who, though he did not refuse me at all, yet earnestly persuaded me not to
go, telling me very seriously--for he was a good and sensible man--that it
was indeed their business and duty to run all hazards, and that in so doing
they might hope to be preserved; but that I had no apparent call except my
own curiosity, which he said he believed I would not pretend was sufficient
to justify my exposing myself to infection. I told him "I had been pressed
in my mind to go, and that perhaps it might be an instructing sight that
might not be without its uses." "Nay," says the good man, "if you will
venture on that score, i' name of God go in; for depend upon it, 'twill be
a sermon to you; it may be the best that you ever heard in your life. It is
a speaking sight," says he, "and has a voice with it, and a loud one, to
call us to repentance;" and with that he opened the door and said, "Go, if
you will."
His words had shocked my resolution a little and I stood wavering for a
good while; but just at that interval I saw two links come over from the
end of the Minories, and heard the bellman, and then appeared a dead-cart,
so I could no longer resist my desire, and went in. There was nobody that I
could perceive at first in the church-yard or going into it but the buriers
and the fellow that drove the cart or rather led the horse and cart; but
when they came up to the pit they saw a man going to and fro muffled up in
a brown cloak and making motions with his hands under his cloak, as if
he was in a great agony, and the buriers immediately gathered about him,
supposing he was one of those poor delirious or desperate creatures that
used to bury themselves. He said nothing as he walked about, but two or
three times groaned very deeply and loud, and sighed as he would break his
heart.
When the buriers came up to him they soon found he was neither a person
infected and desperate, as I have observed above, nor a person distempered
in mind, but one oppressed with a dreadful weight of grief, indeed, having
his wife and several of his children in the cart that had just come in, and
he followed it in an agony and excess of sorrow. He mourned heartily, as
it was easy to see, but with a kind of masculine grief that could not give
itself vent in tears, and, calmly desiring the buriers to let him alone,
said he would only see the bodies thrown in and go away; so they left
importuning him. But no sooner was the cart turned round and the bodies
shot into the pit promiscuously, which was a surprise to him, for he at
least expected they would have been decently laid in, though indeed he was
afterward convinced that was impracticable--I say, no sooner did he see the
sight but he cried out aloud, unable to contain himself.
I could not hear what he said, but he went backward and forward two or
three times and fell down in a swoon. The buriers ran to him and took him
up, and in a little while he came to himself, and they led him away to the
Pye tavern, over against the end of Houndsditch, where it seems the man was
known and where they took care of him. He looked into the pit again as
he went away, but the buriers had covered the bodies so immediately with
throwing in the earth that, though there was light enough, for there were
lanterns and candles placed all night round the sides of the pit, yet
nothing could be seen.
This was a mournful scene, indeed, and affected me almost as much as the
rest, but the other was awful and full of terror. The cart had in it
sixteen or seventeen bodies; some were wrapped up in linen sheets, some in
rugs, some all but naked or so loose that what covering they had fell from
them in being shot out of the cart, for coffins were not to be had for the
prodigious numbers that fell in such a calamity as his.
It was reported, by way of scandal upon the buriers, that if any corpse was
delivered to them decently wrapped in a winding-sheet, the buriers were
so wicked as to strip them in the cart and carry them quite naked to the
ground; but as I cannot easily credit anything so vile among Christians,
and at a time so filled with terrors as that was, I can only relate it and
leave it undetermined.
I was indeed shocked at the whole sight; it almost overwhelmed me, and I
went away with my heart full of the most afflicting thoughts, such as I
cannot describe. Just at my going out at the church-yard and turning up
the street toward my own house I saw another cart with links and a bellman
going before, coming out of Harrow Alley, in the Butcher Row, on the other
side of the way, and being, as I perceived, very full of dead bodies, it
went directly toward the church; I stood awhile, but I had no desire to
go back again to see the same dismal scene over again, so I went directly
home, where I could not but consider, with thankfulness, the risk I had
run.
