Samuel Pepys @samuelpepys@mastodon.social

The great news is come of the French, their taking the island of St. Christopher’s from us; and it is to be feared they have done the like of all those islands thereabouts this makes the city mad.

Sir W. Coventry is returned this night from the fleet, he being the activest man in the world, and we all (myself particularly) more afeard of him than of the King or his service, for aught I see; God forgive us!

To Hales’s to see how my father’s picture goes on, which pleases me mighty well, though I find again, as I did in Mrs. Pierce’s, that a picture may have more of a likeness in the first or second working than it shall have when finished.

Wanting a coach to carry us home I walked out as far as the New Exchange to find one, but could not. So down to the Milke-house, and drank three glasses of whey, and then up into the Strand again, and there met with a coach.

As to Pall my father tells me he is mightily satisfied with Ensum, and so I promised to give her 500l. presently, and to oblige myself to 100 more on the birth of her first child, he insuring her in 10l. per annum for every 100l.

My father told me his estate produced about 80l. per annum, but then there goes 30l. per annum taxes and other things, certain charge, which I do promise to make good as far as this 30l, at which the poor man was overjoyed and wept.

To Anthony Joyce’s, where William Joyce and his wife were, and had a good dinner; but, Lord! how sick was I of the company, only hope I shall have no more of it a good while.

My wife and sister and Mercer and I walked out in the morning, it being fine weather, to Christ Church, and there heard a silly sermon, but sat where we saw one of the prettiest little boys with the prettiest mouth that ever I saw in life.

It seems the Dutch do mightily insult of their victory, and they have great reason.1 Sir William Barkeley was killed before his ship taken; and there he lies dead in a sugar-chest, for every body to see, with his flag standing up by him.

My eyes beginning to be sore with overmuch writing, I to supper and to bed.

To the Exchequer, but could not persuade the blockheaded fellows to do what I desire, of breaking my great tallys into less, notwithstanding my Lord Treasurer’s order, which vexed so much that I would not bestow more time and trouble among a company of dunces.

To the office come my pretty widow Mrs. Burrows, poor woman, to get her ticket paid for her husband’s service, which I did her myself, and did bezar her muchas vezes, and I do hope may thereafter have mas de su company.

Mr. Bland, come to me, who presented me yesterday with a very fine African mat, to lay upon the ground under a bed of state, being the first fruits of our peace with Guyland.

Took out my father, wife, sister, and Mercer our grand Tour, and made it ten at night before we got home, only drink at the door at Islington at the Katherine Wheel.

I parted thence, with a very good will, but very civil, and away to the waterside, and sent for a pint of sack and so home, drank what I would and gave the waterman the rest; and so adieu.

I to Mrs. Bagwell’s house, and did what I would. But I was not a little fearful of what she told me, which is that her servant was dead of the plague, and that she had new whitened the house all below stairs, but that above stairs they are not so fit for me to go up to.

Sir W. Coventry was herewith much moved (as well as I, who could hardly abstain from weeping), and took their names, and so parted; telling me that he would move His Royal Highness as in a thing very extraordinary, which was done.

“…have done the last office of laying him in the ground. We would be glad we had any other to offer after him. All we have is our lives; if you will please to get His Royal Highness to give us a fireship, and do that that shall show our memory of our commander, and our revenge.”

About a dozen able, lusty, proper men come to the coach-side with tears in their eyes, and one of them that spoke for the rest begun and says to Sir W. Coventry, “We are here a dozen of us that have long known and loved and served our dead commander, Sir Christopher Mings, and…”

I went with Sir W. Coventry into his coach, and being in it with him there happened this extraordinary case, one of the most romantique that ever I heard of in my life, and could not have believed, but that I did see it; which was this: