Great Sedum. _Sedum Telephium._
Dedicated to _St. Giles_.
[269] Audley’s Companion to the Almanac.
[270] Ribadeneira.
[271] Golden Legend.
~September 2.~
_St. Stephen_, king of Hungary, A. D. 1038. _St. Justus_, Abp. of
Lyons, A. D. 390. _St. William_, Bp. of Roschild, A. D. 1067. _B.
Margaret_, 13th Cent.
~London Burnt, 1666.~
The “Great Fire” of London is denoted as above in our almanacs on this
day. It broke out at Pudding-lane and ended at Pie-corner. The monument
on Fish-street-hill to commemorate the calamity, bears the following
inscription on the north side:--
“In the year of Christ, 1666, the 2d day of September, eastward from
hence, at the distance of 202 feet, the height of this column, a
terrible fire broke out about midnight; which, driven on by a strong
wind, not only wasted the adjacent parts, but also very remote places,
with incredible noise and fury. It consumed eighty-nine churches, the
city gates, Guildhall, many public structures, hospitals, schools,
libraries, a vast number of stately edifices, 13,200 dwelling-houses,
and 430 streets, of the twenty-six wards it utterly destroyed fifteen,
and left eight others shattered and half burnt. The ruins of the city
were 436 acres, from the Tower by the Thames side to the Temple church,
and from the north-east along the City-wall to Holborn-bridge. To the
estates and fortunes of the citizens it was merciless, but to their
lives very favourable, that it might in all things resemble the
conflagration of the world. The destruction was sudden; for in a small
space of time the city was seen most flourishing, and reduced to
nothing. Three days after, when this fatal fire had baffled all human
counsels and endeavours, in the opinion of all, it stopped, as it were,
by a command from heaven, and was on every side extinguished. But
papistical malice, which perpetrated such mischiefs, is not yet
restrained.”
A line, beginning on the west side, contains the following words; on
James II. coming to the crown, they were erased, but restored under
William III.:--
“This pillar was set up in perpetual remembrance of the most dreadful
burning of this protestant city, begun and carried on by the treachery
and malice of the popish faction, in the beginning of September, in the
year of our Lord, 1666, in order to the carrying on their horrid plot
for extirpating the protestant religion, and old English liberty, and
introducing popery and slavery.”
The south side is thus inscribed:--“Charles the Second, son of Charles
the Martyr, king of Great Britain, France and Ireland, defender of the
faith, a most gracious prince, commiserating the deplorable state of
things, whilst the ruins were yet smoaking, provided for the comfort of
his citizens, and the ornament of his city; remitted their taxes, and
referred the petitions of the magistrates and inhabitants to the
parliament; who immediately passed an act, that public works should be
restored to greater beauty, with public money, to be raised by an
imposition on coals; that churches, and the cathedral of St. Paul’s,
should be rebuilt from their foundations, with all magnificence; that
the bridges, gates, and prisons should be new made, the sewers cleansed,
the streets made straight and regular, such as were steep levelled, and
those too narrow made wider, markets and shambles removed to separate
places. They also enacted, that every house should be built with party
walls, and all in front raised of an equal height, and those walls all
of square stone or brick; and that no man should delay building beyond
the space of seven years.”
An estimate of the value of property consumed by the fire amounted to
ten millions six hundred and eighty-nine thousand pounds, wherein was
included the value of St. Paul’s cathedral, which was set down at nearly
one-fifth of the total. The occasion of the conflagration was the
subject of parliamentary investigation. It is imputed to the Roman
Catholics, but a dispassionate consideration of all the circumstances by
impartial men tends to acquit them of the crime, and most persons at
this time believe that--
--------“_London’s_ column pointing to the skies,
Like a tall bully, rears its head and _lies_.”
* * * * *
Thomas Vincent, a non-conformist minister, who was ejected from the
living of St. Mary Magdalen, in Milk-street, and during the great plague
remained in the city, and preached regularly to the great comfort of the
inhabitants under the affliction of the raging pestilence, was an
eye-witness of the subsequent conflagration. He wrote “God’s terrible
Judgments in the City by Plague and Fire,” and has left a circumstantial
relation in that work of the progress made by the flames, and their
effects on the people.
