An Historical Narrative of the Great and Terrible Fire of London, Sept. 2nd 1666.

by Gideon Harvey.

HISTORICAL NARRATIVE

OF

THE FIRE OF LONDON.

No sooner was the plague so abated in London that the inhabitants began to return to their habitations, than a most dreadful fire broke out in the city, and raged as if it had commission to devour everything that was in its way. On the second of September, 1666, this dismal fire broke out at a baker's shop in Pudding-lane by Fish-street, in the lower part of the city, near Thames-street, (among rotten wooden houses ready to take fire, and full of combustible goods) in Billingsgate-ward; which ward in a few hours was laid in ashes. It began in the dead of the night, and the darkness very much increased the confusion and horror of the surprising calamity: when it had made havoc of some houses, it rushed down the hill towards the bridge; crossed Thames-street, invaded St. Magnus church at the bridge foot, and though that church was so great, yet it was not a sufficient barricado against this merciless conqueror; but having scaled and taken this fort, it shot flames with so much the greater advantage into all places round about, and a great building of houses upon the bridge is quickly thrown down to the ground; there, being stayed in its course at the bridge, the fire marched back through the city again, and ran along, with great noise and violence, through Thames-street, westward, where, having such combustible matter to feed on, and such a fierce wind upon its back, it prevailed with little resistance, unto the astonishment of the beholders. The fire is soon taken notice of, though in the midst of the night: _Fire! Fire! Fire!_ doth resound through the streets; many start out of their sleep, look out of their windows; some dress themselves, and run to the place. The citizens affrighted and amazed, delayed the use of timely remedies; and what added to the misfortune, was, the people neglecting their houses, and being so fatally set on the hasty removing of their goods, which were, notwithstanding, devoured by the nimble increase of the flames. A raging east wind fomented it to an incredible degree, and in a moment raised the fire from the bottoms to the tops of the houses, and scattered prodigious flakes in all places, which were mounted so vastly high in the air, as if heaven and earth were threatened with the same conflagration. The fury soon became insuperable against the arts of men and power of engines; and beside the dismal scenes of flames, ruin and desolation, there appeared the most killing sight in the distracted looks of the citizens, the wailings of miserable women, the cries of poor children, and decripid old people; with all the marks of confusion and despair. No man that had the sense of human miseries could unconcernedly behold the dismal ravage and destruction made in one of the n.o.blest cities in the world.

The lord mayor of the city comes with his officers; what 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 decree was gone forth, London must now fall: and who can prevent it? No wonder, when so many pillars are removed, the building tumbles.

The fire gets the mastery, and burns dreadfully, by the force of the wind; it spreads quickly; and goes on with such force and rage, overturning all so furiously, that the whole city is brought into jeopardy and desolation.

----Fire commission'd by the winds, Begins on sheds, but, rolling in a round, On palaces returns.

DRYDEN.

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 expect, that when the doors of their ears were unlocked, and the cas.e.m.e.nts 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 at their windows with such a threatening countenance.

That which made the ruin more dismal was, that it began on the Lord's Day morning; never was there the like Sabbath in London; some churches were in flames that day; G.o.d seemed to come down and preach himself in them, as he did in Sinai when the mount burned with fire; such warm preaching those churches never had: in other churches ministers were preaching their farewell sermons; and people were hearing with quaking and astonishment: instead of a holy rest which Christians had taken that day, there was 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 strange and quick spreading of the fire.

Now the trained bands are up in arms, watching at every quarter for outlandishmen, because of the general fears and rumours that fire-b.a.l.l.s were thrown into houses by several of them, to help on and provoke the too furious flames. Now goods are moved hastily from the lower parts of the city, and the body of the people begins to retire and draw upward. Yet some hopes were retained on the Sunday that the fire would be extinguished, especially by those who lived in remote parts; they could scarce imagine that the fire a mile off could reach their houses. All means to stop it proved ineffectual; the wind was so high, that flakes of fire and burning matter were carried across several streets, and spread the conflagration everywhere.