Here the poor unhappy gentleman's grief came into my head again, and,
indeed, I could not but shed tears in reflecting upon it, perhaps more than
he did himself; but his case lay so heavy upon my mind that I could not
constrain myself from going again to the Pye tavern, resolving to inquire
what became of him. It was by this time one o'clock in the morning and the
poor gentleman was still there; the truth was the people of the house,
knowing him, had kept him there all the night, notwithstanding the danger
of being infected by him, though it appeared the man was perfectly sound
himself.
It is with regret that I take notice of this tavern: the people were civil,
mannerly, and obliging enough, and had till this time kept their house open
and their trade going on, though not so very publicly as formerly; but a
dreadful set of fellows frequented their house, who, in the midst of all
this horror, met there every night, behaved with all the revelling and
roaring extravagances as are usual for such people to do at other times,
and, indeed, to such an offensive degree that the very master and mistress
of the house grew first ashamed and then terrified at them.
They sat generally in a room next the street, and, as they always kept
late hours, so when the dead-cart came across the street end to go into
Houndsditch, which was in view of the tavern windows, they would frequently
open the windows as soon as they heard the bell, and look out at them; and
as they might often hear sad lamentations of people in the streets or at
their windows as the carts went along, they would make their impudent mocks
and jeers at them, especially if they heard the poor people call upon God
to have mercy upon them, as many would do at those times in passing along
the streets.
These gentlemen, being something disturbed with the clatter of bringing the
poor gentleman into the house, as above, were first angry and very high
with the master of the house for suffering such a fellow, as they called
him, to be brought out of the grave into their house; but being answered
that the man was a neighbor, and that he was sound, but overwhelmed with
the calamity of his family, and the like, they turned their anger into
ridiculing the man and his sorrow for his wife and children; taunting him
with want of courage to leap into the great pit and go to heaven, as
they jeeringly expressed it, along with them; adding some profane and
blasphemous expressions.
They were at this vile work when I came back to the house, and as far as
I could see, though the man sat still, mute and disconsolate, and their
affronts could not divert his sorrow, yet he was both grieved and offended
at their words: upon this, I gently reproved them, being well enough
acquainted with their characters, and not unknown in person to two of them.
They immediately fell upon me with ill language and oaths: asked me what I
did out of my grave at such a time when so many honester men were carried
into the church-yard? and why I was not at home saying my prayers till the
dead-cart came for me?
I was indeed astonished at the impudence of the men, though not at all
discomposed at their treatment of me. However, I kept my temper. I told
them that though I defied them or any man in the world to tax me with any
dishonesty, yet I acknowledged that in this terrible judgment of God many a
better than I was swept away and carried to his grave. But to answer their
question directly, it was true that I was mercifully preserved by that
great God whose name they had blasphemed and taken in vain by cursing and
swearing in a dreadful manner; and that I believed I was preserved in
particular, among other ends of his goodness, that I might reprove them for
their audacious boldness in behaving in such a manner and in such an awful
time as this was; especially for their jeering and mocking at an honest
gentleman and a neighbor who they saw was overwhelmed with sorrow for the
sufferings with which it had pleased God to afflict his family.
They received all reproof with the utmost contempt and made the greatest
mockery that was possible for them to do at me, giving me all the
opprobrious, insolent scoffs that they could think of for preaching to
them, as they called it, which, indeed, grieved me rather than angered me.
I went away, however, blessing God in my mind that I had not spared them
though they had insulted me so much.
They continued this wretched course three or four days after this,
continually mocking and jeering at all that showed themselves religious or
serious, or that were any way us; and I was informed they flouted in the
same manner at the good people who, notwithstanding the contagion, met at
the church, fasted, and prayed God to remove his hand from them.
I say, they continued this dreadful course three or four days--I think it
was no more--when one of them, particularly he who asked the poor gentleman
what he did out of his grave, was struck with the plague and died in a most
deplorable manner; and in a word, they were every one of them carried into
the great pit which I have mentioned above, before it was quite filled up,
which was not above a fortnight or thereabout.
