Several other persons having by this time come up, the body of Lord Argentine was conveyed to Bishop Kempe’s Chapel, and left there till a fitting season should arrive for its removal. Confounded by the tragical event that had taken place, Leonard remained with his eyes fixed upon the blood-stained pavement, until he was roused by an arm which gently drew him away, while the voice of the Earl of Rochester breathed in his ear, “This is a sad occurrence, Leonard; and yet it is most fortunate for you, for it removes the only obstacle to your union with the Lady Isabella. You see how fleeting life is, and how easily we may be deprived of it. I tried to reason Lord Argentine into calmness; but nothing would satisfy him except my blood; and there he lies, though not by my hand. Let his fate be a lesson to us, and teach us to live in charity with each other. I have wronged you — deeply wronged you; but I will make all the atonement in my power, and let me think I am forgiven.”
The blood rushed tumultuously to Leonard’s heart as he listened to what the earl said, but overcoming his feelings of aversion by a powerful effort, he took the proffered hand.
“I do forgive you my lord,” he said.
“Those words have removed a heavy weight from my soul,” replied Rochester; “and if death should trip up my heels as suddenly as he did his who perished on this spot, I shall be better prepared to meet him. And now let me advise you to repair to Newgate without delay, and see the wretched man, and obtain the document from him. The fire will reach the gaol ere long, and the prisoners must of necessity be removed. Amid the confusion his escape might be easily accomplished.”
“Recollect, my lord, that the direful conflagration now prevailing without is owing to him,” replied Leonard. “I will never be accessory to his escape.”
“And yet his death by the public executioner,” urged Rochester. “Think of its effect on his daughter.”
“Justice must take its course,” rejoined Leonard. “I would not aid him to escape if he were my own father.”
“In that case, nothing more is to be said,” replied Rochester. “But at all events, see him as quickly as you can. I would accompany you, but my duty detains me here. When you return from your errand you will find me at my post near the entrance of the churchyard in front of Saint Michael’s le Quern; that is, if I am not beaten from it. Having seen the father, your next business must be to seek out the daughter, and remove her from this dangerous neighbourhood. You have heard where she is to be found.”
Upon this they separated, Leonard and his companions quitting the cathedral by the great western entrance, and proceeding towards Paul’s-alley, and the earl betaking himself to the north-east corner of the churchyard. The former got as far as Ivy-lane, but found it wholly impassable, in consequence of the goods and furniture with which it was blocked up. They were, therefore, obliged to return to the precincts of the cathedral, where Blaize, who was greatly terrified by what he had seen, expressed his determination of quitting them, and hurried back to the sacred pile. Leonard and the farmer next essayed to get up Ave Maria-lane; but, finding that also impassable, they made for Ludgate, and, after a long delay and severe struggle, got through the portal. The Old Bailey was entirely filled with persons removing their goods; and they were here informed, to their great dismay, that the conflagration had already reached Newgate Market, which was burning with the greatest fury, and was at that moment seizing upon the gaol. No one, however, in answer to Leonard’s inquiries, could tell him what had become of the prisoners.
“I suppose they have left them to burn,” observed a bystander, who heard the question with a malicious look; “and it is the best way of getting rid of them.” Paying no attention to the remark, nor to the brutal laugh accompanying it, Leonard, assisted by Wingfield, fought his way through the crowd till he reached the prison. The flames were bursting through its grated windows, and both wings, as well as the massive gate connecting them, were on fire. Regardless of the risk he ran, Leonard forced his way to the lodge-door, where two turnkeys were standing, removing their goods.
“What has become of the prisoners?” he asked.
“The debtors are set free,” replied the turnkey addressed, “and all but one or two of the common felons are removed.”
“And where are those poor creatures?” cried Leonard, horror-stricken.
“In the Stone Hold,” replied the turnkey.
“And have you left them to perish there?” demanded Leonard.
“We couldn’t help it,” rejoined the turnkey. “It would have been risking our lives to venture near them. One is a murderer, taken in the fact; and the other is quite as bad, for he set the city on fire; so its right and fair he should perish by his own contrivance.”
“Where does the Stone Hold lie?” cried Leonard, in a tone that startled the turnkey. “I must get these prisoners out.”
“You can’t, I tell you,” rejoined the turnkey, doggedly. “They’re burnt to a cinder by this time.”
“Give me your keys, and show me the way to the cell,” cried Leonard, authoritatively. “I will at least attempt to save them.”
