Read Old Saint Paul's: A Tale of the Plague and the Fire Page 6

  BOOK THE FIFTH.

  DECEMBER, 1665.

  I.

  THE DECLINE OF THE PLAGUE.

  More than two months must be passed over in silence. During that time,the pestilence had so greatly abated as no longer to occasion alarm tothose who had escaped its ravages. It has been mentioned that thedistemper arrived at its height about the 10th of September, and thoughfor the two following weeks the decline was scarcely perceptible, yet ithad already commenced. On the last week in that fatal month, when allhope had been abandoned, the bills of mortality suddenly decreased innumber to one thousand eight hundred and thirty-four. And this fortunatechange could not be attributed to the want of materials to act upon, forthe sick continued as numerous as before, while the deaths were lessfrequent. In the next week there was a further decrease of six hundred;in the next after that of six hundred; and so on till the end ofOctober, when, the cold weather setting in, the amount was reduced tonearly one thousand.

  At first, when the distemper began to lose somewhat of its malignancy, afew scared individuals appeared in the streets, but carefully shunnedeach other. In a few days, however, considerable numbers joined them,and for the first time for nearly three months there was something likelife abroad. It is astonishing how soon hope and confidence are revived.Now that it could no longer be doubted that the plague was on thedecline, it seemed as if a miracle had been performed in favour of thecity. Houses were opened--shopkeepers resumed their business--and it wasa marvel to every one that so many persons were left alive. Dejectionand despair of the darkest kind were succeeded by frenzied delight, andno bound was put to the public satisfaction. Strangers stopped eachother in the streets, and conversed together like old friends. Thebells, that had grown hoarse with tolling funerals, were now crackedwith joyous peals. The general joy extended even to the sick, and many,buoyed up by hope, recovered, when in the former season of despondencythey would inevitably have perished. All fear of the plague seemed tovanish with the flying disorder. Those who were scarcely out of dangerjoined in the throng, and it was no uncommon sight to see men withbandages round their necks, or supported by staves and crutches, shakinghands with their friends, and even embracing them.

  The consequence of this incautious conduct may be easily foreseen. Theplague had received too severe a check to burst forth anew; but itspread further than it otherwise would have done, and attacked manypersons, who but for their own imprudence would have escaped. Amongstothers, a barber in Saint Martin's-le-Grand, who had fled into thecountry in August, returned to his shop in the middle of October, and,catching the disorder from one of his customers, perished with the wholeof his family.

  But these, and several other equally fatal instances, produced no effecton the multitude. Fully persuaded that the virulence of the disorder wasexhausted--as, indeed, appeared to be the case--they gave free scope totheir satisfaction, which was greater than was ever experienced by theinhabitants of a besieged city reduced by famine to the last strait ofdespair, and suddenly restored to freedom and plenty. The more piouspart of the community thronged to the churches, from which they had beenso long absent, and returned thanks for their unexpected deliverance.Others, who had been terrified into seriousness and devotion, speedilyforgot their former terrors, and resumed their old habits. Profanenessand debauchery again prevailed, and the taverns were as well filled asthe churches. Solomon Eagle continued his midnight courses through thestreets; but he could no longer find an audience as before. Those wholistened to him only laughed at his denunciations of a new judgment, andtold him his preachings and prophesyings were now completely out ofdate.

  By this time numbers of those who had quitted London having returned toit, the streets began to resume their wonted appearance. The utmost carewas taken by the authorities to cleanse and purify the houses, in orderto remove all chance of keeping alive the infection. Every room in everyhabitation where a person had died of the plague--and there were fewthat had escaped the visitation--was ordered to be whitewashed, and thestrongest fumigations were employed to remove the pestilential effluvia.Brimstone, resin, and pitch were burnt in the houses of the poor;benjamin, myrrh, and other more expensive perfumes in those of therich; while vast quantities of powder were consumed in creating blaststo carry off the foul air. Large and constant fires were kept in all thehouses, and several were burnt down in consequence of the negligence oftheir owners.

  All goods, clothes, and bedding, capable of harbouring infection, werecondemned to be publicly burned, and vast bonfires were lighted inFinsbury Fields and elsewhere, into which many hundred cart-loads ofsuch articles were thrown. The whole of Chowles's hoard, except theplate, which he managed, with Judith's aid, to carry off and conceal incertain hiding-places in the vaults of Saint Faith's, was taken from thehouse in Nicholas-lane, and cast into the fire.

  The cathedral was one of the first places ordered to be purified. Thepallets of the sick were removed and burned, and all the stains andimpurities with which its floor and columns were polluted were cleansed.Nothing was left untried to free it from infection. It was washedthroughout with vinegar, fumigated with the strongest scents, andseveral large barrels of pitch were set fire to in the aisles."

  "It shall undergo another species of purification," said Solomon Eagle,who was present during these proceedings; "one that shall search everynook within it--shall embrace all those columns, and pierce every crackand crevice in those sculptured ornaments; and then, and not till then,will it be thoroughly cleansed."

  During all this time the grocer had not opened his dwelling. The wisdomof this plan was now made fully apparent. The plague was declining fast,and not an inmate of his house had been attacked by it. Soon after themelancholy occurrence, he had been informed by Doctor Hodges of Amabel'sdeath; but the humane physician concealed from him the painfulcircumstances under which it occurred. It required all Mr. Bloundel'sfortitude to support him under the shock of this intelligence, and hedid not communicate the afflicting tidings to his wife until he hadprepared her for their reception. But she bore them better than he hadanticipated; and though she mourned her daughter deeply and truly, sheappeared completely resigned to the loss. Sorrow pervaded the wholehousehold for some weeks; and the grocer, who never relaxed his system,shrouded his sufferings under the appearance of additional austerity ofmanner. It would have been a great consolation to him to see LeonardHolt; but the apprentice had disappeared; and even Doctor Hodges couldgive no account of him.

  One night, in the middle of November, Mr. Bloundel signified to his wifehis intention of going forth, early on the following morning, to satisfyhimself that the plague was really abating. Accordingly, after he hadfinished his devotions, and broken his fast, he put his design intoexecution. His first act, after locking the door behind him, which hedid as a measure of precaution, was to fall on his knees and offer upprayers to Heaven for his signal preservation. He then arose, and,stepping into the middle of the street, gazed at the habitation whichhad formed his prison and refuge for nearly six months. There it was,with its shutters closed and barred--a secure asylum, with all alivewithin it, while every other dwelling in the street was desolate.

  The grocer's sensations were novel and extraordinary. His first impulsewas to enjoy his newly-recovered freedom, and to put himself into activemotion. But he checked the feeling as sinful, and proceeded along thestreet at a slow pace. He did not meet a single person, until he reachedCheapside, where he found matters completely changed. Several shops werealready opened, and there were a few carts and other vehicles trackingtheir way through the broad and yet grass-grown street. It was a clear,frosty morning, and there was a healthful feel in the bracing atmospherethat produced an exhilarating effect on the spirits. The grocer pursuedhis course through the middle of the street, carefully avoiding allcontact with such persons as he encountered, though he cordiallyreturned their greetings, and wandered on, scarcely knowing whither hewas going, but deeply interested in all he beheld.

  The aspect of the city was indeed most cu
rious. The houses were for themost part unoccupied--the streets overgrown with grass--while everyobject, animate and inanimate, bore some marks of the recent visitation.Still, all looked hopeful, and the grocer could not doubt that the worstwas past. The different demeanour of the various individuals he metstruck him. Now he passed a young man whistling cheerily, who salutedhim, and said, "I have lost my sweetheart by the plague, but I shallsoon get another." The next was a grave man, who muttered, "I have lostall," and walked pensively on. Then came others in different moods; butall concurred in thinking that the plague was at an end; and the grocerderived additional confirmation of the fact from meeting numerous cartsand other vehicles bringing families back to their houses from thecountry.

  After roaming about for several hours, and pondering on all he saw, hefound himself before the great western entrance of Saint Paul's. Itchanced to be the morning on which the pallets and bedding were broughtforth, and he watched the proceeding at a distance. All had beenremoved, and he was about to depart, when he perceived a person seatedon a block of stone, not far from him, whom he instantly recognised."Leonard," he cried--"Leonard Holt, is it you?"

  Thus addressed, and in these familiar tones, the apprentice looked up,and Mr. Bloundel started at the change that had taken place in him.Profound grief was written in every line of his thin and haggardcountenance; his eyes were hollow, and had the most melancholyexpression imaginable; and his flesh was wasted away from the bone. Helooked the very image of hopeless affliction.

