When the last instalment (£1,500) of the loan was paid into the exchequer, the Guildhall and its surroundings were being threatened with destruction by the Great Fire,[1302] which, breaking out on the night of Saturday, 1st September, 1666, or early on Sunday morning, at a baker's shop in Pudding Lane, within five days reduced the greater part of the city to ashes. The king had long ago anticipated such a calamity, arising from the narrowness of the streets and the overhanging houses built for the most part of wood. More than a year before (11 April, 1665) he had written to the mayor, recorder and aldermen of the city[1303] warning them of the danger and recommending a[pg 415] more diligent execution of the Act for the repair of highways and sewers. He authorised them to imprison such persons as, after due warning, continued to erect buildings in contravention of the Act, and to pull the buildings down. He further desired them to open Temple Bar and the passage and gatehouse of Cheapside in St. Paul's Churchyard, as mentioned in the Act, and he would himself inspect what progress was being made in carrying out these improvements. He concluded by declaring that he had made the city his royal residence,[1304] and had received from it such marks of loyalty and affection as would ever make him concerned for its wealth, trade, reputation, beauty and convenience.
The outbreak of the fire at first caused no uneasiness, such sights being only too common. But when no less than 300 houses had been destroyed within a few hours, and the flames, carried by a strong east wind that prevailed, threatened others, the inhabitants began to take alarm. The mayor, Sir Thomas Bludworth, was early on the scene, but he lacked decision of character and failed to keep his head. He endeavoured to carry out the king's orders by pulling down houses to prevent the fire spreading, but as often as not he was overtaken by the flames. "Lord, what can I do?" he lack-a-daisically exclaimed in answer to a message from the king; "I am spent; people will not obey me. I have been pulling down houses; but the fire overtakes us faster than we can do it."[1305] The inhabitants were[pg 416] too busy removing their furniture and effects to a place of safety to render much assistance to the mayor, but he found willing hands in the soldiers supplied by the king and the Duke of York, both of whom displayed great personal energy. "The Duke of York," wrote an eye-witness of the mournful scene,[1306] "hath wonn the hearts of the people wth his continuall and indefatigable paynes day and night in helping to quench the fire, handing bucketts of water with as much diligence as the poorest man that did assist; if the lord maior had done as much his example might have gone far towards saveing the citty."
The extent of the ravages of the fire.
In spite of every effort to stay its progress the fire continued to rage throughout the whole of Monday and Tuesday. By this time Lombard Street, Cannon Street and Gracechurch Street had been reduced to ashes. The houses on London Bridge were attacked and Southwark threatened with destruction. On Wednesday the flames devastated Cornhill and the Exchange. The following day they got hold of St. Paul's (at that time undergoing repairs and surrounded with scaffolding), and were carried by the east wind towards the Temple and Hatton Garden. The brick buildings of the Temple offered a more stubborn resistance than the wooden buildings of the city, and prevented the fire spreading further westward.[1307] In the meantime resort was had to gunpowder for the quicker destruction of houses in the[pg 417] city, and by this means much was eventually saved which otherwise would inevitably have been lost. But this was not done without considerable opposition from the owners of houses who objected to their property being blown up if there was a chance of it being saved.[1308] At last the "horrid, malicious, bloody flame," described by Pepys as so unlike the flame of an ordinary fire, burnt itself out, and at the close of Thursday, the 6th September, the inhabitants of the city were able for the first time since the outbreak to seek a night's rest without fear of further danger. When they rose the next morning and contemplated the extent of the havoc wrought on their city by the fire, the hearts of many must have fairly sunk within them. At least four-fifths of the whole of the buildings situate within the walls had been reduced to ashes. The official report was that no less than 13,200 houses and eighty-nine parish churches, besides St. Paul's and divers chapels, were destroyed, and that only seventy-five acres out of a total of 373 acres of ground within the walls escaped the conflagration.[1309] These seventy-five acres chiefly lay in the vicinity of Aldgate and Tower Hill, and probably owed their immunity from the fire to the free use of gunpowder, for it was in Tower Street, Pepys tells us, that the practice of blowing up houses began. Most of the livery companies lost their halls. Clothworkers' Hall burned for three days and three nights, the flames being fed with the oil that was stored in its cellars. The Leaden Hall was partly saved. Gresham House[pg 418] also escaped; but the Guildhall suffered severely, its outer walls only being left standing.
Lord Mayor Bludworth.
Much dissatisfaction was displayed against Bludworth for his want of resolution during the crisis,[1310] and when Michaelmas-day arrived, and he was about to go out of office, he was called to account for his conduct. In anticipation of lord mayor's day he wrote to Joseph Williamson, afterwards Secretary of State, bespeaking his favour and support. He professed not to live by popular applause (he said), but he needed and desired the support and esteem of government, "having had the misfortune to serve in the severest year that ever man did."[1311]
The fire attributed to the Papists.
As to the origin of the fire the wildest rumours at the time prevailed, and for years afterwards it was commonly attributed to Papists wishing to destroy the stronghold of the reformed religion, notwithstanding the fact that not a scintilla of evidence was forthcoming in support of such a charge, after a most careful investigation.[1312] The citizens were not satisfied with the first inquiry, and in March, 1668, a petition was prepared to lay before parliament to re-open the question and to receive fresh evidence.[1313] Thirteen years later the belief that the Papists had a hand in causing the wholesale destruction of the[pg 419] city was formally promulgated by the House of Commons (10 Jan., 1681),[1314] and the same belief was perpetuated by an inscription on the Monument commemorating the fire, an inscription which met with the approval of the municipal authorities of the day.[1315]
Sir Patience Ward and the inscription on the Monument.
Sir Patience Ward happened to be mayor at the time, but was probably no more responsible for the inscription than any other member of the Court of Aldermen or Common Council, notwithstanding the severe reflection passed upon him by his namesake Thomas Ward,[1316] who, speaking of Titus Oates and his bogus "discoveries," wrote: