I had every intention of paying my men, but I didn’t expect to be recompensed by James. I had worked for him for many years and knew just how difficult it was getting money out of him.
‘We could do the job much quicker if we had some black powder my Lord,’ I said.
‘A good point Toby, but it’s all stored in the tower. I will see what I can do.’
‘How far has the fire progressed?’ I asked.
‘From what I can make out, all dwellings south of St Paul’s were destroyed yesterday, the fire devouring the poorer area of the city from Black Friars to Pudding Lane, it continues to move mostly in a westerly direction, and we are all hoping it will be halted by the River Fleet which is part of your area.’
‘We will do our best my Lord.’
‘One of us will be back to see how you are getting on tomorrow.’ He then turned on his heels and was gone, taking with him his so-called helpers.
‘You heard the man,’ I said, ‘let’s get started.’
The two men looking for the fire hydrant said they had found one but there were no hoses. So we abandoned that idea and chose instead to start knocking down houses. We picked a dwelling that had already been vacated. But even with the whole team working non-stop, it took us two hours to knock it down.
‘I think our time would be better spent dousing the building in water out of the river. Make a chain and pass the buckets along to me, I will try to get on the roof.’
As the fire came closer, the heat became so unbearable we had to admit that we had lost the battle, and moved back. Just around midday burning embers jumped the River Fleet from the roof of St Bride’s Church. The whole team stopped in amazement and watched how quickly the flames consumed the church. My church where as a boy I sang in the choir, and where just a few months earlier I had buried George.
‘We are wasting our time here. Pull back to the Temple, and let’s use what time we have left to help the poor wretches escape, we need to get as many as we can outside the city wall at the top of Fetter Lane.’
The street and alley were crowded with poor victims who had lost everything. A few had handcarts but most were just carrying packs and packages, some even cradling babies. My team were happier helping the suffering than pulling down houses, at least they felt they were now making a positive contribution.
The sun dropped below the horizon early evening, but there was still enough light from the fire to keep going until the last refugees had been ferried through the old Roman Walls of the city.
Now, completely exhausted, we returned slowly home.
My whole team were waiting for me early next morning, the mood among them sombre, nobody seemed to want to talk. I was just dreading what I would find at the Temple, or even if it was still standing.
So dejected was I that I had not noticed that the wind had eased, and when we arrived at the Temple, I was surprised but also delighted to see that the fire had travelled no more than a hundred yards since yesterday. There was not as many people on the move, most already having left the city, but we just carried on as before helping wherever we could.
Halfway through the morning we heard a series of explosions in the area close to the Tower, and later in the afternoon, we had a visit from James. He was accompanied by a handful of guards, and my old friend Arthur Crossley.
‘We heard the explosions, I assume it was you.’
‘It was Charles, he’s trying to save St Olave’s Church on Hart Street.’
‘And is it working?’
‘It appears so. But how are you getting along here Toby, I see you couldn’t stop the fire jumping the River Fleet?’
‘No sir, that’s why we have moved our defences back to the Temple.’
‘I’ll just take a look,’ he said beckoning to his guards to follow. Arthur stayed with me.
‘How are you coping working for James?’
‘Taxing but also rewarding, and like you, I have made a few enemies.’
‘Does that bother you?’
‘Not when I know I am in the right it doesn’t.’
‘Well you know you could always work for me, I’ll match any salary James offers you.’
‘Thanks Toby, that’s good to know, and I may take you up on it someday.’
‘Have you seen anything of the Mayor of London? Surely it should have been his job to direct operations.’
‘Sir Thomas Bloodworth will be given a hard time by his contemporaries when parliament resumes,’ said Arthur. ‘On Sunday he turned up at Pudding Lane just after the fire started. That was when he should have ordered the houses around there pulled down to create a fire barrier, but it seems he hadn’t the courage to make the decision… apparently he said, “A woman could piss this out.” We met him again today in Canning Street with a handkerchief around his mouth, crying like a child. “I am spent,” he said. “People will not obey me… I have been pulling down houses but the fire overtakes us faster than we can do it. I need more soldiers… I have been up all night, I can hardly stand… I must take a rest.”’
James returned from inspecting the area. He seemed to be satisfied, and left us without advice or recommendation, so we carried on as before, using our cart to help the needy. There were others with kin in Southwark, waiting for help to cross the river. I found wherries and paid for their crossing.
We stayed until nightfall, then having done all we could we set off for home, praying that tomorrow would be the last day.
By Wednesday morning the fire was out and it was then that we were able to see the full extent of the damage.
Gracechurch Street and Lombard Street, once one of the wealthiest areas in the city, were now completely destroyed, all the big houses where the influential and rich lived had vanished without a trace. Some of the houses had been extravagant offices of wealthy livery companies but were now gone… the whole area that was once the key to London’s business life in ruins.