_Vincent’s Narrative._
It was the 2d of September, 1666, that the anger of the Lord was kindled
against London, and the fire began: it began in a baker’s house, in
Pudding-lane, by Fish-street-hill; and now the Lord is making London
like a fiery oven in the time of his anger, and in his wrath doth devour
and swallow up our habitations. It was in the depth and dead of the
night, when most doors and fences were locked up in the city, that the
fire doth break forth and appear abroad; and, like a mighty giant
refreshed with wine, doth awake and arm itself, quickly gathers
strength, when it had made havoc of some houses; rusheth down the hill
towards the bridge; crosseth Thames-street, invadeth Magnus church, at
the bridge foot; and, though that church were so great, yet it was not a
sufficient barricado against this conqueror; but, having scaled and
taken this fort, it shooteth flames with so much the greater advantage
into all places round about; and a great building of houses upon the
bridge is quickly thrown to the ground: then the conqueror, being stayed
in his course at the bridge, marcheth back to the city again, and runs
along with great noise and violence through Thames-street, westward;
where, having such combustible matter in its teeth, and such a fierce
wind upon its back, it prevails with little resistance, unto the
astonishment of the beholders.
Fire! fire! fire! doth resound the streets; many citizens start out of
their sleep, look out of their windows; some dress themselves and run to
the place. The lord mayor of the city comes with his officers; a
confusion there is; counsel is taken away; and London, so famous for
wisdom and dexterity, can now find neither brains nor hands to prevent
its ruin. The hand of God was in it; the decree was come forth; London
must now fall, and who could prevent it? No wonder, when so many pillars
are removed, if the building tumbles; the prayers, tears, and faith,
which sometimes London hath had, might have quenched the violence of the
fire; might have opened heaven for rain, and driven back the wind: but
now the fire gets mastery, and burns dreadfully.
That night most of the Londoners had taken their last sleep in their
houses; they little thought it would be so when they went into their
beds; they did not in the least suspect, when the doors of their ears
were unlocked, and the casement of their eyes were opened in the
morning, to hear of such an enemy invading the city, and that they
should see him, with such fury, enter the doors of their houses, break
into every room, and look out of their casements with such a threatening
countenance.
That which made the ruin the more dismal, was, that it was begun on the
Lord’s-day morning: never was there the like sabbath in London; some
churches were in flames that day; and God seems to come down, and to
preach himself in them, as he did in Mount Sinai, when the mount burned
with fire; such warm preaching those churches never had; such lightning
dreadful sermons never were before delivered in London. In other
churches ministers were preaching their farewell sermons, and people
were hearing with quaking and astonishment: instead of a holy rest which
christians have taken on this day, there is a tumultuous hurrying about
the streets towards the place that burned, and more tumultuous hurrying
upon the spirits of those that sat still, and had only the notice of the
ear of the quick and strange spreading of the fire.
Now the train-bands are up in arms watching at every quarter for
outlandish-men, because of the general fear and jealousies, and rumours,
that fire-balls were thrown into houses by several of them to help on
and provoke the too furious flames. Now goods are hastily removed from
the lower parts of the city; and the body of the people begin to retire,
and draw upwards, as the people did from the tabernacles of Korah,
Dathan, and Abiram, when the earth did cleave asunder and swallow them
up: or rather as Lot drew out from his house in Sodom before it was
consumed by fire from heaven. Yet some hopes were retained on the
Lord’s-day that the fire would be extinguished, especially by them who
lived in the remote parts; they could scarcely imagine that the fire a
mile off should be able to reach their houses.
But the evening draws on, and now the fire is more visible and dreadful:
instead of the black curtains of the night, which used to be spread over
the city, now the curtains are yellow; the smoke that arose from the
burning parts seemed like so much flame in the night, which being blown
upon the other parts by the wind, the whole city, at some distance,
seemed to be on fire. Now hopes begin to sink, and a general
consternation seizeth upon the spirits of people; little sleep is taken
in London this night; the amazement which the eye and ear doth effect
upon the spirit, doth either dry up or drive away the vapour which used
to bind up the senses. Some are at work to quench the fire with water;
others endeavour to stop its course, by pulling down of houses; but all
to no purpose: if it be a little allayed, or beaten down, or put to a
stand in some places, it is but a very little while; it quickly
recruits, and recovers its force; it leaps and mounts, and makes the
more furious onset, drives back its opposers, snatcheth their weapons
out of their hands, seizeth upon the water-houses and engines, burns
them, spoils them, and makes them unfit for service.
