“Well thought of,” cried the lord mayor. “I will go thither at once. Do you stay here. Your advice will be useful. I will examine you touching the incendiary to-morrow — that is, if we are any of us left alive, which I don’t expect. Lord, Lord! what will become of us?” And with many similar ejaculations, he hurried off with the sheriffs, and the greater part of his attendants, and taking his way down Saint Michael’s-lane, soon reached the river-side.
By this time, the fire had approached the summit of Fish-street-hill, and here the overhanging stories of the houses coming so close together as almost to meet at the top, the flames speedily caught the other side, and spread the conflagration in that direction. Two other houses were likewise discovered to be on fire in Crooked-lane, and in an incredibly short space the whole dense mass of habitations lying at the west side of Fish-street-hill, and between Crooked-lane and Eastcheap, were in flames, and threatening the venerable church of Saint Michael, which stood in the midst of them, with instant destruction. To the astonishment of all who witnessed it, the conflagration seemed to proceed as rapidly against the wind, as with it, and to be approaching Thames-street, both by Pudding-lane and Saint Michael’s-lane. A large stable, filled with straw and hay, at the back of the Star Inn, in Little Eastcheap, caught fire, and carrying the conflagration eastward, had already conveyed it as far as Botolph-lane.
It chanced that a poor Catholic priest, travelling from Douay to England, had landed that night, and taken up his quarters at the hotel above mentioned. The landlord, who had been roused by the cries of fire, and alarmed by the rumours of incendiaries, immediately called to mind his guest, and dragging him from his room, thrust him, half-naked, into the street. Announcing his conviction that the poor priest was an incendiary to the mob without, they seized him, and in spite of his protestations and explanations, which, being uttered in a foreign tongue, they could not comprehend, they were about to exercise summary punishment upon him, by hanging him to the sign-post before the landlord’s door, when they were diverted from their dreadful purpose by Solomon Eagle, who prevailed upon them to carry him to Newgate.
The conflagration had now assumed so terrific a character that it appalled even the stoutest spectator. It has been mentioned, that for many weeks previous to the direful calamity, the weather had been remarkably dry and warm, a circumstance which had prepared the old wooden houses, abounding in this part of the city, for almost instantaneous ignition. Added to this, if the incendiaries themselves had deposited combustible materials at certain spots to extend the conflagration, they could not have selected better places than accident had arranged. All sorts of inflammable goods were contained in the shops and ware-houses, — oil, hemp, flax, pitch, tar, cordage, sugar, wine, and spirits; and when any magazine of this sort caught fire, it spread the conflagration with tenfold rapidity.
The heat of the flames had now become almost insufferable, and the sparks and flakes of fire fell so fast and thick, that the spectators were compelled to retreat to a considerable distance from the burning buildings. The noise occasioned by the cracking of the timbers, and the falling of walls and roofs, was awful in the extreme. All the avenues and thoroughfares near the fire were now choked up by carts, coaches, and other vehicles, which had been hastily brought thither to remove the goods of the inhabitants, and the hurry of the poor people to save a wreck of their property, and the attempts made by the gangs of plunderers to deprive them of it, constituted a scene of unparalleled tumult and confusion. As yet, no troops had appeared to maintain order, and seeing that as much mischief was almost done by the plunderers as by the fire, Leonard determined to go in search of the lord mayor, and acquaint him with the mischief that was occurring. Having heard that the fire had already reached London Bridge, he resolved to ascertain whether the report was true. As he proceeded down Saint Michael’s-lane, he found the venerable church from which it was designated on fire, and with some difficulty forcing his way through the crowd, reached Thames-street, where he discovered that the conflagration had even made more fearful progress than he had anticipated. Fishmongers’ Hall, a large square structure, was on fire, and burning swiftly, — the flames encircling its high roof, and the turret by which it was surmounted. Streams of fire, too, had darted down the numerous narrow alleys leading to the river-side, and reaching the wharves, had kindled the heaps of wood and coal with which they were filled. The party under the command of the lord mayor had used their utmost exertions to get rid of these combustible materials by flinging them into the Thames; but they came too late, and were driven away by the approach of the fire. Most of the barges and heavy craft were aground, and they, too, caught fire, and were burned, with their contents.
