“Why, so I think,” rejoined Gatford; “but I suppose they consider self-preservation their first duty. They aver that all assemblages, whether called together for religious purposes or not, are dangerous, and likely to extend the pestilence.”
“And yet crowds are permitted to assemble for purposes of amusement, if not for worship, in those holy walls,” returned Leonard.
“Not so,” replied Gatford. “Very few persons now come there, and none for amusement. Paul’s Walk is completely deserted. The shops and stalls have been removed, and the pillars to which they were attached are restored to their former appearance.”
“I am glad to hear it,” rejoined Leonard. “I would far rather the sacred edifice were altogether abandoned than be what it has been of late — a den of thieves.”
“It was a stable and a magazine of arms in the time of the
Commonwealth,” remarked Gatford.
“And if Solomon Eagle’s foreboding come to pass, it will be a heap of ruins in our own time,” rejoined Turgis. “But I see the prophet of ill has quitted his post, and retired to his hiding-place.”
Looking up as this was said, Leonard saw that the enthusiast had disappeared. At this moment the great door of the cathedral was thrown open, and, quitting the masons, he ascended the broad steps under the portico, and entered the fane, where he found that the information he had received was correct, and that the stalls and other disfigurements to the pillars had been removed. After pacing the solitary aisles for some time, he made inquiries from the verger concerning Solomon Eagle.
“I know nothing about him,” replied the man, reluctantly. “I believe he always appears at daybreak on some part of the roof, but I am as ignorant as yourself where he hides himself. The door of the winding staircase leading to the central tower is open. You can ascend it, and search for him, if you think proper.”
Acting upon the suggestion, Leonard mounted to the belfry, and from thence to the summit of the tower. Having indulged himself with a brief survey of the glorious view around, he descended, and glanced into every cell and chamber as he passed, in the hopes of meeting with the enthusiast, but he was disappointed. At length, as he got about half-way down, he felt his arm forcibly grasped, and, instantly conjecturing who it was, offered no resistance. Without uttering a word, the person who had seized him dragged him up a few steps, pushed aside a secret door, which closed behind them with a hollow clangour, and leading him along a dark narrow passage, opened another door, and they emerged upon the roof. He then found that his suspicion was correct, and that his mysterious guide was no other than Solomon Eagle.
“I am glad to find you have recovered from the pestilence,” said the enthusiast, regarding him with a friendly glance; “it proves you are favoured by Heaven. I saw you in the open space before the cathedral this morning, and instantly recognised you. I was in the belfry when you descended, but you did not perceive me, and I wished to be certain you were alone before I discovered myself.”
“You have ceased to roam the streets at night, and rouse the slumbering citizens to repentance?” asked Leonard.
“For the present I have,” returned Solomon Eagle. “But I shall appear again when I am required. But you shall now learn why I have brought you hither. Look along those streets,” he added, pointing to the thoroughfares opening in different directions. “What see you?”
“I see men piling heaps of wood and coals at certain distances, as if they were preparing bonfires,” replied Leonard. “And yet it cannot be. This is no season for rejoicing.”
“It has been supposed that the lighting of many thousand fires at once will purify the air,” replied Solomon Eagle; “and therefore the Lord Mayor has given orders that heaps of fuel shall be placed before every house in every street in the city, and that all these heaps shall be kindled at a certain hour. But it will be of no avail. The weather is now fine and settled, and the sky cloudless. But the offended Deity will cause the heaviest rain to descend, and extinguish their fires. No — the way to avert the pestilence is not by fire, but by prayer and penitence, by humiliation and fasting. Let this sinful people put on sackcloth and ashes. Let them beseech God, by constant prayer, to forgive them, and they may prevail, but not otherwise.”
“And when are these fires to be lighted?” asked the apprentice.
“To-night, at midnight,” replied Solomon Eagle.
He then took Leonard by the hand, and led him back the same way he had brought him. On reaching the spiral staircase, he said, “If you desire to behold a sight, such as a man has seldom witnessed, ascend to the summit of this tower an hour after midnight, when all these fires are lighted. A small door on the left of the northern entrance shall be left open. It will conduct you to the back of the choir, and you must then find your way hither as well as you can.”
