Excerpts from the Diary of Samuel Pepys
Author: Samuel Pepys
Date: 0101-01-01 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: History; Year 8

Excerpts from
THE DIARY OF
SAMUEL PEPYS, ESQ., F.R.S.

Detailing
The Plague
and The Great Fire

Edited by
LORD BRAYBROOKE

NOTES ABOUT THIS ETEXT.

In the printed text, the year was printed at the top of each page. As this was not possible in the etext, years have been added to the first entry for each month to make it easier for readers to keep track of the year. Because the old-style calendar was in use at the time the diary was written, in which the New Year began on March 25th, the year has been given a dual number in January, February and March, as has been done elsewhere in the diary, (eg. 1662-63 during the first months of 1663).

Pepys’ spelling and punctuation have been left as they were in the printed text.

The copy from which this etext was taken was published in 1879 by Frederick Warne and Co. (London and New York), in a series called “Chandos Classics.”

PREFACE TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION.

In submitting the following pages to the Public, I feel that it is incumbent upon me to explain by what circumstances the materials from which the Work has been compiled were placed at my disposal. The original Diary, comprehending six volumes, closely written in short-hand by Mr. Pepys himself, belonged to the valuable collection of books and prints, bequeathed by him to Magdalene College, Cambridge, and had remained there unexamined, till the appointment of my Brother, the present Master, under whose auspices the MS. was deciphered by Mr. John Smith, with a view to its publication.

My Brother’s time, however, being too much engrossed by more important duties to admit of his editing the work, the task of preparing it for the press was undertaken by me at his request.

The Diary commences January 1st, 1659-60 and after being regularly kept for ten years, it is brought to a sudden conclusion, owing to the weak state of Mr. Pepys’s eyes, which precluded him from continuing or resuming the occupation. As he was in the habit of recording the most trifling occurrences of his life, it became absolutely necessary to curtail the MS. materially, and in many instances to condense the matter; but the greatest care has been taken to preserve the original meaning, without making a single addition, excepting where, from the short-hand being defective, some alteration appeared absolutely necessary. It may be objected by those who are not aware how little is known from authentic sources of the History of the Stage about the period of the Restoration, that the notices of theatrical performances occur too frequently; but as many of the incidents recorded, connected with this subject, are not to be met with elsewhere, I thought myself justified in retaining them, at the risk of fatiguing those readers who have no taste for the concerns of the Drama. The general details may also, in some instances, even in their abridged form, be considered as too minute; nor is it an easy task, in an undertaking of this sort, to please everybody’s taste: my principal study in making the selection, however, has been to omit nothing of public interest; and to introduce at the same time a great variety of other topics, less important, perhaps, put tending in some degree to illustrate the manners and habits of the age.

In justice to Mr. Pepys’s literary reputation, the reader is forewarned that he is not to expect to find in the Diary accuracy of style or finished composition. We should rather consider the Work as a collection of reminiscences hastily thrown together at the end of each succeeding day, for the exclusive perusal of the Author.

The Journal contains the most unquestionable evidences of veracity; and, as the writer made no scruple of committing his most secret thoughts to paper, encouraged no doubt by the confidence which he derived from the use of short-hand, perhaps there never was a publication more implicitly to be relied upon for the authenticity of its statements and the exactness with which every fact is detailed. Upon this point, I can venture to speak with the less hesitation, having, in preparing the sheets for the press, had occasion to compare many parts of the Diary with different accounts of the same transactions recorded elsewhere; and in no instance could I detect any material error or wilful misrepresentation.

The Notes at the bottom of the pages were introduced to elucidate obscure passages; and I have been tempted occasionally to insert short Biographical Sketches of the principal persons who are named, accompanied by such references as will enable the curious reader to inform himself more fully respecting them. In some instances I experienced considerable difficulty in identifying the individuals; but I trust that the notices will be found, on the whole, sufficiently correct to answer the object intended.

In justice to the Reverend John Smith, (with whom I am not personally acquainted,) it may be added, that he appears to have performed the task allotted to him, of deciphering the short-hand Diary, with diligence and fidelity, and to have spared neither time nor trouble in the undertaking.

The best account of Mr. Pepys occurs in the Supplement to Collier’s Historical Dictionary, published soon after his death, and written, as I have reason to believe, by his relative Roger Gale. Some particulars may also be obtained from Knight’s Life of Dean Colet; Chalmers’s Biographical Dictionary; Cole’s MSS. in the British Museum: the MSS in the Bodleian and Pepysian Libraries, and the Cockerell Papers.

BRAYBROOKE.

Audley End,

May 14th, 1825

MEMOIR OF SAMUEL PEPYS.

Samuel Pepys, the author of the Diary here presented to the reader was descended from the family of Pepys originally seated at Diss, in Norfolk, and who settled at Cottenham, in Cambridgeshire, early in the sixteenth century. His father, John Pepys, followed for some time the trade of a tailor; and the reader may hereafter notice the influence which this genealogy seems to have exercised over the style and sentiments of his son’s Diary. The father retired to Brampton, in Huntingdonshire, where he ended his days in 1680. His wife, Margaret, died in 1666-7, having had a family of six sons and five daughters. Samuel was born February 23, 1632, most probably in London, but by some it is thought at Brampton; he certainly passed his boyish days in the Metropolis, and was educated regularly at St. Paul’s School; and afterwards at the University of Cambridge, and probably went through his studies with success. But little is known of him as an undergraduate. One record, however, remains which proves that in his early life, as in later years, he was a bon vivant. The following appears in the register book of the college respecting his pranks when there:—“October 21, 1653. Mem. That Peapys and Hind were solemnly admonished by myself and Mr. Hill for having been scandalously over-served with drink ye night before. This was done in the presence of all the fellows then resident, in Mr. Hill’s chamber (Signed) John Wood, Registrar.” Early in life, Pepys took one of those decided steps which tend, according to circumstances, to a man’s marring or making. He appears to have married Elizabeth St. Michel, a beautiful girl of fifteen, when he himself was only about twenty-three. She was of good family, her mother being descended from the Cliffords of Cumberland, and her daughter had only just quitted the convent in which she was educated. She brought her husband no fortune; but the patronage of Pepys’s relation, Sir Edward Montagu, afterwards first Earl of Sandwich, prevented the ill consequences with such a step might naturally have been attended, and young Pepys’s aptitude for business soon came to render him useful. The distresses of the young couple at this period were subjects of pleasant reflexion during their prosperity—as recorded in the Diary, 25th February, 1667.

But better times were approaching Mr. Pepys: he accompanied Sir Edward Montagu upon his Expedition to the Sound, in March, 1658, and upon his return obtained a clerkship in the Exchequer. Through the interest of the Earl of Sandwich, Mr. Pepys was nominated Clerk of the Acts: this was the commencement of his connexion with a great national establishment, to which in the sequel his diligence and acuteness were of the highest service. From his Papers, still extant (says Lord Braybrooke), we gather that he never lost sight of the public good; that he spared no pains to check the rapacity of contractors, by whom the naval stores were then supplied; that he studied order and economy in the dockyards, advocated the promotion of old-established officers in the Navy; and resisted to the utmost the infamous system of selling places, then most unblushingly practised. His zeal and industry acquired for him the esteem of the Duke of York, with whom, as Lord High Admiral, he had almost daily intercourse. At the time of his entering upon this employment, he resided in Seething-lane, Crutched Friars. He continued in this office till 1673; and during those great events, the Plague, the Fire of London, and the Dutch War, the care of the Navy in a great measure rested upon Pepys alone. He behaved with calm and deliberate courage and integrity. Nevertheless, he had the misfortune to experience some part of the calumnies of the time of “the Popish Plot.” The Earl of Shaftesbury, the foster-father of this most wicked delusion, showed a great desire to implicate Pepys in a charge of Catholicism, and went so far as to spread a report that the Clerk of the Acts had in his house an altar and a crucifix. The absence not only of evidence, but even of ground of suspicion, did not prevent Pepys being committed to the Tower on the charge of being an aider and abettor of the plot, and he was, for a time, removed from the Navy Board. He was afterwards allowed, with Sir Anthony Deane, who had been committed with him, to find security in £30,000; and upon the withdrawal of the deposition against him, he was discharged. He was soon, by the special command of Charles II., replaced in a situation where his skill and experience could not be well dispensed with; and rose afterwards to be Secretary of the Admiralty, which office he retained till the Revolution. It is remarkable that James II. was sitting to Sir Godfrey Kneller for a portrait designed as a present to Pepys, when the news of the landing of the Prince of Orange was brought to that unhappy monarch. The King commanded the painter to proceed, and finish the portrait, that his good friend might not be disappointed.

Pepys had been too much personally connected with the King, (who had been so long at the Admiralty,) to retain his situation upon the accession of William and Mary; and he retired into private life accordingly, but without being followed thither, either by persecution or ill will.

The Diary, as already explained, comprehends ten years of Mr. Pepys official life, extending from January, 1659-60, to May, 1669. It is highly necessary to keep in mind that Mr. Pepys was only thirty-seven years of age when he closed his Diary in 1669, and that of the remainder of his life we have no regular account; although the materials for it which exist have encouraged the hope that this portion of the Life may yet be written. After the death of Cromwell, Pepys seems to have consorted much with Harrington, Hazelrigge, and other leading Republicans; but when the Restoration took place, he became—as, perhaps was natural—a courtier; still, it is said of him that “were the eulogy of Cromwell now to be written, abounding particulars and material for the purpose might be found in and drawn from Pepys’ Diary.”

Mr. Pepys sat in Parliament for Castle Rising, and subsequently he represented the borough of Harwich, eventually rising to wealth and eminence as clerk of the treasurer to the Commissioners of the affairs of Tangier, and Surveyor-general of the Victualling Department, “proving himself to be,” it is stated, “a very useful and energetic public servant.”

In the year 1700, Mr. Pepys, whose constitution had been long impaired by the stone, was persuaded by his physicians to quit York Buildings, now Buckingham-street, (the last house on the west side, looking on the Thames,) and retire, for change of air, to the house of his old friend and servant, William Hewer, at Clapham. Soon after, he was visited here by John Evelyn, who, in his Diary, Sept. 22, 1700, records, “I went to visit Mr. Pepys, at Clapham, where he has a very noble and wonderfully well-furnished house, especially with India and Chinese curiosities. The offices and gardens well accommodated for pleasure and retirement.” In this retreat, however, his health continued to decline, and he died in May, 1703, a victim in part, to the stone, which was hereditary in his constitution, and to the increase of that malady in the course of a laborious and sedentary life. In the London Journal of the above year is this entry: “London, June 5. Yesterday in the evening were performed the obsequies of Samuel Pepys, Esq., in Crutched Friars Church, whither his corpse was brought in a very honourable and solemn manner from Clapham, where he departed this life, the 26th day of the last month.—post boy, June 5, 1703.” The burial-service at his funeral was read at 9 at night, by Dr. Hickes, author of the thesaurus which bears his name. There is no memorial to mark the site of his interment in the church; but there is a monument in the chancel to Mrs. Pepys, and Mr. Pepys is interred in a vault of his own making, by the side of his wife and brother.

Pepys had an extensive knowledge of naval affairs. He thoroughly understood and practised music; and he was a judge of painting, sculpture, and architecture. In 1684, he was elected President of the Royal Society, and held that honourable office two years. He contributed no less than 60 plates to Willoughby’s Historia Piscium.

To Magdalene College, Cambridge, he left an invaluable collection of manuscript naval memoirs, of prints, and ancient English poetry, which has often been consulted by critics and commentators, and is, indeed, unrivalled of its kind. One of its most singular curiosities is a collection of English ballads in five large folio volumes, begun by Selden and carried down to the year 1700. Percy’s “Reliques” are for the most part, taken from this collection. Pepys published “Memoirs relating to the State of the Royal Navy in England for ten years, determined December, 1688,” 8vo. London, 1690; and there is a small book in the Pepysian Library, entitled “A Relation of the Troubles in the Court of Portugal in 1667 and 1668,” by S. P., 12mo., Lond., 1677, which Watt ascribes to Pepys.

In the Supplement to Collier’s Dictionary, published contemporaneously, is this tribute to the character of Samuel Pepys:—“It may be affirmed of this Gentleman, that he was, without exception, the greatest and most useful Minister that ever filled the same situations in England; the Acts and Registers of the Admiralty proving this fact beyond contradiction. The principal rules and establishments in present use in those offices are well known to have been of his introducing and most of the officers serving therein, since the Restoration, of his bringing up. He was a most studious promoter and strenuous assertor of order and discipline through all their dependencies. Sobriety, diligence, capacity, loyalty, and subjection to command, were essentials required in all whom he advanced. Where any of these were found wanting, no interest or authority were capable of moving him in favour of the highest pretender; the Royal command only excepted, of which he was also very watchful, to prevent any undue procurements. Discharging his duty to his Prince and Country with a religious application and perfect integrity, he feared no one, courted no one, neglected his own fortune. Besides this, he was a person of universal worth, and in great estimation among the Literati, for his unbounded reading, his sound judgment, his great elocution, his mastery in method, his singular curiosity, and his uncommon munificence towards the advancement of learning, arts, and industry, in all degrees: to which were joined the severest morality of a philosopher, and all the polite accomplishments of a gentleman, particularly those of music, languages, conversation, and address. He assisted, as one of the Barons of the Cinque Ports, at the Coronation of James II., and was a standing Governor of all the principal houses of charity in and about London, and sat at the head of many other honourable bodies, in divers of which, as he deemed their constitution and methods deserving, he left lasting monuments of his bounty and patronage.”

OF THE
PLAGUE IN AND
AROUND LONDON 1665

Also, tensions and skirmishes with the Dutch over the spice trade.

