Orange, came on board, where I in their coming in kissed the king's, queen's, and princess's hands. Infinite shooting off of the guns, and that in a disorder on purpose, which was better than if it had been otherwise. All day nothing but lords and persons of honor on board, that we were exceeding full. Dined in a great deal of state, the royal company by themselves in the coach, which was a blessed sight to see. We now weighed anchor, and with a fresh gale and most happy weather we set sail for England.

...

All the afternoon the king walked here and there, up and down (quite contrary to what I thought him to have been), very active and stirring. Upon the quarterdeck he fell into discourse of his escape from Worcester,1 where it made me ready to weep to hear the stories that he told of his difficulties that he had passed through, as his traveling four days and three nights on foot, every step up to his knees in dirt, with nothing but a green coat and a pair of country breeches on, and a pair of country shoes that made him so sore all over his feet, that he could scarcely stir. Yet he was forced to run away from a miller and other company, that took him for a rogue. His sitting at table at one place, where the master of the house, that had not seen him in eight years, did know him, but kept it private; when at the same table there was one that had been of his own regiment at Worcester, did not know him, but made him drink the king's health and said that the king was at least four fingers higher than he. At another place he was by some servants of the house made to drink, that they might know him not to be a Roundhead, which they swore he was. In another place at his inn, the master of the house, as the king was standing with his hands upon the back of a chair by the fireside, kneeled down and kissed his hand, privately, saying that he would not ask him who he was, but bid God bless him whither he was going. Then the difficulty of getting a boat to get into France, where he was fain to plot with the master thereof to keep his design from the four men and a boy (which was all his ship's company), 1 The battle of Worcester, won by Cromwell in 1651.

and so got to Fécamp in France. At Rouen he looked so poorly, that the people went into the rooms before he went away to see whether he had not stole something or other.

May 25, 1660. By the morning we were come close to the land, and everybody made ready to get on shore. . . . The king was received by General Monk with all imaginable love and respect at his entrance upon the land of Dover. Infinite the crowd of people and the horsemen, citizens, and noblemen of all sorts. The mayor of the town came and gave him his white staff, the badge of his place, which the king did give him again. The mayor also presented him from the town a very rich Bible, which he took and said it was the thing that he loved above all things in the world. A canopy was provided for him to stand under, which he did, and talked awhile with General Monk and others, and so into a stately coach there set for him, and so away through the town toward Canterbury, without making any stay at Dover. The shouting and joy expressed by all is past imagination.

134. Trial and Execution of the Regicides 1

Oct. 10, 1660. At night comes Mr. Moore, and stayed late with me to tell me how Sir Hardress Waller 2 (who alone pleads guilty), Scott, Cook, Peters,5 Harrison, and others were this day arraigned at the bar at the Sessions House, there being upon the bench the Lord Mayor, General Monk, Lord Sandwich, and others; such a bench of noblemen as had not been ever seen in England! The accused all seem to be dismayed, and will all be condemned without question. In Sir Orlando Bridgman's charge, he did wholly rip up the unjustness of the war

1 Pepys, Diary, vol. i, pp. 258–259, 260, 261, 264.

2 One of Charles I's judges. His sentence was commuted to imprisonment for life.

3 The regicide Secretary of State.

♦ Solicitor-General for the Commonwealth. He directed the prosecution of Charles I.

5 Cromwell's chaplain.

6 General Thomas Harrison signed the warrant for the execution of the king.

against the king from the beginning, and so it much reflects upon all the Long Parliament, though the king had pardoned them, yet they must hereby confess that the king do look upon them as traitors. To-morrow they are to plead what they have to say.

Oct. 13, 1660. I went out to Charing Cross, to see General Harrison hanged, drawn, and quartered; which was done there, he looking as cheerful as any man could do in that condition. He was presently cut down, and his head and heart shown to the people, at which there were great shouts of joy. It is reported that he said that he was sure to come shortly at the right hand of Christ to judge them that now had judged him; and that his wife expects his coming again. Thus it was my chance to see the king beheaded at Whitehall, and to see the first blood shed in revenge for the blood of the king at Charing Cross.

