At the very Time the Earth was rocking with the first Shock, there were profane Scoffers in Club-houses who would bet, whether it were an Earthquake or the Explosion of a Gunpowder Magazine. At the very Time two-thirds of London were on their Knees, observing a general Fast and Day of Humiliation, the Gambling-houses were filled with Members of Parliament, who found themselves with a Day of Leisure on their Hands. A Man dropped down Dead at the Door of White's Coffee-house: he was carried in; the Club immediately made Bets whether he were dead or not; a Surgeon came in to bleed him; the Wagerers interposed, saying it would affect the Fairness of the Bet!
O Madness of mortal Men! O Hardness, past Belief, of impenitent Sinners!
Chapter XVIII.
The Night of Terror.
As the dreaded Day approached, the public Panic increased to that Degree, that even the Sceptics with a Scoff on their Lips thought it would be as well to "keep out of Harm's Way," and "Follow the Fashion." Not that they intended Penitence and Self-recollection, no, no; but since London was to be swallowed up, they would take Lodgings, that Night, in the Country.
In Consequence of this, every one that had a Room or Bed to let, in Chelsea, Hammersmith, Kensington, Kew, Richmond, or anywhere within a moderate Distance of the Metropolis, raised their Prices to an immoderate Height; and in every little Shop or Parlour Window a Card or Paper, ill writ and ill spelt, might be seen pasted or wafered, notifying that "Hear might be had a Bedd or Bedds on the ensewing Nite of the Erthquak." Nay, Women whose Fortunes or Occupations did not admit of their leaving their City Homes, quilted themselves warm "Earthquake Bedgowns," in which to take Flight in the Night, if their Houses should tumble about their Ears.