dinner, and after dining done to the Dock by coach, it
raining hard, to see "The Prince" launched, which hath lain in the Dock
in repairing these three years. I went into her and was launched in her.
Thence by boat ashore, it raining, and I went to Mr. Barrow's, where
Sir J. Minnes and Commissioner Pett; we staid long eating sweetmeats
and drinking, and looking over some antiquities of Mr. Barrow's, among
others an old manuscript Almanac, that I believe was made for some
monastery, in parchment, which I could spend much time upon to
understand. Here was a pretty young lady, a niece of Barrow's, which I
took much pleasure to look on. Thence by barge to St. Mary Creek; where
Commissioner Pett (doubtful of the growing greatness of Portsmouth by
the finding of those creeks there), do design a wett dock at no great
charge, and yet no little one; he thinks towards L10,000. And the place,
indeed, is likely to be a very fit place, when the King hath money to do
it with. Thence, it raining as hard as it could pour down, home to the
Hillhouse, and anon to supper, and after supper, Sir J. Minnes and I had
great discourse with Captain Cox and Mr. Hempson about business of
the yard, and particularly of pursers' accounts with Hempson, who is a
cunning knave in that point. So late to bed and, Mr. Wayth being gone, I
lay above in the Treasurer's bed and slept well. About one or two in
the morning the curtains of my bed being drawn waked me, and I saw a man
stand there by the inside of my bed calling me French dogg 20 times, one
after another, and I starting, as if I would get out of the bed, he fell
a-laughing as hard as he could drive, still calling me French dogg, and
laid his hand on my shoulder. At last, whether I said anything or no I
cannot tell, but I perceived the man, after he had looked wistly upon
me, and found that I did not answer him to the names that he called me
by, which was Salmon, Sir Carteret's clerk, and Robt. Maddox, another of
the clerks, he put off his hat on a suddaine, and forebore laughing, and
asked who I was, saying, "Are you Mr. Pepys?" I told him yes, and now
being come a little better to myself, I found him to be Tom Willson, Sir
W. Batten's clerk, and fearing he might be in some melancholy fit, I
was at a loss what to do or say. At last I asked him what he meant. He
desired my pardon for that he was mistaken, for he thought verily,
not knowing of my coming to lie there, that it had been Salmon, the
Frenc