Oct. 15, 1660. This morning Mr. Carew1 was hanged and quartered at Charing Cross; but his quarters, by a great favor, are not to be hung up.

Oct. 20, 1660. This afternoon, going through London, and calling at Crowe's the upholsterer's in St. Bartholomew's, I saw the limbs of some of our new traitors set upon Aldersgate, which was a sad sight to see; and a bloody week this and the last have been, there being ten hanged, drawn, and quartered.

135. Coronation of Charles II 2

April 23, 1661. About four o'clock I rose and went to Westminster Abbey. . . . And with much ado, by the favor of Mr. Cooper, his man, did get up into a great scaffold across the north end of the abbey, where with a great deal of patience I sat from past four o'clock till eleven o'clock before the king came in. And a great pleasure it was to see the abbey raised in the middle, all covered with red and a throne, (that is, a chair) 3

1 John Carew also signed the warrant for the execution of Charles I. 2 Pepys, Diary, vol. ii, pp. 19-21.

3

3 The coronation chair in Westminster Abbey. Beneath the seat is the "Stone of Destiny," which Edward I carried off from Scone in Scotland in 1296.

and foot-stool on the top of it; and all the officers of all kinds, so much as the very fiddlers, in red vests. At last came in the dean and prebends of Westminster, with the bishops (many of them in cloth-of-gold copes), and after them the nobility, all in their parliament robes, which was a most magnificent sight. Then the duke and the king with a scepter (carried by my Lord Sandwich) and sword and orb before him, and the crown too. The king in his robes, bare-headed, which was very fine. And after all had placed themselves, there was a sermon and the service; and then in the choir at the high altar, the king passed through all the ceremonies of the coronation, which to my great grief I and most in the abbey could not see. The crown being put upon his head, a great shout began, and he came forth to the throne, and there passed more ceremonies: as taking the oath, and having things read to him by the bishop, and his lords (who put on their caps as soon as the king put on his crown) and bishops came and kneeled before him. And three times the Garter King of Arms went to the three open places on the scaffold, and proclaimed that, if anyone could show any reason why Charles Stuart should not be king of England, he should now come and speak. And a general pardon also was read by the Lord Chancellor, and silver medals were flung up and down by my Lord Cornwallis, but I could not obtain any. So great was the noise that I could make but little of the music; and indeed, it was lost to everybody.

136. The Great Plague in London 1

Aug. 31, 1665. This month ends with great sadness upon the public, because of the terrible plague which rages almost everywhere in the kingdom. Every day sadder and sadder news of its increase. In the City 2 died this week 7,496, and of them 6,102 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

1 Pepys, Diary, vol. v, pp. 62, 86.

? The City, the London of tradition and history, occupies little more than one square mile. It is now a very small part of the metropolis.

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.

Sept. 20, 1665. What a sad time it is to see no boats upon the Thames; and grass grows all up and down Whitehall court, and nobody but poor wretches in the streets! And, what is worst of all, the duke showed us the number of those who have died from the plague this week brought in the last night from the Lord Mayor; that it is increased about 600 more than the last, which is quite contrary to all our hopes and expectations, from the coldness of the late season. For the whole general number is 8,297, and of them the plague has caused the death of 7,165.

137. The Great Fire in London 1

Sept. 2, 1666. 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 went to her window, and thought it to be in the rear of Mark 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 then looked out the window, and saw the fire not so much as it was and farther off. . . . By and by Jane comes and tells me that she hears that above three hundred houses have been burned down last 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 . . . and there I did see the houses at that end of the bridge all on fire, and an infinite great fire at this end of the bridge.... So down, with my heart full of trouble, to the lieutenant of the Tower, who tells me that the fire began this morning in the king's baker's house in Pudding Lane, and that it has burned St. Magnus's Church and most of Fish Street already. So I went down to the waterside, and there got a boat and there saw a lamentable fire. . . .

1 Pepys, Diary, vol. v, pp. 417-421.