  "I am sorry to find you in this state, Leonard," said the grocer, in atone of deep commiseration; "but I am well aware of the cause. I myselfhave suffered severely; but I deem it my duty to control my affliction."

  "I _would_ control it, if it were possible, Mr. Bloundel," repliedLeonard. "But hope is dead in my breast. I shall never be happy again."

  "I trust otherwise," replied the grocer, kindly. "Your trials have beenvery great, and so were those of the poor creature we both of usdeplore. But she is at peace, and therefore we need not lament her."

  "Alas!" exclaimed Leonard, mournfully, "I am now only anxious to rejoinher."

  "It is selfish, if not sinful, to grieve in this way," rejoined Mr.Bloundel, somewhat sternly. "You must bear your sorrows like a man. Comehome with me. I will be a father to you. Nay, do not hesitate. I willhave no refusal."

  So saying, he took Leonard's arm, and led him in the direction ofWood-street. Nothing passed between them on the way, nor did Leonardevince any further emotion until he entered the door of the grocer'sdwelling, when he uttered a deep groan. Mrs. Bloundel was greatlyaffected at seeing him, as were the rest of the family, and abundance oftears were shed by all, except Mr. Bloundel, who maintained hiscustomary stoical demeanour throughout the meeting.

  Satisfied that the pestilence had not declined sufficiently to warranthim in opening his house, the grocer determined to await the result of afew weeks. Indeed, that very night, he had reason to think he haddefeated his plans by precipitancy. While sitting after prayers with hisfamily, he was seized with a sudden shivering and sickness, which hecould not doubt were the precursors of the plague. He was greatlyalarmed, but did not lose his command over himself.

  "I have been most imprudent," he said, "in thus exposing myself toinfection. I have symptoms of the plague about me, and will instantlyrepair to one of the upper rooms which I have laid aside as an hospital,in case of any emergency like the present. None of you must attend me.Leonard will fetch Doctor Hodges and a nurse. I shall then do very well.Farewell, dear wife and children! God bless you all, and watch over you.Remember me in your prayers." So saying, he arose and walked towards thedoor. His wife and eldest son would have assisted him, but he motionedthem away.

  "Let me go with you, sir," cried Leonard, who had arisen with theothers; "I will nurse you; my life is of little consequence, and Icannot be more satisfactorily employed."

  The grocer reluctantly assented, and the apprentice assisted himupstairs, and helped to place him in bed. No plague-token could be foundabout his person, but as the same alarming symptoms still continued,Leonard administered such remedies as he thought needful, and then wentin search of Doctor Hodges.

  On reaching Watling-street, he found Doctor Hodges about to retire torest. The worthy physician was greatly distressed by the apprentice'saccount of his master's illness; but was somewhat reassured when thesymptoms were more minutely described to him. While preparing certainmedicines, and arming himself with his surgical implements, hequestioned Leonard as to the cause of his long disappearance. "Havingseen nothing of you," he said, "since the fatal night when our poorAmabel's sorrows were ended, I began to feel very apprehensive on youraccount. Where have you been?"

  "You shall hear," replied Leonard, "though the relation will be likeopening my wounds afresh. On recovering from the terrible shock I hadreceived, I found myself stretched upon a bed in a house whither I hadbeen conveyed by Rainbird the watchman, who had discovered me lying in astate of insensibility in the street. For nearly a week I continueddelirious, and should, probably, have lost my senses altogether but forthe attentions of the watchman. As soon as I was able to move, Iwandered to the lesser plague-pit, in Finsbury Fields, you will guesswith what intent. My heart seemed breaking, and I thought I should pourforth my very soul in grief, as I gazed into that dreadful gulf, andthought she was there interred. Still my tears were a relief. Everyevening, for a month, I went to that sad spot, and remained there tilldaybreak admonished me to return to Rainbird's dwelling. At last, he wasseized by the distemper; but though I nursed him, voluntarily exposingmyself to infection, and praying to be carried off, I remaineduntouched. Poor Rainbird died; and having seen his body thrown into thepit, I set off into Berkshire, and after three days' toilsome travel onfoot, reached Ashdown Park. It was a melancholy pleasure to behold theabode where she I had loved passed her last few days of happiness, andwhere I had been near her. Her aunt, good Mrs. Buscot, thoughoverwhelmed by affliction at the sad tidings I brought her, received mewith the utmost kindness, and tried to console me. My sorrow, however,was too deeply seated to be removed. Wandering over the downs, I visitedMrs. Compton at Kingston Lisle, from whose house Amabel was carried offby the perfidious earl. She, also, received me with kindness, andstrove, like Mrs. Buscot, to comfort me, and, like her, ineffectually.Finding my strength declining, and persuaded that my days were drawingto a close, I retraced my steps to London, hoping to find a finalresting-place near her I had loved."

  "You are, indeed, faithful to the grave, Leonard," said the physician,brushing away a tear; "and I never heard or read of affection strongerthan yours. Sorrow is a great purifier, and you will come out all thebetter for your trial. You are yet young, and though you never can loveas you _have_ loved, a second time, your heart is not utterly seared."

  "Utterly, sir," echoed Leonard, "utterly."

  "You think so, now," rejoined the physician. "But you will find itotherwise hereafter. I can tell you of one person who has sufferedalmost as much from your absence as you have done for the loss ofAmabel. The Lady Isabella Argentine has made constant inquiries afteryou; and though I should be the last person to try to rouse you fromyour present state of despondency, by awakening hopes of alliance withthe sister of a proud noble, yet it may afford you consolation to knowthat she still cherishes the warmest regard for you."

  "I am grateful to her," replied Leonard, sadly, but without exhibitingany other emotion. "She was dear to Amabel, and therefore will be everdear to me. I would fain know," he added, his brow suddenly contracting,and his lip quivering, "what has become of the Earl of Rochester?"

  "He has married a wealthy heiress, the fair Mistress Mallet," repliedHodges.

  "Married, and so soon!" cried Leonard. "And he has quite forgotten hisvictim?"

  "Apparently so," replied the doctor, with an expression of disgust.

  "And it was for one who so lightly regarded her that she sacrificedherself," groaned Leonard, his head dropping upon his breast.

  "Come
," cried Hodges, taking his arm, and leading him out of the room;"we must go and look after your master."

  With this, they made the best of their way to Wood-street. Arrived atthe grocer's house, they went upstairs, and Hodges immediatelypronounced Mr. Bloundel to be suffering from a slight feverish attack,which a sudorific powder would remove. Having administered the remedy,he descended to the lower room to allay the fears of the family. Mrs.Bloundel received the happy tidings with tears of joy, and the doctorremained a short time to condole with her on the loss she had sustained.The good dame wept bitterly on hearing the whole particulars, with whichshe had been hitherto unacquainted, attending her daughter's untimelydeath, but she soon regained her composure. They then spoke of Leonard,who had remained above with his master,--of his blighted hopes, andseemingly incurable affliction.

  "His is true love, indeed, doctor," sighed Mrs. Bloundel. "Pity it isthat it could not be requited."

  "I know not how it is," rejoined Hodges, "and will not question thedecrees of our All-Wise Ruler, but the strongest affection seldom, ifever, meets a return. Leonard himself was insensible to the devotion ofone, of whom I may say, without disparagement to our poor Amabel, thatshe was, in my opinion, her superior in beauty."

  "And does this person love him still?" inquired Mrs. Bloundel, eagerly."I ask, because I regard him as a son, and earnestly desire to restorehim to happiness."

  "Alas!" exclaimed Hodges, "there are obstacles in the way that cannot beremoved. We must endeavour to cure him of his grief in some other way."

  The conversation then dropped, and Hodges took his leave, promising toreturn on the morrow, and assuring Mrs. Bloundel that she need be underno further apprehension about her husband. And so it proved. Thepowders removed all the grocer's feverish symptoms, and when DoctorHodges made his appearance the next day, he found him dressed, and readyto go downstairs. Having received the physician's congratulations on hisentire recovery, Mr. Bloundel inquired from him when he thought he mightwith entire safety open his shop. Hodges considered for a moment, andthen replied, "I do not see any great risk in doing so now, but I wouldadvise you to defer the step for a fortnight. I would, also, recommendyou to take the whole of your family for a short time into the country.Pure air and change of scene are absolutely necessary after their longconfinement."

  "Farmer Wingfield, of Kensal-Green, who sheltered us on our way down toAshdown Park, will, I am sure, receive you," observed Leonard.