The most horrifying sight was St Paul’s Cathedral which had succumbed to the fire just as quickly as the rest of the city’s poorer dwellings. The heat from the burning scaffold had melted the lead roof which witnesses said ran like rivers of lead through the streets. Everybody thought the Cathedral was a safe sanctuary, and that its thick stone walls would act as a firebreak, but witnesses say that the heat reached such unusually high temperatures, the stone walls were exploding, sending stone missiles all over St Paul’s Square. My thoughts were with my friend John Martin the bookseller, and his fellow booksellers who must have lost everything below ground in the crypt.
Also the Exchange had gone, the place where wealthy livery companies and merchants trade and stored their wares: Chinese silk, spices and jewellery were just a few of the commodities that must have been completely destroyed. The Custom House, the General Letter Office in Threadneedle Street, and the offices of the London Gazette, all in ashes.
As it happened, it was the old Roman City Wall that turned out to be the best fire barrier of all. Westminster in the west was threatened but survived, and also the Tower in the east.
Later in the day when the cobbles had cooled enough to walk on, my father and I strolled together round the oldest part of the medieval city, and saw for ourselves the full extent of the damage. And as it was obvious there would be no business taking place in the city this day, I decided to inspect our own warehouse at St Catherine’s. And after that, my priority must be on the poor homeless wretches camping out in the fields outside the city walls with little or no food to eat or water to drink.
I stood by the window in our office on the first floor of the warehouse looking out across the river at Deptford’s empty shipyard. All the shipping had been moved down river on the first day of the fire to prevent sails or rigging catching fire from burning, flying embers. All incoming shipping had been stopped at Tilbury.
For a while I watched the wherries, hurrying across the river
or up and down from the Tower to Westminster. It was only then that it occurred to me that while most had suffered badly by the fire, those owning small boats had profited greatly.
I was about to leave when I saw the first of the merchant fleet returning to Deptford being escorted by a couple of frigates. The frigates dropped anchor in the centre of the river, and I watched as the officers were rowed ashore. The frigates were followed upstream by a small convoy of merchant shipping cruising slowly line astern. I watched a couple dock and was about to leave when a third came into view.
My first thought when I saw it was that it must have been damaged in battle. The mizzen-mast was too short and with less sail than was normal… others had been repaired or replaced with an odd assortment of improvised sails… there were new timbers in two places on the hull obviously covering damage caused by cannonballs and the yardarm had been replaced. New timbers on the castle were buckled and had been temporarily repaired.
Another hundred yards closer and I identified the ship as a Fluyt. I had no spyglass with me but it was definitely a Fluyt. Surely it couldn’t be the Tudor Queen… or could it?
I ran down the stairs two at a time, slamming the outer door as I ran to catch a wherry.
‘Take me to Deptford as quick as you can.’
Captain Neville Gregory… a portly imposing figure was standing proudly on the prow of the Tudor Queen puffing on his pipe. He saw me coming and saluted.
I climbed the rope ladder and waited while he came down to meet me. I wanted to hug him but instead took his hand when it was offered.
‘Greetings Mr Brocklehurst,’ he said. ‘Sorry I’m late, I arrived yesterday but was ordered to stay overnight at Tilbury. We heard about the fire, can we take a look?’
I wanted to quiz him about his voyage, and the damage to the ship, but instead I indulged him by agreeing to show him the city from the river.
We took one of the ship’s boats and two of his crew, who rowed us under the bridge as far as the Temple Gate, and then back again.
‘What’s that smell… it’s rather pleasant, and it certainly is not wood?’ he asked.
‘Spices… burning spices,’ I said. ‘The East India Company stored their complete stock at the Exchange, and lost the lot in the fire. That’s what you can smell.’
‘Then it seems I came just in time to save them. I have a large cargo of spices from Caribbean Islands being unloaded as we speak.’
‘You have spices?’ I asked.
‘Tons of the stuff. Now show me what is left of our city.’
We walked together through the smouldering city, the cobbled streets still hot under our feet.
The depressing sight of seeing such desolation brought a lump to my throat, so I chose not to speak, only to answer Gregory’s questions. We stopped in a number of locations… not to talk but just gaze in wonderment at the shear desolation the fire had caused. There were a few small fires still burning, but the greatest fire London had ever seen was over.
‘Do you want to go to Moorfield Park? It’s where the poor souls who lost their homes have fled to… though I must warn you that it’s not a pretty sight, seeing the poor wretches making camps and clinging to their meagre possessions. So many homeless, destitute people living in tents, canvas sheeting or makeshift shacks is so depressing.’
‘I think I would rather take a closer look at the Cathedral,’ said Gregory. ‘I can best help the poor by giving money.’
All we found in St Paul’s Square was the foundations of what just a few days earlier had been the most spectacular building in the city. And what was once the lead roof was now covering the cobbled streets in a spongy blanket of grey, the old stone walls of the Cathedral now broken and smashed into a million pieces scattered across the square.
Despite the devastation, a few tradesmen had already begun setting up temporary stalls selling bread and provisions at extortionate prices, sometimes as much as double the normal price.