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 spread over the city, now the curtains are yellow; the smoke that arose from the burning part 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 the people: little sleep is taken in London this night; some are at work to quench the fire, others endeavour to stop its course, by pulling down houses; but all to no purpose; if it be a little allayed, or put to a stand, in some places, it quickly recruits, and recovers its force: it leaps, and mounts, and makes the more furious onset, drives back all opposers, s.n.a.t.c.hes the weapons out of their hands, seizes upon the water-houses and engines, and makes them unfit for service. Some are upon their knees in the night, pouring out tears before the Lord, interceding for poor London in the day of its calamity; yet none can prevail to reverse that doom, which is gone forth against the city, the fire hath received its commission, and all attempts to hinder it are in vain.

Sunday night the fire had got 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 waterside, and upward to the brow of the hill on which the city was built.

On Monday, Gracechurch-street is all in flames, with Lombard street on the left, 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 few eyes had ever seen before!

Now the flames break in upon Cornhill, that large and s.p.a.cious 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 streets as they go; they mount up to the tops of the highest houses, they descend down to the bottom of the lowest cellars; they march along both sides of the way, with such a roaring noise as never was heard in the city of London; no stately buildings so great as to resist their fury: the Royal Exchange itself, the glory of the merchants, is now invaded, and when once the fire was entered, how quickly did it run through the galleries, filling them with flames; then descending the stairs, compa.s.seth the walks, giveth forth flaming vollies, and filleth the court with fire: by and bye down fall all the kings upon their faces, and the greatest part of the building upon them, (the founder's statue only remaining) with such a noise as was dreadful and astonishing.

September the third, the Exchange was burnt, and in three days almost all the city within the walls: the people having none to conduct them right, could do nothing to resist it, but stand and see their houses burn without remedy; the engines being presently out of order and useless!

Then! then! the city did shake indeed! and the inhabitants did tremble! they 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 turned your eyes 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 forges from the opposite windows, and which folding together united into one great volume 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 all the citizens of London; men were in a miserable hurry, full of distraction and confusions; they had not the command of their own thoughts, to reflect and enquire what was fit and proper to be done. 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 sick beds) out of their houses, and sending them into the fields, with their goods.--Now the hope of London is 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 pestilence. 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. The streets were crowded with people and carts, to carry what goods they could get out; they who were most active and had most money to pay carriage at exorbitant prices, saved much, the rest lost almost all. Carts, drays, coaches, and horses, as many as could have entrance into the city were laden, and any money is given for help; five, ten, twenty, thirty pounds for a cart, to bear forth to the fields some choice things which were ready to be consumed; and some of the countrymen had the conscience to accept the prices which the citizens did offer in their extremity. Now casks of wine and oil, and other commodities, tumbled along, and the owners shove as much as they can toward the gates: every one became a porter to himself and scarcely a back, either of man or woman, but had a burden on it in the streets. It was very melancholy to see such throngs of poor citizens coming in and going forth from the unburnt parts, heavy loaden, with pieces of their goods, but more heavy loaden with grief and sorrow of heart; so that it is wonderful they did not quite sink down under their 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 about with a fearful blaze, which yielded such light in the streets as it had been the sun at noon-day. 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, maketh farther progress in Fenchurch-street; and having spread its rage beyond Queen-hithe in Thames-street, westward, mounts up from the waterside through Dowgate and Old Fish-street into Watling-street; but the great fury was in the broader streets; in the midst of the night it came into Cornhill, and laid it in the dust, and running along by the Stocks, there meets with another fire which came down Threadneedle-street, a little farther with another which came up Walbrook; a little farther with another which comes up Bucklersbury; and all these four meeting together, break into one of the corners of Cheapside, with such a dazzling glare, burning heat, and roaring noise, by the falling of so many houses together, that was very amazing! and though it was somewhat stopped in its swift course at Mercer's chapel, yet with great force, in a while it burns through it, and then with great rage proceedeth forward in Cheapside.