Finding he could neither render any assistance, nor obtain speech with the lord mayor, and anxious to behold the terrible yet sublime spectacle from the river, Leonard hastened to Old Swan-Stairs, and springing into a boat, ordered the waterman to row into the middle of the Thames. He could then discern the full extent of the conflagration, and trace the progress it was making. All the houses between Fishmongers’ Hall and the bridge were on fire, and behind them rose a vast sheet of flame. Saint Magnus’ Church, at the foot of the bridge, was next seized by the flame, and Leonard watched its destruction. An ancient gateway followed, and soon afterwards a large stack of houses erected upon the bridge burst into flames.
The inhabitants of the houses on the bridge, having now become thoroughly alarmed, flung bedding, boxes, and articles of furniture, out of their windows into the river. A crowd of boats surrounded the starlings, and the terrified occupants of the structures above descending to them by the staircases in the interior of the piers, embarked with every article they could carry off. The river presented a most extraordinary scene. Lighted by the red and fierce reflection of the fire, and covered with boats, filled with families who had just quitted their habitations either on the bridge or in some other street adjoining it, its whole surface was speckled with pieces of furniture, or goods, that had been cast into it, and which were now floating up with the tide. Great crowds were collected on the Southwark shore to watch the conflagration, while on the opposite side the wharves and quays were thronged with persons removing their goods, and embarking them in boats. One circumstance, noted by Pepys, and which also struck Leonard, was the singular attachment displayed by the pigeons, kept by the owners of several houses on the bridge, to the spots they had been accustomed to. Even when the flames attacked the buildings to which the dovecots were attached, the birds wheeled round and round them, until, their pinions being scorched by the fire, they dropped into the water.
Leonard remained on the river nearly two hours. He could not, in fact, tear himself away from the spectacle, which possessed a strange fascination in his eyes. He began to think that all the efforts of men were unavailing to arrest the progress of destruction, and he was for awhile content to regard it as a mere spectacle. And never had he beheld a more impressive — a more terrible sight. There lay the vast and populous city before him, which he had once before known to be invaded by an invisible but extirminating foe, now attacked by a furious and far-seen enemy. The fire seemed to form a vast arch — many-coloured as a rainbow, — reflected in the sky, and re-reflected in all its horrible splendour in the river.
Nor was the aspect of the city less striking. The innumerable towers and spires of the churches rose tall and dark through the wavering sheet of flame, and every now and then one of them would topple down or disappear, as if swallowed up by the devouring element. For a short space, the fire seemed to observe a regular progressive movement, but when it fell upon better material, it reared its blazing crest aloft, changed its hues, and burnt with redoubled intensity. Leonard watched it thread narrow alleys, and firing every lesser habitation in its course, kindle some great hall or other structure, whose remoteness seemed to secure it from immediate danger. At this distance, the roaring of the flames resembled that of a thousand furnaces. Ever and anon, it was broken by a sound like thunder, o
ccasioned by the fall of some mighty edifice. Then there would come a quick succession of reports like the discharge of artillery, followed by a shower of fiery flakes and sparks blown aloft, like the explosion of some stupendous firework. Mixed with the roaring of the flames, the thunder of falling roofs, the cracking of timber, was a wild hubbub of human voices, that sounded afar off like a dismal wail. In spite of its terror, the appearance of the fire was at that time beautiful beyond description. Its varying colours — its fanciful forms — now shooting out in a hundred different directions, like lightning-flashes, — now drawing itself up, as it were, and soaring aloft, — now splitting into a million tongues of flame, — these aspects so riveted the attention of Leonard, that he almost forgot in the sight the dreadful devastation going forward. His eyes ached with gazing at the fiery spectacle, and he was glad to rest them on the black masses of building that stood in stern relief against it, and which there could be little doubt would soon become its prey.
