II. THE FIRST NIGHT OF THE FIRE.
Having seen the stack of wood kindled, and the flames attack the building in such a manner as to leave no doubt they would destroy it, the incendiaries separated, previously agreeing to meet together in half an hour at the foot of London Bridge; and while the others started off in different directions, Chowles and Judith retreated to a neighbouring alley commanding a view of the burning habitation.
"At last the great design is executed," observed Chowles, rubbing his hands gleefully. "The fire burns right merrily, and will not soon be extinguished. Who would have thought we should have found such famous assistants as the two madmen, Solomon Eagle and Robert Hubert—and your scarcely less mad foster-brother, Philip Grant? I can understand the motives that influenced the two first to the deed, but not those of the other."
"Nor I," replied Judith, "unless he wishes in some way or other to benefit Leonard Holt by it. For my part, I shall enjoy this fire quite as much on its own account as for the plunder it will bring us. I should like to see every house in this great city destroyed."
"You are in a fair way of obtaining your wish," replied Chowles; "but provided I have the sacking of them, I don't care how many are saved. Not but that such a fire will be a grand sight, which I should be sorry to miss. You forget, too, that if Saint Paul's should be burnt down, we shall lose our hoards. However, there's no chance of that."
"Not much," replied Judith, interrupting him. "But see! the baker has at last discovered that his dwelling is on fire. He bursts open the window, and, as I live, is about to throw himself out of it."
As she spoke, one of the upper windows in the burning habitation was burst open, and a poor terrified wretch appeared at it in his night-dress, vociferating in tones of the wildest alarm, "Fire! fire!—help! help!"
"Shall we go forward?" said Chowles. Judith hesitated for a moment, and then assenting, they hurried towards the spot.
"Can we give you any help, friend?" cried Chowles.
"Take care of this," rejoined the baker, flinging a bag of money to the ground, "and I will endeavour to let down my wife and children. The staircase is on fire, and we are almost stifled with smoke. God help us!" And the exclamation was followed by fearful shrieks from within, followed by the appearance of a woman, holding two little children in her arms, at the window.
"This must be money," said Judith, utterly heedless of the fearful scene occurring above, and taking up the bag and chinking it; "silver, by the sound. Shall we make off with it?"
"No, no," replied Chowles, "we must not run any risk for such a paltry booty. Let us bide our time."
At this juncture, the baker, who had disappeared for a few seconds from the window, again presented himself at it, and, with some difficulty, forced a feather bed through it, which was instantly placed by Chowles in such a position beneath, as to break the fall of the descending parties. Tying a couple of sheets together, and fastening one end round his wife's waist, the baker lowered her and the children to the ground. They alighted in safety; but just as he was about to follow their example, the floor of the room gave way, and though he succeeded in springing through the window, he missed the feather bed, and broke his leg in the fall. He was picked up by Chowles and Judith, and placed upon the bed in a state of insensibility, and was soon afterwards conveyed with his family to the house of a neighbour.
Meanwhile, the fire had spread to the houses on either side of the unfortunate man's habitation, and both of them being built entirely of wood, they were almost instantly in flames. The alarm too had become general; the inhabitants of the adjoining houses were filled with indescribable terror, and the narrow street was speedily crowded with persons of both sexes, who had rushed from their beds to ascertain the extent of the danger. All was terror and confusion. The fire-bells of Saint Margaret's, Saint George's, and Saint Andrew's, in Botolph-lane, began to toll, and shouts were heard on every side, proving that the whole neighbourhood was roused.
To add to the general distress, a report was raised that a house in Fish-street-hill was on fire, and it was soon found to be true, as an immense volume of flames burst forth in that quarter. While the rest of the spectators, distracted by this calamity, and hardly knowing what to do, hurried in the direction of the new fire, Chowles and Judith eyed each other askance, and the former whispered to his companion, "This is another piece of Hubert's handiwork."