%GREAT FIRE IN LONDON%
A.D. 1666
JOHN EVELYN
In the reign of Charles II--the "Merry Monarch," of whom one of his
ministers observed that "he never said a foolish thing and never did a wise
one"--the calamities which happened eclipsed the merriment of his people,
if not that of the sovereign himself.
In 1666 England had not fully recovered from the civil wars of 1642-1651.
She was now at war with the allied Dutch and French, and was suffering from
the terrible effects of the "Great Plague" which ravaged London in 1665.
During September 2-5, 1666, occurred a catastrophe of almost equal horror.
A fire, which broke out in a baker's house near the bridge, spread on
all sides so rapidly that the people were unable to extinguish it until
two-thirds of the city had been destroyed.
Evelyn's account, from his famous _Diary_, is that of an eye-witness who
took a prominent part in dealing with the conflagration, during which
the inhabitants of London--like those of some of our cities in recent
times--"were reduced to be spectators of their own ruin." Besides
suspecting the French and Dutch of having landed and, as Evelyn records, of
"firing the town," people assigned various other possible origins for the
disaster, charging it upon the republicans, the Catholics, etc. It was
obviously due, as Hume thought it worth while to note, to the narrow
streets, the houses built entirely of wood, the dry season, and a strong
east wind.
"But the fire," says a later writer, "though destroying so much, was most
beneficial in thoroughly eradicating the plague. The fever dens in which it
continually lurked were burned, and the new houses which were erected were
far more healthy and better arranged."
In the year of our Lord 1666. 2d Sept. This fatal night, about ten, began
that deplorable fire near Fish Street, in London.
3. The fire continuing, after dinner I took coach with my wife and son, and
went to the Bankside in Southwark, where we beheld that dismal spectacle,
the whole city in dreadful flames near the water-side; all the houses from
the bridge, all Thames Street, and upward toward Cheapside, down to the
Three Cranes, were now consumed.
The fire having continued all this night--if I may call that night
which was as light as day for ten miles round about, after a dreadful
manner--when conspiring with a fierce eastern wind in a very dry season; I
went on foot to the same place, and saw the whole south part of the city
burning from Cheapside to the Thames, and all along Cornhill--for it
kindled back against the wind as well as forward--Tower Street, Fenchurch
Street, Gracechurch Street, and so along to Bainard's castle, and was
now taking hold of St. Paul's Church, to which the scaffolds contributed
exceedingly. The conflagration was so universal, and the people so
astonished, that from the beginning, I know not by what despondency or
fate, they hardly stirred to quench it; so that there was nothing heard
or seen but crying out and lamentation, running about like distracted
creatures, without at all attempting to save even their goods; such a
strange consternation there was upon them, so as it burned both in breadth
and length, the churches, public halls, exchange, hospitals, monuments,
and ornaments, leaping after a prodigious manner from house to house, and
street to street, at great distances one from the other; for the heat, with
a long set of fair and warm weather, had even ignited the air and prepared
the materials to conceive the fire, which devoured, after an incredible
manner, houses, furniture, and everything.
Here we saw the Thames covered with goods floating, all the barges and
boats laden with what some had time and courage to save, as, on the other,
the carts, etc., carrying out to the fields, which for many miles were
strewed with movables of all sorts, and tents erecting to shelter both
people and what goods they could get away. Oh, the miserable and calamitous
spectacle! such as haply the world had not seen the like since the
foundation of it, nor be outdone till the universal conflagration. All the
sky was of a fiery aspect, like the top of a burning oven, the light seen
above forty miles round about for many nights.
God grant my eyes may never behold the like, now seeing above ten thousand
houses all in one flame; the noise, and cracking, and thunder of the
impetuous flames, the shrieking of women and children, the hurry of people,
the fall of towers, houses, and churches was like a hideous storm, and the
air all about so hot and inflamed that at last one was not able to approach
it; so that they were forced to stand still and let the flames burn on,
which they did for near two miles in length and one in breadth. The clouds
of smoke were dismal, and reached, upon computation, near fifty miles in
length. Thus I left it this afternoon burning, a resemblance of Sodom or
the last day. London was, but is no more!
