast, drunk on the brisk sea air, on a day spent ogling the ladies with his pal the lieutenant, and perhaps on the special bottle the captain keeps for seasick VIPs; and likely a difficult one to debate with, as Sam will soon be a sermon critic whose verdict on many (most?) of those he'll attend will come to "booooorrring!" We phant'sy that Sam was "free to make mirth" with the good minister's talent for improvisation, his pronunciation, projection and elocution, the rhytm and scansion of his sermons - pah, all terrible, and no presence on the stage! Perhaps he also bandied jokes in (freshly learn'd) naval slang with the lieutenant - unwise, given Ibbot's abundant experience at sea. Wait, did Sam reach for his knotted cane, until Lt. Lambert (who keeps to small beer, having a ship to manage) puts a restraining hand on his arm?
But today's Sam, now refocused on keeping his papers in order and who spent last night alone with his vialin - now that's better. Perhaps my lord, who seems to know Ibbot quite well too, had a quiet word with Sam on this being a business trip?
About Tuesday 17 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
And England is not a neutral party in this situation: while the bosses in London are sorting themselves out, the ambassadors of England and France in Denmark are mediating the end of the Second Northern War, between Denmark, Sweden and Holland. Right now, the Gazette reports from Cronenbourg (ibid., page 387) they're putting pressure on Denmark. A mis-step, and no more mackerel. Montagu, directing these fareway fleet movements from the Naseby through the paper flow in Sam's "study" ('coz now he's got a "study"), is an important cog in this tangle of fish and diplomats.
About Tuesday 17 April 1660
Stephane Chenard • Link
Tomorrow April 18, my lord Montagu will send to the Admiralty a report on his meeting with vice-admiral Lawson (which the State Papers will preserve at https://books.google.fr/books?id=…) Perhaps it's not the only one but, surprise, all he talks about is "the mackerel fishery", and the escorts he's sending here and there to protect the fishing fleet.
Somehow we're not surprised that Sam, whatever his reasons for writing the Diary - aide-mémoire on the political currents, edification of future generations - focuses on who's in/who's out, rather than on the mackerel. But the mackerel matters, because the people want fish, and the wars of northern Europe make it tricky to get. Montagu mentions deployments from Newfoundland to Gibraltar - where "the ship that goes in June had best be a [hired] Flemish vessel". Later generations will lament their roast having come all the way from New Zealand, but already the global food trade requires all the resources of the Royal Navy and of the beautiful mappamundi that may have adorned the Admiral's cabin, and rule Britannia.
Small bombshell in that letter of April 18: "I have discoursed concerning the mackerel fishery with Vice-Adm. Lawson", Montagu writes, "who says there is an agreement settled beyween him and the Ostenders, that the fresh fishers on either side shall receive no interruption (...) and need no convoy". Wow. So the Ostenders, a notch above being a bunch of pyrates but still privateers in service to whoever pays most or rules Ostend (currently Dutch rebels to Spanish rule, if we're not mistaken) have "an agreement" with an English vice-admiral. How we would have lik'd to be a fly on the wall when that was haggled over.
Curiously the letter doesn't mention the Baltic, where Montagu had dispatched an escort a couple of weeks ago (see https://www.pepysdiary.com/diary/…) There the herring swim in a war zone. On April 9 (new style, late March for Sam) a report from Copenhagen, cited in the French Gazette dated May 1 (at gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k6, page 386) said "the Swede, who are still absolute on the Baltic sea, capture all the Vessels they meet, except those of the United Provinces [the Dutch; "les Süédois, qui sont, touſjours, abſolus sur la mer Baltique, enlèvent tous les Vaiſseaux qu'ils rencontrent, à la réſerve de ceux des Eſtats Généraux des Provinces Vnies"]. On April 13 another report from Cologne (ibid., page 368) will confirm that "the Dutch and the Swede", while observing a truce, "have made themselves such absolute masters of the Baltic Sea, that no Vessel may pass without falling into their hands" ["les Holandois & les Süédois: qui (...) s'eſtoyent rendus maiſtres ſi abſolus de la Mer Baltique, qu'aucun Vaiſſeau n'y pouvoit paſſer ſans tomber entre leurs mains"].