On the Lord’s-day night the fire had run as far as Garlick-hithe, in
Thames-street, and had crept up into Cannon-street, and levelled it with
the ground; and still is making forward by the water-side, and upward to
the brow of the hill, on which the city was built.
On Monday, (the 3d) Gracechurch-street is all in flames, with
Lombard-street, on the left hand, and part of Fenchurch-street, on the
right, the fire working (though not so fast) against the wind that way:
before it were pleasant and stately houses, behind it ruinous and
desolate heaps. The burning then was in fashion of a bow, a dreadful
bow it was, such as mine eyes never before had seen; a bow which had
God’s arrow in it, with a flaming point: it was a shining bow; not like
that in the cloud, which brings water with it; and withal signified
God’s covenant not to destroy the world any more with water: but it was
a bow which had fire in it, which signified God’s anger, and his
intention to destroy London with fire.
Now the flames break in upon Cornhill, that large and spacious street,
and quickly cross the way by the train of wood that lay in the streets
untaken away, which had been pulled down from houses to prevent its
spreading: and so they lick the whole street as they go: they mount up
to the top of the highest houses; they descend down to the bottom of the
lowest vaults and cellars; and march along on both sides of the way,
with such a roaring noise, as never was heard in the city of London; no
stately building so great as to resist their fury: the Royal Exchange
itself, the glory of the merchants, is now invaded with much violence;
and when once the fire was entered, how quickly did it run round the
galleries, filling them with flames; then came down stairs, compasseth
the walks, giving forth flaming volleys, and filleth the court with
sheets of fire: by-and-by down fall all the kings upon their faces, and
the greatest part of the stone-building after them, (the founder’s
statue only remaining,) with such a noise as was dreadful and
astonishing.
Then, then the city did shake indeed; and the inhabitants did tremble,
and flew away in great amazement from their houses, lest the flames
should devour them; rattle, rattle, rattle, was the noise which the fire
struck upon the ear round about, as if there had been a thousand iron
chariots beating upon the stones: and if you opened your eye to the
opening of the streets, where the fire was come, you might see, in some
places, whole streets at once in flames, that issued forth as if they
had been so many great forges, from the opposite windows, which folding
together, were united into one great flame throughout the whole street;
and then you might see the houses tumble, tumble, tumble, from one end
of the street to the other, with a great crash, leaving the foundations
open to the view of the heavens.
Now fearfulness and terror doth surprise the citizens of London;
confusion and astonishment doth fall upon them at this unheard-of,
unthought-of, judgment. It would have grieved the heart of an
unconcerned person to see the rueful looks, the pale cheeks, the tears
trickling down from the eyes, (where the greatness of sorrow and
amazement could give leave for such a vent,) the smiting of the breast,
the wringing of the hands; to hear the sighs and groans, the doleful and
weeping speeches of the distressed citizens, when they were bringing
forth their wives, (some from their child-bed,) and their little ones
(some from their sickbed,) out of their houses, and sending them into
the country, or somewhere into the fields with their goods. Now the
hopes of London are gone, their heart is sunk; now there is a general
remove in the city, and that in a greater hurry than before the plague,
their goods being in greater danger by the fire than their persons were
by the sickness. Scarcely are some returned, but they must remove again,
and, not as before, now without any more hopes of ever returning and
living in those houses any more.
Now carts, and drays, and coaches, and horses, as many as could have
entrance into the city, were loaden, and any money is given for help;
5_l._ 10_l._ 20_l._ 30_l._ for a cart, to bear forth into the fields
some choice things, which were ready to be consumed; and some of the
carmen had the conscience to accept of the highest price, which the
citizens did then offer in their extremity; I am mistaken if such money
do not burn worse than the fire out of which it was raked. Now casks of
wine, and oil, and other commodities, are tumbled along, and the owners
shove as much of their goods as they can towards the gate: every one now
becomes a porter to himself, and scarcely a back either of man or woman,
that hath strength, but had a burden on it in the streets: it was very
sad to see such throngs of poor citizens coming in and going forth from
the unburnt parts, heavy laden with some pieces of their goods, but more
heavy laden with weighty grief and sorry of heart, so that it is
wonderful they did not quite sink under these burdens.