4. The burning still rages, and it has now gotten as far as the Inner
Temple, all Fleet Street, the Old Bailey, Ludgate Hill, Warwick Lane,
Newgate, Paul's Chain, Watling Street, now flaming, and most of it reduced
to ashes; the stones of St. Paul's flew like granados, the melting lead
running down the streets in a stream, and the very pavements glowing with
fiery redness, so as no horse nor man was able to tread on them, and the
demolition had stopped all the passages, so that no help could be applied.
The eastern wind still more impetuously drove the flames forward. Nothing
but the almighty power of God was able to stop them, for vain was the help
of man.
5. It crossed toward Whitehall; oh, the confusion there was then at that
court! It pleased his majesty to command me among the rest to look after
the quenching of Fetter Lane, and to preserve, if possible, that part of
Holborn, while the rest of the gentlemen took their several posts--for now
they began to bestir themselves, and not till now, who hitherto had stood
as men intoxicated, with their hands across--and began to consider that
nothing was likely to put a stop, but the blowing up of so many houses
might make a wider gap than any had yet been made by the ordinary method
of pulling them down with engines; this some stout seamen proposed early
enough to have saved nearly the whole city, but this some tenacious and
avaricious men, aldermen, etc., would not permit, because their houses must
have been of the first.
It was therefore now commanded to be practised, and my concern being
particularly for the hospital of St. Bartholomew, near Smithfield, where I
had many wounded and sick men, made me the more diligent to promote it, nor
was my care for the Savoy less. It now pleased God, by abating the wind,
and by the industry of the people, infusing a new spirit into them, and the
fury of it began sensibly to abate about noon, so as it came no further
than the Temple westward, nor than the entrance of Smithfield north; but
continued all this day and night so impetuous toward Cripplegate and the
Tower, as made us all despair. It also broke out again in the Temple, but
the courage of the multitude persisting, and many houses being blown up,
such gaps and desolations were soon made, as with the former three-days'
consumption, the back fire did not so vehemently urge upon the rest as
formerly. There was yet no standing near the burning and glowing ruins by
near a furlong's space.
The coal and wood wharfs, and magazines of oil, resin, etc., did infinite
mischief, so as the invective which a little before I had dedicated to his
majesty and published, giving warning what might probably be the issue of
suffering those shops to be in the city, was looked on as a prophecy.
The poor inhabitants were dispersed about St. George's Fields and
Moorfields, as far as Highgate, and several miles in circle, some under
tents, some under miserable huts and hovels, many without a rag, or any
necessary utensils, bed, or board; who, from delicateness, riches, and easy
accommodations in stately and well-furnished houses, were now reduced to
extremest misery and poverty.
In this calamitous condition I returned with a sad heart to my house,
blessing and adoring the mercy of God to me and mine, who in the midst of
all this ruin was like Lot, in my little Zoar, safe and sound.
7. I went this morning on foot from Whitehall as far as London bridge,
through the late Fleet Street, Ludgate Hill, by St. Paul's, Cheapside,
Exchange, Bishopsgate, Aldersgate, and out to Moorfields, thence through
Cornhill, etc., with extraordinary difficulty clambering over heaps of yet
smoking rubbish, and frequently mistaking where I was. The ground under my
feet was so hot that it even burned the soles of my shoes.
In the mean time his majesty got to the Tower by water, to demolish the
houses about the graff, which, being built entirely about it, had they
taken fire, and attacked the White Tower, where the magazine of powder lay,
would undoubtedly not only have beaten down and destroyed all the bridge,
but sunk and torn the vessels in the river, and rendered the demolition
beyond all expression for several miles about the country.
At my return I was infinitely concerned to find that goodly church, St.
Paul's, now a sad ruin, and that beautiful portico--or structure comparable
to any in Europe, as not long before repaired by the King--now rent in
pieces, flakes of vast stones split asunder, and nothing remaining entire
but the inscription in the architrave, showing by whom it was built, which
had not one letter of it defaced. It was astonishing to see what immense
stones the heat had in a manner calcined, so that all the ornaments,
columns, friezes, and projectures of massy Portland stone flew off, even
to the very roof, where a sheet of lead covering a great space was totally
melted; the ruins of the vaulted roof falling broke into St. Faith's, which
being filled with the magazines of books belonging to the stationers, and
carried thither for safety, they were all consumed, burning for a week
following.