On Tuesday, 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 centre; from a 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 the way was together in flames: a dreadful spectacle! and then, partly by the fire which came down from Mercer's 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 toward St. 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 awhile doth yield to the violent a.s.saults of the all-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 ma.s.sy stones, with a hideous noise, fell on the pavement, and break through into Faith church underneath; and 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-street, the Old Bailey, and Ludgate-hill, have submitted themselves to the devouring fire, which, with wonderful speed rush down the hill, into Fleet-street. Now Cheapside, fire marcheth along Ironmonger-lane, Old-jury, Laurence-lane, Milk-street, Wood-street, Gutter-lane, Foster-lane; now it comes along Lothbury, Cateaton-street, &c. From Newgate-street it a.s.saults Christ church, conquers that great building, and burns through St. Martins-le-grand toward Aldersgate; and all so furiously as it would not leave a house standing.

Terrible flakes of fire mount up to the sky, and the yellow smoke of London ascendeth up towards heaven like the smoke of a great furnace; a smoke so great as darkeneth the sun at noon-day; 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 noon-day some miles together in the shadow thereof, though there were no other clouds beside to be seen in the sky.

If Monday night was dreadful, Tuesday night was much more so, when far the greatest part of the city was consumed: many thousands, who, on Sat.u.r.day had houses convenient in the city, both for themselves and to entertain others, have not where to lay their heads; and the fields are the only receptacle they can find for themselves and their few remaining goods: most of the late inhabitants lie all night in the open air, with no other canopy over them but that of the heavens. The fire is still making toward them, and threatening the suburbs. It was amazing to see how it had spread itself several miles in compa.s.s: among 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 after the fire had taken it, without flames (possibly 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 bra.s.s.

On Wednesday morning, when people expected 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 had pity upon poor London: the wind is hushed; the commission of the fire is withdrawing, and it burns so gently, even when it meets with no opposition, that it was not hard to be quenched, in many places, with a few hands; an angel came which had power over fire.[1] The citizens began to gather a little heart and encouragement in their endeavours to quench the fire.

A check it had in Leadenhall by that great building: it had a stop in Bishopsgate-street, Fenchurch-street, Lime-street, Mark-lane, and toward the Tower; one means (under G.o.d) was the blowing up houses with gunpowder. It is stayed in Lothbury, Broad-street, and Coleman-street; toward the gates it burnt, but not with any great violence; at the Temple also it staid, 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.

[Footnote 1: Rev. xiv. 18.]

Few could take much sleep for divers nights together, when the fire was burning in the streets, and burning down the houses, lest their persons should have been consumed with their substance and habitations. 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, 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 they had, are fired with rage and fury; and they began to stir up themselves like lions, or bears bereaved of their whelps. Now, arm! arm! arm! doth resound through the fields and suburbs with a great noise. We may guess the distress and perplexity of the people this night; but it was somewhat alleviated when the falseness of the alarm was discovered.

Thus fell great London, that ancient and populous city! London! which was the queen city of the land; and as famous as most cities in the world! and yet how is London departed like smoke, and her glory laid in the dust! How is her destruction come, which no man thought of, and her desolation in a moment! How do the nations about gaze and wonder!

How doth the whole land tremble at her fall! How do her citizens droop and hang down their heads, her women and virgins weep, and sit in the dust! Oh! the paleness that now sits upon the cheeks! the astonishment and confusion that covers the face, the dismal apprehensions that arise in the minds of most, concerning the dreadful consequences which are likely to be of this fall of London! How is the pride of London stained, her beauty spoiled; her arm broken, and her strength departed! her riches almost gone, and her treasures so much consumed!--every one is sensible of the stroke. Never was England in greater danger of being made a prey to a foreign power, than after the firing and fall of the city, which had the strength and treasure of the nation in it. How is London ceased, that rich, that joyous city! One corner, indeed, is left; but more than as many houses as were within the walls, are turned into ashes.