Monday night was a dreadful night: when the wings of the night had
shadowed the light of the heavenly bodies, there was no darkness of
night in London, for the fire shines now round about with a fearful
blaze, which yieldeth such light in the streets, as it had been the sun
at noon-day. Now the fire having wrought backward strangely against the
wind, to Billingsgate, &c., along Thames-street, eastward, runs up the
hill to Tower-street, and having marched on from Gracechurch-street,
making further progress in Fenchurch-street, and having spread its wing
beyond Queenhithe, in Thames-street, westward, mounts up from the
water-side, through Dowgate, and Old Fish-street, into Watling-street:
but the great fury of the fire was in the broader streets; in the midst
of the night it was come down Cornhill, and laid it in the dust, and
runs along by the Stocks, and there meets with another fire, which came
down Threadneedle-street; a little further with another, which came up
from Wallbrook; a little further with another, which comes up from
Bucklersbury; and, all these four, joining together, break into one
great flame at the corner of Cheapside, with such a dazzling light, and
burning heat, and roaring noise, by the fall of so many houses together,
that was very amazing; and though it were something stopt in its swift
course at Mercers’-chapel, yet with great force in a while it conquers
the place, and burns through it; and then, with great rage, proceedeth
forward in Cheapside.
On Tuesday (the 4th) was the fire burning up the very bowels of London;
Cheapside is all in a light, (fire in a few hours time,) many fires
meeting there, as in the centre; from Soper-lane, Bow-lane,
Bread-street, Friday-street, and Old Change, the fire comes up almost
together, and breaks furiously into the Broad-street, and most of that
side of the way was together in flames, a dreadful spectacle; and then,
partly by the fire which came down by Mercers’-chapel, partly by the
fall of the houses cross the way, the other side is quickly kindled, and
doth not stand long after it. Now the fire gets into Blackfriars, and so
continues its course by the water, and makes up towards Paul’s church,
on that side, and Cheapside fire besets the great building on this side,
and the church, though all of stone outward, though naked of houses
about it, and though so high above all buildings in the city, yet,
within a while, doth yield to the violent assaults of the conquering
flames, and strangely takes fire at the top: now the lead melts and runs
down, as if it had been snow before the sun; and the great beams and
massy stones with a great noise fall on the pavement, and break through
into Faith church underneath; now great flakes of stone scale and peel
off strangely from the side of the walls; the conqueror having got this
high fort, darts its flames round about. Now Paternoster-row,
Newgate-market, the Old Bailey, and Ludgate-hill, have submitted
themselves to the devouring fire, which with wonderful speed rusheth
down the hill into Fleet-street. Now Cheapside fire marcheth along
Ironmonger-lane, Old Jewry, Lawrence-lane, Milk-street, Wood-street,
Gutter-lane, Foster-lane. Now it runs along Lothbury, Cateaton-street,
&c. From Newgate-market, it assaults Christchurch, and conquers that
great building, and burns through Martin’s-lane towards Aldersgate, and
all about so furiously, as if it would not leave a house standing upon
the ground.
Now horrible flakes of fire mount up the sky, and the yellow smoke of
London ascendeth up towards heaven, like the smoke of a great furnace; a
smoke so great, as darkened the sun at noonday: (if at any time the sun
peeped forth, it looked red like blood:) the cloud of smoke was so
great, that travellers did ride at noonday, some miles together, in the
shadow thereof, though there were no other cloud beside to be seen in
the sky.
And if Monday night was dreadful, Tuesday night was more dreadful, when
far the greatest part of the city was consumed: many thousands who on
Saturday had houses convenient in the city, both for themselves, and to
entertain others, now have not where to lay their head; and the fields
are the only receptacle which they can find for themselves and their
goods; most of the late inhabitants of London lie all night in the open
air, with no other canopy over them but that of the heavens: the fire is
still making towards them, and threateneth the suburbs; it was amazing
to see how it had spread itself several times in compass; and, amongst
other things that night, the sight of Guildhall was a fearful spectacle,
which stood the whole body of it together in view, for several hours
together, after the fire had taken it, without flames, (I suppose
because the timber was such solid oak,) in a bright shining coal, as if
it had been a palace of gold, or a great building of burnished brass.
