wisdom and impartial carriage of himself in that day's tryal . . . to the perpetual eternizing of his name and honour."

Now it was the Lord High Admiral's turn, who, after praising Pett up to the skies for his honesty and ability, went on to "extol and admire his Majesty's justice, great wisdom and princely care of the good of the Commonwealth in that he had refused no pains (as the day's work and honourable assembly could justly witness) to provide to rectify and set straight to the wonder and admiration. of them all a work of so great consequence." He then laid his hand on Pett's head and offered to pawn his lands, his honour and life itself for the due performance of the work he had in hand.

The King was almost obliged to reply to Nottingham's courtly speech, and this he shortly did, repeating his high appreciation of his conduct and services.

Then, being about to depart, a sudden thought struck him that Pett might seek to be revenged on his accusers, and might challenge them to mortal combat. Bloodshed was always abhorrent to James, and fighting he detested. Accordingly he charged Pett, still kneeling on his knees, on his allegiance and life not to quarrel with or challenge any person whatever who had given information against him that day.

Lord Northampton was so disgusted at the failure of his plot that he would not even bid farewell to his Majesty when he set out in his "carroach" for Whitehall at 8 P.M. after his twelve hours' work, a slight which one wonders James did not resent.

On the 8th of the following month the King commenced the great inquisition of the Navy on Northampton's information, who, true to his character of a good hater, now accused Pett of having sold brass ordnance, powder, and the stores of the Resistance to the Spaniards when he went to Spain with the Lord High Admiral. The King told him he knew all about the transaction, and that Pett was in no way to blame. Probably James had received the lion's share of the plunder, and had no desire that the matter should be inquired into.

Now comes a story of his enemy, the "great braggadocio " Weymouth, who certainly had done his best to ruin Pett, and was a thorough-paced rascal besides. Yet the latter, who was a most kindly, forgiving soul, pardoned all his offences and helped him all he could in his hour of need. A Knight of Hants gave Weymouth an order to build a ship for him, which, as Pett says, was "expected to run beyond the moon, but when finished was found to be the

No sooner

veriest Bubble of Drown Devil that ever went to sea." was this vessel ready for sea with her armament and stores on board, for which it is to be presumed Weymouth had been duly paid, than he took her over to Antwerp and tried to sell her to the Dutch, offering his services to that Government at the same time as her commander, though he was in receipt of a pension from James of ten groats a day. His offers were refused, and what became of the ship we don't know. The Lord High Admiral, hearing of the business, gave strict orders for Weymouth's apprehension as a pirate if he were found in England. Eventually this rascal stole back to London, sought out Pett, knelt before him, and in the most abject manner besought his forgiveness and his help to obtain his pardon. He had rightly judged our author's character, for he who had been so grievously injured not only forgave his bitter enemy, but used all his influence with Lord Nottingham to obtain his pardon, which the good Lord Admiral shortly granted.

At midnight on June 5, 1611, Pett, being then at Chatham, was startled by the arrival of a king's messenger in hot haste with urgent orders to man a vessel called the Lighthorseman, and to run out as far as the Nore head to search all passing craft for the Lady Arabella Stuart, who had escaped from the Tower and was bound, so it was supposed, for France. In this quest he was, fortunately for that much-enduring lady, as we know, unsuccessful.

On August 1, 1612, Pett had his last interview with his true friend and benefactor, Prince Henry. He had been sent for to Richmond on some business of the Prince's, and when it was over he says, "He dismissed me with these words, and with a most princely gravity took a farewell—'Go on cheerfully (saith he) in what I have entrusted you with, and let not the care of your posterity encumber you any way, for you shall leave the care both of yourself and them to me who have a purpose carefully to provide for you '— which gracious speeches made such an impression on me that when I came to kiss his Highness's hand I could not forbear shedding some tears, though I little thought (God knows) that had been the last words he would ever speak to me."

On October 25 the Prince sickened of some mysterious malady which none of the physicians could diagnose, and which gave rise to the sinister rumours we have referred to, though it is only right to note that there is no reference whatever to these in the diary. On November 6 "the Hope of Christendom " died.

Deep as was the grief of the whole nation at the Prince's untimely fate, it may truly be said that none wept more bitter tears

of sorrow on that fatal day than his devoted, faithful servant, Phineas Pett.

He says: "On 6th November I came up to London and came to St. James' about 4 o'clock, where I found a house turned to a mapp of true sorrow, every man with grief written on his countenance, all places flowing with tears and bitter lamentations, and about 8 o'clock at night the most renowned Prince of the world, our royal and most loving master departed this life, not only to the loss and utter undoing of his poor servants, but to the general loss of all the Protestant religion."

The funeral did not take place till early in December, when Pett records that he had warning to attend at St. James's upon the preparation of the obsequies, and "had black cloth delivered to me according to the place I was ranked in above stairs, which was of Gentleman of the Privy Chamber Extraordinary. . . . The next day (7th December) we did attend his Highness' corpse to funeral in the Abbey of Westminster, which was the most lamentable march that ever I went."