It was now broad daylight, except for the mighty cloud of smoke, which o’er-canopied the city, creating an artificial gloom. Leonard’s troubled gaze wandered from the scene of destruction to Saint Paul’s — an edifice, which; from the many events connected with his fortunes that had occurred there, had always a singular interest in his eyes. Calling to mind the denunciations poured forth by Solomon Eagle against this fane, he could not help fearing they would now be fulfilled. What added to his misgivings was, that it was now almost entirely surrounded by poles and scaffolding. Ever since the cessation of the plague, the repairs, suspended during that awful season, had been recommenced under the superintendence of Doctor Christopher Wren, and were now proceeding with renewed activity. The whole of the building was under repair, and a vast number of masons were employed upon it, and it was their scaffolding that impressed Leonard with a dread of what afterwards actually occurred. Accustomed to connect the figure of Solomon Eagle with the sacred structure, he could not help fancying that he discovered a speck resembling a human figure on the central tower. If it were the enthusiast, what must his feelings be at finding his predictions so fatally fulfilled? Little did Leonard think how the prophecy had been accomplished!
But his attention was speedily called to the progress of the conflagration. From the increased tumult in the city, it was evident the inhabitants were now thoroughly roused, and actively bestirring themselves to save their property. This was apparent, even on the river, from the multitude of boats deeply laden with goods of all kinds, which were now seen shaping their course towards Westminster. The fire, also, had made rapid progress on all sides. The vast pile of habitations at the north side of the bridge was now entirely in flames. The effect of this was awfully fine. Not only did the flames mount to a greater height, and appear singularly conspicuous from the situation of the houses, but every instant some blazing fragment fell with a tremendous splash into the water, where it hissed for a moment, and then was for ever quenched, floating a black mass upon the surface. From the foot of the bridge to Coal Harbour Stairs, extended what Dryden finely calls “a quay of fire.” All the wharves and warehouses were in flames, and burning with astonishing rapidity, while this part of Thames-street, “the lodge of all combustibles,” had likewise become a prey to the devouring element. The fire, too, had spread in an easterly direction, and consuming three churches, namely, Saint Andrew’s, in Botolph-lane, Saint Mary’s, in Love-lane, and Saint Dunstan’s in the East, had invaded Tower-street, and seemed fast approaching the ancient fortress. So fascinated was Leonard with the sight, that he could have been well content to remain all day gazing at it, but he now recollected that he had other duties to perform, and directing the waterman to land him at Queenhithe, ascended Bread-street-hill, and betook himself to Wood-street.
IV.
LEONARD’S INTERVIEW WITH THE KING.
Some rumours of the conflagration, as will be supposed, had ere this reached Mr. Bloundel, but he had no idea of the extent of the direful calamity, and when informed of it by Leonard, lifted up his hands despairingly, exclaiming, in accents of the deepest affliction— “Another judgment, then, has fallen upon this sinful city, — another judgment yet more terrible than the first. Man may have kindled this great fire, but the hand of God is apparent in it. ‘Alas! alas! for thee, thou great city, Babylon! Alas for thee, thou mighty city! for in one hour is thy judgment come. The kings of the earth shall bewail thee, and lament for thee, when they see the smoke of thy burning.’”
“Your dwelling was spared in the last visitation, sir,” observed Leonard, after a pause, “and you were able to shut yourself up, as in a strong castle, against the all-exterminating foe. But I fear you will not be able to ward off the assaults of the present enemy, and recommend you to remove your family and goods without delay to some place of security far from this doomed city.”
“This is the Lord’s Day, Leonard, and must be kept holy,” replied the grocer. “To-morrow, if I am spared so long, I will endeavour to find some place of shelter.”
“If the conflagration continues to spread as rapidly as it is now doing, to-morrow will be too late,” rejoined Leonard.