The merchants now have left the Royal Exchange; the buyers and sellers have now forsaken the streets: Gracechurch-street, Cornhill, Cheapside, Newgate-market, and the like places, which used to have throngs of traffickers, now are become empty of inhabitants; and instead of the stately houses which stood there last summer, they lie this winter in ruinous heaps. The glory of London is fled away like a bird; the trade of London is shattered and broken to pieces: her delights also are vanished, and pleasant things laid waste: now there is no chanting to the sound of the viol, nor dancing to the sweet music of instruments; no drinking wine in bowls, and stretching upon beds of l.u.s.t; no excess of wine and banqueting; no feasts in halls; no amorous looks and wanton dalliances; no rustling silks and costly dresses; these things at that place are at an end. The houses for G.o.d's worship (which formerly were bulwarks against fire, partly through the walls about them, partly through the fervent prayers within them) now are devoured by the flames; the habitations of many who truly feared G.o.d have not escaped: the fire makes no discrimination between the houses of the G.o.dly and the houses of the unG.o.dly; they are all made of the same combustible matter, and are kindled, as bodies are infected, by one another.

London was laid in ashes, and made a ruinous heap: it was a byword and a proverb, a gazing stock and an hissing and astonishment to all that pa.s.sed by; it caused the ears of all to tingle that heard the rumour and report of what the righteous hand of G.o.d had brought upon her. A mighty city turned into ashes and rubbish, comparatively in a few hours; made a place fit for Zim and Okim to take up their abode in; the merciless element where it raged scarcely leaving a lintel for a cormorant or bittern to lodge in, or the remainder of a scorched window to sing in. A sad and terrible face was there in the ruinous parts of London: in the places where G.o.d had been served, nettles growing, owls screeching, thieves and cut-throats lurking. The voice of the Lord hath been crying, yea, roaring, in the city, of the dreadful judgments of plague and fire.

There was suddenly and unexpectedly seen, a glorious city laid waste; the habitations turned into rubbish; estates destroyed; the produce and incomes of many years hard labour and careful industry all in a few moments swept away and consumed by devouring flames.--To have seen dear relations, faithful servants, even yourselves and families, reduced from plentiful, affluent, comfortable trade and fortune, over-night, to the extremest misery next morning! without an house to shelter, goods to accommodate, or settled course of trade to support.

Many forced, in old age, to begin the world anew; and exposed to all the hardships and inconveniences of want and poverty.

Should not my countenance be sad, when the city, the place of my father's sepulchre, lieth waste, and the gates thereof are consumed with fire?

While the terrors occasioned by the conflagration remained in the minds of men, many eminent, learned, pious divines of the Church of England were more than ordinary diligent in the discharge of their holy function in this calamitous time; and many ministers who had not conformed, preached in the midst of the burning ruins, to a willing and attentive people: conventicles abounded in every part; it was thought hard to hinder men from worshipping G.o.d in any way they would, when there were no churches, nor ministers to look after them.

Tabernacles, with all possible expedition, were everywhere raised for public worship till churches could be built. Among the established clergy were Dr. Tillotson, Dr. Stillingfleet, Dr. Whitcot, Dr. Horton, Dr. Patrick, Mr. White, Dr. Outram, Mr. Giffard, Mr. Nest, Mr.

Meriton, and many others: divines of equal merit and moderation, ornaments of their sacred profession and the Established Church. Among the Presbyterians were Dr. Manton, Mr. Thomas Vincent, Mr. Wadsworth, Mr. Janeway, Mr. Thomas Doolittle, Mr. Annesley, Mr. Chester, Mr.

Franklin, Mr. Grimes, Mr. Watson, Dr. Jacomb, Mr. Nathaniel Vincent, Mr. Turner, Mr. Griffiths, Mr. Brooks, Dr. Owen, Mr. Nye, Mr. Caryl, Dr. Goodwin, and Mr. Barker.

The loss in goods and houses is scarcely to be valued, or even conceived. The loss of books was an exceeding great detriment, not to the owners only, but to learning in general. The library at Sion-college, and most private libraries in London, were burnt.