On Wednesday morning, (the 5th) when people expected that the suburbs
would be burnt, as well as the city, and with speed were preparing their
flight, as well as they could, with their luggage into the countries,
and neighbouring villages, then the Lord hath pity on poor London; his
bowels began to relent; his heart is turned within him, and he stays his
rough wind in the day of the east wind; his fury begins to be allayed;
he hath a remnant of people in London, and there shall a remnant of
houses escape: the wind now is husht; the commission of the fire is
withdrawing, and it burns so gently, even where it meets with no
opposition, that it was not hard to be quenched, in many places, with a
few hands: now the citizens begin to gather a little heart, and
encouragement in their endeavours to quench the fire. A check it had at
Leadenhall by that great building; a stop it had in Bishopsgate-street,
Fenchurch-street, Lime-street, Mark-lane, and towards the Tower; one
means, under God, was the blowing up of houses with gunpowder. Now it is
stayed in Lothbury, Broad-street, Coleman-street; towards the gates it
burnt, but not with any great violence; at the Temple also it is stayed,
and in Holborn, where it had got no great footing; and when once the
fire was got under, it was kept under, and on Thursday the flames were
extinguished.
But on Wednesday night, when the people, late of London, now of the
fields, hoped to get a little rest on the ground, where they had spread
their beds, a more dreadful fear falls upon them than they had before,
through a rumour that the French were coming armed against them to cut
their throats, and spoil them of what they had saved out of the fire:
they were now naked and weak, and in ill condition to defend themselves,
and the hearts, especially of the females, do quake and tremble, and are
ready to die within them; yet many citizens, having lost their houses,
and almost all that they had, are fired with rage and fury: and they
begin to stir up themselves like lions, or like bears bereaved of their
whelps, and now “Arm! Arm!” doth resound the fields and suburbs with a
dreadful voice. We may guess at the distress and perplexity of the
people this night, which was something alleviated when the falseness of
the alarm was perceived.
The ruins of the city were 396 acres; [viz. 333 acres within the walls,
and 63 in the liberties of the city,] of the six and twenty wards, it
utterly destroyed fifteen, and left eight others shattered, and half
burnt; and it consumed 400 streets, 13,200 dwelling-houses, eighty-nine
churches, [besides chapels,] four of the city gates, Guildhall, many
public structures, hospitals, schools, libraries, and a vast number of
stately edifices.
* * * * *
The preceding relation by Thomas Vincent, with the philosophic Evelyn’s,
will acquaint the reader with as much as can here be told of the most
direful visitations the metropolis ever suffered. Evelyn’s account is in
his “Diary,” or “Memoirs” of himself, a manuscript which is known to
have been preserved from probable destruction by Mr. Upcott.
_John Evelyn’s Narrative._
_Sept._ 2, 1666. This fatal night, about ten, began that deplorable fire
near Fish-streete in London.
_Sept._ 3. The fire continuing, after dinner I took coach with my wife
and sonn, and went to the Bankside in Southwark, where we beheld that
dismal spectacle, the whole citty in dreadful flames neare the water
side; all the houses from the bridge, all Thames-street, and upwards
towards Cheapeside downe to the Three Cranes, were now consum’d.