The two wretches now thought it time to bestir themselves. So much confusion prevailed, that they were wholly unobserved, and under the plea of rendering assistance, they entered houses and carried off whatever excited their cupidity, or was sufficiently portable. No wealthy house had been attacked as yet, and therefore their spoil was but trifling. The poor baker seemed to be the bearer of ill-luck, for he had not been many minutes in his new asylum before it likewise caught fire. Another house, too, in Fish-street-hill, and lower down than the first, was observed to be burning, and as this was out of the current of the wind, and consequently could not have been occasioned by the showers of sparks that marked its course, a cry was instantly raised that incendiaries were abroad, and several suspicious-looking persons were seized in consequence.
Meantime no efforts had been made to stop the progress of the original conflagration in Pudding-lane, which continued to rage with the greatest fury, spreading from house to house with astonishing rapidity. All the buildings in this neighbourhood being old, and of wood, which was as dry as tinder, a spark alighting upon them would have sufficed to set them on fire. It may be conceived, therefore, what must have been the effect of a vast volume of flame, fanned by a powerful wind. House after house caught, as if constructed of touchwood, and the fire roared and raged to such a degree, that those who stood by were too much terrified to render any effectual assistance. Indeed, the sole thought that now seemed to influence all was the preservation of a portion of their property. No one regarded his neighbour, or the safety of the city. The narrow street was instantly filled with goods and furniture of all kinds, thrown out of the windows or pushed out of the doors; but such was the fierceness of the fire, and the extraordinary rapidity with which it advanced, that the very articles attempted to be saved were seized by it, and thus formed a means of conveying it to the opposite houses.
In this way a number of persons were inclosed for a short time between two fires, and seemed in imminent danger of being burned to death. The perilous nature of their situation was, moreover, increased by a sudden and violent gust of wind, which, blowing the flames right across the street, seemed to envelop all within them. The shrieks that burst from the poor creatures thus involved were most appalling. Fortunately, they sustained no greater damage than was occasioned by the fright and a slight scorching, for the next moment the wind shifted, and, sweeping back the flames, they were enabled to effect their retreat. Chowles and Judith were among the sufferers, and in the alarm of the moment lost all the booty they had obtained.
Soon after this the whole street was on fire. All idea of preserving their property was therefore abandoned by the inhabitants, and they thought only of saving themselves. Hundreds of half-naked persons of both sexes rushed towards Thames-street in search of a place of refuge. The scene was wholly without parallel for terror. Many fires had occurred in London, but none that raged with such fierceness as the present conflagration, or promised to be so generally destructive. It gathered strength and fury each moment, now rising high into the air in a towering sheet of flame, now shooting forward like an enormous dragon vomiting streams of fire upon its foes. All at once the flames changed colour, and were partially obscured by a thick black smoke. A large warehouse filled with resin, tar, and other combustible matters, had caught fire, and the dense vapour proceeded from the burning pitch. But it cleared off in a few minutes, and the flames burnt more brightly and fiercely than ever.
Up to this time, none of the civic authorities having arrived, several persons set off to give information of the calamity to the lord mayor (Sir Thomas Bludworth), and the other magistrates. A small party of the watch were on the spot, but they were unable to render any effectual assistance. As the conflagration advanced, those occupying houses in its track quitted them, and left their goods a prey to the numerous plunderers, who were now gathered together pursuing their vocation like unhallowed beings amid the raging element. The whole presented a scene of the wildest alarm, confusion, and license. Vociferations, oaths, shrieks, and outcries of every description stunned the ear. Night was turned into day. The awful roaring of the flames was ever and anon broken by the thundering fall of some heavy roof. Flakes of fire were scattered far and wide by the driving wind, carrying destruction wherever they alighted, and spreading the conflagration on all sides, till it seemed like a vast wedge of fire driven into the heart of the city. And thus it went on, swallowing up all before it, like an insatiate monster, and roaring for very joy.
Meanwhile, the incendiaries had met, as concerted, near the foot of the bridge, and all except Philip Grant seemed to rejoice in the progress of the conflagration. Chowles made some comment upon his moody looks and silence, and whispered in his ear, "You have now an opportunity of retrieving your fortune, and may make yourself richer than your son. Take my advice, and do not let it pass."