  "If so, you cannot go to a better place," rejoined the physician.

  "I will think of it," returned Mr. Bloundel. And leading the waydownstairs, he was welcomed by his wife and children with the warmestdemonstrations of delight.

  "My fears, you perceive, were groundless," he remarked to Mrs. Bloundel.

  "Heaven be praised, they were so!" she rejoined. "But I entreat you notto go forth again till all danger is at an end."

  "Rest assured I will not," he answered. Soon after this, Doctor Hodgestook his leave, and had already reached the street-door, when he wasarrested by Patience, who inquired with much anxiety whether he knewanything of Blaize.

  "Make yourself easy about him, child," replied the doctor; "I am prettysure he is safe and sound. He has had the plague, certainly; but he leftthe hospital at Saint Paul's cured.

  "O then I _shall_ see him again," cried Patience, joyfully. "Poor dearlittle fellow, it would break my heart to lose him."

  "I will make inquiries about him," rejoined Hodges, "and if I can findhim, will send him home." And without waiting to receive thekitchen-maid's thanks, he departed.

  For some days the grocer continued to pursue pretty nearly the same lineof conduct that he had adopted during the height of the pestilence. Buthe did not neglect to make preparations for resuming his business; andhere Leonard was of material assistance to him. They often spoke ofAmabel, and Mr. Bloundel strove, by every argument he was master of, toremove the weight of affliction under which his apprentice laboured. Heso far succeeded that Leonard's health improved, though he still seemeda prey to secret sorrow. Things were in this state, when one day a knockwas heard at the street-door, and the summons being answered by thegrocer's eldest son, Stephen, he returned with the intelligence that aperson was without who desired to see Patience. After someconsideration, Mr. Bloundel summoned the kitchen-maid, and told her shemight admit the stranger into the passage, and hear what he had to say.Patience hastened with a beating heart to the door, expecting to learnsome tidings of Blaize, and opening it, admitted a man wrapped in alarge cloak and having a broad-leaved hat pulled over his brows.Stepping into the passage, he threw aside the cloak and raised the hat,discovering the figure and features of Pillichody.

  "What brings you here, sir?" demanded Patience, in alarm, and glancingover her shoulder to see whether any one observed them. "What do youwant?"

  "I have brought you news of Blaize," returned the bully. "But howcharmingly you look. By the coral lips of Venus! your long confinementhas added to your attractions."

  "Never mind my attractions, sir," rejoined Patience, impatiently. "Whereis Blaize? Why did he not come with you?"

  "Alas!" replied Pillichody, shaking his head in a melancholy manner, "hecould not."

  "Could not!" half screamed Patience. "Why not?"

  "Do not question me," replied Pillichody, feigning to brush away a tear."He was my friend, and I would rather banish him from my memory. Thesight of your beauty transports me so, that, by the treasures ofCroesus! I would rather have you without a crown than the wealthiestwidow in the country."

  "Don't talk nonsense to me in this way," sobbed Patience "I'm not in thehumour for it."

  "Nonsense!" echoed Pillichody. "I swear to you I am in earnest. ByCupid! I am ravished with your charms." And he would have seized herhand, but Patience hastily withdrew it; and, provoked at hisimpertinence, dealt him a sound box on the ear. As she did this, shethought she heard a suppressed laugh near her, and looked round, butcould see no one. The sound certainly did not proceed from Pillichody,for he looked very red and very angry.

  "Do not repeat this affront, mistress," he said to her. "I can bearanything but a blow from your sex."

  "Then tell me what has become of Blaize," she cried.

  "I will no longer spare your feelings," he rejoined. "He is defunct."

  "Defunct!" echoed Patience, with a scream. "Oh, dear me!--I shall neversurvive it--I shall die."

  "Not while I am left to supply his place," cried Pillichody, catchingher in his arms.

  "You!" cried Patience, contemptuously; "I would not have you for theworld. Where is he buried?"

  "In the plague-pit," replied Pillichody. "I attended him during hisillness. It was his second attack of the disorder. He spoke of you."

  "Did he?--dear little fellow!" she exclaimed. "Oh, what did he say?"

  "'Tell her,' he cried," rejoined Pillichody, "'that my last thoughtswere of her.'"

  "Oh, dear! oh, dear!" cried Patience, hysterically.

  "'Tell her also,' he added," pursued Pillichody, "'that I trust she willfulfil my last injunction.'"

  "That I will," replied Patience. "Name it."

  "He conjured you to marry me," replied Pillichody. "I am sure you willnot hesitate to comply with the request."

  "I don't believe a word of this," cried Patience. "Blaize was a greatdeal too jealous to bequeath me to another."

  "Right, sweetheart, right," cried the individual in question, pushingopen the door. "This has all been done to try your fidelity. I am nowfully satisfied with your attachment; and am ready to marry you wheneveryou please."

  "So this was all a trick," cried Patience, pettishly; "I wish I hadknown it, I would have retaliated upon you nicely. You ought to beashamed of yourself, Major Pillichody, to lend a helping-hand in such aridiculous affair."

  "I did it to oblige my friend Blaize," replied Pillichody. "It wasagreed between us that if you showed any inconstancy, you were to bemine."

  "Indeed!" exclaimed Patience. "I would not advise you to repeat
theexperiment, Mr. Blaize."

  "I never intend to do so, my angel," replied the porter. "I esteemmyself the happiest and most fortunate of men."

  "You have great reason to do so," observed Pillichody. "I do not despairof supplanting him yet," he muttered to himself. "And now, farewell!" headded aloud; "I am only in the way, and besides, I have no particulardesire to encounter Mr. Bloundel or his apprentice;" and winking hissolitary orb significantly at Patience, he strutted away. It was well hetook that opportunity of departing, for the lovers' raptures wereinstantly afterwards interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Bloundel, whowas greatly delighted to see the porter, and gave him a hearty welcome.

  "Ah, sir, I have had a narrow escape," cried Blaize, "and never moreexpected to see you, or my mother, or Patience. I _have_ had the plague,sir, and a terrible disorder it is."

  "I heard or your seizure from Leonard Holt," replied Mr. Bloundel. "Butwhere have you been since you left the hospital at Saint Paul's?"

  "In the country, sir," rejoined Blaize; "sometimes at one farm-house,and sometimes at another. I only returned to London yesterday, and metan old friend, whom I begged to go before me, and see that all was rightbefore I ventured, in."

  "We have all been providentially spared," observed Mr. Bloundel, "andyou will find your mother as well as when you last quitted her. You hadbetter go to her."

  Blaize obeyed, and was received by old Josyna with a scream of delight.Having embraced him, and sobbed over him, she ran for a bottle of sack,and poured its contents down his throat so hastily as nearly to chokehim. She then spread abundance of eatables before him, and after he hadeaten and drank his full, offered him as a treat a little of the plaguemedicine which she had in reserve.

  "No, thank you, mother," replied Blaize. "I have had enough of _that_.But if there should be a box of rufuses amongst the store, you can bringit, as I think a couple might do me good."

  Three days after this event, the apprentice was sent forth to ascertainthe precise state of the city, as, if all proved favourable, the grocerproposed to open his house on the following day. Leonard set outbetimes, and was speedily convinced that all danger was at an end. Asevere frost had set in, and had completely purified the air. For thelast few days there had been no deaths of the plague, and but littlemortality of any kind. Leonard traversed several of the main streets,and some narrow thoroughfares, and found evidences of restored healthand confidence everywhere. It is true there were many houses, in whichwhole families had been swept off, still left untenanted. But these wereonly memorials of the past calamity, and could not be referred to anyexisting danger. Before returning to Wood-street, an irresistibleimpulse led him to Finsbury Fields. He passed through the postern eastof Cripplegate, and shaped his way towards the lesser plague-pit. Thesun, which had been bright all the morning, was now partially obscured;the air had grown thick, and a little snow fell. The ground wasblackened and bound by the hard frost, and the stiffened grass feltcrisp beneath his feet. Insensible to all external circumstances, hehurried forward, taking the most direct course, and leaping everyimpediment in his path. Having crossed several fields, he at lengthstood before a swollen heap of clay, round which a wooden railing wasplaced. Springing over the enclosure, and uttering a wild cry thatevinced the uncontrollable anguish of his breast, he flung himself uponthe mound. He remained for some time in the deepest affliction, and wasat last roused by. a hand laid upon his shoulder, and, raising himself,beheld Thirlby.