The fire of London most of all endamaged the Company of Printers and Stationers, most of whose habitations, storehouses, shops, stocks, and books, were not only consumed, but their ashes and scorched leaves conveyed aloft, and dispersed by the winds to places above sixteen miles distant, to the great admiration of beholders!

Notwithstanding the great losses by the fire, the devouring pestilence in the city the year preceding, and the chargeable war with the Dutch at that time depending, yet by the king's grace, the wisdom of the Parliament then sitting at Westminster, the diligence and activity of the lord mayor, aldermen, and commoners of the city, (who were likewise themselves the most considerable losers by the fatal accident) it was in the s.p.a.ce of four or five years well nigh rebuilt.

Divers churches, the stately Guildhall, many halls of companies, and other public edifices; all infinitely more uniform, more solid, and more magnificent than before; so that no city in Europe (scarcely in the universe) can stand in compet.i.tion with it in many particulars.[2]

[Footnote 2: Seymour's Survey, i. 70.]

The fire of London ending at the east end of Tower-street, the extent of which came just to the dock on the west side of the Tower, there was nothing between the Tower-walls and it but the breadth of the dock, and a great many old timber houses which were built upon the banks of the dock, and in the outward bulwark of the Tower and Tower-ditch (which then was very foul) to the very wall of the Tower itself. Which old houses, if the fire had taken hold of, the Tower itself, and all the buildings within it, had in all probability been destroyed. But such was the lieutenant's care of the great charge committed to him, that to prevent future damage, a few weeks after, he caused all these old houses which stood between the Tower-dock and the Tower-wall, to be pulled down: and not only them, but all those which were built upon or near the Tower-ditch, from the bulwark-gate along both the Tower-hills, and so to the Iron-gate; and caused strong rails of oak to be set up upon the wharf where those houses stood which were about four hundred: so that by these means, not only the White-tower but the whole outward Tower-wall and the ditch round about the same, are all visible to pa.s.sengers, and afford a very fine prospect.

During the whole continuance of this unparalleled calamity, the king himself, roused from his pleasures, commiserated the care of the distressed, and acted like a true father of his people. In a ma.n.u.script from the secretary's office, we find these words, "All own the immediate hand of G.o.d, and bless the goodness and tender care of the king, who made the round of the fire usually twice every day, and, for many hours together, on horseback and on foot; gave orders for pursuing the work, by commands, threatenings, desires, example, and good store of money, which he himself distributed to the workers, out of an hundred pound bag which he carried with him for that purpose."

At the same time, his royal highness, the Duke of York also, and many of the n.o.bility, were as diligent as possible; they commended and encouraged the forward, a.s.sisted the miserable sufferers, and gave a most generous example to all, by the vigorous opposition they made against the devouring flames.

The king and the duke, with the guards, were almost all the day on horseback, seeing to all that could be done, either for quenching the fire, or for carrying off persons or goods to the fields. The king was never observed to be so much struck with anything in his whole life.

In the dreadful fire of London, the king and the duke did their utmost in person to extinguish it; and after it had been once mastered, and broke out again in the Temple, the duke watching there all night, put an effectual stop to it by blowing up houses.

Afterward, when the mult.i.tudes of poor people were forced to lodge in the fields, or crowd themselves into poor huts and booths built with deal boards, his majesty was frequent in consulting all ways to relieve these wretches, as well by proclamations, as by his orders to the justices of the peace, to send provisions into Moorfields and other places; and moreover he sent them out of the Tower the warlike provisions which were there deposited for the seamen and soldiers, to keep them from starving in this extremity.

At the same time he proclaimed a fast throughout England and Wales; and ordered that the distressed condition of the sufferers should be recommended to the charity of all well-disposed persons, upon that day, to be afterwards distributed by the hands of the lord mayor of London. Lastly, to shew his special care for the city's restoration, in council, wherein he first prohibited the hasty building any houses till care should be taken for its re-edification, so as might best secure it from the like fatal accident; for the encouragement of others, he promised to rebuild his Custom-house, and to enlarge it, for the benefit of the merchants and trade; which he performed at his own particular charge, and at the expense of ten thousand pounds.