The fire having continu’d 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 drie season: I went
on foote to the same place, and saw the whole south part of the citty
burning from Cheapeside to the Thames, and all along Cornehill, (for it
kindl’d back against the wind as well as forward,) Tower-streete,
Fenchurch-streete, Gracious-streete, and so along to Bainard’s-castle,
and was now taking hold of St. Paule’s church, to which the scaffolds
contributed exceedingly. The conflagration was so universal, and the
people so astonish’d, that from the beginning, I know not by what
despondency or fate, they hardly stirr’d to quench it, so that there was
nothing heard or seene 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, publiq halls, exchange,
hospitals, monuments, and ornaments, leaping after a prodigious manner
from house to house and streete to streete, at greate distances one from
the other, for the heate with a long set of faire and warme weather,
had even ignited the air, and prepar’d the materials to conceive the
fire which devour’d after an incredible manner, houses, furniture, and
every thing. Here we saw the Thames cover’d with goods floating, all the
barges and boates laden with what some had time and courage to save, as,
on the other, the carts, &c. carrying out to the fields, which for many
miles were strew’d with moveables 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
seene the like since the foundation of it, nor to be outdone till the
universal conflagration. All the skie was of a fiery aspect, like the
top of a burning oven, the light seene above forty miles round about for
many nights. God grant my eyes may never behold the like, now seeing
above 10,000 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 an hideous
storme, and the aire all about so hot and inflam’d that at last one was
not able to approach it, so that they were forc’d to stand still and let
the flames burn on, which they did for neere two miles in length and one
in breadth. The clouds of smoke were dismall, and reach’d upon
computation neer fifty miles in length. Thus I left it this afternoone
burning, a resemblance of Sodom, or the last day. London was, but is no
more!
_Sept._ 4. The burning still rages, and it was now gotten as far as the
Inner Temple, all Fleete-streete, the Old Bailey, Ludgate-hill,
Warwick-lane, Newgate, Paul’s Chain, Watling-streete, now flaming, and
most of it reduc’d to ashes; the stones of Paules flew like granados,
the melting lead running downe the streetes in a streame, and the very
pavements glowing with fiery rednesse, so as no horse nor man was able
to tread on them, and the demolition had stopp’d 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 vaine was the help of man.
_Sept._ 5. It crossed towards Whitehall; Oh, the confusion there was
then at that court! it pleased his majesty to command me among the rest
to looke after the quenching of Fetter-lane end, to preserve if
possible that part of Holborn, while the rest of the gentlemen tooke
their several posts (for now they began to bestir themselves, and not
till now, who hitherto had stood as men intoxicated, with their hands
acrosse), and began to consider that nothing was likely to put a stop
but the blowing up of so many houses as might make a wider gap than any
had yet ben made by the ordinary method of pulling them down with
engines; this some stout seamen propos’d early enough to have sav’d
neare the whole citty, but this some tenacious and avaritious men,
aldermen, &c. would not permit, because their houses must have been of
the first. It was therefore now commanded to be practic’d, and my
concern being particularly for the hospital of St. Bartholomew neere
Smithfield, where I had many wounded and sick men, made me the more
diligent to promote it, nor was my care for the Savoy lesse. It now
pleas’d God by abating the wind, and by the industry of the people,
infusing a new spirit into them, that the fury of it began sensibly to
abate about noone, so as it came no farther than the Temple westward,
nor than the entrance of Smithfield north; but continu’d all this day
and night so impetuous towards Cripplegate and the Tower, as made us all
despaire: it also broke out againe in the Temple, but the courage of the
multitude persisting, and many houses being blown up, such gaps and
desolations were soone 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 neere the burning and glowing ruines by neere
a furlong’s space.
The poore inhabitants were dispers’d about St. George’s Fields, and
Moorefields, as far as Highgate, and severall miles in circle, some
under tents, some under miserable huts and hovells, many without a rag
or any necessary utensills, bed or board, who from delicatenesse,
riches, and easy accommodations in stately and well furnish’d houses,
were now reduc’d to extreamest misery and poverty.
In this calamitous condition I return’d 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 ruine was like Lot, in my little Zoar, Safe and sound.
_Sept._ 7. I went this morning on foote from Whitehall as far as London
Bridge, thro’ the late Fleete-streete, Ludgate-hill, by St. Paules,
Cheapeside, Exchange, Bishopsgate, Aldersgate, and out to Moorefields,
thence thro’ Cornehille, &c. with extraordinary difficulty, clambering
over heaps of yet smoking rubbish, and frequently mistaking where I was.
The ground under my feete was so hot, that it even burnt 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 intirely about
it, had they taken fire and attack’d the White Tower where the magazine
of powder lay, would undoubtedly not only have beaten downe and
destroy’d all the bridge, but sunke and torne the vessells in the river,
and render’d the demolition beyond all expression for several miles
about the countrey.