April 28th, 1665. Down the River to visit the victualling-ships, where I find all out of order. And come home to dinner, and then to write a letter to the Duke of Albemarle about them, and carried it myself to the Council-chamber; and when they rose, my Lord Chancellor passing by stroked me on the head, and told me that the Board had read my letter, and taken order for the punishing of the watermen for not appearing on board the ships. And so did the King afterwards, who do now know me so well, that he never sees me but he speaks to me about our Navy business.

30th. Thus I end this month in great content as to my estate and gettings: in much trouble as to the pains I have taken, and the rubs I expect to meet with, about the business of Tangier. The fleet, with about 106 ships upon the coast of Holland, in sight of the Dutch, within the Texel. Great fears of the sicknesse here in the City, it being said that two or three houses are already shut up. God preserve us all!

May 10th, 1665. To the Cocke-pitt, where the Duke did give Sir W. Batten and me an account of the late taking of eight ships, and of his intent to come back to the Gunfleete with the fleet presently; which creates us much work and haste therein, against the fleet comes. And thence to the Guard in Southwarke, there to get some soldiers, by the Duke’s order, to go keep pressmen on board our ships.

23rd. Late comes Sir Arthur Ingram1 to my office, to tell me, that, by letters from Amsterdam of the 18th of this month, the Dutch fleet, being about 100 men-of-war, besides fire-ships, &c., did set out upon the 13th and 14th inst. Being divided into seven squadrons, viz.—1. General Opdam. 2. Cottenar of Rotterdam.2 3. Trump. 4. Schram, of Horne. 5. Stillingworth, of Freezland. 6. Everson. 7. One other, not named, of Zealand.

27th. To the Coffee-house, where all the news is of the Dutch be gone out, and of the plague growing upon us in this town; and of remedies against it: some saying one thing, and some another.

29th. We have every where taken some prizes. Our merchants had good luck to come home safe; Colliers from the North, and some Streights men, just now. And our Hambrough ships, of whom we were so much afraid, are safe in Hambrough. Our fleete resolve to sail out again from Harwich in a day or two.

31st. To the ’Change, where great the noise and trouble of having our Hambrough ships lost; and that very much placed upon Mr. Coventry’s forgetting to give notice to them of the going away of our fleet from the coast of Holland. But all without reason, for he did; but the merchants not being ready, staid longer than the time ordered for the convoy to stay, which was ten days.

June 3rd, 1665. All this day by all people upon the River, and almost every where else hereabout were heard the guns, our two fleets for certain being engaged; which was confirmed by letters from Harwich, but nothing particular: and all our hearts full of concernment for the Duke, and I particularly for my Lord Sandwich and Mr. Coventry after his Royall Highness.

7th. The hottest day that ever I felt in my life. This day, much against my will, I did in Drury Lane see two or three houses marked with a red cross upon the doors, and “Lord have mercy upon us,” writ there; which was a sad sight to me, being the first of the kind that to my remembrance I ever saw.

8th. I to my Lord Treasurer’s by appointment of Sir Thomas Ingram’s, to meet the Goldsmiths; where I met with the great news at last newly come, brought by Bab. May3 from the Duke of York, that we have totally routed the Dutch; that the Duke himself, the Prince, my Lord Sandwich, and Mr. Coventry are all well: which did put me into such joy, that I forgot almost all other thoughts. With great Joy to the Cocke-pitt: where the Duke of Albemarle, like a man out of himself, with content new—told me all: and by and by comes a letter from Mr. Coventry’s own hand to him, which he never opened, (which was a strange thing,) but did give it me to open and read, and consider what was fit for our office to do in it, and leave the letter with Sir W. Clerke; which upon such a time and occasion was a strange piece of indifference, hardly possible. I copied out the letter, and did also take minutes out of Sir W. Clerke’s other letters; and the sum of the news is:—

Victory over the Dutch, June 3, 1665.

This day they engaged the Dutch neglecting greatly the opportunity of the wind they had of us; by which they lost the benefit of their fire-ships. The Earl of Falmouth, Muskerry, and Mr. Richard Boyle4 killed on board the Duke’s ship, the Royall Charles, with one shot: their blood and brains flying in the Duke’s face; and the head of Mr. Boyle striking down the Duke, as some say. Earle of Marlborough, Portland, Rear-Admirall Sansum (to Prince Rupert) killed, and Capt. Kerby and Ableson. Sir John Lawson wounded on the knee: hath had some bones taken out, and is likely to be well again. Upon receiving the hurt, he sent to the Duke for another to command the Royal Oake. The Duke sent Jordan out of the St. George, who did brave things in her. Capt. Jer. Smith of the Mary was second to the Duke, and stepped between him and Captain Seaton of the Urania, (76 guns and 400 men) who had sworn to board the Duke; killed him 200 men, and took the ship; himself losing 99 men, and never an officer saved but himself and lieutenant. His master indeed is saved, with his leg cut off. Admirall Opdam blown up, Trump killed, and said by Holmes; all the rest of their admiralls, as they say, but Everson, (whom they dare not trust for his affection to the Prince of Orange,) are killed; we having taken and sunk, as is believed, about 24 of their best ships; killed and taken near 8 or 10,000 men, and lost, we think, not above 700. A greater victory never known in the world. They are all fled, some 43 got into the Texell, and others elsewhere, and we in pursuit of the rest.

10th. In the evening home to supper; and there, to my great trouble, hear that the plague is come into the City (though it hath these three or four weeks since its beginning been wholly out of the City); but where should it begin but in my good friend and neighbour’s, Dr. Burnett;5 in Fanchurch Street: which in both points troubles me mightily.

11th. I saw poor Dr. Burnett’s door shut; but he hath, I hear, gained great good-will among his neighbours; for he discovered it himself first, and caused himself to be shut up of his own accord: which was very handsome.

14th. I met with Mr. Cowling; who observed to me how he finds every body silent in the praise of my Lord Sandwich, to set up the Duke and the Prince; but that the Duke did both to the King and my Lord Chancellor write abundantly of my Lord’s courage and service and I this day met with a letter of Captain Ferrers, wherein he tells how my Lord was with his ship in all the heat of the day, and did most worthily. To Westminster; and there saw my Lord Marlborough brought to be buried, several Lords of the Council carrying him, and, with the herald in some state. This day the News-book (upon Mr. Moore’s showing L’Estrange Captain Ferrers letter) did do my Lord Sandwich great right as to the late victory. The Duke of York not yet come to town. The town grows very sickly, and people to be afraid of it; there dying this last week of the plague 112, from 43 the week before, whereof but one in Fanchurch-streete, and one in Broad-streete, by the Treasurer’s office.

17th. It struck me very deep this afternoon going with a hackney coach from Lord Treasurer’s down Holborne, the coachman I found to drive easily and easily, at last stood still, and come down hardly able to stand, and told me that he was suddenly struck very sick, and almost blind, he could not see; so I light and went into another coach, with a sad heart for the poor man and for myself also, lest he should have been struck with the plague. Sir John Lawson, I hear, is worse than yesterday: the King went to see him to-day most, kindly. It seems his wound is not very bad; but he hath a fever, a thrush and a hick-up, all three together, which are, it seems, very bad symptoms.

20th. Thankes-giving-day for victory over the Dutch. To the Dolphin Taverne, where all we officers of the Navy met with the Commissioners of the Ordnance by agreement, and dined: where good musique at my direction. Our club come to 34s. a man, nine of us. By water to Fox-hall, and there walked an hour alone, observing the several humours of the citizens that were there this holy-day, pulling off cherries, and God knows what. This day I informed myself that there died four of five at Westminster of the plague, in several houses upon Sunday last, in Bell-Alley, over against the Palace-gate: yet people do think that the number will be fewer in the town than it was the last week. The Dutch are come out again with 20 sail under Banker; supposed gone to the Northward to meet their East India fleet.

21st. …I find all the town almost going out of town, the coaches and waggons being all full of people going into the country.

25th. …To Greenwich by water, thinking to have visited Sir J. Lawson, where, when I come, I find that he died this morning; and indeed the nation hath a great loss. Mr. Coventry, among other talk, entered about the great question now in the House about the Duke’s going to sea again; about which the whole House is divided. The plague encreases mightily, I this day seeing a house, at a bitt-maker’s over against St. Clement’s Church, in the open street shut up; which is a sad sight.

28th. I did take my leave of Sir William Coventry, who it seems was knighted, and sworn a Privy-Counsellor two days since; who with his old kindness treated me, and I believe I shall ever find a noble friend. In my way to Westminster Hall, I observed several plague houses in King’s street and the Palace.

29th. To White Hall, where the Court full of waggons and people ready to go out of town. This end of the town every day grows very bad of the plague. The Mortality Bill is come to 267: which is about ninety more than the last: and of these but four in the City, which is a great blessing to us. Took leave again of Mr. Coventry; though I hope the Duke is not gone to stay, and so do others too. Home; calling at Somerset House, where all were packing up too: the Queene Mother setting out for France this day to drink Bourbon waters this year, she being in a consumption; and intends not to come till winter come twelve-months.

30th. Thus this book of two years ends. Myself and family in good health, consisting of myself and wife, Mercer, her woman, Mary, Alice, and Susan our maids, and Tom my boy. In a sickly time of the plague growing on. Having upon my hands the troublesome care of the Treasury of Tangier, with great sums drawn upon me, and nothing to pay them with: also the business of the office great. Considering of removing my wife to Woolwich; she lately busy in learning to paint, with great pleasure and successe. All other things well; especially a new interest I am making, by a match in hand between the eldest son of Sir G. Carteret, and my Lady Jemimah Montagu. The Duke of York gone down to the fleet; but all suppose not with intent to stay there, as it is not fit, all men conceive, he should.

July 1, 1665. Sad at the news that seven or eight houses in Burying Hall6 street, are shut up of the plague.

2nd. Sir G. Carteret did send me word that the business between my Lord and him is fully agreed on, and is mightily liked of by the King and the Duke of York. Sir G. Lawson was buried late last night at St. Dunstan’s by us, without any company at all.

4th. …Walked round to White Hall, the Park being quite locked up; and I observed a house shut up this day in the Pell Mell, where heretofore in Cromwell’s time we young men used to keep our weekly clubs.

6th. Alderman Backewell is ordered abroad upon some private score with a great sum of money; wherein I was instrumental the other day in shipping him away. It seems some of his creditors have taken notice of it, and he was like to be broke yesterday in his absence: Sir G. Carteret telling me that the King and the kingdom must as good as fall with that man at this time; and that he was forced to get £4000 himself to answer Backewell’s people’s occasions, or he must have broke; but committed this to me as a great secret. I could not see Lord Brouncker, nor had much mind, one of the great houses within two doors of him being shut up: and Lord! the number of houses visited, which this day I observed through the town quite round in my way by Long Lane and London Wall. Sir W. Pen, it seems, sailed last night from Solebay with about sixty sail of ship, and my Lord Sandwich in the Prince and some others, it seems, going after them to overtake them.

9th. I took occasion to have much discourse with Mr. Ph. Carteret, and find him a very modest man, and I think verily of mighty good nature, and pretty understanding. He did give me a good account of the fight with the Dutch. Having promised Harman yesterday, I to his house: the most observable thing I found there to my content, was to hear him and his clerk tell me that in this parish of Michell’s Cornhill, one of the middle-most parishes and a great one of the town, there hath, notwithstanding this sickness, been buried of any disease, man, woman, or child, not one for thirteen months last past; which is very strange. And the like in a good degree in most other parishes, I hear, saving only of the plague in them.

12th. A solemn fast-day; for the plague growing upon us.

13th. Above 700 died of the plague this week.

18th. I was much troubled this day to hear at Westminster, how the officers do bury the dead in the open Tuttle-fields, pretending want of room elsewhere: whereas the new chapel church-yard was walled-in at the publick charge in the last, plague-time, merely for want of room and now none, but such as are able to pay dear for it, can be buried there.

20th. Walked to Redriffe, where I hear the sickness is, and indeed is scattered almost every where. There dying 1089 of the plague this week. My Lady Carteret did this day give me a bottle of plague-water home with me. I received yesterday a letter from my Lord Sandwich, giving me thanks for my care about their marriage business, and desiring it to be dispatched, that no disappointment may happen therein.

21st. Late in my chamber, setting some papers in order; the plague growing very ranging, and my apprehensions of it great.

22nd. The Duke of Albemarle being gone to dinner to my Lord of Canterbury’s, I thither, and there walked and viewed the new hall, a new old-fashion hall as possible. Begun, and means left for the ending of it, by Bishop Juxon. To Fox-hall, where to the Spring garden; but I do not see one guest there, the town being so empty of any body to come thither. I by coach home, not meeting with but two coaches, and but two carts from White Hall to my own house, that I could observe; and the streets mighty thin of people. All the news is great: that we must of necessity fall out with France, for He will side with the Dutch against us. That alderman Backewell is gone over (which indeed he is,) with money, and that Ostend is in our present possession. But it is strange to see how poor Alderman Backewell is like to be put to it in his absence, Mr. Shaw his right hand being ill. And the Alderman’s absence gives doubts to people, and I perceive they are in great straits for money, besides what Sir G. Carteret told me about fourteen days ago. Our fleet under my Lord Sandwich being about the latitude 55 1/2 (which is a great secret) to the Northward of the Texell.

25th. Sad the story of the plague in the City, it growing mightily. This day my Lord Brouncker did give me Mr. Grant’s book upon the Bills of Mortality, new printed and enlarged. This day came a letter to me from Paris, from my Lord Hinchingbroke, about his coming over; and I have sent this night an order from the Duke of Albemarle for a ship of 36 guns to go to Calais to fetch him.