Murmuring his thanks, Leonard hurried down the spiral staircase, and quitting the cathedral, proceeded in the direction of Wood-street. Preparations were everywhere making for carrying the Lord Mayor’s orders into effect; and such was the beneficial result anticipated, that a general liveliness prevailed, on reaching his master’s residence, he found him at the shutter, curious to know what was going forward; and having informed him, the grocer immediately threw him down money to procure wood and coal.
“I have but little faith in the experiment,” he said, “but the Lord
Mayor’s injunctions must be obeyed.”
With the help of Dallison, who had now arrived, Leonard Holt soon procured a large heap of fuel, and placed it in the middle of the street. The day was passed in executing other commissions for the grocer, and he took his meals in the hutch with the porter. Time appeared to pass with unusual slowness, and not he alone, but anxious thousands, awaited the signal to kindle their fires. The night was profoundly dark and sultry, and Leonard could not help thinking that the enthusiast’s prediction would be verified, and that rain would fall. But these gloomy anticipations vanished as the hour of midnight was tolled forth by the neighbouring clocks of Saint Michael’s and Saint Alban’s. Scarcely had the strokes died away, when Leonard seized a light and set fire to the pile. Ten thousand other piles were kindled at the same moment, and in an instant the pitchy darkness was converted into light as bright as that of noonday.
Anxious to behold this prodigious illumination at its best, Leonard Holt committed the replenishing of the pile and the custody of the house to Dallison, and hastened to Saint Paul’s. A great fire was burning at each angle of the cathedral, but without pausing to notice the effect of the flames upon the walls of the building, he passed through the door to which he had been directed, and hastening to the spiral staircase beyond the choir, ascended it with swift steps. He did not pause till he reached the summit of the tower, and there, indeed, a wondrous spectacle awaited him. The whole city seemed on fire, and girded with a flaming belt — for piles were lighted at certain distances along the whole line of walls. The groups of dark figures collected round the fires added to their picturesque effect; and the course of every street could be traced by the reflection of the flames on the walls and gables of the houses. London Bridge was discernible from the fires burning upon it — and even upon the river braziers were lighted on all the larger craft, which cast a ruddy glow upon the stream.
After gazing at this extraordinary sight for some time, Leonard began to descend. As yet he had seen nothing of Solomon Eagle, and searching for him in vain in the belfry, he quitted the cathedral. From a knot of persons gathered round one of the fires he learnt that the enthusiast was addressing the crowd at the west side of the building, and proceeding thither he perceived him standing on the edge of the balustrade of the south-western tower, surmounting the little church of Saint Gregory. His brazier was placed on one of the buttresses, and threw its light on the mighty central tower of the fabric, and on a large clock-face immediately beneath. Solomon Eagle was evidently denouncing the city, but his words were lost in the distance. As he proceeded, a loud clap of thunder pealed overhead.
“It comes — it comes!” cried the enthusiast, in a voice that could be distinctly heard in the death-like stillness that followed the thunder. “The wrath of Heaven is at hand.”
As he spoke, a bright flash cut the air, and a bolt struck down, one of the pinnacles of the great tower. Flash after flash followed in quick succession, and the enthusiast, who seemed wrapped in flame, extended his arms towards Heaven, as if beseeching a further display of its vengeance. Suddenly the lightning ceased to flash and the thunder to roll. A few heavy drops of rain fell. These were succeeded by a deluging shower of such violence, that in less than a quarter of an hour every fire within the city was extinguished, and all was darkness and despair.
The deepest gloom and despondency prevailed that night throughout London. The sudden storm was regarded as a manifestation of the displeasure of Heaven, and as an intimation that the arrows of its wrath were not to be turned aside by any human efforts. So impressed were all with this feeling, that when, in less than half an hour, the rain entirely ceased, the clouds cleared off, and the stars again poured down their lustre, no one attempted to relight the quenched embers, fearing to provoke the Divine vengeance. Nor was a monitor wanting to enforce the awful lesson. Solomon Eagle, with his brazier on his head, ran through the streets, calling on the inhabitants to take to heart what had happened, to repent, and prepare for their doom.