  "I thought it must be you," said the new comer, in accents of thedeepest commiseration. "I have been visiting yonder plague-pit for thesame melancholy purpose as yourself,--to mourn over my lost child. Ihave been in search of you, and have much to say to you. Will you meetme in this place at midnight tomorrow?" Leonard signified his assent.

  "I am in danger," pursued Thirlby, "for, by some means, the secret of myexistence has been made known, and the officers of justice are inpursuit of me. I suspect that Judith Malmayns is my betrayer. You willnot fail me?"

  "I will not," returned Leonard. Upon this, Thirlby hurried away, andleaping a hedge, disappeared from view.

  Leonard slowly and sorrowfully returned to Wood-street. On arrivingthere, he assured his master that he might with entire safety open hishouse, as he proposed, on the morrow; and Doctor Hodges, who visited thegrocer the same evening, confirmed the opinion. Early, therefore, thenext morning, Mr. Bloundel summoned his family to prayers; and afterpouring forth his supplications with peculiar fervour and solemnity, hewent, accompanied by them all, and threw open the street-door. Again,kneeling down at the threshold, he prayed fervently, as before. He thenproceeded to remove the bars and shutters from the windows. Thetransition from gloom and darkness to bright daylight was almostoverpowering. For the first time for six months, the imprisoned familylooked forth on the external world, and were dazzled and bewildered bythe sight. The grocer himself, despite his sober judgment, couldscarcely believe he had not been in a trance during the whole period.The shop was scarcely opened before it was filled with customers, andLeonard and Stephen were instantly employed. But the grocer would sellnothing. To those who asked for any article he possessed, he presentedthem with it, but would receive no payment.

  He next dispatched Blaize to bring together all the poor he could find,and distributed among them the remainder of his store--his casks offlour, his salted meat, his cheeses, his biscuits, his wine--in short,all that was left.

  "This I give," he said, "as a thanksgiving to the Lord, and as a humbletestimony of gratitude for my signal deliverance."

  II.

  THE MIDNIGHT MEETING.

  The first day of his deliverance being spent by the grocer in thepraiseworthy manner before related, he laid his head upon his pillowwith a feeling of satisfaction such as he had not for monthsexperienced. A very remarkable dream occurred to him that night, and itsrecollection afterwards afforded him the greatest consolation. Whilethinking of Amabel, and of the delight her presence would have affordedhim, slumber stole upon him, and his dreams were naturally influenced byhis previous meditations. It appeared to him that he was alone withinhis house, and while visiting one of the upper rooms, which had formerlybeen appropriated to his lost daughter, he noticed a small door in thewall that had never before attracted his attention. He immediatelypushed against it, and yielding to the touch, it admitted him to anapartment with which he seemed acquainted, though he could not recallthe time when he had seen it. It was large and gloomy, panelled withdark and lustrous oak, and filled with rich but decayed furniture. Atthe further end stood a large antique bed, hung round with tarnishedbrocade curtains. The grocer shuddered at the sight, for he rememberedto have heard Doctor Hodges assert, that in such a bed, and in such aroom as this, his daughter had breathed her last. Some one appeared tobe within the bed, and rushing forward with a throbbing heart, and aforeboding of what was to follow, he beheld the form of Amabel. Yes,there she was, with features like those she wore on earth, but clothedwith such celestial beauty, and bearing the impress of such serenehappiness, that the grocer felt awe-struck as he gazed at her!

  "Approach, my father," said the visionary form, in a voice so musicalthat it thrilled through his frame--"approach, and let what you now hearbe for ever graven upon your heart. Do not lament me more, but ratherrejoice that I am removed from trouble, and in the enjoyment of supremefelicity. Such a state you will yourself attain. You have run the goodrace, and will assuredly reap your reward. Comfort my dear mother, mybrothers, my little sister, with the assurance of what I tell you, andbid them dry their tears. I can now read the secrets of all hearts, andknow how true was Leonard Holt's love for me, and how deep and sincereis his present sorrow. But I am not permitted to appear to him as I nowappear to you. Often have I heard him invoke me in accents of thewildest despair, and have floated past him on the midnight breeze, butcould neither impart consolation to him nor make him sensible of mypresence, because his grief was sinful. Bid him be comforted. Bid himput a due control upon his feelings. Bid him open his hear
t anew, and heshall yet be happy, yet love again, and have his love requited.Farewell, dear father!"

  And with these words the curtains of the bed closed. The grocerstretched out his arm to draw them aside, and in the effort awoke. Heslept no more that night, but dwelt with unutterable delight on thewords he had heard. On rising, his first object was to seek out Leonard,and to relate his vision to him. The apprentice listened in speechlesswonder, and remained for some time lost in reflection.

  "From any other person than yourself, sir," he said, at length, "I mighthave doubted this singular story, but coming from you, I attach implicitcredence to it. I _will_ obey your sainted daughter's injunctions; I_will_ struggle against the grief that overwhelms me, and will try tohope that her words may be fulfilled."

  "You will do wisely," rejoined Mr. Bloundel. "After breakfast we willwalk together to the farmhouse you spoke of at Kensal Green, and if itsowner should prove willing to receive my family for a few weeks, I willremove them thither at once."

  Leonard applauded his master's resolution, expressing his firmconviction that Farmer Wingfield would readily accede to the proposal,and the rest of the family having by this time assembled, they sat downto breakfast. As soon as the meal was over, Mr. Bloundel intrusted thecare of the shop to Stephen and Blaize, and accompanied by Leonard, setforth. On the way to the west end of the town, the grocer met one or twoof his old friends, and they welcomed each other like men risen from thegrave. Their course took them through Saint Giles's, where the plaguehad raged with the greatest severity, and where many houses were stillwithout tenants.

  "If all had acted as I have done," sighed the grocer, as he gazed atthese desolate habitations, "how many lives, under God's providence,would have been saved!"

  "In my opinion, sir," replied Leonard, "you owe your preservation asmuch to your piety as to your prudence."

  "I have placed my trust on high," rejoined the grocer, "and have notbeen forsaken. And yet many evil doers have escaped; amongst others--"

  "I know whom you mean, sir," interrupted Leonard, with some fierceness,"but a day of retribution will arrive for him."

  "No more of this," rejoined the grocer, severely. "Remember the solemninjunction you have received."

  At this moment they observed a horseman, richly attired, and followed bya couple of attendants, riding rapidly towards them. Both instantlyrecognised him. The apprentice's cheek and brow flushed with anger, andMr. Bloundel had much ado to control his emotion. It was the Earl ofRochester, and on seeing them he instantly dismounted, and flinging hisbridle to one of the attendants, advanced towards them. Noticing thefury that gleamed in Leonard's eyes, and apprehending some violence onhis part, the grocer laid his hand, upon his arm, and sternly enjoinedhim to calm himself.

  By this time, the earl had reached them. "Mr. Bloundel," he said, in atone of much emotion, and with a look that seemed to bespeak contrition."I heard that you had opened your house yesterday, and was about to callupon you. I have a few words to say to you on a subject painful to bothof us, but doubly painful to me--your daughter."

  "I must decline to hear them, my lord," replied the grocer, coldly; "norshall you ever cross my threshold again with my consent. My poor childis now at peace. You can do her no further injury, and must settle yourown account with your Maker."

  "Do not refuse me your forgiveness," implored the earl. "I will makeevery reparation in my power."

  "You _can_ make none," replied the grocer, repelling him; "and as to myforgiveness, I neither refuse it nor accord it. I pray your lordship tolet me pass. The sole favour I ask of you is to come near me no more."

  "I obey you," replied the earl. "Stay," he added to Leonard, who stoodby, regarding him with a look of deadly animosity. "I would give you apiece of caution. Your life is in danger."

  "I can easily guess from whom," replied the apprentice, scornfully.

  "You mistake," rejoined Rochester; "you have nothing to apprehend fromme. You have promised to meet some one to-night," he added, in so low atone as to be inaudible to the grocer. "Do not go."

  "Your lordship's warning will not deter me," rejoined the apprentice.

  "As you will," rejoined Rochester, turning away. And springing upon hishorse, and striking his spurs into his side, he dashed off, whileLeonard and the grocer took the opposite direction. In less than half anhour they reached the little village of Paddington, then consisting of afew houses, but now one of the most populous and important parishes ofthe metropolis, and speedily gained the open country. Even at thisdreary season the country had charms, which Mr. Bloundel, after his longconfinement, could fully appreciate. His eye roamed over the wideprospect; and the leafless trees, the bare hedges, and the frost-boundfields seemed pleasant in his sight.