26th. To Greenwich to the Park, where I heard the King and Duke are come by water this morn from Hampton Court. They asked me several questions. The King mightily pleased with his new buildings there. I followed them to Castle’s ship in building, and there met Sir W. Batten, and thence to Sir G. Carteret’s, where all the morning with them; they not having any but the Duke of Monmouth, and Sir W. Killigrew,7 and one gentleman, and a page more. Great variety of talk, and was often led to speak to the King and Duke. By and by they to dinner, and all to dinner and sat down to the King saving myself. The King having dined, he came down, and I went in the barge with him, I sitting at the door. Down to Woolwich (and there I just saw and kissed my wife, and saw some of her painting, which is very curious; and away again to the King,) and back again with him in the barge, hearing him and the Duke talk, and seeing and observing their manner of discourse. And God forgive me! though I admire them with all the duty possible, yet the more a man considers and observes them, the less he finds of difference between them and other men, though (blessed be God!) they are both princes of great nobleness and spirits. The Duke of Monmouth is the most skittish leaping gallant that ever I saw, always in action, vaulting or leaping, or clambering. Sad news of the death of so many in the parish of the plague, forty last night. The bell always going. This day poor Robin Shaw at Backewell’s died and Backewell himself in Flanders. The King himself asked about Shaw, and being told he was dead, said he was very sorry for it. The sickness is got into our parish this week, and is got, indeed, every where: so that I begin to think of setting things in order, which I pray God enable me to put both as to soul and body.

27th. To Hampton Court, where I saw the King and Queene set out towards Salisbury, and after them the Duke and Duchesse, whose hands I did kiss. And it was the first time I did ever, or did see any body else, kiss her hand, and it was a most fine white and fat hand. But it was pretty to see the young pretty ladies dressed like men, in velvet coats, caps with ribbands, and with laced bands, just like men. Only the Duchesse herself it did not become. At home met the weekly Bill, where above 100 encreased in the Bill, and of them, in all about 1700 of the plague, which hath made the officers this day resolve of sitting at Deptford, which puts me to some consideration what to do.

28th. Set out with my Lady Sandwich all alone with her with six horses to Dagenhams; going by water to the Ferry. And a pleasant going, and a good discourse; and when there very merry, and the young couple now well acquainted. But Lord! to see in what fear all the people here do live. How they are afraid of us that come to them, insomuch that I am troubled at it, and wish myself away. But some cause they have; for the chaplin, with whom but a week or two ago we were here mighty high disputing, is since fallen into a fever and dead, being gone hence to a friend’s a good way off. A sober and a healthful man. These considerations make us all hasten the marriage, and resolve it upon Monday next.

30th. It was a sad noise to hear our bell to toll and ring so often to-day, either for death or burials: I think five or six times.

31st. Up; and very betimes by six o’clock at Deptford, and there find Sir G. Carteret, and my Lady ready to go: I being in my new coloured silk suit, and coat trimmed with gold buttons and gold broad lace round my hands, very rich and fine. By water to the Ferry, where, when we come, no coach there; and tide of ebb so far spent as the horse-boat could not get off on the other side the river to bring away the coach. So we were fain to stay there in the unlucky Isle of Doggs, in a chill place, the morning cool, and wind fresh, above two if not three hours to our great discontent. Yet being upon a pleasant errand, and seeing that it could not be helped, we did bear it very patiently; and it was worth my observing, to see how upon these two scores, Sir G. Carteret, the most passionate man in the world, and that was in greatest haste to be gone, did bear with it, and very pleasant all the while, at least not troubled much so as to fret and storm at it. Anon the coach comes: in the mean time there coming a news thither with his horse to go over, that told us he did come from Islington this morning; and that Proctor the vintner of the Miter in Wood-street, and his son, are dead this morning there, of the plague; he having laid out abundance of money there, and was the greatest vintner for some time in London for great entertainments. We, fearing the canonicall hour would be past before we got thither, did with a great deal of unwillingness send away the licence and wedding-ring. So that when we come, though we drove hard with six horses, yet we found them gone from home; and going towards the church, met them coming from church, which troubled us. But, however, that trouble was soon over; hearing it was well done: they being both in their old clothes; my Lord Crewe giving her, there being three coach fulls of them. The young lady mighty sad, which troubled me; but yet I think it was only her gravity in a little greater degree than usual. All saluted her, but I did not till my Lady Sandwich did ask me whether I had saluted her or no. So to dinner, and very merry we were; but in such a sober way as never almost any thing was in so great families: but it was much better. After dinner company divided, some to cards, others to talk. My Lady Sandwich and I up to settle accounts, and pay her some money. And mighty kind she is to me, and would fain have had me gone down for company with her to Hinchingbroke; but for my life I cannot. At night to supper, and so to talk; and which, methought, was the most extraordinary thing, all of us to prayers as usual, and the young bride and bridegroom too: and so after prayers soberly to bed; only I got into the bridegroom’s chamber while he undressed himself, and there was very merry, till he was called to the bride’s chamber, and into bed they went. I kissed the bride in bed, and so the curtaines drawne with the greatest gravity that could be, and so good night. But the modesty and gravity of this business was so decent, that it was to me indeed ten times more delightful than if it had been twenty times more merry and jovial. Thus I ended this month with the greatest joy that ever I did any in my life, because I have spent the greatest part of it with abundance of joy, and honour, and pleasant journeys, and brave entertainments, and without cost of money; and at last live to see the business ended with great content; on all sides. Thus we end this month, as I said, after the greatest glut of content that ever I had; only under some difficulty because of the plague, which grows mightily upon us, the last week being about 1700 or 1800 of the plague. My Lord Sandwich at sea with a fleet of about 100 sail, to the Northward, expecting De Ruyter, or the Dutch East India fleet. My Lord Hinchingbroke coming over from France, and will meet his sister at Scott’s-hall. Myself having obliged both these families in this business very much; as both my Lady and Sir G. Carteret and his Lady do confess exceedingly, and the latter do also now call me cozen, which I am glad of. So God preserve us all friends long, and continue health among us.

August 3, 1665. To Dagenhams. All the way people, citizens, walking to and fro, enquire how the plague is in the City this week by the Bill; which by chance, at Greenwich, I had heard was 2020 of the plague, and 3000 and odd of all diseases. By and by met my Lord Crewe returning; Mr. Marr telling me by the way how a maid-servant of Mr. John Wright’s (who lives thereabouts) falling sick of the plague, she was removed to an out-house, and a nurse appointed to look to her; who, being once absent, the maid got out of the house at the window, and run away. The nurse coming and knocking, and having no answer, believed she was dead, and went and told Mr. Wright so; who and his lady were in great strait what to do to get her buried. At last resolved to go to Burntwood, hard by, being in the parish, and there get people to do it. But they would not; so he went home full of trouble, and in the way met the wench walking over the common, which frighted him worse than before; and was forced to send people to take her, which he did; and they got one of the pest coaches and put her into it to carry her to a pest house. And passing in a narrow lane, Sir Anthony Browne8 with his brother and some friends in the coach, met this coach with the curtains drawn close. The brother being a young man, and believing there might be some lady in it that would not be seen, and the way being narrow, he thrust his head out of his own into her coach, and to look, and there saw somebody look very ill, and in a sick dress, and stunk mightily; which the coachman also cried out upon. And presently they come up to some people that stood looking after it, and told our gallants that it was a maid of Mr. Wright’s carried away sick of the plague; which put the young gentle man into a fright had almost cost him his life, but is now well again.

8th. To my office a little, and then to the Duke of Albemarle’s about some business. The streets empty all the way, now even in London, which is a sad sight. And to Westminster Hall, where talking, hearing very sad stories from Mrs. Mumford; among others, of Mr. Michell’s son’s family. And poor Will, that used to sell us ale at the Hall-door, his wife and three children died, all, I think, in a day. So home through the City again, wishing I may have taken no ill in going; but I will go, I think, no more thither. The news of De Ruyter’s coming home is certain; and told to the great disadvantage of our fleet, and the praise of De Ruyter; but it cannot be helped.

10th. By and by to the office, where we sat all the morning; in great trouble to see the Bill this week rise so high, to above 4000 in all, and of them above 3000 of the plague. Home, to draw over anew my will, which I had bound myself by oath to dispatch by tomorrow night; the town growing so unhealthy, that a man cannot depend upon living two days.

12th. The people die so, that now it seems they are fain to carry the dead to be buried by day-light, the nights not sufficing to do it in. And my Lord Mayor commands people to be within at nine at night all, as they say, that the sick may have liberty to go abroad for ayre. There is one also dead out of one of our ships at Deptford, which troubles us mightily; the Providence, fire-ship, which was just fitted to go to sea. But they tell me to-day no more sick on board. And this day W. Bodham tells me that one is dead at Woolwich, not far from the Rope-yard. I am told, too, that a wife of one of the groomes at Court is dead at Salisbury; so that the King and Queene are speedily to be all gone to Milton, So God preserve us!

15th. It was dark before I could get home, and so land at Church-yard stairs, where, to my great trouble, I met a dead corps of the plague, in the narrow ally just bringing down a little pair of stairs. But I thank God I was not much disturbed at it. However, I shall beware of being late abroad again.

16th. To the Exchange, where I have not been a great while. But, Lord! how sad a sight it is to see the streets empty of people, and very few upon the ’Change. Jealous of every door that one sees shut up, lest it should be the plague; and about us two shops in three, if not more, generally shut up. This day I had the ill news from Dagenhams, that my poor Lord of Hinchingbroke his indisposition is turned to the small-pox. Poor gentleman that he should be come from France so soon to fall sick, and of that disease too, when he should be gone to see a fine lady, his mistress. I am most heartily sorry for it.

18th. To Sheernesse, where we walked up and down, laying out the ground to be taken in for a yard to lay provisions for cleaning and repairing of ships, and a most proper place it is for the purpose.

19th. Come letters from the King and Lord Arlington, for the removal of our office to Greenwich. I also wrote letters, and made myself ready to go to Sir G. Carteret, at Windsor; and having borrowed a horse of Mr. Blackbrough, sent him to wait for me at the Duke of Albemarle’s door: when, on a sudden, a letter comes to us from the Duke of Albemarle, to tell us that the fleet is all come back to Solebay, and are presently to be dispatched back again. Whereupon I presently by water to the Duke of Albemarle to know what news; and there I saw a letter from my Lord Sandwich to the Duke of Albemarle, and also from Sir W. Coventry and Captain Teddiman; how my Lord having commanded Teddiman with twenty-two ships (of which but fifteen could get thither, and of those fifteen but eight or nine could come up to play) to go to Bergen; where, after several messages to and fro from the Governor of the Castle, urging that Teddiman ought not to come thither with more than five ships, and desiring time to think of it, all the while he suffering the Dutch ships to land their guns to the best advantage; Teddiman on the second presence, began to play at the Dutch ships, (whereof ten East India-men,) and in three hours’ time (the town and castle, without any provocation, playing on our ships,) they did cut all our cables, so as the wind being off the land, did force us to go out, and rendered our fire-ships useless; without doing any thing, but what hurt of course our guns must have done them: we having lost five commanders, besides Mr. Edward Montagu and Mr. Windham. Our fleet is come home to our great grief with not above five weeks’ dry, and six days’ wet provisions however, must go out again; and the Duke hath ordered the Soveraigne, and all other ships ready, to go out to the fleet and strengthen them. This news troubles us all, but cannot be helped. Having read all this news, and received commands of the Duke with great content, he giving me the words which to my great joy he hath several times said to me, that his greatest reliance is upon me. And my Lord Craven also did come out to talk with me, and told me that I am in mighty esteem with the Duke, for which I bless God. Home; and having given my fellow-officers an account hereof, to Chatham, and wrote other letters. I by water to Charing-Cross, to the post-house, and there the people tell me they are shut up; and so I went to the new post-house, and there got a guide and horses to Hounslow. So to Stanes, and there by this time it was dark night, and got a guide who lost his way in the forest, till by help of the moone, (which recompences me for all the pains I ever took about studying of her motions,) I led my guide into the way back again; and so we made a man rise that kept a gate, and so he carried us to Cranborne.9 Where in the dark I perceive an old house new building with a great deal of rubbish, and was fain to go up a ladder to Sir G. Carteret’s chamber. And there in his bed I sat down, and told him all my bad news, which troubled him mightily; but yet we were very merry, and made the best of it; and being myself weary did take leave, and after having spoken with Mr. Fenn10 in bed, I to bed in my Lady’s chamber that she uses to lie in, and where the Duchesse of York, that now is, was born. So to sleep; being very well, but weary, and, the better by having carried with me a bottle of strong water; whereof now and then a sip did me good.

20th. I up and to walk forth to see the place; and I find it to be a very noble seat in a noble forest, with the noblest prospect towards Windsor, and round about over many countys, that can be desired; but otherwise a very melancholy place, and little variety save only trees. To Brainford; and there at the inn that goes down to the waterside, I light and paid off my post-horses, and so slipped on my shoes, and laid my things by, the tide not serving, and to church, where a dull sermon, and many Londoners. After church to my inn, and eat and drank, and so about seven o’clock by water, and got between nine and ten to Queenhive,11 very dark. And I could not get my waterman to go elsewhere for fear of the plague. Thence with a lanthorn, in great fear of meeting of dead corpses, carrying to be buried; but, blessed be God, met none, but did see now and then a linke (which is the mark of them) at a distance.

22nd. I went away and walked to Greenwich, in my way seeing a coffin with a dead body therein, dead of the plague, lying in an open close belonging to Coome farme, which was carried out last night, and the parish have not appointed any body to bury it; but only set a watch there all day and night, that nobody should go thither or come thence: this disease making us more cruel to one another than we are to dogs.

23th. This day I am told that Dr. Burnett, my physician, is this morning dead of the plague; which is strange, his man dying so long ago, and his house this month open again. Now himself dead. Poor unfortunate man!

28th. I think to take adieu to-day of the London streets. In much the best posture I ever was in in my life, both as to the quantity and the certainty I have of the money I am worth; having most of it in my hand. But then this is a trouble to me what to do with it, being myself this day going to be wholly at Woolwich; but for the present I am resolved to venture it in an iron chest, at least for a while.

