“I do not deserve your majesty’s reproaches,” replied the lord mayor. “Ever since the fire broke out I have not rested an instant, and am almost worn to death with anxiety and fatigue. I am just returned from Guildhall, where a vast quantity of plate belonging to the city companies has been deposited. Lord! Lord! what a fire this is!”
“You are chiefly to blame for its getting so much ahead,” replied the king, angrily. “Had you adopted vigorous measures at the outset, it might have easily been got under. I hear no water was to be obtained. How was that?”
“It is a damnable plot, your majesty, designed by the Papists, or the Dutch, or the French — I don’t know which — perhaps all three,” rejoined the lord mayor; “and it appears that the cocks of all the pipes at the waterworks at Islington were turned, while the pipes and conduits in the city were empty. This is no accidental fire, your majesty.”
“So I find,” replied the king; “but it will be time enough to inquire into its origin hereafter. Meantime, we must act, and energetically, or we shall be equally as much to blame as the incendiaries. Let a proclamation be made, enjoining all those persons who have been driven from their homes by the fire to proceed, with such effects as they have preserved, to Moorfields, where their wants shall be cared for.”
“It shall be made instantly, your majesty,” replied the lord mayor.
“Your next business will be to see to the removal of all the wealth from the goldsmiths’ houses in this street, and in Gracechurch-street, to some places of security, Guildhall, or the Royal Exchange, for instance,” continued the king.
“Your majesty’s directions shall be implicitly obeyed,” replied the lord mayor.
“You will then pull down all the houses to the east of the fire,” pursued the king. “Get all the men you can muster; and never relax your exertions till you have made a wide and clear breach between the flames and their prey.”
“I will — I will, your majesty,” groaned the lord mayor.
“About it, then,” rejoined the king; and striking spurs into his horse, he rode off with his train.
He now penetrated one of the narrow alleys leading to the Three Cranes in the Vintry, where he ascended to the roof of the habitation, that he might view the fire. He saw that it was making such rapid advances towards him, that it must very soon reach the building on which he stood, and, half suffocated with the smoke, and scorched with the fire-drops, he descended.
Not long after this, Waterman’s Hall was discovered to be on fire; and, stirred by the sight, Charles made fresh efforts to check the progress of the conflagration by demolishing more houses. So eagerly did he occupy himself in the task, that his life had well-nigh fallen a sacrifice to his zeal. He was standing below a building which the workmen were unroofing, when all at once the whole of the upper part of the wall gave way, dragging several heavy beams with it, and would have infallibly crushed him, if Leonard, who was stationed behind him, had not noticed the circumstance, and rushing forward with the greatest promptitude, dragged him out of harm’s way. An engineer, with whom the king was conversing at the time of the accident, was buried in the ruins, and when taken out was found fearfully mutilated and quite dead. Both Charles and his preserver were covered with dust and rubbish, and Leonard received a severe blow on the shoulder from a falling brick.
On recovering from the shock, which for some moments deprived him of the power of speech, Charles inquired for his deliverer, and, on being shown him, said, with a look of surprise and pleasure, “What, is it you, young man? I am glad of it. Depend, upon it, I shall not forget the important service you have rendered me.”
“If he remembers it, it will be the first time he has ever so exercised his memory,” observed Chiffinch, in a loud whisper to Leonard. “I advise you, as a friend, not to let his gratitude cool.”
Undeterred by this late narrow escape, Charles ordered fresh houses to be demolished, and stimulated the workmen to exertion by his personal superintendence of their operations. He commanded Leonard to keep constantly near him, laughingly observing, “I shall feel safe while you are by. You have a better eye for a falling house than any of my attendants.”
Worn out at length with fatigue, Charles proceeded, with the Duke of York and his immediate attendants, to Painters’ Hall, in little Trinity-lane, in quest of refreshment, where a repast was hastily prepared for him, and he sat down to it with an appetite such as the most magnificent banquet could not, under other circumstances, have provoked. His hunger satisfied, he despatched messengers to command the immediate attendance of the lord mayor, the sheriffs, and aldermen; and when they arrived, he thus addressed them:— “My lord mayor and gentlemen, it has been recommended to me by this young man,” pointing to Leonard, “that the sole way of checking the further progress of this disastrous conflagration, which threatens the total destruction of our city, will be by blowing up the houses with gunpowder, so as to form a wide gap between the flames and the habitations yet remaining unseized. This plan will necessarily involve great destruction of property, and may, notwithstanding all the care that can be adopted, be attended with some loss of life; but I conceive it will be effectual. Before ordering it, however, to be put into execution, I desire to learn your opinion of it. How say you, my lord mayor and gentlemen? Does the plan meet with your approbation?”
“I pray your majesty to allow me to confer for a moment with my brethren,” replied the lord mayor, cautiously, “before I return an answer. It is too serious a matter to decide upon at once.”
“Be it so,” replied the king.
And the civic authorities withdrew with the king. Leonard heard, though he did not dare to remark upon it, that the Duke of York leaned forward as the lord mayor passed him, and whispered in his ear, “Take heed what you do. He only desires to shift the responsibility of the act from his own shoulders to yours.”