“Well, if you’re determined to put an end to yourself, you may try,” replied the turnkey; “but I’ve warned you as to what you may expect. This way,” he added, opening a door, from which a thick volume of smoke issued; “if any of ‘em’s alive, you’ll soon know by the cries.” And, as if in answer to his remark, a most terrific shriek at that moment burst on their ears.
“Here are the keys,” cried the turnkey, delivering them to Leonard. “You are not going too?” he added, as Wingfield pushed past him. “A couple of madmen! I shouldn’t wonder if they were incendiaries.”
Directed by the cries, Leonard pressed forward through the blinding and stifling smoke. After proceeding about twenty yards, he arrived at a cross passage where the smoke was not quite so dense, as it found an escape through a small grated aperture in the wall. And here a horrible sight was presented to him. At the further extremity of this passage was a small cell, from which the cries he had heard issued. Not far from it the stone roof had fallen in, and from the chasm thus caused the flames were pouring into the passage. Regardless of the risk he ran, Leonard dashed forward, and reaching the cell, beheld Grant, still living, but in such a dreadful state, that it was evident his sufferings must soon be ended. His hair and beard were singed close to his head and face, and his flesh was blistered, blackened, and scorched to the bone. On seeing Leonard, he uttered a hoarse cry, and attempted to speak, but the words rattled in his throat. He then staggered forward, and, to Leonard’s inexpressible horror, thrust his arms through the bars of the cage, which were literally red-hot. Seeing he had something in one hand, though he could not unclose his fingers, Leonard took it from him, and the wretched man fell backwards. At this moment a loud crack was heard in the wall behind. Several ponderous stones dropped from their places, admitting a volume of flame that filled the whole cell, and disclosing another body on the floor, near which lay that of Grant. Horrified by the spectacle, Leonard staggered off, and, catching Wingfield’s arm, sought to retrace his steps. This was no easy matter, the smoke being so dense, that they could not see a foot before them, and was obliged to feel their way along the wall. On arriving at the cross passage, Wingfield would fain have turned off to the right, but Leonard drew him forcibly in the opposite direction; and most fortunate was it that he did so, or the worthy farmer would inevitably have perished. At last they reached the lodge, and sank down on a bench from exhaustion.
“So, my masters,” observed the turnkey, with a grim smile, “you were not able to rescue them, I perceive?” But receiving no answer, he added, “Well, and what did you see?”
“A sight that would have moved even your stony heart to compassion,” returned Leonard, getting up and quitting the lodge. Followed by Wingfield, and scarcely knowing where he was going, he forced his way through the crowd, and dashing down Snow-hill, did not stop till he reached Holborn Conduit, where, seizing a leathern bucket, he filled it with water, and plun
ged his head into it. Refreshed by the immersion, he now glanced at the document committed to him by Grant. It was a piece of parchment, and showed by its shrivelled and scorched appearance the agony which its late possessor must have endured, Leonard did not open it, but thrust it with a shudder into his doublet.
Meditating on the strange and terrible events that had just occurred, Leonard’s thoughts involuntarily wandered to the Lady Isabella, whose image appeared to him like a bright star shining on troubled waters, and for the first time venturing to indulge in a hope that she might indeed be his, he determined immediately to proceed in search of her.
It was now high noon, but the mid-day sun was scarcely visible, or not visible at all; as it struggled through the masses of yellow vapour it looked red as blood. Bands of workmen were demolishing houses on the western side of Fleet Ditch, and casting the rubbish into the muddy sluice before them, by which means it was confidently but vainly hoped that the progress of the fire would be checked. Shaping their course along the opposite side of the ditch, and crossing to Fleet Bridge, Leonard and his companion passed through Salisbury-court to Whitefriars, and taking a boat, directed the waterman to land them at Puddle Dock. The river was still covered with craft of every description laden with goods, and Baynard’s Castle, an embattled stone structure of great strength and solidity, built at the beginning of the fifteenth century on the site of another castle as old as the Conquest, being now wrapped in flames from foundation to turret, offered a magnificent spectacle. From this point the four ascents leading to the cathedral, namely, Addle-hill, Saint Bennet’s-hill, Saint Peter’s-hill, and Lambert-hill, with all their throng of habitations, were burning — the black lines of ruined walls standing in bold relief against the white sheet of flame. Billows of fire rolled upwards every moment towards Saint Paul’s, and threatened it with destruction.