30th, Abroad, and met with Hadley, our clerke, who, upon my asking how the plague goes, told me it encreases much, and much in our parish; for, says he, there died nine this week, though I have returned but six: which is a very ill practice, and makes me think it is so in other places; and therefore the plague much greater than people take it to be. I went forth and walked towards Moorefields to see (God forgive my presumption!) whether I could see any dead corpse going to the grave; but, as God would have it, did not. But, Lord! how every body looks, and discourse in the street is of death, and nothing else, and few people going up and down, that the town is like a place distressed and forsaken.

31st. Up; and after putting several things in order to my removal to Woolwich; the plague having a great encrease this week beyond all expectation of almost 2000, making the general Bill 7000, odd 100; and the plague above 6000. Thus this month ends with great sadness upon the publick, through the greatness of the plague every where through the kingdom almost. Every day sadder and sadder news of its encrease. In the City died this week 7496, and of them 6102 of the plague. But it is feared that the true number of the dead this week is near 10,000; partly from the poor that cannot be taken notice of, through the greatness of the number, and partly from the Quakers and others that will not have any bell ring for them. Our fleet gone out to find the Dutch, we having about 100 sail in our fleet, and in them the Soveraigne one; so that it is a better fleet than the former with which the Duke was. All our fear is that the Dutch should be got in before them; which would be a very great sorrow to the publick, and to me particularly, for my Lord Sandwich’s sake. A great deal of money being spent, and the kingdom not in a condition to spare, nor a parliament without much difficulty to meet to give more, And to that; to have it said, what hath been done by our late fleets? As to myself I am very well, only in fear of the plague, and as much of an ague by being forced to go early and late to Woolwich, and my family to lie there continually. My late gettings have been very great to my great content, and am likely to have yet a few more profitable jobbs in a little while; for which Tangier and Sir W. Warren I am wholly obliged to.

Sept. 3, 1665 (Lord’s day). Up; and put on my coloured silk suit very fine, and my new periwigg, bought a good while since, but durst not wear, because the plague was in Westminster when I bought it; and it is a wonder what will be the fashion after the plague is done, as to periwiggs, for nobody will dare to buy any haire, for fear of the infection, that it had been cut off the heads of people dead of the plague. My Lord Brouncker, Sir J. Minnes, and I up to the Vestry at the desire of the Justices of the Peace, in order to the doing something for the keeping of the plague from growing; but Lord! to consider the madness of people of the town, who will (because they are forbid) come in crowds along with the dead corpses to see them buried; but we agreed on some orders for the prevention thereof. Among other stories, one was very passionate, methought, of a complaint brought against a man in the town for taking a child from London from an infected house. Alderman Hooker told us it was the child of a very able citizen in Gracious Street, a saddler, who had buried all the rest of his children of the plague, and himself and wife now being shut up and in despair of escaping, did desire only to save the life of this little child; and so prevailed to have it received stark-naked into the arms of a friend, who brought it (having put it into new fresh clothes) to Greenwich; where upon hearing the story, we did agree it should be permitted to be received and kept in the town.

4th. Walked home, my Lord Brouncker giving me a very neat cane to walk with; but it troubled me to pass by Coome farme where about twenty-one people have died of the plague.

6th. To London, to pack up more things; and there I saw fires burning in the streets, as it is through the whole City, by the Lord Mayor’s order. Thence by water to the Duke of Albemarle’s: all the way fires on each side of the Thames, and strange to see in broad daylight two or three burials upon the Bankeside, one at the very heels of another: doubtless all of the plague; and yet at least forty or fifty people going; along with every one of them. The Duke mighty pleasant with me; telling me that he is certainly informed, that the Dutch were not come home upon the 1st instant, and so he hopes our fleet may meet with them.

7th. To the Tower, and there sent for the Weekly Bill, and find 8252 dead in all, and of them 6978 of the plague; which is a most dreadful number, and shows reason to fear that the plague hath got that hold that it will yet continue amongst us. To Swakely12 to Sir R. Viner’s. A very pleasant place, bought by him of Sir James Harrington’s lady. He took us up and down with great respect, and showed us all his house and grounds; and it is a place not very moderne in the garden nor house, but the most uniforme in all that ever I saw; and some things to excess. Pretty to see over the screene of the hall (put up by Sir J. Harrington, a Long Parliament man) the King’s head, and my Lord of Essex13 on one side, and Fairfax on the other; and upon the other side of the screene, the parson of the parish, and the lord of the manor and his sisters. The window-cases, door-cases, and chimnys of all the house are marble. He showed me a black boy that he had, that died of a consumption, and being dead, he caused him to be dried in an oven, and lies there entire in a box. By and by to dinner, where his lady I find yet handsome, but hath been a very handsome woman: now is old. Hath brought him near £100,000 and now lives, no man in England in greater plenty, and commands both King and Council with his credit he gives them. After dinner Sir Robert led us up to his long gallery, very fine, above stairs, (and better, or such furniture I never did see.) A most pleasant journey we had back. Povy tells me by a letter he showed me, that the King is not, nor hath been of late, very well, but quite out of humour; and, as some think, in a consumption, and weary of every thing. He showed me my Lord Arlington’s house that he was born in, in a towne, called Harlington: and so carried me through a most pleasant country to Brainford, and there put me into my boat, and good night. So I wrapped myself warm, and by water got to Woolwich about one in the morning.

10th (Lord’s day). Walked home; being forced thereto by one of my watermen falling sick yesterday, and it was God’s great mercy I did not go by water with them yesterday, for he fell sick on Saturday night, and it is to be feared of the plague. So I sent him away to London with his family; but another boat come to me this morning. My wife before I come out telling me the ill news that she hears that her father is very ill, and then I told her I feared of the plague, for that the house is shut up. And so she much troubled, and did desire me to send them something and I said I would, and will do so. But before I come out there happened news to come to me by an expresse from Mr. Coventry, telling the most happy news of my Lord Sandwich’s meeting with part of the Dutch; his taking two of their East India ships, and six or seven others, and very good prizes: and that he is in search of the rest of the fleet, which he hopes to find upon the Well-bancke, with the loss only of the Hector, poor Captn. Cuttle. To Greenwich, and there sending away Mr. Andrews, I to Captn. Cocke’s, where I find my Lord Brouncker and his mistress,14 and Sir J. Minnes. Where we supped; (there was also Sir W. Doyly and Mr. Evelyn,) but the receipt of this news did put us all into such an extasy of joy, that it inspired into Sir J. Minnes and Mr. Evelyn such a spirit of mirth, that in all my life I never met with so merry a two hours as our company this night was. Among other humours, Mr. Evelyn’s repeating of some verses made up of nothing but the various acceptations of may and can, and doing it so aptly upon occasion of something of that nature, and so fast, did make us all die almost with laughing, and did so stop the mouth of Sir J. Minnes in the middle of all his mirth, (and in a thing agreeing with his own manner of genius) that I never saw any man so out-done in all my life; and Sir J. Minnes’s mirth too to see himself out-done, was the crown of all our mirth. In this humour we sat till about ten at night, and so my Lord and his mistress home, and we to bed.

14th. To the Duke of Albemarle, where I find a letter of the 12th. from Solebay, from my Lord Sandwich, of the fleet’s meeting with about eighteen more of the Dutch fleet, and his taking of most of them; and the messenger says, they had taken three after the letter was wrote and sealed; which being twenty-one, and the fourteen took the other day, is forty-five sail; some of which are good, and others rich ships. And having taken a copy of my Lord’s letter, I away toward the ’Change, the plague being all thereabouts. Here my news was highly welcome, and I did wonder to see the ’Change so full, I believe 200 people; but not a man or merchant of any fashion, but plain men all. And Lord! to see how I did endeavour all I could to talk with as few as I could, there being now no observation of shutting up of houses infected, that to be sure we do converse and meet with people that have the plague upon them. I spent some thoughts upon the occurrences of this day, giving matter for as much content on one hand and melancholy on another, as any day in all my life. For the first; the finding of my money and plate, and all safe at London, and speeding in my business of money this day. The hearing of this good news to such excess, after so great a despair of my Lord’s doing any thing this year; adding to that, the decrease of 500 and more, which is the first decrease we have yet had in the sickness since it begun: and great hopes that the next week it will be greater. Then, on the other side, my finding that though the Bill in general is abated, yet the City within the walls is encreased, and likely to continue so, and is close to our house there. My meeting dead corpses of the plague, carried to be buried close to me at noon-day through the City in Fanchurch-street. To see a person sick of the sores, carried close by me by Gracechurch in a hackney-coach. My finding the Angel tavern, at the lower end of Tower-bill, shut up, and more than that, the alehouse at the Tower-stairs, and more than that, that the person was then dying of the plague when I was last there, a little while ago, at night. To hear that poor Payne, my waiter, had buried a child, and is dying himself. To hear that a labourer I sent but the other day to Dagenhams, to know how they did there, is dead of the plague; and that one of my own watermen, that carried me daily, fell sick as soon as he had landed me on Friday morning last, when I had been all night upon the water, (and I believe he did get his infection that day at Brainford) and is now dead of the plague. To hear that Captain Lambert and Cuttle are killed in the taking these ships; and that Mr. Sidney Montague is sick of a desperate fever at my Lady Carteret’s, at Scott’s-hall. To hear that Mr. Lewes hath another daughter sick. And, lastly, that both my servants, W. Hewer, and Tom Edwards, have lost their fathers, both in St. Sepulchre’s parish of the plague this week, do put me into great apprehension of melancholy, and with good reason.

20th. To Lambeth. But, Lord! what a sad time it is to see no boats upon the River; and grass grows all up and down White Hall court, and nobody but poor wretches in the streets! and, which is worst of all, the Duke showed us the number of the plague this week, brought in the last night from the Lord Mayor; that it is encreased about 600 more than the last, which is quite contrary to our hopes and expectations, from the coldness of the late season. For the whole general number is 8297, and of them the plague 7165; which is more in the whole by above 50, than the biggest Bill yet: which is very grievous to us all.

25th. Found ourselves come to the fleet, and so aboard the Prince, and there, after a good while in discourse, we did agree a bargain of £5000 for my Lord Sandwich for silk, cinnamon, nutmegs, and indigo. And I was near signing to an undertaking for the payment of the whole sum: but I did by chance escape it, having since, upon second thoughts, great cause to be glad of it, reflecting upon the craft and not good condition, it may be of, Captain Cocke.

27th. To Captain Cocke’s, and (he not yet come from town) to Mr. Evelyn, where much company; and thence in his coach with him to the Duke of Albemarle by Lambeth, who was in a mighty pleasant humour; and tells us that the Dutch do stay abroad, and our fleet must go out again, or be ready to do so. Here we got several things ordered as we desired for the relief of the prisoners, and sick and wounded men. Here I saw this week’s Bill of Mortality, wherein, blessed be God! there is above 1800 decrease, being the first considerable decrease we have had. Most excellent discourse with Mr. Evelyn touching all manner of learning; wherein I find him a very fine gentleman, and particularly of paynting, in which he tells me the beautifull Mrs. Middleton is rare, and his own wife do brave things.

29th. Sir Martin Noell15 is this day dead of the plague in London.

October 3rd, 1665. Sir W. Batten is gone this day to meet to adjourne the Parliament to Oxford. This night I hear that of our two watermen that used to carry our letters, and were well on Saturday last, one is dead, and the other dying sick of the plague; the plague, though decreasing elsewhere, yet being greater about the Tower and thereabouts.

4th. This night comes Sir George Smith to see me at the office, and tells me how the plague is decreased this week 740, for which God be praised! but that it encreases at our end of the town still.

7th. Did business, though not much, at the office; because of the horrible crowd and lamentable moan of the poor seamen that lie starving in the streets for lack of money. Which do trouble and perplex me to the heart; and more at noon when we were to go through them, for then above a whole hundred of them followed us; some cursing, some swearing, and some praying to us. At night come two waggons from Rochester with more goods from Captain Cocke; and in housing them come two of the Custom-house, and did seize them: but I showed them my transire. However, after some angry words, we locked them up, and sealed up the key, and did give it to the constable to keep till Monday, and so parted. But, Lord! to think how the poor constable come to me in the dark going home; “Sir,” says he, “I have the key, and if you would have me do any service for you, send for me betimes to-morrow morning, and I will do what you would have me.” Whether the fellow do this out of kindness or knavery, I cannot tell; but it is pretty to observe. Talking with him in the high way, come close by the bearers with a dead corpse of the plague; but, Lord! to see what custom is, that I am come almost to think nothing of it.

8th. To the office, where ended my business with the Captains; and I think of twenty-two ships we shall make shift to get out seven. (God help us! men being sick, or provisions lacking.)

12th. Good news this week that there are about 600 less dead of the plague than the last.

14th. My heart and head to-night is full of the Victualling business, being overjoyed and proud at my success in my proposal about it, it being read before the King, Duke, and the Caball with complete applause and satisfaction. This Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Coventry both writ me. My own proper accounts are in great disorder, having been neglected about a month. This, and the fear of the sickness, and providing for my family, do fill my head very full, besides the infinite business of the office, and nobody here to look after it but myself.

15th. The Parliament, it seems, have voted the King £1,250,000 at £50,000 per month, tax for the war; and voted to assist the King against the Dutch, and all that shall adhere to them; and thanks to be given him for his care of the Duke of York, which last is a very popular vote on the Duke’s behalf. The taxes of the last assessment, which should have been in good part gathered, are not yet laid, and that even in part of the City of London; and the Chimny-money comes almost to nothing, nor any thing else looked after.