"Away, tempter!" cried Grant—"I have lighted a fire within my breast which never will be quenched."
"Poh, poh!" rejoined Judith; "do not turn faint-hearted now."
"The fire rages fiercely," cried Solomon Eagle, gazing at the vast sheet of flame overtopping the buildings near them, "but we must keep it alive. Take the remainder of the fire-balls, Hubert, and cast them into some of the old houses in Crooked-lane."
Hubert prepared to obey. "I will go with you, and point out the best spots," said Chowles. "Our next place of rendezvous must be the vaults beneath Saint Faith's."
"Agreed!" exclaimed the others. And they again separated, Hubert and Chowles to kindle fresh fires, and Grant to watch the conflagration at a distance. As to Solomon Eagle, he rushed towards the scene of destruction, and forcing himself into the midst of the crowd, mounted a post, crying in a loud voice:
"I told you a second judgment would come upon you on account of your iniquities, and you now find that I avouched the truth. The Lord himself hath come to preach to you, as he did in the fiery mount of Sinai, and a terrible exhortation it shall be, and one ye shall not easily forget. This fire shall not be quenched till the whole city is laid prostrate. Ye doubted my words when I told you of the plague; ye laughed at me and scoffed me; but ye became believers in the end, and now conviction is forced upon you a second time. You will vainly attempt to save your dwellings. It is the Lord's will they should be destroyed, and man's efforts to avert the judgment will be ineffectual!"
While the majority listened to him with fear and trembling, and regarded him as a prophet, a few took the opposite view of the question, and coupling his appearance with the sudden outbreak of the fire, were disposed to regard him as an incendiary. They therefore cried out—"He has set fire to our houses. Down with him! down with him!"
Other voices joined in the outcry, and an attempt was made to carry the menace into effect; but a strong party rallied round the enthusiast, who derided the attempts of his opponents. Planting himself on the steps of Saint Margaret's Church, he continued to pour forth exhortations to the crowd, until he was driven into the interior of the pile by the fast-approaching flames. The whole body of the church was filled with poor wretches who had sought refuge within it, having brought with them such of their goods as they were able to carry off. But it soon became evident that the sacred structure would be destroyed, and their screams and cries on quitting it were truly heartrending. Solomon Eagle was the last to go forth, and he delayed his departure till the flames burst through the windows. Another great storehouse of oil, tar, cordage, hemp, flax, and other highly inflammable articles, adjoining the church, had caught fire, and the flames speedily reached the sacred fabric. The glass within the windows was shivered; the stone bars split asunder; and the seats and other woodwork withinside catching fire, the flames ascended to the roof, and kindled its massive rafters.
Great efforts were now made to check the fire. A few of the cumbrous and unmanageable engines of the day were brought to the spot, but no water could be obtained. All the aqueducts, pipes, and sluices were dry, and the Thames water-tower was found to be out of order, and the pipes connected with it empty. To add to the calamity, the tide was out, and it was not only difficult, but dangerous, to obtain water from the river. The scanty supply served rather to increase than check the flames. All sorts of rumours prevailed among the crowd. It could no longer be doubted that the fire, which kept continually breaking out in fresh places, was the work of incendiaries, and it was now supposed that it must have been caused by the French or the Dutch, with both of which nations the country was then at war, and the most fearful anticipations that it was only the prelude of a sudden invasion were entertained. Some conjectured it might be the work of the Papists; and it chancing that a professor of that religion was discovered among the mob, he was with difficulty rescued from their fury by the watch, and conveyed to Newgate. Other persons, who were likewise suspected of being incendiaries, were conveyed with him.
This, though it satisfied the multitude, did not check the progress of the fire, nor put a stop to the terror and tumult that prevailed. Every moment a fresh family were turned into the street, and by their cries added to the confusion. The plunderers had formed themselves into bands, pillaging everything they could lay hands on—carrying off boxes, goods, and coffers, breaking into cellars, broaching casks of spirits and ale, and emptying flasks of wine. Hundreds of persons who did not join in the pillage made free with the contents of the cellars, and a large portion of the concourse was soon in a state of intoxication.