‘I think I have seen enough. Let us get back to the ship,’ said Gregory.
We walked down the river where our two rowers were waiting to take us back to the ship.
‘What happened to the Tudor Queen,’ I asked.
‘It’s a long story. I have to attend a tribunal before the Navy Board on Monday 17th at 10am in the Tower. You should be there, you being an owner.’
‘What’s it all about?’
‘Best you wait until Monday 17th.’
‘Should I be worried?’
‘Not at all sir. They think I removed plunder from a Dutch merchant ship before it was declared prize.’
When we returned to the ship, there were three representatives of the East India Company waiting for me. Captain Gregory, realising they wanted to talk business, made his apologies saying he had to supervise the unloading of the cargo… but not before calling, ‘Are you content with my cargo good sirs?’
‘More than happy Captain Gregory, your spices have arrived in London at the perfect time for us.’
The three men were dressed in the finest clothes, two of them were probably about my age, and clean shaven. The third was older, a little portly and sporting a rather splendid moustache.
‘How can I help you gentlemen?’ I asked.
‘As you can well imagine Mr Brocklehurst, the fire has presented us with a short-term problem regarding storage. I am informed that you have a warehouse at St Catherine’s?’
‘That is so sir. It sits next to our berth at St Catherine’s Wharf. It has a floor space of 250 square yards. The upper floor is split to about half the size of the ground floor and incorporates a recently refurbished office overlooking the river.’
‘Tell me sir. Would you and your fellow partners consider leasing the building to the East India Company?’
‘The general running of BH Shipping is left to me, and I can see no reason why my partners would question my decision if I chose to lease the building. Would you like to see the property gentlemen? I’ll take you there now if you wish.’
‘We would indeed sir.’
They had their own coach, but rather than risk a journey through the burnt out city, we crossed the river by wherry.
They didn’t speak to me, or ask any questions, they just wandered about talking among themselves. I was beginning to think they were disappointed… but the serious talking started later when we were sat together in the office on the first floor.
‘Mr Brocklehurst. I would be insincere if I did not admit to you that this building would make a perfect temporary venue for the East India Company office in London. But I see that you have stock stored here, and if we chose to lease it… it would have to come with vacant possession.’
‘I could have what little stock we have stored here removed within a couple of weeks.’
‘In that case Mr Brocklehurst we would like to offer you £200 a calendar month to lease your warehouse for twelve months… payment in advance.’
‘Under current circumstances, and with so many businesses looking for temporary accommodation, I don’t think my partners would consider £200 a serious offer. But they might accept £1,000.’
‘We think you are probably right Mr Brocklehurst, but £1,000 is more than we are prepared to pay. What if we were to double the offer to a £400 a month, payment in advance for twelve months?’
‘I think I could probably talk my partners into accepting £600 a month.’
They looked at each other. The older man who had as yet not spoken, nodded his head.
‘We accept your offer Mr Brocklehurst: £600 a month, paid in four quarterly payments, but on the proviso that the warehouse is empty by Saturday 15th September. Six days from today.’
‘That won’t be a problem gentlemen. As soon as the cargo has been removed from the Queen, I will have the ship moved across to our berth here, and hire a team of stevedores to empty the warehouse.
They can put everything onto the ship where it can stay until we have the time to move it to our other warehouse in Poole, Dorset.’
‘Your ship seems to have suffered some damage Mr Brocklehurst.’
‘I am afraid she got caught up in a naval battle with the Dutch, and as you can see is in need of extensive repairs and maintenance.’
***
I called an emergency meeting of directors, hoping my unilateral decision on the renting of the warehouse would not be opposed, the response from my fellow partners was in fact just the opposite. I was congratulated on securing such a lucrative contract which was considered far and above what the building would normally have been worth.
Our warehouse at Poole had so far only been used by Brocklehurst Enterprises to store commodities waiting to be transported to Dublin… mostly slate, tin and copper. But now with the business well established, it was agreed by all that we should make better use of it… not only as a storage depot, but also a repair workshop.
Finalising the deal with the East India Company went down to the last minute, but it wasn’t our side that was holding up proceedings, it was their lawyers.
However, on Saturday the 15th September while carpenters were busy fitting the new mizzen-mast to the Tudor Queen, I was with my father in the temporary offices of East India Company London signing a twelve month contract. Two days later on Monday 17th September, my father and I went to the office of the Navy Board in the Tower with Captain Neville Gregory. He did not seem in the least worried about facing a tribunal… but I was… as was my father.
At 9.30 am, Captain Gregory stood before members of the Navy Board. My father and I seated at the back of the room. The hearing was chaired by my old employer James, Duke of York; Arthur Crossley sat by his side taking notes.
Arthur smiled and winked when he saw me.
‘Can you tell me in your own words Captain Gregory, your account of events in the Hudson River, America, in March of last year?’ asked the duke.
Courtier in the Royal House of Stuart Page 45