16th. I walked to the Tower; but, Lord! how empty the streets are and melancholy, so many poor sick people in the streets full of sores; and so many sad stories overheard as I walk, every body talking of this dead, and that man sick, and so many in this place, and so many in that. And they tell me that, in Westminster, there is never a physician and but one apothecary left, all being dead; but that there are great hopes of a great decrease this week: God send it! At the Tower found my Lord Duke and Duchesse at dinner; so I sat down. And much good cheer, the Lieutenant and his lady, and several officers with the Duke. But, Lord! to hear the silly talk was there, would make one mad; the Duke having none almost but fools about him. I have received letters from my Lord Sandwich today, speaking very high about the prize goods, that he would have us to fear nobody, but be very confident in what we have done, and not to confess any fault or doubt of what he hath done; for the King hath allowed it, and do now confirm it, and send orders, as he says, for nothing to be disturbed that his Lordshipp hath ordered therein as to the division of the goods to the fleet which do comfort us. Much talk there is of the Chancellor’s speech and the King’s at the Parliament’s meeting, which are very well liked; and that we shall certainly, by their speeches, fall out with France at this time, together with the Dutch, which will find us work.

26th. Sir Christopher Mings and I together by water to the Tower; and I find him a very witty well-spoken fellow, and mighty free to tell his parentage, being a shoemaker’s son. I to the ’Change, where I hear how the French have taken two and sunk one of our merchant-men in the Straights, and carried the ships to Toulon: so that there is no expectation but we must fall out with them. The ’Change pretty full, and the town begins to be lively again, though the streets very empty, and most shops shut.

27th. The Duke of Albemarle proposed to me from Mr. Coventry, that I should be Surveyor-Generall of the Victualling business, which I accepted. But, indeed, the terms in which Mr. Coventry proposes it for me are the most obliging that ever I could expect from any man, and more; he saying that I am the fittest man in England, and that he is sure, if I will undertake, I will perform it: and that it will be also a very desirable thing that I might have this encouragement, my encouragement in the Navy alone being in no wise proportionable to my pains or deserts. This, added to the letter I had three days since from Mr. Southerne,16 signifying that the Duke of York had in his master’s absence opened my letters, and commanded him to tell me that he did approve of my being the Surveyor-General, do make me joyful beyond myself that I cannot express it, to see that as I do take pains, so God blesses me, and hath sent me masters that do observe that I take pains.

28th. The Parliament hath given the Duke of York £120,000, to be paid him after £1,250,000 is gathered upon the tax which they have now given the King. He tells me that the Dutch have lately launched sixteen new ships; all which is great news. The King and Court, they say, have now finally resolved to spend nothing upon clothes, but what is of the growth of England; which, if observed, will be very pleasing to the people, and very good for them.

29th. In the street did overtake and almost run upon two women crying and carrying a man’s coffin between them. I suppose the husband, of one of them, which, methinks, is a sad thing.

31st. Meeting yesterday the Searchers with their rods in their hands coming from Captain Cocke’s house, I did overhear them say that his Black did not die of the plague. About nine at night I come home, and anon comes Mrs. Coleman17 and her husband, and she sung very finely, though her voice is decayed as to strength but mighty sweet though soft, and a pleasant jolly woman, and in mighty good humour. She sung part of the Opera, though she would not own she did get any of it without book in order to the stage. Thus we end the month. The whole number of deaths being 1388, and of them of the plague, 1031. Want of money in the Navy puts every thing out of order. Men grow mutinous; and nobody here to mind the business of the Navy but myself. I in great hopes of my place of Surveyor-General of the Victualling, which will bring me £300 per annum.

November 9th, 1665. The Bill of Mortality, to all our griefs, is encreased 399 this week, and the encrease generally through the whole City and suburbs, which makes us all sad.

14th. Captain Cocke and I in his coach through Kent-streete, (a sad place through the plague, people sitting sick and with plaisters about them in the street begging.)

15th. The plague, blessed be God! is decreased 400; making the whole this week but 1300 and odd: for which the Lord be praised!

16th. To Eriffe; where after making a little visit to Madam Williams, she did give me information of W. How’s having bought eight bags of precious stones taken from about the Dutch Vice-admirall’s neck, of which there were eight dyamonds which cost him £4000 sterling, in India, and hoped to have made £12,000 here for them. And that this is told by one that sold him one of the bags, which hath nothing but rubys in it, which he had for 35s.; and that it will be proved he hath made £125, of one stone that he bought. This she desired, and I resolved I would give my Lord Sandwich notice of. So I on board my Lord Brouncker; and there he and Sir Edmund Pooly carried me down into the hold of the India shipp, and there did show me the greatest wealth lie in confusion that a man can see in the world. Pepper scattered through every chink, you trod upon it; and in cloves and nutmegs, I walked above the knees: whole rooms full. And silk in bales, and boxes of copper-plate, one of which I saw opened. Having seen this, which was as noble a sight as ever I saw in my life, I away on board the other ship in despair to get the pleasure-boat of the gentlemen there to carry me to the fleet….

22nd. I was very glad to hear that the plague is come very low; that is, the whole under 1000, and the plague 800 and odd: and great hopes of a further decrease, because of this day’s being a very exceeding hard frost, and continues freezing….

OF THE
GREAT FIRE OF LONDON 1666.

September 2nd, 1666 (Lord’s day). Some of our maids sitting up late last night to get things ready against our feast to-day, Jane called us up about three in the morning, to tell us of a great fire they saw in the City. So I rose, and slipped on my night-gown, and went to her window; and thought it to be on the back-side of Marke-lane at the farthest, but being unused to such fires as followed, I thought it far enough off; and so went to bed again, and to sleep. About seven rose again to dress myself, and there looked out at the window, and saw the fire not so much as it was, and further off. So to my closet to set things to rights, after yesterday’s cleaning. By and by Jane comes and tells me that she hears that above 300 houses have been burned down to-night by the fire we saw, and that it is now burning down all Fish-street, by London Bridge. So I made myself ready presently, and walked to the Tower, and there got up upon one of the high places, Sir J. Robinson’s little son going up with me; and there I did see the houses at that end of the bridge all on fire, and an infinite great fire on this and the other side the end of the bridge; which, among other people, did trouble me for poor little Michell and our Sarah on the bridge. So down with my heart full of trouble to the Lieutenant of the Tower, who tells me that it begun this morning in the King’s baker’s18 house in Pudding-lane, and that it hath burned down St. Magnes Church and most part of Fish-street already. So I down to the water-side, and there got a boat, and through bridge, and there saw a lamentable fire. Poor Michell’s house, as far as the Old Swan, already burned that way, and the fire running further, that in a very little time it got as far as the Steele-yard, while I was there. Every body endeavouring to remove their goods, and flinging into the river, or bringing them into lighters that lay off; poor people staying in their houses as long as till the very fire touched them, and then running into boats, or clambering from one pair of stairs by the water-side to another. And among other things, the poor pigeons, I perceive, were loth to leave their houses, but hovered about the windows and balconys, till they burned their wings, and fell down. Having staid, and in an hour’s time seen the fire rage every way, and nobody, to my sight, endeavouring to quench it, but to remove their goods, and leave all to the fire, and having seen it get as far as the Steele-yard, and the wind mighty high, and driving it into the City: and every thing after so long a drought proving combustible, even the very stones of churches, and among other things, the poor steeple19 by which pretty Mrs. —-lives, and whereof my old schoolfellow Elborough is parson, taken fire in the very top, and there burned till it fell down; I to White Hall (with a gentleman with me, who desired to go off from the Tower, to see the fire, in my boat): and there up to the King’s closet in the Chapel, where people come about me, and I did give them an account dismayed them all, and word was carried in to the King. So I was called for, and did tell the King and Duke of York what I saw, and that unless his Majesty did command houses to be pulled down, nothing could stop the fire. They seemed much troubled, and the King commanded me to go to my Lord Mayor20 from him, and command him to spare no houses, but to pull down before the fire every way. The Duke of York bid me tell him, that if he would have any more soldiers, he shall: and so did my Lord Arlington afterwards, as a great secret. Here meeting with Captain Cocke, I in his coach, which he lent me, and Creed with me to Paul’s, and there walked along Watling-street, as well as I could, every creature coming away loaded with goods to save, and here and there sick people carried away in beds. Extraordinary good goods carried in carts and on backs. At last met my Lord Mayor in Canning-street, like a man spent, with a handkercher about his neck. To the King’s message, he cried, like a fainting woman, “Lord! what can I do? I am spent: people will not obey me. I have been pulling down houses; but the fire overtakes us faster than we can do it.” That he needed no more soldiers; and that, for himself, he must go and refresh himself, having been up all night. So he left me, and I him, and walked home; seeing people all almost distracted, and no manner of means used to quench the fire. The houses too so very thick thereabouts, and full of matter for burning, as pitch and tar, in Thames-street; and warehouses of oyle, and wines, and brandy, and other things. Here I saw Mr. Isaac Houblon, the handsome man, prettily dressed and dirty at his door at Dowgate, receiving some of his brother’s things, whose houses were on fire; and, as he says, have been removed twice already; and he doubts (as it soon proved) that they must be in a little time removed from his house also, which was a sad consideration. And to see the churches all filling with goods by people, who themselves should have been quietly there at this time. By this time it was about twelve o’clock; and so home, and there find my guests, who were Mr. Wood and his wife Barbary Shelden, and also Mr. Moone; she mighty fine, and her husband, for aught I see, a likely man. But Mr. Moone’s design and mine, which was to look over my closet, and please him with the sight thereof, which he hath long desired, was wholly disappointed; for we were in great trouble and disturbance at this fire, not knowing what to think of it. However, we had an extraordinary good dinner, and as merry as at this time we could be. While at dinner Mrs. Batelier come to enquire after Mr. Woolfe and Stanes, (who it seems are related to them,) whose houses in Fish-street are all burned, and they in a sad condition. She would not stay in the fright. Soon as dined, I and Moone away, and walked through the City, the streets full of nothing but people, and horses and carts loaden with goods, ready to run over one another, and removing goods from one burned house to another. They now removing out of Canning-street (which received goods in the morning) into Lumbard-street, and further: and among others I now saw my little goldsmith Stokes receiving some friend’s goods, whose house itself was burned the day after. We parted at Paul’s; he home, and I to Paul’s Wharf, where I had appointed a boat to attend me, and took in Mr. Carcasse and his brother, whom I met in the street, and carried them below and above bridge too. And again to see the fire, which was now got further, both below and above, and no likelihood of stopping it. Met with the King and Duke of York in their barge, and with them to Queenhith, and there called Sir Richard Browne to them. Their order was only to pull down houses apace, and so below bridge at the water-side; but little was or could be done, the fire coming upon them so fast. Good hopes there was of stopping it at the Three Cranes above, and at Buttolph’s Wharf below bridge, if care be used; but the wind carries it into the City, so as we know not by the water-side what it do there. River full of lighters and boats taking in goods, and good goods swimming in the water, and only I observed that hardly one lighter or boat in three that had the goods of a house in, but there was a pair of Virginalls21 in it. Having seen as much as I could now, I away to White Hall by appointment, and there walked to St. James’s Park, and there met my wife and Creed and Wood and his wife, and walked to my boat; and there upon the water again, and to the fire up and down, it still encreasing, and the wind great. So near the fire as we could for smoke; and all over the Thames, with one’s faces in the wind, you were almost burned with a shower of fire-drops. This is very true: so as houses were burned by these drops and flakes of fire, three or four, nay, five or six houses, one from another. When we could endure no more upon the water, we to a little ale-house on the Bankside, over against the Three Cranes, and there staid till it was dark almost, and saw the fire grow, and as it grew darker, appeared more and more, and in corners and upon steeples, and between churches and houses, as far as we could see up the hill of the City, in a most horrid malicious bloody flame, not like the fine flame of an ordinary fire. Barbary and her husband away before us. We staid till, it being darkish, we saw the fire as only one entire arch of fire from this to the other side the bridge, and in a bow up the hill for an arch of above a mile long: it made me weep to see it. The churches, houses, and all on fire, and flaming at once; and a horrid noise the flames made, and the cracking houses at their ruine. So home with a sad heart, and there find every body discoursing and lamenting the fire; and poor Tom Hater come with some few of his goods saved out of his house, which was burned upon Fish-street Hill. I invited him to lie at my house, and did receive his goods, but was deceived in his lying there, the news coming every moment of the growth of the fire; so as we were forced to begin to pack up our own goods, and prepare for their removal; and did by moonshine (it being brave dry and moonshine and warm weather) carry much of my goods into the garden, and Mr. Hater and I did remove my money and iron chests into my cellar, as thinking that the safest place. And got my bags of gold into my office, ready to carry away, and my chief papers of accounts also there, and my tallies into a box by themselves. So great was our fear, as Sir W. Batten hath carts come out of the country to fetch away his goods this night. We did put Mr. Hater, poor man, to bed a little; but he got but very little rest, so much noise being in my house, taking down of goods.

3rd. About four o’clock in the morning, my Lady Batten sent me a cart to carry away all my money, and plate, and best things, to Sir W. Rider’s at Bednall-greene. Which I did, riding myself in my night gown, in the cart; and, Lord! to see how the streets and the highways are crowded with people running and riding, and getting of carts at any rate to fetch away things. I find Sir W. Rider tired with being called up all night, and receiving things from several friends. His house full of goods, and much of Sir W. Batten’s and Sir W. Pen’s, I am eased at my heart to have my treasure so well secured. Then home, and with much ado to find a way, nor any sleep all this night to me nor my poor wife. Then all this day she and I, and all my people labouring to get away the rest of our things, and did get Mr. Tooker to get me a lighter to take them in, and we did carry them (myself some) over Tower Hill, which was by this time full of people’s goods, bringing their goods thither; and down to the lighter, which lay at the next quay, above the Tower Dock. And here was my neighbour’s wife, Mrs. —, with her pretty child, and some few of her things, which I did willingly give way to be saved with mine; but there was no passing with any thing through the postern the crowd was so great. The Duke of York come this day by the office, and spoke to us, and did ride with his guard up and down the City to keep all quiet, (he being now General, and having the care of all). This day, Mercer being not at home, but against her mistress’s order gone to her mother’s, and my wife going thither to speak with W. Hewer, beat her there, and was angry; and her mother saying that she was not a ’prentice girl, to ask leave every time she goes abroad, my wife with good reason was angry, and when she come home bid her be gone again. And so she went away, which troubled me, but yet less than it would, because of the condition we are in, in fear of coming in a little time to being less able to keep one in her quality. At night lay down a little upon a quilt of W. Hewer’s, in the office, all my own things being packed up or gone; and after me my poor wife did the like, we having fed upon the remains of yesterday’s dinner, having no fire nor dishes, nor any opportunity of dressing any thing.