At my return I was infinitely concern’d to find that goodly church St.
Paules now a sad ruine, and that beautifull portico (for structure
comparable to any in Europe, as not long before repair’d by the king,)
now rent in pieces, flakes of vast stone split asunder, and nothing
remaining intire but the inscription in the architrave, shewing by whom
it was built, which had not one letter of it defac’d. It was astonishing
to see what immense stones the heat had in a manner calcin’d, so that
all the ornaments, columns, freezes, and projectures of massie Portland
stone flew off, even to the very roofe, where a sheet of lead covering a
great space was totally mealted; the ruines of the vaulted roofe falling
broke into St. Faith’s, which being fill’d with the magazines of bookes
belonging to the stationers, and carried thither for safety, they were
all consum’d, burning for a weeke following. It is also observable that
the lead over the altar at the east end was untouch’d, and among the
divers monuments, the body of one bishop remain’d intire. Thus lay in
ashes that most venerable church, one of the most antient pieces of
early piety in the christian world, besides neere one hundred more. The
lead, yron worke, bells, plate, &c. mealted; the exquisitely wrought
Mercers’-chapell, the sumptuous Exchange, the august fabriq of Christ
church, all the rest of the companies halls, sumptuous buildings,
arches, all in dust; the fountaines dried up and ruin’d whilst the very
waters remain’d boiling; the vorrago’s 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 unconsum’d, nor many stones but what were
calcin’d white as snow. The people who now walk’d about the ruines
appear’d like men in a dismal desart, or rather in some great citty laid
waste by a cruel enemy; to which was added the stench that came from
some poore creatures bodies, beds, &c. Sir Tho. Gresham’s statue, tho’
fallen from its nich in the Royal Exchange, remain’d intire, when all
those of the kings since the conquest were broken to pieces, also the
standard in Cornehill, and Q. Elizabeth’s effigies, with some armes on
Ludgate, continued with but little detriment, whilst the vast yron
chaines of the cittie streetes, hinges, bars and gates of prisons, were
many of them mealted and reduced to cinders by the vehement heate. I was
not able to passe through any of the narrow streetes, but kept the
widest, the ground and aire, smoake and fiery vapour, continu’d so
intense that my haire was almost sing’d, and my feete unsufferably
surheated. The bie lanes and narrower streetes were quite fill’d up with
rubbish, nor could one have knowne where he was, but by the ruines of
some church or hall, that had some remarkable tower or pinnacle
remaining. I then went towards Islington and Highgate, where one might
have seene 200,000 people of all ranks and degrees dispers’d and lying
along by their heapes of what they could save from the fire, deploring
their losse, and tho’ ready to perish for hunger and destitution, yet
not asking one penny for relief, which to me appear’d a stranger sight
than any I had yet beheld. His majesty and council indeede tooke all
imaginable care for their reliefe 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 alarme begun, that
the French and Dutch, with whom we were now in hostility, were not onely
landed, but even entering the citty. There was in truth some days before
greate suspicion of those two nations joyning; and now, that they had
been the occasion of firing the towne. This report did so terrifie, that
on a suddaine there was such an uproare and tumult that they ran from
their goods, and, taking what weapons they could come at, they could not
be stopp’d from falling on some of those nations whom they casually
met, without sense or reason. The clamour and peril grew so excessive,
that it made the whole court amaz’d, and they did with infinite paines
and greate difficulty reduce and appease the people, sending troopes of
soldiers and guards to cause them to retire into the fields againe,
where they were watch’d 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 repaire into the
suburbs about the citty, where such as had friends or opportunity got
shelter.
* * * * *
The essential particulars of Evelyn’s narrative being ended, it may be
observed that a discontinued periodical miscellany notices at the end of
“Littleton’s Dictionary,” an inscription for the monument (on
Fish-street-hill), wherein this very learned scholar proposes a name for
it, in a word which extends through seven degrees of longitude. It is
designed to commemorate the names of the seven lord mayors of London,
under whose respective mayoralties the monument was begun, continued,
and completed:--
Quam non unâ aliqua ac simplici voce, uti istam quondam _Duilianam_;
Sed, ut vero eam Nomine indigites, Vocabulo constructiliter
_Heptastego_.