Thus, wild laughter and exclamations of frenzied mirth were heard amid the wailings of women and the piteous cries of children. It was indeed dreadful to see the old and bed-ridden forced into the street to seek a home where they could; nor yet less dreadful to behold others roused from a bed of sickness at dead of night, and by such a fearful summons. Still, fanned by the wind, and fed by a thousand combustible matters, the fire pressed fearfully on, devouring all before it, and increasing in fury and power each instant; while the drunken mob laughed, roared, shouted, and rejoiced beside it, as if in emulation of the raging flames.
To proceed for a moment to Wood Street. When Philip Grant quitted Leonard in the manner before related, the latter followed him to the door, and saw him disappear in the gloom. But he did not attempt pursuit, because he could not persuade himself that any danger was really to be apprehended. He thought it, however, advisable to consult with Mr. Bloundel on the subject, and accordingly proceeded to his room and roused him.
After hearing what had occurred, the grocer looked very grave, and said, "I am not disposed to treat this matter so lightly as you do, Leonard. I fear this unhappy man has some desperate design in view. What it is I cannot—dare not—conjecture. But I confess I am full of apprehension. I shall not retire to rest to-night, but shall hold myself in readiness to act in whatever way may be necessary, You had better go forth, and if anything occurs, give notice to the proper authorities. We have not now such a lord mayor as we had during the season of the plague. The firm and courageous Sir John Lawrence is but ill succeeded by the weak and vacillating Sir Thomas Bludworth. Still, the latter may be equal to this emergency, and if anything happens, you must apply to him."
"I will follow your advice implicitly," rejoined Leonard. "At the same time, I think there is nothing to apprehend."
"It is better to err on the safe side," observed the grocer; "you cannot then reproach yourself with want of caution."
Shortly after this, Leonard sallied forth, and having determined what course to pursue in the first instance, proceeded to Saint Paul's. He found every door in the sacred structure fast closed. Not satisfied with this, he knocked at the great northern entrance till the summons was answered by a verger, and stating his object, demanded to be admitted, and to search the cathedral, as well as Saint Faith's. The verger offered no objection, and having examined the old building throughout, without discovering any traces of the person he was in quest of, Leonard quitted it.
More than ever convinced that he was right in his supposition, and that no danger was to be apprehended, he was about to return home, when the idea occurred to him that he might perhaps find Grant at the plague-pit in Finsbury Fields, and he accordingly shaped his course thither. A long period had elapsed since he had last visited the melancholy spot, and it was not without much painful emotion that he drew near the vast mound covering the victims of the pestilence. But Grant was not there, and though he paced round and round the dreary inclosure for some time, no one came. He then proceeded to the lesser plague-pit, and kneeling beside the grave of Amabel, bedewed it with his tears.
As he arose, with the intention of returning to Wood Street, he observed an extraordinary light in the sky a little to the left, evidently produced by the reflection of a great fire in that direction. On beholding this light, he said to himself, "Mr. Bloundel was right. This is the danger with which the city is threatened. It is now too late to avert it." Determined, however, to ascertain the extent of the calamity without an instant's loss of time, he set off at a swift pace, and in less than half an hour reached Fish Street Hill, and stood beside the conflagration. It was then nearly three o'clock, and a vast chasm of blackening ruins proclaimed the devastation that had been committed. Just as he arrived, the roof of Saint Margaret's fell in with a tremendous crash, and for a few minutes the fire was subdued. It then arose with greater fury than ever; burst out on both sides of the sacred structure, and caught the line of houses leading towards London Bridge. The first house was that of a vintner; and the lower part of the premises—the cellars and vaults—were filled with wine and spirits. These instantly blazed up, and burnt with such intensity that the adjoining habitation was presently in flames.
"I know who hath done all this!" exclaimed Leonard, half involuntarily, as he gazed on the work of destruction.
"Indeed!" exclaimed a bystander, gazing at him. "Who is it?—the Dutchman or the Frenchman?"
"Neither," replied Leonard, who at that moment discovered Grant among the group opposite him. "Yonder stands the incendiary!"