“If they assent,” said the king to Leonard, “I will place you at the head of a party of engineers.”
“I beseech your majesty neither to regard me nor them,” replied Leonard. “Use the authority it has pleased Heaven to bestow upon you for the preservation of the city, and think and act for yourself, or you will assuredly regret your want of decision. It has been my fortune, with the assistance of God, to be the humble instrument of accomplishing your majesty’s deliverance from peril, and I have your royal word that you will not forget it.”
“Nor will I,” cried the king, hastily.
“Then suffer the petition I now make to you to prevail,” cried Leonard, falling on his knees. “Be not influenced by the opinion of the lord mayor and his brethren, whose own interests may lead them to oppose the plan; but, if you think well of it, instantly adopt it.”
Charles looked irresolute, but might have yielded, if the Duke of York had not stepped forward. “Your majesty had better not act too precipitately,” said the duke. “Listen to the counsels of your prudent advisers. A false step in such a case will be irretrievable.”
“Nay, brother,” rejoined the king, “I see no particular risk in it, after all, and I incline towards the young man’s opinion.”
“At least, hear what they have got to say,” rejoined the duke. “And here they come. They have not been long in deliberation.”
“The result of it may be easily predicted,” said Leonard, rising.
As Leonard had foreseen, the civic authorities were adverse to the plan. The lord mayor in the name of himself and his brethren, earnestly solicited the king to postpone the execution of his order till all other means of checking the progress of the conflagration had been tried, and till such time, at least, as the property of the owners of the houses to be destroyed could be removed. He further added, that it was the unanimous opinion of himself and his brethren, that the plan was fraught with great peril to the safety of the citizens, and that they could not bring themselves to assent to it. If, therefore, his majesty chose to adopt it, they must leave the responsibility with him.
“I told your majesty
how it would be,” observed the Duke of York, triumphantly.
“I am sorry to find you are right, brother,” replied the king, frowning.
“We are overruled, you see, friend,” he added to Leonard.
“Your majesty has signed the doom of your city,” rejoined Leonard, mournfully.
“I trust not — I trust not,” replied Charles, hastily, and with an uneasy shrug of the shoulder. “Fail not to remind me when all is over of the obligation I am under to you.”
“Your majesty has refused the sole boon I desired to have granted,” rejoined Leonard.
“And do you not see the reason, friend?” returned the king. “These worthy and wealthy citizens desire to remove their property. Their arguments are unanswerable. I must give them time to do it. But we waste time here,” he added, rising. “Remember,” to Leonard, “my debt is not discharged. And I command you, on pain of my sovereign displeasure, not to omit to claim its payment.”
“I will enter it in my memorandum-book, and will put your majesty in mind of it at the fitting season,” observed Chiffinch, who had taken a great fancy to Leonard.
The king smiled good-humouredly, and quitting the hall with his attendants, proceeded to superintend the further demolition of houses. He next visited all the posts, saw that the different noblemen were at their appointed stations, and by his unremitting exertions, contrived to restore something like order to the tumultuous streets. Thousands of men were now employed in different quarters in pulling down houses, and the most powerful engines of war were employed in the work. The confusion that attended these proceedings is indescribable. The engineers and workmen wrought in clouds of dust and smoke, and the crash of falling timber and walls was deafening. In a short time, the upper part of Cornhill was rendered wholly impassable, owing to the heaps of rubbish; and directions were given to the engineers to proceed to the Poultry, and demolish the houses as far as the Conduit in Cheapside, by which means it was hoped that the Royal Exchange would be saved.
Meanwhile, all the wealthy goldsmiths and merchants in Lombard-street and Gracechurch-street had been actively employed in removing all their money, plate, and goods, to places of security. A vast quantity was conveyed to Guildhall, as has been stated, and the rest to different churches and halls remote from the scene of conflagration. But in spite of all their caution, much property was carried off by the depredators, and amongst others by Chowles and Judith, who contrived to secure a mass of plate, gold, and jewels, that satisfied even their rapacious souls. While this was passing in the heart of the burning city, vast crowds were streaming out of its gates, and encamping themselves, in pursuance of the royal injunction, in Finsbury Fields and Spitalfields. Others crossed the water to Southwark, and took refuge in Saint George’s Fields; and it was a sad and touching sight to see all these families collected without shelter or food, most of whom a few hours before were in possession of all the comforts of life, but were now reduced to the condition of beggars.
To return to the conflagration: — While one party continued to labour incessantly at the work of demolition, and ineffectually sought to quench the flames, by bringing a few engines to play upon them, — a scanty supply of water having now been obtained — the fire, disdaining such puny opposition, and determined to show its giant strength, leaped over all the breaches, drove the water-carriers back, compelled them to relinquish their buckets, and to abandon their engines, which it made its prey, and seizing upon the heaps of timber and other fragments occasioned by the demolition, consumed them, and marched onwards with furious exultation. It was now proceeding up Gracechurch-street, Saint Clement’s-lane, Nicholas-lane, and Abchurch-lane at the same time, destroying all in its course. The whole of Lombard-street was choked up with the ruins and rubbish of demolished houses, through which thousands of persons were toiling to carry off goods, either for the purpose of assistance or of plunder. The king was at the west end of the street, near the church of Saint Mary Woolnoth, and the fearful havoc and destruction going forward drew tears from his eyes. A scene of greater confusion cannot be imagined. Leonard was in the midst of it, and, careless of his own safety, toiled amid the tumbling fragments of the houses to rescue some article of value for its unfortunate owner. While he was thus employed, he observed a man leap out of a window of a partly demolished house, disclosing in the action that he had a casket concealed under his cloak.