  He quickened his pace, and being wholly indifferent to the cold, greatlyenjoyed the exercise. Leonard pointed out to him the spots where thefugitives from the plague had pitched their tents, and also thepest-house near Westbourne Green, where he himself had been receivedduring his second attack of the distemper, and which was now altogetherabandoned.

  Soon after this, they mounted the hill beyond Kensal Green, andapproached the farmhouse. Leonard descried Wingfield near one of thebarns, and hailing him, he immediately came forward. On being informedof Mr. Bloundel's desire, he at once assented, and taking them into thehouse, mentioned the matter to his dame, who was quite of the sameopinion as himself.

  "The only difference between us," he said to Mr. Bloundel, "is as to thepayment you propose. Now I will take none--not a farthing. Come when youplease, bring whom you please, and stay as long as you please. But don'toffer me anything if you would not offend me. Recollect," he added, themoisture forcing itself into his eyes, and his strong clear voicebecoming husky with emotion, "that I loved your daughter for herresemblance to my poor child. She, too, is gone. I do this for hersake."

  Mr. Bloundel shook the worthy man warmly by the hand, but he made nofurther objection, resolved in his own mind to find some other means ofrequiting his hospitality. It was then agreed that the grocer shouldbring his family on the following day, and remain there for a month; andevery other arrangement being made, and a hearty meal partaken of, hecordially thanked his host, and returned with Leonard to Wood-street.

  In spite of his efforts to resist the impression produced by the earl'swarning, Leonard could not banish it from his mind; and though he didnot for a moment think of abandoning his purpose, he resolved to attendthe meeting armed. He told Mr. Bloundel he should go out that night, butdid not state his object, and the grocer did not inquire it. Blaize satup with him, and displayed much anxiety to know whither he was going,but, as may be supposed, his curiosity was not gratified. As the clockstruck eleven, Leonard thrust a sword into his girdle, and arminghimself furthermore with his staff, proceeded towards the door, and badeBlaize lock it after him.

  "I shall probably be back in a couple of hours," he said, as he wentforth. "You must sit up for me."

  "I wonder where he is going!" thought Blaize, "From his gloomy looks,and the weapon he has taken with him, I should judge he is about tomurder some one--perhaps the Earl of Rochester. It must be prevented."

  With this view, though perhaps rather more influenced by curiosity thanany better feeling, the porter waited a few seconds to allow theapprentice to get out of sight, and then locking the door outside, putthe key in his pocket, and followed him. The night was profoundly dark,but he had noticed the direction taken by Leonard, and runningnoiselessly along the street, soon perceived him a little in advance.Regulating his pace by that of the apprentice, and keeping about fiftyyards behind him, he tracked his course along several streets, until hesaw him pass through the second postern in the city wall, near Moorgate.

  Here he debated with himself whether to proceed further or turn back;but at length, curiosity got the best of his fears, and he went on. Afew steps brought him into the open fields, and fancying he saw Leonardat a little distance before him, he hurried on in that direction. But hesoon found he
had been deceived by the stump of a tree, and began tofear he must have taken the wrong course. He looked around in vain forsome object to guide him. The darkness was so profound that he could seenothing, and he set off again at random, and not without muchself-reproach and misgiving. At last, he reached a hedge, and continuedto skirt it, until he perceived through the bushes the light of alantern in the adjoining field. He immediately called out, but at thecry the light disappeared. This did not prevent him from making towardsthe spot where he had seen it; but he had not proceeded far when he wasforcibly seized by some unseen person, thrown on the ground, and a drawnsword--for he felt the point--placed at his throat.

  "Utter a cry, and it is your last," cried a stern voice. "Where is he?"

  "Who--who?" demanded Blaize, half dead with terror.

  "He whom you appointed to meet," replied the unknown.

  "I appointed to meet no one," rejoined Blaize.

  "Liar!" exclaimed the other; "if you do not instantly lead me to him, Iwill cut your throat."

  "I will lead you wherever you please, if you will only let me get up,"rejoined Blaize, with difficulty repressing a cry.

  "By the daughters of Nox and Acheron!" exclaimed a voice which soundedlike music in the porter's ears, "I think you are mistaken in your man,my lord. It does not sound like the apprentice's voice."

  "It is _not_ the apprentice's voice, good Major Pillichody," rejoinedthe porter. "It is mine, your friend--Blaize's."

  "Blaize!" exclaimed Pillichody, unmasking a dark lantern, and revealingthe terror-stricken countenance of the porter; "so it is. In the devil'sname, what are you doing here?"

  "The devil himself, who put it into my head to come, only knows,"replied Blaize; "but I followed Leonard Holt."

  "Which way did he take?" asked the person who had assailed him.

  "I cannot exactly say," replied Blaize, "but he seemed to go straightinto the fields."

  "He is no doubt gone to the plague-pit," replied the other. "You are nowat liberty," he added to Blaize, "and I counsel you to make the best ofyour way home. Say nothing to your master of what has occurred. The citywalls lie in that direction."

  Overjoyed to be released, Blaize ran off as fast as his legs could carryhim, and never stopped till he reached Moorgate. Meanwhile, Leonard hadreached the place of meeting. As he stood by the rail surrounding theplague-pit, he thought of Mr. Bloundel's singular dream, and almosthoping to be similarly favoured, flung himself on his knees, andbesought Amabel, if it were possible, to appear to him. But hisentreaties produced no result. The chill blast whistled past him, and,mindful of what had been told him, he was fain to interpret this into ananswer to his request. The night was bitterly cold, and Leonard, whoselimbs were almost stiffened by long kneeling, walked round and round theenclosure at a quick pace to put his blood into circulation. As the hourof midnight was tolled forth by the neighbouring churches, he heardfootsteps, and could just detect a figure advancing towards him.

  "Are you there?" was asked in the voice of Thirlby. Leonard replied inthe affirmative, and the other instantly joined him.

  "Have you mentioned our meeting to any one?" inquired Leonard. "I ask,because I was warned by the Earl of Rochester not to attend it."

  "Strange!" exclaimed Thirlby, musingly. "However, do not let us wastetime. I am about to leave London, perhaps this country--for ever. But Icould not depart without an interview with you. You are aware of mystrong attachment to my poor lost child. My daughter Isabella nowsupplies her place in my heart. She is the only being I love on earth,for my son has alienated himself from my affections. All I desire is tosee her happy. This, I find, can only be accomplished in one way."

  Here he paused for a moment, but as Leonard made no remark, heproceeded. "Why should I hesitate to declare it," he said, "since it wasfor that object I brought you hither? She loves you--devotedly lovesyou--and if her wishes were opposed, I should tremble for theconsequences. Now listen to me. Situated as you are, you never can wedher. I will, however, point out a means by which you can raise yourselfto distinction in a short time, and so entitle yourself to claim herhand. I will supply you with money--more than you can require--willplace you at court--near the king's person--and if you act under mydirection, your rise is certain. I have extorted a promise to thiseffect from my own son. I told him my object, and that if he did notmake your fortune, I could ruin him by revealing myself. I may, perhaps,pay the penalty of my crime on the scaffold; but I may also escape. Inthe latter case, my reappearance would be fatal to him. He has consentedto cooperate with me, to watch over your fortunes, and, as soon as youhave attained sufficient eminence, to bestow his sister upon you. Now doyou understand?"

  "I do," replied Leonard; "and I understand also against whom the Earl ofRochester warned me."

  "And you consent," demanded Thirlby.

  Leonard, was about to answer, when he felt a light and trembling handplaced upon his own. "Do not answer inconsiderately, Leonard," said alow, sweet voice, which he recognised as that of the Lady Isabella; "Iam here to receive your determination."

  "I am glad of it," replied the apprentice. "The deep devotion you havedisplayed towards me deserves to be requited. I will strive to rendermyself worthy of you, and I feel that by so doing I shall best fulfilthe injunctions of her who lies beside us. Henceforth, Lady Isabella, Iwholly devote myself to you."

  A murmur of delight escaped her. "My blessings on you both!" exclaimedher father. "Give me your hand, Isabella," he added, taking it andplacing it in that of the apprentice. "Here, beside the grave of herwhom you both loved, I affiance you. Pursue the course I point out toyou, Leonard, and she will soon be yours."

  As he spoke, the light of a lantern was suddenly thrown upon them,disclosing two persons who had noiselessly approached. They were LordArgentine and Pillichody. "You affirm more than you have warrant for, mylord," said the former. "I will never consent to this ill-assorted anddishonourable union; and, so far from permitting it, will oppose it tothe utmost of my power. If this presumptuous apprentice dares to raisehis views towards my sister, let him look to himself. Your safety liesin instant flight. The officers are in search of you."

