As if in triumph, the flames swept on and mounted higher. Wharf after wharf was involved, and warehouse after warehouse. The Depôt Wharf, Chamberlain's Wharf, and others caught fire. Night seemed turned into day by the blaze. Ships near the wharves, laden with the same inflammable materials of oil, and tar, and tallow, became ignited; and the blazing liquids poured out on the river, forming a lake of fire a quarter-mile long by a hundred yards wide.
People crowded everywhere to see the sight. They thronged house-tops and church-steeples. Boatmen ventured near to pick up such goods as they might be able to find, and were threatened with dire peril. Some fainted from the heat. A barge drifted near with three men aboard, who were so overcome that they could not manage their cumbersome craft; a skiff approached sufficiently near to rescue the men, after which the barge drifted nearer still, and was burnt.
Though greatly dispirited by the loss of their captain, the firemen fought doggedly on. But still their efforts seemed unavailing. Flakes of fire fell in all directions, and huge volumes of flame flashed upward to the sky. The whole of Bermondsey seemed in peril, and at one period the fire blazed for close upon a quarter-mile along the river-bank.
Through the night more engines clattered up from distant stations, and the firemen fought the flames at every step of their destructive career. Tons of water were poured upon each building as it became threatened, only, however, to yield in course of time.
The wind saved the old church of St. Olave's, and also London Bridge Station; but the fire raged along the wharves. Sometimes great warehouse walls fell into the river with a gigantic splash, revealing the inferno of white-hot fire raging behind them.
At length the fire reached Hay's Wharf, which was supposed to be fireproof, and for long it justified the name. But at last it also yielded; the upper part began to blaze, and, in spite of the quantities of water thrown upon the roof and walls, the fire gradually increased.
Now beyond the building lay a dock, in which were berthed two ships. The tide had been too low to allow of their removal. If they could not be towed out in time, the fire would probably seize them, and thus be wafted over the dock to the other side.
Would the tide rise in time to allow the ships to be hauled out? It was a critical moment, and the firemen must have worked their hardest to keep the building from flaming too quickly.
Gradually the tide flowed higher and higher. No matter what happens in the mighty city, twice in the day and night does the Thames silently ebb and flow; and now the quiet flowing of the tide helped to save the great city on its bank. Just in time two tugs were able to enter the dock. The towing-ropes were thrown aboard; but even as the vessels were passing out, the flames, as if determined not to lose their prey, darted from the building, and set the rigging of one ship aflame.
But the firemen were as quick as their enemy. An engine threw a torrent of water on the burning ship, and promptly quenched the flames. And so, amid the plaudits of the huge crowds on both sides of the river, the two ships were slowly towed to a place of safety, and the fierce fire was left face to face with the empty dock.