It is also observable that the lead over the altar at the east end was
untouched, and among the divers monuments the body of one bishop remained
entire. Thus lay in ashes that most venerable church, one of the most
ancient pieces of early piety in the Christian world, besides near
one hundred more. The lead, ironwork, bells, plate, etc., melted; the
exquisitely wrought Mercer's Chapel, the sumptuous Exchange, the august
fabric of Christ Church, all the rest of the Companies' Halls, sumptuous
buildings, arches, all in dust; the fountains dried up and ruined, while
the very waters remained boiling; the _voragoes_ of subterranean cellars,
wells, and dungeons, formerly warehouses, still burning in stench and dark
clouds of smoke, so that in five or six miles traversing about I did not
see one load of timber consume, nor many stones but what were calcined
white as snow.
The people who now walked about the ruins appeared like men in a dismal
desert, or rather in some great city laid waste by a cruel enemy: to which
was added the stench that came from some poor creatures' bodies, beds, etc.
Sir Thomas Gresham's statue, though fallen from its niche in the Royal
Exchange, remained entire, when all those of the kings since the Conquest
were broken to pieces; also the standard in Cornhill, and Queen Elizabeth's
effigies, with some arms on Ludgate, continued with but little detriment,
while the vast iron chains of the city streets, hinges, bars, and gates of
prisons, were many of them melted and reduced to cinders by the vehement
heat.
I was not able to pass through any of the narrow streets, but kept the
widest; the ground and air, smoke and fiery vapor, continued so intense
that my hair was almost singed and my feet insufferably surheated. The
by-lanes and narrower streets were quite filled up with rubbish, nor could
one have known where he was but by the ruins of some church or hall that
had some remarkable tower or pinnacle remaining. I then went toward
Islington and Highgate, where one might have seen two hundred thousand
people of all ranks and degrees, dispersed and lying along by their heaps
of what they could save from the fire, deploring their loss, and, though
ready to perish for hunger and destitution, yet not asking one penny for
relief, which to me appeared a stranger sight than any I had yet beheld.
His majesty and council, indeed, took all imaginable care for their
relief, by proclamation for the country to come in and refresh them with
provisions. In the midst of all this calamity and confusion there was, I
know not how, an alarm begun that the French and Dutch, with whom we are
now in hostility, were not only landed, but even entering the city. There
was in truth some days before great suspicion of these two nations joining;
and now, that they had been the occasion of firing the town. This report
did so terrify that on a sudden there was such an uproar and tumult that
they ran from their goods, and, taking what weapons they could come at,
they could not be stopped from falling on some of those nations whom they
casually met, without sense or reason.
The clamor and peril grew so excessive that it made the whole court amazed,
and they did with infinite pains and great difficulty reduce and appease
the people, sending troops of soldiers and guards to cause them to retire
into the fields again, where they were watched all this night. I left them
pretty quiet, and came home sufficiently weary and broken. Their spirits
thus a little calmed, and the affright abated, they now began to repair
into the suburbs about the city, where such as had friends or opportunity
got shelter for the present, to which his majesty's proclamation also
invited them.
%DISCOVERY OF GRAVITATION%
A.D. 1666
SIR DAVID BREWSTER
Many admirers of Sir Isaac Newton have asserted that his was the most
gigantic intellect ever bestowed on man. He discovered the law of
gravitation, and by it explained all the broader phenomena of nature, such
as the movements of the planets, the shape and revolution of the earth, the
succession of the tides. Copernicus had asserted that the planets moved,
Newton demonstrated it mathematically.
His discoveries in optics were in his own time almost equally famous,
while in his later life he shared with Leibnitz the honor of inventing
the infinitesimal calculus, a method which lies at the root of all the
intricate marvels of modern mathematical science.