  "They shall find me," replied Thirlby, sternly.

  "As you please," rejoined Argentine. "Come with me, Isabella," he addedto his sister. But she flew with a cry towards Leonard.

  "Ah!" exclaimed her brother, drawing his sword. "Do you dare to detain,her? Deliver her to me, villain, instantly!"

  "Not when thus menaced, my lord," rejoined Leonard, likewise drawing hissword, and standing upon the defensive.

  "Then look to yourself," replied Argentine, assaulting him.

  Isabella uttered a wild shriek, and Thirlby tried to rush between them.But before they could be separated, Lord Argentine's fury had exposedhim to his adversary, whose sword passed through his body. He fell tothe ground, weltering in his blood. While Leonard stood stupefied andconfounded at what had occurred, and Isabella, uttering a loud cry,threw herself upon the body and tried to stanch the wound--two men, withhalberds in their hands rushed forward, and seizing Thirlby, cried, "Wearrest you as a murderer!"

  Thirlby, who seemed utterly overcome by surprise and horror, offered noresistance. At this juncture Leonard felt his arm seized by abystander--he did not know whom--and scarcely conscious of what wastaking place, suffered himself to be dragged from the scene.

  BOOK THE SIXTH.

  SEPTEMBER, 1666.

  I.

  THE FIRE-HALL.

  About nine o'clock on the night of Saturday, the second of September,1666--and rather more than nine months after the incidents lastrelated,--three men took their way from Smithfield to Islington. Theyproceeded at a swift pace and in silence, until, having mounted thesteep hill on which the suburb in question is situated, they halted at ashort distance from the high walls surrounding the great water-worksformed by the New-River-head. The night was dark, but free from cloud,in consequence of a strong easterly wind which prevailed at the time.

  "
It is dark in London now," observed one of the three persons to hiscompanions as he cast his eye in the direction of the great city, thatlay buried in gloom beneath them; "but there will be light enough soon."

  "A second dawn, and brighter than the first, shall arise upon it,"replied one of his companions, a tall, gaunt man, whose sole coveringwas a sheepskin, girded round his loins. "Such a flame shall be kindledwithin it, as hath not been seen since showers of brimstone and firedescended upon the sinful cities of the plain. 'The Lord shall come withflames of fire,'" he added, pointing his long staff towards the city."'He shall make them like a fiery oven, in the time of his wrath. Theyshall be utterly consumed.'"

  "Amen!" exclaimed the third person, who stood near him, in a deep voice,and with something of a foreign accent.

  "Not so loud, friends," rejoined the first speaker. "Let us set aboutthe task. I will ascertain that no one is on the watch."

  With this he moved towards the water-works, and skirting the circularwalls, to satisfy himself that all was secure, he returned to hiscompanions, and they proceeded to the principal entrance to the place.Noiselessly unlocking the gates, the leader of the party admitted theothers into an open space of some extent, in the midst of which was alarge reservoir of water. He then gave each of them a small key, andbidding them use despatch, they began to turn the cocks of the leadenpipes connected with the reservoir, while he hastened to the further endof the inclosure, and employed himself in a similar manner. In this way,and in less than a quarter of an hour, the whole of the cocks werestopped.

  "And now give me the keys," said the leader.

  Taking them as they were offered, he added his own to the number, andflung them as far as he could into the reservoir, laughing slightly asthe noise of the splash occasioned by their fall into the water reachedthe ears.

  "They will not be found till this pool is drained," he observed to hiscompanions. "And now let us go. Our business here is done."

  "Stay yet a moment," cried Solomon Eagle, who was standing at the brinkof the reservoir, with his eyes fixed upon it. "Stay!" he cried,arresting him. "A vision rises before me. I see in this watery mirror arepresentation of the burning city. And what are those fearful formsthat feed the flames? Fiends, in our likeness--fiends! And see how wideand far the conflagration spreads. The whole city is swallowed up by anearthquake. It sinks to the bottomless pit--down--down!"

  "No more of this," cried the leader, impatiently. "Come along." And,followed by the others, he rushed to the gates, and locking them afterhim, flung the key away.

  "A hundred pounds were paid to the servant of the chief officer of theworks to bring those keys to me," he said, "and he executed hiscommission faithfully and well. Water will be vainly sought for toquench the conflagration."

  "I like not the vision I have just beheld," said Solomon Eagle, in atroubled tone. "It seems to portend mischief."

  "Think of it no more," rejoined the leader, "or regard it as it was--aphantom created by your overheated imagination. Yon city has sinned sodeeply, that it is the will of Heaven it should be destroyed; and it hasbeen put into our hearts by the Supreme Power to undertake the terribletask. We are the chosen instruments of the divine displeasure.Everything favours the design--the long-continued dry weather--thestrong easterly wind, which will bear the flames into the heart of thecity--the want of water, occasioned by the stopping of these pipes, theemptying of the various aqueducts, and the destruction of the Thameswater-tower, which we have accomplished. Everything favours it, I say,and proves that the hand of Heaven directs us. Yes, London shall fall!We have received our commission from on high, and must execute it,regardless of the consequences. For my own part, I feel as littlecompunction to the task, as the thunderbolt launched from on high doesfor the tree it shivers."

  "Philip Grant has uttered my sentiments exactly," said the man who, ithas been mentioned, spoke with a slight foreign accent. "I have neithermisgiving nor compunction. You appear to have forgotten your owndenunciations, brother."

  "Not so, Brother Hubert," rejoined the enthusiast, "and I now recognisein the vision a delusion of the Evil One to turn me from my holypurpose. But it has failed. The impious and impenitent city is doomed,and nothing can save it. And yet I would fain see it once more as Ibeheld it this morn when day arose upon it for the last time, from thesummit of Saint Paul's. It looked so beautiful that my heart smote me,and tears started to my eyes, to think that those goodly habitations,those towers, temples, halls, and palaces, should so soon be levelledwith the dust."

  "Hear what the prophet saith," rejoined Hubert. "'Thou hast defiled thysanctuaries by the multitude of thine iniquities, by the iniquity of thytraffic. Therefore will I bring forth a fire from the midst of thee, andwill bring thee to ashes upon the earth, in the sight of all those thatbehold thee.'"

  Solomon Eagle flung himself upon his knees, and his example was imitatedby the others. Having recited a prayer in a low deep tone, he arose, andstretching out his arms, solemnly denounced the city. As he pronouncedthe words, a red and fiery star shot from the dark vault of the sky, andseemed to fall in the midst of the city.

  "Did you not see that sign?" cried Grant, eagerly. "It heralds us to ourtask."

  So saying, he ran swiftly down the hill, and, followed by the others,did not slacken his pace till they reached the city. They then shapedtheir course more slowly towards Saint Paul's, and having gained theprecincts of the cathedral, Solomon Eagle, who now assumed the place ofleader, conducted them to a small door on the left of the great northernentrance, and unlocking it, ushered them into a narrow passage behindthe rich carved work of the choir. Traversing it, they crossed the midaisle, and soon reached the steps leading to Saint Faith's. It wasprofoundly dark, but they were all well acquainted with the road, anddid not miss their footing. It required, however, some caution to threadthe ranks of the mighty pillars filling the subterranean church. But atlast this was accomplished, and they entered the vault beyond thecharnel, where they found Chowles and Judith Malmayns. The former waswrapped in a long black cloak, and was pacing to and fro within thenarrow chamber. When Solomon Eagle appeared, he sprang towards him, andregarding him inquiringly, cried, "Have you done it?--have you done it?"

  The enthusiast replied in the affirmative. "Heaven be praised!"exclaimed Chowles. And he skipped about with the wildest expressions ofdelight. A gleam of satisfaction, too, darted from Judith's savage eyes.She had neither risen nor altered her position on the arrival of theparty, but she now got up, and addressed the enthusiast. A small ironlamp, suspended by a chain from the vaulted roof, lighted the chamber.The most noticeable figure amidst the group was that of Solomon Eagle,who, with his blazing eyes, long jet-black locks, giant frame, and tawnyskin, looked like a supernatural being. Near him stood the persondesignated as Robert Hubert. He was a young man, and appeared to havelived a life of great austerity. His features were thin; his large blackeyes set in deep caverns; his limbs seemed almost destitute of flesh;and his looks wild and uncertain, like those of an insane person. Histattered and threadbare garb resembled that of a French ecclesiastic.The third person, who went by the name of Philip Grant, had a powerfulframe, though somewhat bent, and a haughty deportment and look, greatlyat variance with his miserable attire and haggard looks. His beard waslong and grizzled, and his features, though sharpened by care, retainedsome traces of a noble expression. A few minutes having passed inconversation, Grant observed to the enthusiast, "I must now leave youfor a short time. Give me the key that I may let myself out."