“It may be so,” returned the grocer, “but I will not violate the Sabbath. If the safety of my family is threatened, that is another matter, but I will not attempt to preserve my goods. Do not, however, let me influence you. Take such portion of our stock as belongs to you, and you know that a third of the whole is yours, and convey it where you please.”
“On no account, sir,” interrupted Leonard. “I should never think of acting in opposition to your wishes. This will be a sad Sunday for London.”
“The saddest she has ever seen,” replied the grocer; “for though the voice of prayer was silenced in her churches during the awful season of the plague, yet then men’s minds had been gradually prepared for the calamity, and though filled with terror, they were not taken by surprise, as must now be the case. But let us to prayers, and may our earnest supplications avail in turning aside the Divine displeasure.”
And summoning his family and household, all of whom were by this time stirring, and in the utmost consternation at what they had heard of the fire, he commenced a prayer adapted to the occasion in a strain of the utmost fervour; and as Leonard gazed at his austere countenance, now lighted up with holy zeal, and listened to his earnest intercessions in behalf of the devoted city, he was reminded of the prophet Jeremiah weeping for Jerusalem before the throne of grace.
Prayers over, the whole party sat down to their morning repast, after which, the grocer and his eldest son, accompanied by Leonard and Blaize, mounted to the roof of the house, and gazing in the direction of the conflagration, they could plainly distinguish the vast cloud of yellow smoke commingled with flame that marked the scene of its ravages. As the wind blew from this quarter, charged, as has been stated, with a cloud of sparks, many of the fire-drops were dashed in their faces, and compelled them to shade their eyes. The same awful roar which Leonard had heard on the river likewise broke upon their ears, while from all the adjoining streets arose a wild clamour of human voices, the burden of whose cries was “Fire! Fire!” The church bells, which should have been tolling to early devotion, were now loudly ringing the alarm, while their towers were crowded, as were the roofs of most of the houses, with persons gazing towards the scene of devastation. Nothing could be more opposite to the stillness and quiet of a Sabbath morn; and as the grocer listened to the noise and tumult prevailing around him, he could not repress a groan.
“I never thought my ears would be so much offended on this day,” he said. “Let us go down. I have seen and heard enough.”
They then descended, and Stephen Bloundel, who was greatly alarmed by what he had just witnessed, strongly urged his father to remove immediately. “There are seasons,” said the young man, “when even our duty to Heaven becomes a secondary consideration; and I should be sorry if the fruit of your industry were sacrificed to your religious scruples.”
“There are no such season
s,” replied the grocer, severely; “and I am grieved that a son of mine should think so. If the inhabitants of this sinful city had not broken the Sabbath, and neglected God’s commandments, this heavy judgment would not have fallen upon them. I shall neglect no precaution for the personal safety of my family, but I place my worldly goods in the hands of Him from whom I derived them, and to whom I am ready to restore them, whenever it shall please Him to take them.”
“I am rebuked, father,” replied Stephen, humbly; “and entreat your pardon for having ventured to differ with you. I am now fully sensible of the propriety of your conduct.”
“And I have ever acquiesced in your wishes, be they what they may,” said
Mrs. Bloundel to her husband; “but I confess I am dreadfully frightened.
I hope you will remove the first thing to-morrow.”
“When midnight has struck, and the Sabbath is past, I shall commence my preparations,” replied the grocer. “You must rest content till then.” Mrs. Bloundel heaved a sigh, but said no more; and the grocer, retiring to a side-table, opened the Bible, and sat down calmly to its perusal. But though no further remonstrances reached his ears, there was great murmuring in the kitchen on the part of Blaize and Patience.
“Goodness knows what will become of us!” cried the latter. “I expect we shall all be burnt alive, owing to our master’s obstinacy. What harm can there be in moving on a Sunday, I should like to know? I’m sure I’m too much hurried and flurried to say my prayers as I ought to do.”
“And so am I,” replied Blaize. “Mr. Bloundel is a great deal too particular. What a dreadful thing it would be if the house should be burnt down, and all my mother’s savings, which were to form a provision for our marriage, lost.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 279