4th. Up by break of day, to get away the remainder of my things; which I did by a lighter at the Iron gate: and my hands so full, that it was the afternoon before we could get them all away. Sir W. Pen and I to the Tower-street, and there met the fire burning three or four doors beyond Mr. Howell’s, whose goods, poor man, his trayes, and dishes, shovells, &c., were flung all along Tower-street in the kennels, and people working therewith from one end to the other; the fire coming on in that narrow street, on both sides, with infinite fury. Sir W. Batten not knowing how to remove his wine, did dig a pit in the garden, and laid it in there; and I took the opportunity of laying all the papers of my office that I could not otherwise dispose of and in the evening Sir W. Pen and I did dig another, and put our wine in it; and I my parmazan cheese, as well as my wine and some other things. The Duke of York was at the office this day, at Sir W. Pen’s; but I happened not to be within. This afternoon, sitting melancholy with Sir W. Pen in our garden, and thinking of the certain burning of this office, without extraordinary means, I did propose for the sending up of all our workmen from the Woolwich and Deptford yards, (none whereof yet appeared,) and to write to Sir W. Coventry to have the Duke of York’s permission to pull down houses, rather than lose this office, which would much hinder the King’s business. So Sir W. Pen went down this night, in order to the sending them up to-morrow morning; and I wrote to Sir W. Coventry about the business, but received no answer.

A copy of this letter, preserved among the Pepys MSS. in the author’s own hand-writing, is subjoined:—
Sir,—The fire is now very neere us as well on Tower Streete as Fanchurch Street side, and we little hope of our escape but by that remedy, to ye want whereof we doe certainly owe ye loss of ye City, namely, ye pulling down of houses, in ye way of ye fire. This way Sir W. Pen and myself have so far concluded upon ye practising, that he is gone to Woolwich and Deptford to supply himself with men and necessarys in order to the doeing thereof, in case at his returne our condition be not bettered and that he meets with his R.Hs. approbation, which I have thus undertaken to learn of you, Pray please to let me have this night (at whatever hour it is) what his R. Hs. directions are in this particular, Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten having left, us, we cannot add, though we are well assured of their, as well as all ye neighbourhood’s concurrence.

Sir W.Coventry,
Yr obedient Servnt,
Septr. 4, 1666.
S.P.

This night Mrs. Turner (who, poor woman, was removing her goods all this day, good goods into the garden, and knows not how to dispose of them) and her husband supped with my wife and me at night, in the office, upon a shoulder of mutton from the cook’s, without any napkin, or any thing, in a sad manner, but were merry. Only now and then, walking into the garden, saw how horribly the sky looks, all on a fire in the night, was enough to put us out of our wits; and, indeed, it was extremely dreadfull, for it looks just as if it was at us, and the whole heaven on fire. I after supper walked in the dark down to Tower-street, and there saw it all on fire, at the Trinity House on that side, and the Dolphin Tavern on this side, which was very near us; and the fire with extraordinary vehemence. Now begins the practice of blowing up of houses in Tower-street, those next the Tower, which at first did frighten people more than any thing; but it stopped the fire where it was done, it bringing down the houses to the ground in the same places they stood, and then it was easy to quench what little fire was in it, though it kindled nothing almost. W.Hewer this day went to see how his mother did, and comes late home, telling us how he hath been forced to remove her to Islington, her house in Pye-corner being burned; so that the fire is got so far that way, and to the Old Bayly, and was running down to Fleet-street; and Paul’s is burned, and all Cheepside. I wrote to my father this night, but the post-house being burned, the letter could not go.

5th. I lay down in the office again upon W. Hewer’s quilt, being mighty weary, and sore in my feet with going till I was hardly able to stand. About two in the morning my wife calls me up, and tells me of new cryes of fire, it being come to Barking Church, which is the bottom of our lane.22 I up; and finding it so, resolved presently to take her away, and did, and took my gold, which was about £2350. W. Hewer, and Jane, down by Proundy’s boat to Woolwich; but Lord! what a sad sight it was by moone-light to see the whole City almost on fire, that you might see it plain at Woolwich, as if you were by it. There, when I come, I find the gates shut, but no guard kept at all; which troubled me, because of discourses now begun, that there is a plot in it, and that the French had done it. I got the gates open, and to Mr. Shelden’s, where I locked up my gold, and charged my wife and W. Hewer never to leave the room without one of them in it, night or day. So back again, by the way seeing my goods well in the lighters at Deptford, and watched well by people. Home, and whereas I expected to have seen our house on fire, it being now about seven o’clock, it was not. But to the fire, and there find greater hopes than I expected; for my confidence of finding our office on fire was such, that I durst not ask any body how it was with us, till I come and saw it was not burned. But going to the fire, I find by the blowing up of houses, and the great help given by the workmen out of the King’s yards, sent up by Sir W. Pen, there is a good stop given to it, as well at Marke-lane end, as ours; it having only burned the dyall of Barking Church, and part of the porch, and was there quenched. I up to the top of Barking steeple, and there saw the saddest sight of desolation that I ever saw; every where great fires, oyle-cellars, and brimstone, and other things burning. I became afraid to stay there long, and therefore down again as fast as I could, the fire being spread as far as I could see it; and to Sir W. Pen’s, and there eat a piece of cold meat, having eaten nothing since Sunday,23 but the remains of Sunday’s dinner. Here I met with Mr. Young and Whistler; and having removed all my things, and received good hopes that the fire at our end is stopped, they and I walked into the town, and find Fanchurch-street, Gracious-street, and Lumbard-street all in dust. The Exchange a sad sight, nothing standing there, of all the statues or pillars, but Sir Thomas Gresham’s picture in the corner. Into Moore-fields, (our feet ready to burn, walking through the town among the hot coles,) and find that full of people, and poor wretches carrying their goods there, and every body keeping his goods together by themselves; (and a great blessing it is to them that it is fair weather for them to keep abroad night and day;) drunk there, and paid twopence for a plain penny loaf. Thence homeward, having passed through Cheapside, and Newgate market, all burned; and seen Anthony Joyce’s house in fire. And took up (which I keep by me) a piece of glass of Mercer’s chapel in the street, where much more was, so melted and buckled with the heat of the fire like parchment. I also did see a poor cat taken out of a hole in a chimney, joyning to the wall of the Exchange, with the hair all burned off the body, and yet alive. So home at night, and find there good hopes of saving our office; but great endeavours of watching all night, and having men ready; and so we lodged them in the office, and had drink and bread and cheese for them. And I lay down and slept a good night about midnight: though when I rose, I heard that there bad been a great alarme of French and Dutch being risen, which proved nothing. But it is a strange thing to see how long this time did look since Sunday, having been always full of variety of actions, and little sleep, that it looked like a week or more, and I had forgot almost the day of the week.

6th. Up about five o’clock; and met Mr. Gauden at the gate of the office, (I intending to go out, as I used, every now and then to-day, to see how the fire is,) to call our men to Bishop’s-gate, where no fire had yet been near, and there is now one broke out: which did give great grounds to people, and to me too, to think that there is some kind of plot in this, (on which many by this time have been taken, and it hath been dangerous for any stranger to walk in the streets,) but I went with the men, and we did put it out in a little time; so that that was well again. It was pretty to see how hard the women did work in the cannells, sweeping of water; but then they would scold for drink, and be as drunk as devils. I saw good butts of sugar broke open in the street, and people give and take handsfull out, and put into beer, and drink it. and now all being pretty well, I took boat, and over to Southwarke, and took boat on the other side the bridge, and so to Westminster, thinking to shift myself, being all in dirt from top to bottom; but could not there find any place to buy a shirt or a pair of gloves, Westminster Hall being full of people’s goods, those in Westminster having removed all their goods, and the Exchequer money put into vessels to carry to Nonsuch24 but to the Swan, and there was trimmed: and then to White Hall, but saw nobody; and so home. A sad sight to see how the River looks: no houses nor church near it, to the Temple, where it stopped. At home, did go with Sir W. Batten, and our neighbour, Knightly, (who, with one more, was the only man of any fashion left in all the neighbourhood thereabouts, they all removing their goods, and leaving their houses to the mercy of the fire,) to Sir R. Ford’s, and there dined in an earthen platter—a fried breast of mutton; a great many of us, but very merry, and indeed as good a meal, though as ugly a one, as ever I had in my life. Thence down to Deptford, and there with great satisfaction landed all my goods at Sir G. Carteret’s safe, and nothing missed I could see or hear. This being done to my great content, I home, and to Sir W. Batten’s, and there with Sir R. Ford, Mr. Knightly, and one Withers, a professed lying rogue, supped well, and mighty merry, and our fears over. From them to the office and there slept with the office full of labourers, who talked, and slept, and walked all night long there. But strange it is to see Clothworkers’ Hall on fire these three days and nights in one body of flame, it being the cellar full of oyle.

7th. Up by five o’clock; and, blessed be God! find all well; and by water to Pane’s Wharfe. Walked thence, and saw all the towne burned, and a miserable sight of Paul’s church, with all the roofs fallen, and the body of the quire fallen into St. Fayth’s; Paul’s school also, Ludgate, and Fleet-street. My father’s house, and the church, and a good part of the Temple the like. So to Creed’s lodging, near the New Exchange, and there find him laid down upon a bed; the house all unfurnished, there being fears of the fire’s coming to them. There I borrowed a shirt of him, and washed. To Sir W. Coventry, at St. James’s, who lay without curtains, having removed all his goods; as the King at White Hall, and every body had done, and was doing. He hopes we shall have no public distractions upon this fire, which is what every body fears, because of the talk of the French having a hand in it. And it is a proper time for discontents; but all men’s minds are full of care to protect themselves, and save their goods: the militia is in arms every where. Strange to hear what is bid for houses; all up and down here; a friend of Sir W. Rider’s having £150 for what he used to let for £40 per annum. Much dispute where the Custome-house shall be; thereby the growth of the City again to be foreseen. My Lord Treasurer, they say, and others, would have it at the other end of the town. I home late to Sir W. Pen’s, who did give me a bed; but without curtains or hangings, all being down. So here I went the first time into a naked bed, only my drawers on; and did sleep pretty well: but still both sleeping and waking had a fear of fire in my heart, that I took little rest. People do all the world over cry out of the simplicity of my Lord Mayor in generall; and more particularly in this business of the fire, laying it all upon him. A proclamation is come out for markets to be kept at Leadenhall and Mile-end-greene, and several other places about the town; and Tower-hill, and all churches to be set open to receive poor people.

8th. I stopped with Sir G. Carteret to desire him to go with us, and to enquire after money. But the first he cannot do, and the other as little, or say “When we can get any, or what shall we do for it?” He, it seems, is employed in the correspondence between the City and the King every day, in settling of things. I find him full of trouble, to think how things will go. I left him, and to St. James’s, where we met first at Sir W. Coventry’s chamber, and there did what business we could, without any books. Our discourse, as every thing else, was confused. The fleet is at Portsmouth, there staying a wind to carry them to the Downes, or towards Boulogne, where they say the Dutch fleet is gone, and stays. We concluded upon private meetings for a while, not having any money to satisfy any people that may come to us. I bought two eeles upon the Thames, cost me six shillings. I met with many people undone, and more that have extraordinary great losses. People speaking their thoughts variously about the beginning of the fire, and the rebuilding of the City. Then to Sir W. Batten’s and took my brother with me, and there dined with a great company of neighbours, and much good discourse; among others, of the low spirits of some rich men in the City, in sparing any encouragement to the poor people that wrought for the saving their houses. Among others, Alderman Starling, a very rich man, without children, the fire at next door to him in our lane, after our men had saved his house, did give 2s. 6d. among thirty of them, and did quarrel with some that would remove the rubbish out of the way of the fire, saying that they come to steal. Sir W. Coventry told me of another this morning in Holborne, which he showed the King: that when it was offered to stop the fire near his house for such a reward that come but to 2s. 6d. a man among the neighbours he would give but 18d. Thence to Bednall Green by coach, my brother with me, and saw all well there, and fetched away my journall-book to enter for five days past. I was much frighted and kept awake in my bed, by some noise I heard a great while below stairs; and the boys not coming up to me when I knocked. It was by their discovery of some people stealing of some neighbours’ wine that lay in vessels in the streets. So to sleep; and all well all night.

9th. Sunday. Up; and was trimmed, and sent my brother to Woolwich to my wife, to dine with her. I to church, where our parson made a melancholy but good sermon; and many and most in the church cried, specially the women. The church mighty full; but few of fashion, and most strangers. To church again, and there preached Dean Harding;25 but, methinks a bad, poor sermon, though proper for the time; nor eloquent, in saying at this time that the City is reduced from a large folio to a decimo-tertio. So to my office, there to write down my journall, and take leave of my brother, whom I send back this afternoon, though rainy: which it hath not done a good while before. To Sir W. Pen’s to bed, and made my boy Tom to read me asleep.