  "You are not going to betray us?" cried Chowles, suspiciously.

  "Why should I betray you?" rejoined Grant, sternly. "I am too anxiousfor the event to disclose it."

  "True, true," replied Chowles.

  "_I_ do not mistrust you, brother," observed Solomon Eagle, giving himthe key.

  "I know whither you are going," observed Judith Malmayns. "You are aboutto warn Mr. Bloundel and his partner--apprentice no longer--LeonardHolt, of the approaching conflagration. But your care
will be thrownaway."

  "Does she speak the truth, brother?" demanded Hubert, raising his eyesfrom the Bible which he was reading in the corner of the vault.

  "I will do nothing to endanger the design," rejoined Grant; "of thatrest assured."

  With this, he strode forth, traversed Saint Faith's, and,notwithstanding the gloom, reached, without difficulty, the little doorby which he had entered the cathedral. Issuing from it, he took the way,as Judith had surmised, to Wood-street, and pausing before the grocer'sdoor, knocked against it. The summons was presently answered by Blaize;and to Grant's inquiries whether his master was within, he replied,"Which of my masters did you mean? I have two."

  "The younger," replied Grant, "Leonard Holt."

  "So far you are fortunate," rejoined Blaize. "Mr. Bloundel has retiredto rest, but Mr. Holt is still downstairs. Pray what may be yourbusiness with him at this hour? It should be important."

  "It is important," rejoined Grant, "and does not admit of a moment'sdelay. Tell him so."

  Eyeing the stranger with a look of suspicion, the porter was about toenter into a parley with him, when Leonard himself cut it short, andlearning the nature of the application, desired Grant to follow him intothe adjoining room. The nine months which had passed over Leonard's headsince he was last brought under notice, had wrought a material change inhis appearance. He had a grave and thoughtful air, somewhat inclining tomelancholy, but in other respects he was greatly improved. His healthwas completely restored, and the thoughtful expression added characterto his handsome physiognomy, and harmonised well with his manly anddetermined bearing. He was habited plainly, but with some degree oftaste. As Judith Malmayns had intimated, he was now Mr. Bloundel'spartner, and his whole appearance denoted his improved circumstances.The alteration did not escape the notice of the stranger, who regardedhim with much curiosity, and closed the door behind him as he enteredthe room.

  "You are looking much better than when we last met, Leonard Holt," hesaid, in tones that made his hearer start, "and I am glad to perceiveit. Prosperity seems to attend your path, and you deserve it; whereasmisery and every other ill--and I deserve them--dog mine."

  "I did not recognise you at first, Mr. Thirlby," replied Leonard; "for,in truth, you are much changed. But you desire to speak with me on amatter of importance. Can I aid you? You may need money. Here is mypurse."

  "I do not want it," replied the other, scornfully rejecting the offer."I have a proposal to make to you."

  "I shall be glad to hear it," replied Leonard. "But first tell me howyou effected your escape after your arrest on that disastrous nightwhen, in self-defence, and unintentionally, I wounded your son, LordArgentine?"

  "Would you had killed him!" cried the other, fiercely. "I have lost allfeelings of a father for him. He it was who contrived my arrest, and hewould have gladly seen me borne to the scaffold, certain it would havefreed him from me for ever. I was hurried away by the officers from thescene of strife, and conveyed to the Tun at Cornhill, which you know hasbeen converted into a round-house, and where I was locked up for thenight. But while I was lying on the floor of my prison, driven well-nighfrantic by what had occurred, there were two persons without labouringto effect my deliverance--nor did they labour in vain. These wereChowles and Judith, my foster-sister, and whom, you may remember, Isuspected--and most unfairly--of intending my betrayal. By means of aheavy bribe, they prevailed on one of the officers to connive at myescape. An iron bar was removed from the window of my prison, and I gotthrough the aperture. Judith concealed me for some days in the vaults ofSaint Faith's, after which I fled into the country, where I wanderedabout for several months, under the name of Philip Grant. Having learntthat my son though severely hurt by you, had recovered from his wound,and that his sister, the Lady Isabella, had accompanied him to his seatin Staffordshire, I proceeded thither, and saw her, unknown to him. Ifound her heart still true to you. She told me you had disappearedimmediately after the termination of the conflict, and had not beenheard of till her brother was out of danger, when you returned toWood-street."

  "The information was correct," replied Leonard. "I was dragged away by aperson whom I did not recognise at the time, but who proved to be theEarl of Rochester. He conducted me to a place of safety, thrust a purseinto my hand, and left me. As soon as I could do so with safety, Ireturned to my master's house. But how long have you been in London?"

  "Nearly a month," replied Grant. "And now let me ask you one question.Do you ever think of Isabella?"

  "Often, very often," replied Leonard. "But as I dare not indulge thehope of a union with her, I have striven to banish her image from mymind."

  "She cannot forget _you_, Leonard," rejoined Grant. "And now to myproposal. I have another plan for your aggrandisement that cannot fail.I am in possession of a monstrous design, the revelation of which willprocure you whatever you desire. Ask a title from the king, and he willgive it; and when in possession of that title, demand the hand of theLady Isabella, and her proud brother will not refuse you. Call in yourporter--seize me. I will offer a feigned resistance. Convey me beforethe king. Make your own terms with him. He will accede to them. Will youdo it?"

  "No," replied Leonard, "I will not purchase the daughter at the price ofthe father's life."

  "Heed me not," replied Grant, supplicatingly, "I am wholly indifferentto life. And what matters it whether I am dragged to the scaffold forone crime or another?"

  "You plead in vain," returned Leonard, firmly.

  "Reflect," cried Grant, in an agonised tone. "A word from you will notonly win you Isabella, but save the city from destruction."

  "Save the city!" exclaimed Leonard. "What mean you?"

  "Swear to comply with my request, and you shall know. But nototherwise," replied Grant.

  "I cannot--I cannot," rejoined Leonard; "and unfortunately you have saidtoo much for your own safety. I must, though most reluctantly, detainyou."

  "Hear me, Leonard, and consider well what you do," cried Grant, plantinghimself before the door. "I love you next to my daughter, and chieflybecause she loves you. I have told you I have a design to discover, towhich I am a party--a hellish, horrible design--which threatens thiswhole city with destruction. It is your duty, having told you thus much,to arrest me, and I will offer no resistance. Will you not turn this toyour advantage? Will you not make a bargain with the king?"

  "I have said I will not," rejoined Leonard.

  "Then be warned by me," rejoined Grant. "Arouse your partner. Pack upall your goods and make preparations for instant flight, for the dangerwill invade you before you are aware of it."

  "Is it fire?" demanded Leonard, upon whose mind the denunciations ofSolomon Eagle now rushed.

  "You will see," replied Grant, with a terrible laugh. "You will repentyour determination when it is too late. Farewell."

  "Hold!" cried Leonard, advancing towards him, and trying to lay handsupon him, "I arrest you in the king's name."

  "Off!" exclaimed Grant, dashing him forcibly backwards. And strikingdown Blaize, who tried to stop him in the passage, he threw open thestreet-door, and disappeared. Fearful of pursuit, Grant took acircuitous route to Saint Paul's, and it was full half an hour after theinterview above related before he reached the cathedral. Just as hepassed through the small door, the clock tolled forth the hour ofmidnight, and when he gained the mid aisle, he heard footstepsapproaching, and encountered his friends.

  "We had given you up," said Chowles, "and fearing you intended us sometreachery, were about to do the job without you."

  "I have been unavoidably detained," replied Grant. "Let us about it atonce."

  "I have got the fire-balls with me," observed Hubert.

  "It is well," returned Grant.

  Quitting the cathedral, they proceeded to Thames-street, and tracking itto Fish-street-hill, struck off on the right into an alley that broughtthem to Pudding-lane.

  "This is the house," said Chowles, halting before a two-storied woodenhabitation, over the door of whic
h was suspended the sign of the "WheatSheaf, with the name THOMAS FARRYNER, BAKER, inscribed beneath it.

  "And here," said Hubert, "shall begin the great fire of London."