“The Lord will not spare you,” he cried, as he stationed himself in the open space before St. Stephen’s, Walbrook. “He will visit your sins upon you. Pray, therefore, that ye may not be destroyed, both body and soul. Little time is allowed you for repentance. Many that hear me shall not live till tomorrow; few shall survive the year!”
“Thou, thyself, shalt not survive the night, false prophet,” cried a voice from a neighbouring window. And immediately afterwards the barrel of a gun was thrust forth and a shot fired at the enthusiast. But though Solomon Eagle never altered his position, he was wholly uninjured — the ball striking a bystander, who fell to the ground mortally wounded.
“You have shot your own son, Mr. Westwood,” cried one of the spectators, rushing up to the fallen man. “Who will henceforth doubt that Solomon Eagle is under the care of a special providence?”
“Not I,” replied another spectator. “I shall never disregard his words in future.”
Setting down his brazier, the enthusiast bent over the dead man — for dead he was — and noted the placid smile upon his features. By this time the unfortunate father had joined the group, and, on seeing the body of his son, wrung his hands in a pitiable manner, and gave utterance to the wildest expression of despair. No one attempted to seize him, till at length Solomon Eagle, rising from his kneeling posture, laid his hand upon his arm, and regarding him sternly, said, “What wrong have I done you, that you should seek to slay me?”
“What wrong?” rejoined Westwood— “such wrong as can never be repaired. Your fearful prophecies and denunciations so terrified my daughter, that she died distracted. My brokenhearted wife was not long in following her; and now you have made me the murderer of my son. Complete the tragedy, and take my life.”
“I have no desire to do so,” replied Solomon Eagle, in a tone of commiseration. “My wish is to save your soul, and the souls of all who listen to me. I wonder not that your anger was at first stirred against me; but if your heart had been properly directed, indignation would have soon given way to better feelings. My mission is not to terrify, but to warn. Why will ye thus continue impenitent when ye are spoken to, not by my voice alone, but by a thousand others? — by the thunder — by the rain — by the pestilence! — and ye shall be spoken to, if ye continue senseless, by fire and by famine. Look at these quenched embers — at these flooded streets — they are types of your vain struggle with a superior power. Now, mark me what you must do to free the city from contagion. You must utterly and for ever abandon your evil courses. You must pray incessantly for remission of your sins. You must resign yourselves without repining to such chastisement as you have provoked, and must put your whole trust and confidence in God. Do this, and do it heartily; it is possible that His wrath may be averted.”
“I feel the force of your words,” faltered Westwood— “would I had felt it sooner!”
“Repentance never comes too late,” rejoined the enthusiast. “Let this be an example to you all.”
And snatching up his brazier, he continued his course at the same lightning speed as before. The unfortunate father was taken into his own dwelling, whither likewise the body of his son was conveyed. A strict watch was kept over him during the night, and in the morning he was removed to Newgate, where he perished, in less than a week, of the distemper.
The aspect of the streets on the following day was deplorable enough. Not that the weather was unfavourable. On the contrary, it was bright and sunny, while the heated atmosphere, cooled, by the showers, felt no longer oppressive. But the sight of the half-burnt fires struck a chill into every bosom, and it was not until the heaps were removed, that the more timorous ventured forth at all. The result, too, of the experiment was singularly unfortunate. Whether it was from the extraordinary heat occasioned by the lighting of so many fires, or that the smoke did not ascend, and so kept down the pestilential effluvia, or that the number of persons who met together spread the contagion, certain it was that the pestilence was more widely extended than before, and the mortality fearfully increased.