10th. All the morning clearing our cellars, and breaking in pieces all my old lumber, to make room, and to prevent fire. And then to Sir W. Batten’s, and dined; and there hear that Sir W. Rider says that the town is full of the report of the wealth that is in his house, and would be glad that his friends would provide for the safety of their goods there. This made me get a cart; and thither, and there brought my money all away. Took a hackney-coach myself, (the hackney-coaches now standing at Allgate.) Much wealth indeed there is at his house. Blessed be God, I got all mine well thence, and lodged it in my office; but vexed to have all the world see it. And with Sir W Batten, who would have taken away my hands before they were stowed. But by and by comes brother Balty from sea, which I was glad of; and so got him, and Mr. Tooker, and the boy, to watch with them all in the office all night, while I went down to my wife.

13th. Up, and down to Tower Wharfe; and there, with Balty and labourers from Deptford, did get my goods housed well at home. So down to Deptford again to fetch the rest, and there eat a bit of dinner at the Globe, with the master of the Bezan with me, while the labourers went to dinner. Here I hear that this poor town do bury still of the plague seven or eight in a day. So to Sir G. Carteret’s to work, and there did to my content ship off in the Bezan all the rest of my goods, saving my pictures and fine things, that I will bring home in wherrys when the house is fit to receive them: and so home, and unload them by carts and hands before night, to my exceeding satisfaction: and so after supper to bed in my house, the first time I have lain there.

14th. Up, and to work, having carpenters come to help in setting up bedsteads and hangings; and at that trade my people and I all the morning, till pressed by publick business to leave them against my will in the afternoon: and yet I was troubled in being at home, to see all my goods lie up and down the house in a bad condition, and strange workmen going to and fro might take what they would almost. All the afternoon busy; and Sir W. Coventry come to me, and found me, as God would have it, in my office, and people about me setting my papers to rights; and there discoursed about getting an account ready against the Parliament, and thereby did create me infinity of business and to be done on a sudden; which troubled me; but, however, he being gone, I about it late, and to good purpose. and so home, having this day also got my wine out of the ground again, and set it in my cellar; but with great pain to keep the porters that carried it in from observing the money-chests there.

15th. Captain Cocke says he hath computed that the rents of the houses lost this fire in the City comes to £600,000 per annum; that this will make the Parliament more quiet than otherwise they would have been, and give the King a more ready supply; that the supply must be by excise, as it is in Holland; that the Parliament will see it necessary to carry on the war; that the late storm hindered our beating the Dutch fleet, who were gone out only to satisfy the people, having no business to do but to avoid us; that the French, as late in the year as it is, are coming; that the Dutch are really in bad condition, but that this unhappiness of ours do give them heart: that there was a late difference between my Lord Arlington and Sir W. Coventry about neglect in the latter to send away an express of the other’s in time; that it come before the King, and the Duke of York concerned himself in it; but this fire hath stopped it. The Dutch fleet is not gone home, but rather to the North, and so dangerous to our Gottenburgh fleet. That the Parliament is likely to fall foul upon some persons; and, among others, on the Vice-chamberlaine,26 though we both believe with little ground. That certainly never so great a loss as this was borne so well by citizens in the world; he believing that not one merchant upon the ’Change will break upon it. That he do not apprehend there will be any disturbances in State upon it; for that all men are busy in looking after their own business to save themselves. He gone, I to finish my letters, and home to bed; and find to my infinite joy many rooms clean; and myself and wife lie in our own chamber again. But much terrified in the nights now-a-days with dreams of fire, and falling down of houses.

17th. Up betimes, and shaved myself after a week’s growth: but, Lord! how ugly I was yesterday and how fine to-day! By water, seeing the City all the way, a sad sight indeed, much fire being still in.

25th. With all my people to get the letter writ over about the Navy Accounts; and by coach to Lord Brouncker’s, and got his hand to it; and then to the Parliament House and got it signed by the rest, and then delivered it at the House-door to Sir Philip Warwicke; Sir G. Carteret being gone into the House with his book of accounts under his arme, to present to the House. All night still mightily troubled in my sleep with fire and houses pulling down.

26th. By coach home, calling at Bennet’s, our late mercer, who is come into Covent Garden to a fine house looking down upon the Exchange. And I perceive many Londoners every day come. And Mr. Pierce hath let his wife’s closet, and the little blind bedchamber, and a garret to a silk-man for £50 fine, and £30 per annum, and £40 per annum more for dieting the master and two prentices. By Mr. Dugdale I hear the great loss of books in St. Paul’s Church-yard, and at their Hall also, which they value at about £150,000; some book-sellers being wholly undone, and among others they say my poor Kirton. And Mr. Crumlum,27 all his books and household stuff burned; they trusting to St. Fayth’s, and the roof of the church falling, broke the arch down into the lower church, and so all the goods burned. A very great loss. His father hath lost above £1000 in books; one book newly printed, a Discourse, it seems, of Courts.

27th. A very furious blowing night all the night; and my mind still mightily perplexed with dreams, and burning the rest of the town; and waking in much pain for the fleet.

28th. Comes the bookbinder to gild the backs of my books. Sir W. Pen broke to me a proposition of his and my joining in a design of fetching timber and deals from Scotland, by the help of Mr. Pett upon the place; which, while London is building, will yield good money. I approve it.

30th (Lord’s day). Up, and to church, where I have not been a good while; and there the church infinitely thronged with strangers since the fire come into our parish; but not one handsome face in all of them, as if, indeed, there was a curse, as Bishop Fuller heretofore said, upon our parish. This month ends with my mind full of business and concernment how this office will speed with the Parliament, which begins to be mighty severe in the examining our accounts, and the expence of the Navy this war.

October 5th, 1666. The Sub-committee have made their report to the Grand Committee, and in pretty kind terms. Captain Cocke told me of a wild motion made in the House of Lords by the Duke of Buckingham, for all men that have cheated the King to be declared traitors and felons; and that my Lord Sandwich was named. Mr. Kirton’s kinsman, my bookseller, come in my way; and so I am told by him that Mr. Kirton is utterly undone, and made 2 or £3000 worse than nothing, from being worth 7 or £8000. That the goods laid in the Churchyard fired through the windows those in St. Fayth’s church; and those coming to the warehouses’ doors fired them, and burned all the books and the pillars of the church, so as the roof falling down, broke quite down; which it did not do in the other places of the church, which is alike pillared, (which I knew not before;) but being not burned, they stood still. He do believe there is above £150,000 of books burned; all the great book-sellers almost undone: not only these, but their warehouses at their Hall and under Christ-church, and elsewhere, being all burned. A great want thereof there will be of books, specially Latin books and foreign books; and, among others, the Polyglottes and new Bible, which he believes will be presently worth £40 a-piece.

9th. To the office, where we sat the first day since the fire.

11th. Memorandum. I had taken my Journal during the fire and the disorders following in loose papers until this very day, and could not get time to enter them in my book till January 18, in the morning, having made my eyes sore by frequent attempts this winter to do it. But now it is done; for which I thank God, and pray never the like occasion may happen.

November 5th,1666. After dinner I and Sir Thomas Crewe went aside to discourse of public matters, and do find by him that all the country gentlemen are publickly jealous of the courtiers in the Parliament, and that they do doubt every thing that they propose; and that the true reason why the country-gentlemen are for a land-tax and against a general excise, is, because they are fearful that if the latter be granted, they shall never get it down again; whereas the land-tax will be but for so much, and when the war ceases, there will be no ground got by the court to keep it up. He says the House would be very glad to get something against Sir G. Carteret, and will not let their inquiries die till they have got something. He do, from what he hath heard at the Committee for examining the burning of the City, conclude it as a thing certain, that it was done by plots; it being proved by many witnesses that endeavours were made in several places to encrease the fire, and that both in City and country it was bragged by several Papists, that upon such a day or in such a time we should find the hottest weather that ever was in England; and words of plainer sense. But my Lord Crewe was discoursing at table how the Judges have determined in the case whether the landlords or the tenants (who are, in their leases, all of them generally tied to maintain and uphold their houses,) shall bear the loss of the fire; and they say, that tenants should against all casualties of fire beginning either in their own, or in their neighbour’s; but, where it is done by an enemy, they are not to do it. And this was by an enemy, there having been one convicted and hanged upon this very score. This is an excellent salve for the tenants, and for which I am glad, because of my father’s house. After dinner and this discourse, I took coach, and at the same time find my Lord Hinchingbroke and Mr. John Crewe and the Doctor going out to see the ruins of the City; so I took the Doctor into my hackney-coach, (and he is a very fine sober gentleman,) and so through the City. But Lord! what pretty and sober observations he made of the City and its desolation; anon we come to my house, and there I took them upon Tower-Hill to show them what houses were pulled down there since the fire; and then to my house, where I treated them with good wine of several sorts, and they took it mighty respectfully, and a fine company of gentlemen they are; but above all I was glad to see my Lord Hinchingbroke drink no wine at all. I home by coach, but met not one bonfire through the whole town in going round by the wall, which is strange, and speaks the melancholy disposition of the City at present, while never more was said of, and feared of, and done against the Papists, than just at this time.

9th. To Mrs. Pierce’s by appointment, where we find good company: a fair lady, my Lady Prettyman, Mrs. Corbet, Knipp; and for men, Captain Downing, Mr. Lloyd, Sir W. Coventry’s clerk, and one Mr. Tripp, who dances well. After our first bout of dancing, Knipp, and I to sing, and Mercer and Captain Downing (who loves and understands musick) would by all means have my song of “Beauty retire:” which Knipp had spread abroad, and he extols it above any thing he ever heard. Going to dance again, and then comes news that White Hall was on fire. And presently more particulars, that the Horse-guard was on fire. And so we run up to the garret, and find it so; a horrid great fire. And by and by we saw and heard part of it blown up with powder. The ladies begun presently to be afraid: one fell into fits. The whole town in an alarm. Drums beat and trumpets, and the Horse-guards every where spread, running up and down in the street. And I begun to have mighty apprehensions how things might be, for we are in expectation (from common fame) this night or to-morrow to have a massacre, by the having so many fires one after another, as that in the City, and at same time begun in Westminster, by the Palace, but put out; and since in Southwarke, to the burning down some houses. And now this do make all people conclude there is something extraordinary in it; but nobody knows what. By and by comes news that the fire is slackened; so then we were a little cheered up again, and to supper, and pretty merry. But above all there comes in the dumb boy that I knew in Oliver’s time, who is mightily acquainted here, and with Downing. And he made strange signs of the fire, and how the King was abroad, and many things they understood, but I could not. Which I wondered at, and discoursing with Downing about it, “Why,” says he, “it is only a little use, and you will understand him, and make him understand you with as much ease as may be.” So I prayed him to tell him that I was afraid that my coach would be gone, and that he should go down and steal one of the seats out of the coach and keep it, and that would make the coachman to stay. He did this, so that the dumb boy did go down, and like a cunning rogue went into the coach, pretending to sleep, and by and by fell to his work, but finds the seats nailed to the coach. So he could not do it; however, stayed there, and stayed the coach, till the coachman’s patience was quite spent, and beat the dumb boy by force, and so went away. So the dumb boy came up and told him all the story, which they below did see all that passed, and knew it to be true. After supper another dance or two, and then news that the fire is as great as ever, which put us all to our wits’ end; and I mightily anxious to go home, but the coach being gone, and it being about ten at night, and rainy dirty weather, I knew not what to do; but to walk out with Mr. Batelier, myself resolving to go home on foot, and leave the women there. And so did; but at the Savoy got a coach, and come back and took up the women, and so (having, by people come from the fire, understood that the fire was overcome, and all well,) we merrily parted, and home. Stopped by several guards and constables quite through the town, (round the wall as we went,) all being in arms.

12th. Creed and I did stop (the Duke of York being just going away from seeing of it) at Pauls, and in the Convocation-House Yard did there see the body of Robert Braybrooke, Bishop of London, that died 1404. He fell down in the tomb out of the great church into St. Fayth’s this late fire, and is here seen his skeleton with the flesh on; but all tough and dry like a spongy dry leather, or touchwood all upon his bones. His head turned aside. A great man in his time, and Lord Chancellor. And now exposed to be handled and derided by some, though admired for its duration by others. Many flocking to see it.

December 13th, 1666. W. Hewer dined with me, and showed me a Gazette, in April last, (which I wonder should never be remembered by any body,) which tells how several persons were then tried for their lives, and were found guilty of a design of killing the King, and destroying the Government; and as a means to it, to burn the City; and that the day intended for the plot was the 3rd of last September. And the fire did indeed break out on the 2nd of September: which is very strange, methinks.

This circumstance was so remarkable that it has been thought worth while extracting the whole passage from the Gazette of April 23-26, 1666:—

“At the Sessions in the Old Bailey, John Rathbone, an old Army Colonel, William Saunders, Henry Tucker, Thomas Flint, Thomas Evans, John Myles, Will. Westcot, and John Cole, officers or soldiers in the late Rebellion, were indicted for conspiring the death of his Majesty, and the overthrow of the Government. Having laid their plot and contrivance for the surprisal of the Tower, the killing his Grace the Lord General, Sir John Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, and Sir Richard Brown; and then to have declared for an equal division of lands, &c. The better to effect this hellish design, the city was to have been fired, and the portcullis let down to keep out all assistance; and the Horse Guards to have been suprised in the Inns where they were quartered, several ostlers having been gained for that purpose. The Tower was accordingly viewed, and its suprise ordered by boats over the moat, and from thence to scale the wall. One Alexander, not yet taken, had likewise distributed money to these conspirators, and for the carrying on the design most effectually, they were told of a Council of the great ones that sat frequently in London, from whom issued all orders; which Council received their directions from another in Holland, who sat with the States; and that the third of September was pitched on for the attempt, as being found by Lilly’s Almanack, and a scheme erected for that purpose, to be a lucky day, a planet then ruling which prognosticated the downfall of Monarchy. The evidence against these persons was very full and clear, and they were accordingly found guilty of High Treason.”

