Black with smoke and grime, almost beyond recognition, Lord Craven and Reginald Newbolt came face to face, and, strange to tell, recognized each other. It was no time for ceremony, they clasped hands.
"You here!" said Lord Craven; "it is well, for we need brave men, and I have been hearing all day long of the blue-jackets and their commander."
They had no time to say more, for even as they spoke there was a great crash, and a block of houses fell as in a burning pit, and such a cloud of smoke and dust arose that for a few seconds they were in darkness, half smothered in the suffocating furnace of heat and dust. When they recovered themselves, they found that they were still together.
"Can you tell me anything of Ann?" asked Reginald quickly.
"She is safe with Patience Beaumont at Somerset House," said Lord Craven. "You know she is Delarry's wife; he will see after her."
"I know nothing," said Reginald, "but I have one bit of news--Mistress Agnes De Lisle is, or rather was, safe a week ago. She was to start for England; let us hope she has not done so. You can carry the news to Patience; she must have had a hard time of it."
"She is dying of it," said Lord Craven. "Who knows, this may make her live!" But another burst of flames, another rush of half-distracted men and women separated them, and each went his way, brave men and true, ready to face every danger, not thinking of themselves, doing their duty to God and man as Christian knights and English gentlemen.
At Somerset House, as the danger increased, Mr. Ewan and Peter Kemp decided that as the rapidity of the fire was so great that at any time it might sweep up westward and render even Somerset House untenable, they had better get the women on to a barge and go out into the river. It was difficult to steer, as there were so many other vessels filling the river. The heat was intolerable, and they were almost burnt by the shower of fire-drops which fell continuously. It was by these fire-drops that the fire spread. They fell into the barges, beyond the range of the actual fire. It was as if the heavens showered down burning coals. Many persons threw themselves on the ground or into the river itself, saying it was the last day, and that the judgment of God had fallen upon the city.
The sky was a lurid sheet, like the top of a burning oven. The fall of houses, the sudden collapse of the churches, was hideous to hear and see.
The air was so hot and inflamed, that at last no one was able to approach the radius where the fire raged fiercest. This circle of fire was nearly two miles in length and one in breadth, and because of the long trail of smoke the whole town and country for six miles round was in total darkness, so that at noonday travellers could not see each other, though there was no cloud in the sky! The Guildhall was a fearful spectacle. It stood in view for several hours after the fire had taken hold of it, a great lurid body without any flames, because the timber with which it was built was of solid oak. It shone forth a bright mass, as if it had been a palace of gold.