A second glance showed him that this individual was Pillichody, and satisfied that he had been plundering the house, he instantly seized him. The bully struggled violently, but at last, dropping the casket, made his escape, vowing to be revenged. Leonard laughed at his threats, and the next moment had the satisfaction of restoring the casket to its rightful owner, an old merchant, who issued from the house, and who, after thanking him, told him it contained jewels of immense value.
Not half an hour after this, the flames poured upon Lombard-street from the four avenues before mentioned, and the whole neighbourhood was on fire. With inconceivable rapidity, they then ran up Birchin-lane, and reaching Cornhill, spread to the right and left in that great thoroughfare. The conflagration had now reached the highest point of the city, and presented the grandest and most terrific aspect it had yet assumed from the river. Thus viewed, it appeared, as Pepys describes it, “as an entire arch of fire from the Three Cranes to the other side of the bridge, and in a bow up the hill, for an arch of above a mile long: it made me weep to see it.” Vincent also likens its appearance at this juncture to that of a bow. “A dreadful bow it was,” writes this eloquent nonconformist preacher, “such as mine eyes have never before seen; a bow which had God’s arrow in it with a flaming point; a shining bow, not like that in the cloud which brings water with it, and withal signifieth God’s covenant not to destroy the world any more with water, but a bow having fire in it, and signifying God’s anger, and his intention to destroy London with fire.”
As the day drew to a close, and it became darker, the spectacle increased in terror and sublimity. The tall black towers of the churches assumed ghastly forms, and to some eyes appeared like infernal spirits plunging in a lake of flame, while even to the most reckless the conflagration seemed to present a picture of the terrors of the Last Day. Never before had such a night as that which ensued fallen upon London. None of its inhabitants thought of retiring to rest, or if they sought repose after the excessive fatigue they had undergone, it was only in such manner as would best enable them to rise and renew their exertions to check the flames, which were continued throughout the night, but wholly without success. The conflagration appeared to proceed at the same appalling rapidity. Halls, towers, churches, public and private buildings, were burning to the number of more than ten thousand, while clouds of smoke covered the vast expanse of more than fifty miles. Travellers approaching London from the north-east were enveloped in it ten miles off, and the fiery reflection in the sky could be discerned at an equal distance. The “hideous storm,” as Evelyn terms the fearful and astounding noise produced by the roaring of the flames and the falling of the numerous fabrics, continued without intermission during the whole of that fatal night.
VI.
HOW THE GROCER’S HOUSE WAS BURNT.
It was full ten o’clock before Leonard could obtain permission to quit the king’s party, and he immediately hurried to Wood-street. He had scarcely entered it, when the cry of “fire” smote his ears, and rushing forward in an agony of apprehension, he beheld Mr. Bloundel’s dwelling in flames. A large crowd was collected before the burning habitation, keeping guard over a vast heap of goods and furniture that had been removed from it.
So much beloved was Mr. Bloundel, and in such high estimation was his character held, that all his neighbours, on learning that his house was on fire, flew to his assistance, and bestirred themselves so actively, that in an extraordinary short space of time they had emptied the house of every article of value, and placed it out of danger in the street. In vain the grocer urged them to desist: his entreaties were disregarded by
his zealous friends; and when he told them they were profaning the Sabbath, they replied that the responsibility of their conduct would rest entirely on themselves, and they hoped they might never have anything worse to answer for. In spite of his disapproval of what was done, the grocer could not but be sensibly touched by their devotion, and as to his wife, she said, with tears in her eyes, that “it was almost worth while having a fire to prove what good friends they had.”
It was at this juncture that Leonard arrived. Way was instantly made for him, and leaping over the piles of chests and goods that blocked up the thoroughfare, he flew to Mr. Bloundel, who was standing in front of his flaming habitation with as calm and unmoved an expression of countenance as if nothing was happening, and presently ascertained from him in what manner the fire had originated. It appeared that while the whole of the family were assembled at prayers, in the room ordinarily used for that purpose, they were alarmed at supper by a strong smell of smoke, which seemed to arise from the lower part of the house, and that as soon as their devotions were ended, for Mr. Bloundel would not allow them to stir before, Stephen and Blaize had proceeded to ascertain the cause, and on going down to the kitchen, found a dense smoke issuing from the adjoining cellar, the door of which stood ajar. Hearing a noise in the yard, they darted up the back steps, communicating with the cellar, and discovered a man trying to make his escape over the wall by a rope-ladder. Stephen instantly seized him, and the man, drawing a sword, tried to free himself from his captor. In the struggle, he dropped a pistol, which Blaize snatching up, discharged with fatal effect against the wretch, who, on examination, proved to be Pillichody.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 281
