Old Saint Paul's: A Tale of the Plague and the Fire by William Harrison Ainsworth (recommended books to read .TXT) 📕

Lord Argentine proceeded, as directed by the king, to the eastern end of Tower-street, where he found Lord Craven, and having delivered him the king's missive, and shown him the signet, they proceeded to the western side of the Tower Dock, and having procured a sufficient number of miners and engineers, together with a supply of powder from the fortress, commenced undermining the whole of the row of habitations called Tower-bank, on the edge of the dock, having first, it is scarcely necessary to state, taken care to clear them of their inhabitants. The powder deposited, the trains were fired, and the buildings blown into the air. At this time the whole of the western side of the Tower Moat was covered with low wooden houses and sheds, and, mindful of the king's instructions, Lord Argentine suggested to Lord Craven that they should be destroyed. The latter acquiescing, they proceeded to their task, and in a short time the whole of the buildings of whatever description, from the bulwark-gate to the city postern, at the north of the Tower, and nearly opposite the Bowyer Tower, were destroyed. Long before this was accomplished they were joined by the Duke of York, who lent his utmost assistance to the task, and when night came on, a clear space of at least a hundred yards in depth, had been formed between the ancient fortress and the danger with which it was threatened.

Meantime the conflagration continued to rage with unabated fury. It burnt throughout the whole of Monday night, and having destroyed Saint Paul's, as before related, poured down Ludgate-hill, consuming all in its way, and, crossing Fleet Bridge, commenced its ravages upon the great thoroughfare adjoining it. On Tuesday an immense tract was on fire. All Fleet-street, as far as the Inner Temple, Ludgate-hill, and the whole of the city eastwards, along the banks of the Thames, up to the Tower Dock, where the devastation was checked by the vast gap of houses demolished, were in flames. From thence the boundary of the fire extended to the end of Mark-lane, Lime-street, and Leadenhall, the strong walls of which resisted its fury. Ascending again by the Standard on Cornhill, Threadneedle-street, and Austin Friars, it embraced Drapers' Hall, and the whole mass of buildings to the west of Throgmorton-street. It next proceeded to the then new buildings behind Saint Margaret's, Lothbury, and so on westward to the upper end of Cateaton-street, whence it spread to the second postern in London Wall, and destroying the ramparts and suburbs as far as Cripplegate, consumed Little Wood-street, Mungwell-street, and the whole of the city wall on the west as far as Aldersgate. Passing a little to the north of Saint Sepulchre's, which it destroyed, it crossed Holborn Bridge, and ascending Saint Andrew's-hill, passed the end of Shoe-lane, and so on to the end of Fetter-lane. The whole of the buildings contained within this boundary were now on fire, and burning with terrific fury. And so they continued till the middle of Wednesday, when the wind abating, and an immense quantity of houses being demolished according to Lord Argentine's plan, the conflagration was got under; and though it broke out in several places after that time, little mischief was done, and it may be said to have ceased on the middle of that day.

On Saturday morning in that week, soon after daybreak, a young man, plainly yet richly attired in the habiliments then worn by persons of high rank, took his way over the smouldering heaps of rubbish, and along the ranks of ruined and blackened walls denoting the habitations that had once constituted Fleet-street. It was with no little risk, and some difficulty, that he could force his way, now clambering over heaps of smouldering ashes, now passing by some toppling wall, which fell with a terrific crash after he had just passed it—now creeping under an immense pile of blackened rafters; but he at length reached Fleet Bridge, where he paused to gaze at the scene of devastation around him.

It was indeed a melancholy sight, and drew tears to his eyes. The ravages of the fire were almost inconceivable. Great beams were burnt to charcoal—stones calcined, and as white as snow, and such walls and towers as were left standing were so damaged that their instant fall was to be expected. The very water in the wells and fountains was boiling, and even the muddy Fleet sent forth a hot steam. The fire still lingered in the lower parts of many habitations, especially where wine, spirits, or inflammable goods had been kept; and these "voragos of subterranean cellars," as Evelyn terms them, still emitted flames, together with a prodigious smoke and stench. Undismayed by the dangers of the path he had to traverse, the young man ascended Ludgate-hill, still encountering the same devastation, and passing through the ruined gateway, the end of which remained perfect, approached what had once been Saint Paul's Cathedral. Mounting a heap of rubbish at the end of Ludgate street, he gazed at the mighty ruin, which looked more like the remains of a city than those of a single edifice.

The solid walls and buttresses were split and rent asunder; enormous stones were splintered and calcined by the heat; and vast flakes having scaled from off the pillars, gave them a hoary and almost ghostly appearance. Its enormous extent was now for the first time clearly seen, and, strange to say it looked twice as large in ruins as when entire. The central tower was still standing, but chipped, broken, and calcined, like the rest of the structure, by the vehement heat of the flames. Part of the roof, in its fall, broke through the solid floor of the choir, which was of immense thickness, into Saint Faith's, and destroyed the magazine of books and paper deposited there by the booksellers. The portico, erected by Inigo Jones, and which found so much favour in Evelyn's eyes, that he describes it as "comparable to any in Europe," and particularly deplores its loss, shared the fate of the rest of the building—the only part left uninjured being the architrave, the inscription on which was undefaced.

Having satiated himself with this sad but striking prospect, the young man, with some toil and trouble, crossed the churchyard, and gained Cheapside, where a yet more terrific scene of devastation than that which he had previously witnessed burst upon him. On the right of London Bridge, which he could discern through the chasms of the houses, and almost to the Tower, were nothing but ruins, while a similar waste lay on the left. Such was the terrible change that had been wrought in the aspect of the ruined city, that if the young man had not had some marks to guide him, he would not have known where he was. The tower and ruined walls of Saint Peter's Church pointed out to him the entrance to Wood-street, and, entering it, he traversed it with considerable difficulty—for the narrow thoroughfares were much fuller of rubbish, and much less freed from smoke and fiery vapour, than the wider—until he reached a part of it with which he had once been well acquainted. But, alas! how changed was that familiar spot. The house he sought was a mere heap of ruins. While gazing at them, he heard a voice behind him, and turning, beheld Mr. Bloundel and his son Stephen, forcing their way through what had once been Maiden-lane. A warm greeting passed between them, and Mr. Bloundel gazed for some time in silence upon the wreck of his dwelling. Tears forced themselves into his eyes, and his companions were no less moved. As he turned to depart, he observed to the young man with some severity:

"How is it, Leonard, that I see you in this gay apparel? Surely, the present is not a fitting season for such idle display."

Lord Argentine, for such it was, now explained to the wonder-stricken grocer all that had occurred to him, adding that he had intended coming to