Landing at the appointed place Leonard and his companion ascended Saint Andrew’s-hill, and, proceeding along Carter-lane, soon gained the precincts of the cathedral. Here the whole mass of habitations on the summit of Saint Bennet’s-hill extending from the eastern, end of Carter-lane to Distaff-lane, was on fire, and the flames were dashed by the fierce wind against the south-east corner of the cathedral. A large crowd was collected at this point, and great efforts were made to save the venerable pile, but Leonard saw that its destruction was inevitable. Forcing a way through the throng with his companion, they reached Doctor Hodges’s residence at the corner of Watling-street, and Leonard, without waiting to knock, tried the door, which yielded to his touch. The habitation was empty, and from the various articles scattered about it was evident its inmates must have fled with the greatest precipitation. Alarmed at this discovery, Leonard rushed forth with Wingfield, and sought to ascertain from the crowd without whither Doctor Hodges was gone, but could learn nothing more than that he had departed with his whole household a few hours before. At last it occurred to him that he might obtain some information from the Earl of Rochester, and he was about to cross to the other side of the churchyard, when he was arrested by a simultaneous cry of horror from the assemblage. Looking upwards, for there he saw the general gaze directed, he perceived that the scaffolding around the roof and tower of the cathedral had kindled, and was enveloping the whole upper part of the fabric in a network of fire. Flames were likewise bursting from the belfry, and from the lofty pointed windows below it, flickering and playing round the hoary buttresses, and disturbing the numerous jackdaws that built in their timeworn crevices, and now flew screaming forth. As Leonard gazed at the summit of the tower, be discerned through the circling eddies of smoke that enveloped it the figure of Solomon Eagle standing on the top of the battlements and waving his staff, and almost fancied he could hear his voice. After remaining in this perilous situation for some minutes, as if to raise anxiety for his safety to the highest pitch, the enthusiast sprang upon a portion of the scaffolding that was only partly consumed, and descended from pole to pole, regardless whether burning or not, with marvellous swiftness, and apparently without injury. Alighting on the roof, he speeded to the eastern extremity of the fane, and there commenced his exhortations to the crowd below.
It now became evident also, from the strange roaring noise proceeding from the tower, that the flames were descending the spiral staircase, and forcing their way through some secret doors or passages to the roof. Determined to take one last survey of the interior of the cathedral before its destruction, which he now saw was inevitable, Leonard motioned to Wingfield, and forcing his way through the crowd, which was now considerably thinned, entered the southern door. He had scarcely gained the middle of the transept when the door opened behind him, and two persons, whom, even in the brief glimpse he caught of them, he knew to be Chowles and Judith, darted towards the steps leading to Saint Faith’s. They appeared to be carrying a large chest, but Leonard was too much interested in what was occurring to pay much attention to them. There were but few persons besides himself and his companion within the cathedral, and these few were chiefly booksellers’ porters, who were hurrying out of Saint Faith’s in the utmost trepidation. By-and-by, these were gone, and they were alone — alone within that vast structure, and at such a moment. Their situation, though perilous, was one that awakened thrilling and sublime emotions. The cries of the multitude, coupled with the roaring of the conflagration, resounded from without, while the fierce glare of the flames lighted up the painted windows at the head of the choir with unwonted splendour. Overhead was heard a hollow rumbling noise like that of distant thunder, which continued for a short time, while fluid streams of smoke crept through the mighty rafters of the roof, and gradually filled the whole interior of the fabric with vapour. Suddenly a tremendous cracking was heard, as if the whole pile were tumbling in pieces. So appalling was this sound, that Leonard and his companion would have fled, but they were completely transfixed by terror.
While they were in this state, the flames, which had long been burning in secret, burst through the roof at the other end of the choir, and instantaneously spread over its whole expanse. At this juncture, a cry of wild exultation was heard in the great northern gallery, and looking up, Leonard beheld Solomon Eagle, hurrying with lightning swiftness around it, and shouting in tones of exultation, “My words have come to pass — it burns — it burns — and will be utterly consumed!”