In January, 1613, Pett made ready the fleet to convoy the Lady Elizabeth to Grave after her marriage to the Prince Palatine. The Lord High Admiral in the great ship the Prince Royal, on the building of which James had held his famous inquisition, went in command of the fleet, and Pett went with him, being held in such high honour that he was given a special place at his lordship's table during the voyage. The start was unpropitious, for the great ship ran aground, and Lord Northampton was at hand to suggest that the Princess should quit so unlucky a vessel and take passage in his own, which she politely declined to do.

On September 27, 1614, Pett notes the return of Captain Button from his search for the North-West Passage, "where he wintered." What else he did or how he fared in his search we are not told, though our author must have known all about it, for he had purchased and fitted out Button's ship for him and sent with him, on his adventurous quest, Captain William Gibbon, the commander of his own trading vessel, the Resistance, eighteen months before.

Under date of June 14, 1615, he tells us that his "honble. and implacable enemy, Lord Northampton, died at his house at Charing Cross." This must have been a great relief to the muchpersecuted man, for, though he had many other enemies to vex his righteous soul with their "malicious practices," none were so persistent or so powerful as his lordship.

The Lord High Admiral had given Pett leave to execute private

orders in the public dockyards, and in March, 1616, he received an order from Sir Walter Raleigh for a ship of 500 tons, which on completion was called the Destiny. Sir Walter treated him but scurvily, for he sailed away in his ship leaving a debt of £700, which the builder could never recover. By a pinnace which he built in the same year for Lord Zouch, Warden of the Cinque Ports, he lost another £100, having been, as he says, cozened out of that sum by Sir Henry Mainwaring, the friend through whom he got the order.

Lord Northampton having ceased from troubling by reason of his death, Pett was only called in question over his store accounts twice more during his career, viz., in 1618 and 1633. In the former year one of the usual commissions was granted by the King to inquire into the many abuses of the Navy, on which sat one of his "malicious enemies," one Mr. Burrell. Not without just cause, it is to be feared, it went very hard with him on this occasion, for he says: "I was sequestered from business and all employments, and all privileges taken from me, Captain Norris being brought over me, under whom I lived as a slave, suffering much disgrace and affronts." Not for long though, for he was too efficient a man to be permanently shelved, and he was soon back in his former position under the patronage of the Duke of Buckingham, who had succeeded Lord Nottingham as Lord High Admiral.

In the latter year, being then Principal Officer and Commissioner of the Navy, he and his brother Commissioner, Sir Henry Palmer, were very seriously called in question, "about the selling of brownpaper stutt at Chatham, which we claimed as a perquisite of our offices." There can be little doubt that the charge was well founded, and that they must have sold "the stuff" wholesale, for both were suspended by order of the King, and Pett had sorrowfully to refund £88 as his share of the plunder. What became of Sir Henry Palmer we don't know, but our indispensable shipbuilder was shortly taken into favour again, and in 1634 was as busy as ever building a great ship to surpass anything then in the Navy, at the special request of Charles I.

On June 24, 1619, was born his tenth child, a son, to whom he gave his own name, Phineas. This Phineas the second is twice referred to by Samuel Pepys in his "Diary": first on August 29, 1660, as having been brought under notice of the House of Commons, then, and for some time after, in a red-hot fit of loyalty, as having used disrespectful language concerning the King and Queen Mother, being then Clerk of the Cheque at Chatham.

Nothing seems to have been done to him, however, for we find him in the second reference still holding the same position on December 7, 1662. This reference is so characteristic of the immortal Samuel that it must be given in his own words:

"To Deptford and so by water with Mr. Pett home again, all the way reading his chest accounts, in which I did see things which did not please me; as his allowing himself £300 for one year's looking to the chest, and £150 per ann. for the rest of the years. But I found no fault to him himself, but shall when they come to be read at the Board."

On November 10, 1619, Pett waited on the King at Theobalds, his favourite residence in Essex, with a petition for payment of moneys due to him. He got no money, for cash was hard to extract from James, but got instead, "for my supply of my present relief, the making of a Knight Bart., which I afterwards passed under the broad Seal of England for one Francis Ratcliffe of Northumberland, for which I was to have £700, but by reason Sir Archibd. Herbert (who brought him to me) played not fair with me, I lost £50 of my bargain."

Again those never-ceasing "malicious practices" are put in force by some at the Admiralty in 1623, when our author was ordered to proceed to Spain with the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Buckingham on board the Prince Royal on the abortive Spanish Marriage expedition. As usual, his enemies were foiled, for he went, and made himself so useful that the parsimonious James presented him with a gold chain worth £104 on his return.

The death of James I. and the proclamation of his successor are briefly recorded under date of March 28, 1625, and in May of the same year Pett had orders to make ready the fleet to convoy the young Queen from France. It sailed on June 1, and it was not till the 10th that the storm-tossed fleet anchored in Boulogne roads ("Bullen," Pett calls it).

Now to the victim of many commissions and inquiries came a quite novel experience, for in this same year a commission was appointed to examine into sundry doings at the Admiralty, and Pett, instead of appearing in the dock, sat as one of the judges along with many lords and experienced sea captains. The commission came to naught, however, and was soon dissolved, because "it was found to tread so hard on some great personages."

On February 14, 1626, his faithful and much-loved wife, the mother of his ten children, died, leaving behind a disconsolate husband and mourning family. Not for long, though, was he dis