January 6th, 1666-1667. Young Michell and I, it being an excellent frosty day, did walk out. He showed me the baker’s house in Pudding-lane, where the late great fire begun: and thence all along Thames-street, where I did view several places, and so up by London Wall by Blackfriars to Ludgate; and thence to Bridewell, which I find to have been heretofore an extraordinary good house, and a fine coming to it before the house by the bridge was built.

12th. With my Lord Brouncker by coach to his house, there to hear some Italian musique: and here we met Tom Killigrew, Sir Robert Murray, and the Italian Signor Baptista,28 who hath proposed a play in Italian for the Opera, which T. Killigrew do intend to have up; and here he did sing one of the acts. He himself is the poet as well as the musician; which is very much, and did sing the whole from the words without any musique prickt, and played all along upon a harpsicon most admirably, and the composition most excellent. The words I did not understand, and so know not how they are fitted, but believe very well, and all in the recitative very fine. But I perceive there is a proper accent in every country’s discourse, and that do reach in their setting of notes to words, which, therefore, cannot be natural to any body else but them; so that I am not so much smitten with it as it may be I should be if I were acquainted with their accent. But the whole composition is certainly most excellent; and the poetry, T. Killigrew and Sir R. Murray, who understood the words, did say most excellent. I confess I was mightily pleased with the musique. He pretends not to voice, though it be good, but not excellent. This done, T. Killigrew and I to talk: and he tells me how the audience at his house is not above half so much as it used to be before the late fire.

16th. This day I observe still in many places the smoking remains of the late fire: the ways mighty bad and dirty.

31st. It is observed, and is true, in the late fire of London, that the fire burned just as many parish-churches as there were hours from the beginning to the end of the fire; and next, that there were just as many churches left standing as there were taverns left standing in the rest of the City that was not burned, being, I think, thirteen in all of each: which is pretty to observe.

February 24th, 1666-1667 I enquired about the Frenchman that was said to fire the City, and was hanged for it by his own confession, that he was hired for it by a Frenchman of Roane, and that he did with a stick reach in a fire-ball in at a window of the house: whereas the master of the house, who is the King’s baker, and his son, and daughter, do all swear there was no such window, and that the fire did not begin there-abouts. Yet the fellow, who, though a mopish besotted fellow, did not speak like a madman, did swear that he did fire it: and did not this like a madman; for being tried on purpose and landed with his keeper at the Town-Wharf, he could carry the keeper to the very house. Asking Sir R. Viner what he thought was the cause of the fire, he tells me, that the baker, son, and his daughter, did all swear again and again, that their oven was drawn by ten o’clock at night: that having occasion to light a candle about twelve, there was not so much fire in the bakehouse as to light a match for a candle, so that they were fain to go into another place to light it: that about two in the morning they felt themselves almost choked with smoke, and rising did find the fire coming upstairs; so they rose to save themselves; but that at that time the bavins were not on fire in the yard. So that they are, as they swear, in absolute ignorance how this fire should come; which is a strange thing, that so horrid an effect should have so mean and uncertain a beginning.

28th. I did within these six days see smoke still remaining of the late fire in the City.

March 18th, 1666-1667. The weather is now grown warm again after much cold; and it is observable that within these eight days I did see smoke remaining, coming out of some cellars from the late great fire, now above six months since.

20th. It is strange how “Rycaut’s Discourse of Turkey,” which before the fire I was asked but 8s. for, there being all but twenty-two or thereabouts burned, I did now offer 20s., and he demands 50s., and I think I shall give it him, though it be only as a monument of the fire.

April 8th, 1667. Away to the Temple, to my new bookseller’s; and there I did agree for Rycaut’s29 late History of the Turkish Policy, which cost me 55s.: whereas it was sold plain before the late fire for 8s., and bound and coloured as this is for 20s.; for I have bought it finely bound and truly coloured all the figures, of which there was but six books done so, whereof the King and Duke of York and Duke of Monmouth, and Lord Arlington, had four. The fifth was sold, and I have bought the sixth.

May 5th, 1667. Sir John Robinson tells me he hath now got a street ordered to be continued, forty feet broad, from Paul’s through Cannon-street to the Tower, which will be very fine. He and others this day, where I was in the afternoon, do tell me of at least six or eight fires within these few days; and continually stirs of fire, and real fires there have been, in one place or other, almost ever since the late great fire, as if there was a fate sent people for fire.

July 4th, 1667. To the Sessions-house, where I have a mind to hear Bazill Fielding’s case tried; and so got up to the Bench, my Lord Chief-Justice Keeling30 being Judge. Here I stood bare, not challenging, though I might well enough, to be covered. But here were several fine trials; among others, several brought in for making it their trade to set houses on fire merely to get plunder; and all proved by the two little boys spoken of yesterday by Sir R. Ford, who did give so good account of particulars that I never heard children in my life. One my Lady Montagu’s (I know not what Lady Montagu) son, and the other of good condition, were playing in Moore-fields, and one rogue, Gabriel Holmes, did come to them and teach them to drink, and then to bring him plate and clothes from their fathers’ houses: and this Gabriel Holmes did advise to have had two houses set on fire, one after another, that while they were quenching of one they might be burning another. The boys did swear against one of them, that he had made it his part to pull out the plug out of the engine while it was a-playing; and it really was so. Well, this fellow Holmes was found guilty of the act of burning the house, and other things that he stood indicted for.

September 2nd, 1667. This day is kept in the City as a publick fast for the fire this day twelve months:

December 3rd, 1667. Sir Richard Ford told us this evening an odd story of the basenesse of the Lord Mayor, Sir W. Bolton, in cheating the poor of the City (out of the collections made for the people that were burned) of £1800; of which he can give no account, and in which he hath forsworn himself plainly, so as the Court of Aldermen have sequestered him from their Court till he do bring in an account. He says also that this day hath been made appear to them that the Keeper of Newgate hath at this day made his house the only nursery of rogues, prostitutes, pickpockets and thieves, in the world; where they were bred and entertained and the whole society met; and that for the sake of the Sheriffes they durst not this day commit him, for fear of making him let out the prisoners but are fain to go by artifice to deal with him. He tells me also, speaking of the new street that is to be made from Guild Hall down to Cheapside, that the ground is already most of it bought. And tells me of one particular, of a man that hath a piece of ground lying in the very middle of the street that must be; which, when the street is cut out of it, there will remain ground enough, of each side, to build a house to front the street. He demanded £700 for the ground, and to be excused paying any thing for the melioration of the rest of his ground that he was to keep. The Court consented to give him £700, only not to abate him the consideration: which the man denied; but told them, and so they agreed, that he would excuse the City the £700, that he might have the benefit of the melioration without paying any thing for it. So much some will get by having the City burned! Ground by this means, that was not worth 4d. a-foot before, will now, when houses are built, be worth 15s. a-foot. But he tells me of the common standard now reckoned on between man and man, in places where there is no alteration of circumstances, but only the houses burnt, there the ground, which with a house on it did yield £100 a year, is now reputed worth £33 6s. 8d.; and that this is the common market-price between one man and another, made upon a good and moderate medium.

January 14th, 1667-1668. To my bookseller, Martin, and there did receive my book I expected of China, a most excellent book with rare cuts; and there fell into discourse with him about the burning of Paul’s when the City was burned, his house being in the church-yard. And he tells me that it took fire first upon the end of a board that among others was laid upon the roof instead of lead, the lead being broke off, and thence down lower and lower: but that the burning of the goods under St. Fayth’s arose from the goods taking fire in the church-yard, and so got into St. Fayth’s church; and that they first took fire from the Draper’s side, by some timber of the houses that were burned falling into the church. He says that one warehouse of books was saved under Paul’s; and there were several dogs found burned among the goods in the churchyard, and but one man, which was an old man, that said he would go and save a blanket which he had in the church, and being weak the fire overcame him. He says that most of the booksellers do design to fall a-building again the next year; but that the Bishop of London do use them most basely, worse than any other landlords, and says he will be paid to this day the rent, or else he will not come to treat with them for the time to come; and will not, on that condition either, promise them in any thing how he will use them; and the Parliament sitting, he claims his privilege, and will not be cited before the Lord Chief Justice as others are there, to be forced to a fair dealing.

21st. Comes news from Kate Joyce that, if I would see her husband alive, I must come presently. So I to him, and and his breath rattled in the throate; and they did lay pigeons to his feet, and all despair of him. It seems on Thursday last he went sober and quiet to Islington, and behind one of the inns (the White Lion) did fling himself into a pond: was spied by a poor woman, and got out by some people, and set on his head and got to life: and so his wife and friends sent for. He confessed his doing the thing, being led by the Devil; and do declare his reason to be his trouble in having forgot to serve God as he ought since he came to his new employment:31 and I believe that, and the sense of his great loss by the fire, did bring him to it; for he grew sick, and worse and worse to this day. The friends that were there being now in fear that the goods and estate would be seized on, though he lived all this while, because of his endeavouring to drown himself, my cosen did endeavour to remove what she could of plate out of the house, and desired me to take my flagons; which I did, but in great fear all the way of being seized; though there was no reason for it, he not being dead. So with Sir D. Gauden to Guild Hall to advise with the Towne-Clerke about the practice of the City and nation in this case: and he thinks it cannot be found selfe-murder; but if it be, it will fall, all the estate, to the King. So I to my cosen’s again; where I no sooner come but find that he was departed. So at their entreaty I presently to White Hall, and there find Sir W. Coventry; and he carried me to the King, the Duke of York being with him, and there told my story which I had told him; and the King, without more ado, granted that, if it was found, the estate should be to the widow and children: which indeed was every great courtesy, for people are looking out for the estate.

May 21st,1668. All the town is full of the talk of a meteor, or some fire, that did on Saturday last fly over the City at night; which do put me in mind that, being then walking in the dark an hour or more myself in the garden after I had done writing, I did see a light before me come from behind me, which made me turn back my head; and I did see a sudden fire or light running in the sky, as it were towards Cheapside-ward, And vanished very quick; which did make me bethink myself what holyday it was, and took it for some rocket, though it was much brighter: and the world do make much discourse of it, their apprehensione being mighty full of the rest of the City to be burned, and the Papists to cut our throats.

June 19th, 1668. Between two and three in the morning we were waked with the maids crying out, “Fire, fire, in Marke-lane!” So I rose and looked out, and it was dreadful; and strange apprehensions in me and us all of being presently burnt. So we all rose; and my care presently was to secure my gold and plate and papers, and could quickly have done it, but I went forth to see where it was; and the whole town was presently in the streets; and I found it in a new-built house that stood alone in Minchin-lane, over against the Cloth-workers’-hall, which burned furiously: the house not yet quite finished; and the benefit of brick was well seen, for it burnt all inward and fell down within itself; so no fear of doing more hurt.

NOTES

↑1 Sir Arthur Ingram, Knight, of Knottingley, Surveyor of the Customs at Hull.

↑2 Died of his wounds after the sea-fight in 1665.

↑3 Baptist May, keeper of the Privy Purse to Charles II.; there is an original portrait of him by Lely, at Audley End.

↑4 Second son to the Earl of Burlington.

↑5 He was a physician.

↑6 Probably Basinghall.

↑7 Vice-Chamberlain to the Queen.

↑8 He commanded a troop of horse in the Train-bands. 1662.

↑9 One of the Lodges belonging to the Crown in Windsor Forest.

↑10 Nicholas Fenne is mentioned as a Commissioner of the Victualling Office, 1683.—Pepys MS. Letters.

↑11 Queenhythe.

↑12 Swakeley House, in the parish of Ickenham, Middlesex, was built in 1638 by Sir Edmund Wright, whose daughter marrying Sir James Harrington, one of Charles I.’s judges, he became possessed of it, jure uxoris. Sir Robert Vyner Bart., to whom the property was sold in 1665, entertained Charles II. at Guildhall, when Lord Mayor. The house is now the residence of Thomas Clarke, Esq., whose father in 1750 bought the estate of Mr. Lethieullier, to whom it had been alienated by the Vyner family.—Lysons’s Environs.

↑13 The Parliament General.

↑14 Mrs. Williams.

↑15 He had been a Farmer of the Excise and Customs before the Restoration. The messenger described in Hudibras, Part III. Canto II. 1407, as disturbing the Cabal with the account of the mobs burning Rumps, is said to have keen intended for Sir Martin Noell.

↑16 Secretary to Sir W. Coventry.

↑17 Probably the person mentioned in the following extract from Malone’s Account of the English Stage. “In 1659 or 60, in imitation of foreign theatres, women were first introduced on the scene. In 1656, indeed, Mrs. Coleman, wife to Mr. Edward Coleman, represented Ianthe in the first part of the Siege of Rhodes: but the little she had to say was spoken in recitative.”

↑18 His name was Faryner.

↑19 St, Lawrence Poultney, of which Thomas Elborough was Curate.

↑20 Sir Thomas Bludworth.

↑21 A sort of spinet piano, so called (according to Johnson) from young women playing upon it.

↑22 Sethinge Lane.

↑23 He forgot the shoulder of mutton from the cook’s the day before.

↑24 Nonsuch House near Epsom, where the Exchequer had formerly been kept.

↑25 Probably Nathaniel Hardy, Dean of Rochester.

↑26 Sir G. Carteret.

↑27 Samuel Cromleholme, or Crumlum, Master of St. Paul’s School.

↑28 Giovanni Baptista Draghi, an Italian musician in the service of Queen Catherine, and a composer of merit. Burney, History of Music.

↑29 This book is in the Pepysian Library.

↑30 Sir John Keeling, Knight, King’s Serjeant 1661, Chief Justice of the King’s Bench 1665.

↑31 He kept a tavern.

Table of Contents

- PREFACE TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION.

- MEMOIR OF SAMUEL PEPYS.

- OF THE PLAGUE IN AND AROUND LONDON 1665

- OF THE GREAT FIRE OF LONDON 1666.

- NOTES