The vociferations of the enthusiast were answered by a piercing cry from below, proceeding from Blaize, who at that moment rushed from the entrance of Saint Faith’s. On seeing the porter, Leonard shouted to him, and the poor fellow hurried towards him. At this juncture, a strange hissing sound was heard, as if a heavy shower of rain were descending upon the roof, and through the yawning gap over the choir there poured a stream of molten lead of silvery brightness. Nothing can be conceived more beautiful than this shining yet terrible cascade, which descended with momentarily increasing fury, sparkling, flashing, hissing, and consuming all before it. All the elaborately carved woodwork and stalls upon which it fell were presently in flames. Leonard and his companions now turned to fly, but they had scarcely moved a few paces when another fiery cascade burst through the roof near the great western entrance, for which they were making, flooding the aisles and plashing against the massive columns. At the same moment, too, a third stream began to fall over the northern transept, not far from where Blaize stood, and a few drops of the burning metal reaching him, caused him to utter the most fearful outcries. Seriously alarmed, Leonard and Wingfield now rushed to one of the monuments in the northern aisle, and hastily clambering it, reached a window, which they burst open. Blaize followed them, but not without receiving a few accidental plashes from the fiery torrents, which elicited from him the most astounding yells. Having helped him to climb the monument, Leonard pushed him through the window after Wingfield, and then cast his eye round the building before he himself descended. The sight was magnificent in the extreme. Prom the flaming roof three silvery cascades descended. The choir was in flame, and a glowing stream like la
va was spreading over the floor, and slowly trickling down the steps leading to the body of the church. The transepts and the greater part of the nave were similarly flooded. Above the roar of the flames and the hissing plash of the descending torrents, was heard the wild laughter of Solomon Eagle. Perceiving him in one of the arcades of the southern gallery, Leonard shouted to him to descend, and make good his escape while there was yet time, adding that in a few moments it would be too late.
“I shall never quit it more,” rejoined the enthusiast, in a voice of thunder, “but shall perish with the fire I have kindled. No monarch on earth ever lighted a nobler funeral pyre.”
And as Leonard passed through the window, he disappeared along the gallery. Breaking through the crowd collected round Wingfield and Blaize, and calling to them to follow him, Leonard made his way to the north-east of the churchyard, where he found a large assemblage of persons, in the midst of which were the king, the Duke of York, Rochester, Arlington, and many others. As Leonard advanced, Charles discerned him amid the crowd, and motioned him to come forward. A passage was then cleared, for him, through which Wingfield and Blaize, who kept close beside him, were permitted to pass.
“I am glad to find no harm has happened to you, friend,” said Charles, as he approached. “Rochester informed me you were gone to Newgate, and as the gaol had been burnt down, I feared you might have met with the same mishap. I now regret that I did not adopt your plan, but it may not be yet too late.”
“It is not too late to save a portion of your city, sire,” replied
Leonard; “but, alas! how much is gone!”
“It is so,” replied the king, mournfully.
Further conversation was here interrupted by the sudden breaking out of the fire from the magnificent rose window of the cathedral, the effect of which, being extraordinarily fine, attracted the monarch’s attention. By this time Solomon Eagle had again ascended the roof, and making his way to the eastern extremity, clasped the great stone cross that terminated it with his left hand, while with his right he menaced the king and his party, uttering denunciations that were lost in the terrible roar prevailing around him. The flames now raged with a fierceness wholly inconceivable, considering the material they had to work upon. The molten lead poured down in torrents, and not merely flooded the whole interior of the fabric, but ran down in a wide and boiling stream almost as far as the Thames, consuming everything in its way, and rendering the very pavements red-hot. Every stone, spout, and gutter in the sacred pile, of which there were some hundreds, added to this fatal shower, and scattered destruction far and wide; nor will this be wondered at when it is considered that the quantity of lead thus melted covered a space of no less than six acres. Having burned with incredible fury and fierceness for some time, the whole roof of the sacred structure fell in at once, and with a crash heard at an amazing distance. After an instant’s pause, the flames burst forth from every window in the fabric, producing such an intensity of heat, that the stone pinnacles, transom beams, and mullions split and cracked with a sound like volleys of artillery, shivering and flying in every direction. The whole interior of the pile was now one vast sheet of flame, which soared upwards, and consumed even the very stones. Not a vestige of the reverend structure was left untouched — its bells — its plate — its woodwork — its monuments — its mighty pillars — its galleries — its chapels — all, all were destroyed. The fire raged throughout all that night and the next day, till it had consumed all but the mere shell, and rendered the venerable cathedral— “one of the most ancient pieces of piety in the Christian world” — to use the words of Evelyn, a heap of ruin and ashes.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 283