On the commencement of the storm, Leonard Holt hurried back to Wood-street, and reached his master’s dwelling just as the rain began to descend in torrents. Mr. Bloundel was at the window, and a few words only passed between him and the apprentice when the latter was compelled to take refuge in the hutch. Here he found Dallison the watchman, and they listened in awe-struck silence to the heavy showers, and to the hissing of the blazing embers in their struggle against the hostile element. By-and-by the latter sound ceased. Not a light could be seen throughout the whole length of the street, nor was there any red reflection of the innumerable fires as heretofore in the sky. It was evident all were extinguished; and the pitiless pelting of the rain, the roar of the water-spouts, and the rush of the over-filled kennels, now converted into rivulets, could alone be heard After awhile the storm cleared off, and Leonard and his companion issued from their retreat, and gazed in silence at the drenched heap before them. While thus occupied, the window above them opened, and the grocer appeared at it.
“This is, indeed, a sad and striking lesson,” he said, “and I hope will not be lost upon those who have witnessed it. It shows the utter impotency of a struggle against the Divine will, and that when a man relies upon himself for preservation, he depends upon a broken reed. If I did not place myself under Heaven’s protection, I should be sure that all my own precautions were unavailing. I am now about to call up my family to prayer. You can join us in our supplications, and I trust they will not be unheard.”
Closing the window, the grocer retired, and Leonard returned to the hutch, where he fell upon his knees, and as soon as he supposed the family were gathered together, commenced his own prayers. He pictured the whole group assembled — the fervour of the grocer excited to an unwonted pitch by what had just occurred — the earnest countenances of his wife and the younger children — and the exalted looks of Amabel. He could not see her — neither could he hear her voice — but he fancied how she looked, and in what terms she prayed — and it was no slight satisfaction to him to think that his own voice ascended to Heaven coupled with hers.
On quitting the hutch, he found Dallison conversing with Doctor Hodges. The physician expressed great surprise at seeing him, and inquired how he came to have left his master’s house. Leonard related all that had happened, and besought his assistance in Nizza’s behalf.
“I will do all I can for her,” replied Hodges, “for I feel greatly interested about her. But who is this Sir Paul Parravicin? I never heard of him.”
“I know nothing more of him than what I have told you, sir
,” replied
Leonard. “He is a friend of the Earl of Rochester.”
“It must be a feigned name,” rejoined Hodges; “but I will speedily find him out. You must lodge at my house tonight. It will be better for you than sleeping in that damp shed. But, first, I must have a word or two with your master. I have been abroad all night, and came hither to ascertain what he thought of this plan of the fires, and what he had done. How do you give the signal to him?”
“There is a cord within the hutch by which you can sound a bell within his chamber,” returned Leonard; “I will ring it.”
Accordingly, he did so, and the summons was almost instantly answered by the grocer. A kindly greeting passed between the latter and Hodges, who inquired whether all was going on satisfactorily within, and whether anything could be done for the family.
“I would not have disturbed you at this unseasonable hour,” he said, “but chancing to be in your neighbourhood, and thinking it likely you would be on the watch, I called to have a word with you. Though I could not foresee what would happen, I entirely disapproved of these fires as likely to increase rather than check the pestilence.”
“The hand of Heaven has extinguished them because they were lighted in opposition to its decrees,” replied Bloundel; “but you have asked me whether all is going on well within. I should answer readily in the affirmative, but that my wife expresses much anxiety respecting Amabel. We have no longer any apprehension of misconduct. She is all we could desire — serious and devout. But we have fears for her health. The confinement may be too much for her. What would you recommend?”
“I must see her to be able to speak confidently,” replied Hodges.
“I know not how that can be accomplished, unless you choose to ascend by a basket attached to the pulley,” replied the grocer, with some hesitation, “and it is against my plan to admit you.”
“But your daughter’s life, my good friend,” rejoined Hodges; “think of that. If I choose to risk life and limb to visit her, you may surely risk the chance of contagion to admit me. But you need have no fear. Sprinkle your room with spirits of sulphur, and place a phial of vinegar so that I can use it on my first entrance into the house, and I will answer for the safety of your family.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 250