  As he said this, he gave a fire-ball to Solomon Eagle, who lighted thefuze at Chowles's lantern. The enthusiast then approached a window ofthe baker's shop, and breaking a small pane of glass within it, threwthe fire-ball into the room. It alighted upon a heap of chips and fagotslying near a large stack of wood used for the oven, and in a few minutesthe whole pile had caught and burst into a flame, which, quicklymounting to the ceiling, set fire to the old, dry, half-decayed timberthat composed it.

  II.

  THE FIRST NIGHT OF THE FIRE.

  Having seen the stack of wood kindled, and the flames attack thebuilding in such a manner as to leave no doubt they would destroy it,the incendiaries separated, previously agreeing to meet together in halfan hour at the foot of London Bridge; and while the others started offin different directions, Chowles and Judith retreated to a neighbouringalley commanding a view of the burning habitation.

  "At last the great design is executed," observed Chowles, rubbing hishands gleefully. "The fire burns right merrily, and will not soon beextinguished. Who would have thought we should have found such famousassistants as the two madmen, Solomon Eagle and Robert Hubert--and yourscarcely less mad foster-brother, Philip Grant? I can understand themotives that influenced the two first to the deed, but not those of theother."

  "Nor I," replied Judith, "unless he wishes in some way or other tobenefit Leonard Holt by it. For my part, I shall enjoy this fire quiteas much on its own account as for the plunder it will bring us. I shouldlike to see every house in this great city destroyed."

  "You are in a fair way of obtaining your wish," replied Chowles; "butprovided I have the sacking of them, I don't care how many are saved.Not but that such a fire will be a grand sight, which I should be sorryto miss. You forget, too, that if Saint Paul's should be burnt down, weshall lose our hoards. However, there's no chance of that."

  "Not much," replied Judith, interrupting him. "But see! the baker has atlast discovered that his dwelling is on fire. He bursts open the window,and, as I live, is about to throw himself out of it."

  As she spoke, one of the upper windows in the burning habitation wasburst open, and a poor terrified wretch appeared at it in hisnight-dress, vociferating in tones of the wildest alarm, "Fire!fire!--help! help!"

  "Shall we go forward?" said Chowles. Judith hesitated for a moment, andthen assenting, they hurried towards the spot.

  "Can we give you any help, friend?" cried Chowles.

  "Take care of this," rejoined the baker, flinging a bag of money to theground, "and I will endeavour to let down my wife and children. Thestaircase is on fire, and we are almost stifled with smoke. God helpus!" And the exclamation was followed by fearful shrieks from within,followed by the appearance of a woman, holding two little children inher arms, at the window.

  "This must be money," said Judith, utterly heedless of the fearful sceneoccurring above, and taking up the bag and chinking it; "silver, by thesound. Shall we make off with it?"

  "No, no," replied Chowles, "we must not run any risk for such a paltrybooty. Let us bide our time."

  At this juncture, the baker, who had disappeared for a few seconds fromthe window, again presented himself at it, and, with some difficulty,forced a feather bed through it, which was instantly placed by Chowlesin such a position beneath, as to break the fall of the descendingparties. Tying a couple of sheets together, and fastening one end roundhis wife's waist, the baker lowered her and the children to the ground.They alighted in safety; but just as he was about to follow theirexample, the floor of the room gave way, and though he succeeded inspringing through the window, he missed the feather bed, and broke hisleg in the fall. He was picked up by Chowles and Judith, and placed uponthe bed in a state of insensibility, and was soon afterwards conveyedwith his family to the house of a neighbour.

  Meanwhile, the fire had spread to the houses on either side of theunfortunate man's habitation, and both of them being built entirely ofwood, they were almost instantly in flames. The alarm too had becomegeneral; the inhabitants of the adjoining houses were filled withindescribable terror, and the narrow street was speedily crowded withpersons of both sexes, who had rushed from their beds to ascertain theextent of the danger. All was terror and confusion. The fire-bells ofSaint Margaret's, Saint George's, and Saint Andrew's, in Botolph-lane,began to toll, and shouts were heard on every side, proving that thewhole neighbourhood was roused.

  To add to the general distress, a report was raised that a house inFish-street-hill was on fire, and it was soon found to be true, as animmense volume of flames burst forth in that quarter. While the rest ofthe spectators, distracted by this calamity, and hardly knowing what todo, hurried in the direction of the new fire, Chowles and Judith eyedeach other askance, and the former whispered to his companion, "This isanother piece of Hubert's handiwork."

  The two wretches now thought it time to bestir themselves. So muchconfusion prevailed, that they were wholly unobserved, and under theplea of rendering assistance, they entered houses and carried offwhatever excited their cupidity, or was sufficiently portable. Nowealthy house had been attacked as yet, and therefore their spoil wasbut trifling. The poor baker seemed to be the bearer of ill-luck, for hehad not been many minutes in his new asylum before it likewise caughtfire. Another house, too, in Fish-street-hill, and lower down than thefirst, was observed to be burning, and as this was out of the current ofthe wind, and consequently could not have been occasioned by the showersof sparks that marked its course, a cry was instantly raised thatincendiaries were abroad, and several suspicious-looking persons wereseized in consequence.

  Meantime no efforts had been made to stop the progress of the originalconflagration in Pudding-lane, which continued to rage with the greatestfury, spreading from house to house with astonishing rapidity. All thebuildings in this neighbourhood being old, and of wood, which was as dryas tinder, a spark alighting upon them would have sufficed to set themon fire. It may be conceived, therefore, what must have been the effectof a vast volume of flame, fanned by a powerful wind. House after housecaught, as if constructed of touchwood, and the fire roared and raged tosuch a degree, that those who stood by were too much terrified to renderany effectual assistance. Indeed, the sole thought that now seemed toinfluence all was the preservation of a portion of their property. Noone regarded his neighbour, or the safety of the city. The narrow streetwas instantly filled with goods and furniture of all kinds, thrown outof the windows or pushed out of the doors; but such was the fiercenessof the fire, and the extraordinary rapidity with which it advanced, thatthe very articles attempted to be saved were seized by it, and thusformed a means of conveying it to the opposite houses.

  In this way a number of persons were inclosed for a short time betweentwo fires, and seemed in imminent danger of being burned to death. Theperilous nature of their situation was, moreover, increased by a suddenand violent gust of wind, which, blowing the flames right across thestreet, seemed to envelop all within them. The shrieks that burst fromthe poor creatures thus involved were most appalling. Fortunately, theysustained no greater damage than was occasioned by the fright and aslight scorching, for the next moment the wind shifted, and, sweepingback the flames, they were enabled to effect their retreat. Chowles andJudith were among the sufferers, and in the alarm of the moment lost allthe booty they had obtained.

  Soon after this the whole street was on fire. All idea of preservingtheir property was therefore abandoned by the inhabitants, and theythought only of saving themselves. Hundreds of half-naked persons ofboth sexes rushed towards Thames-street in search of a place of refuge.The scene was wholly without parallel for terror. Many fires hadoccurred in London, but none that raged with such fierceness as thepresent conflagration, or promised to be so generally destructive. Itgathered strength and fury each moment, now rising high into the air ina towering she
et of flame, now shooting forward like an enormous dragonvomiting streams of fire upon its foes. All at once the flames changedcolour, and were partially obscured by a thick black smoke. A largewarehouse filled with resin, tar, and other combustible matters, hadcaught fire, and the dense vapour proceeded from the burning pitch. Butit cleared off in a few minutes, and the flames burnt more brightly andfiercely than ever.

  Up to this time, none of the civic authorities having arrived, severalpersons set off to give information of the calamity to the lord mayor(Sir Thomas Bludworth), and the other magistrates. A small party of thewatch were on the spot, but they were unable to render any effectualassistance. As the conflagration advanced, those occupying houses in itstrack quitted them, and left their goods a prey to the numerousplunderers, who were now gathered together pursuing their vocation likeunhallowed beings amid the raging element. The whole presented a sceneof the wildest alarm, confusion, and license. Vociferations, oaths,shrieks, and outcries of every description stunned the ear. Night wasturned into day. The awful roaring of the flames was ever and anonbroken by the thundering fall of some heavy roof. Flakes of fire werescattered far and wide by the driving wind, carrying destructionwherever they alighted, and spreading the conflagration on all sides,till it seemed like a vast wedge of fire driven into the heart of thecity. And thus it went on, swallowing up all before it, like aninsatiate monster, and roaring for very joy.

  Meanwhile, the incendiaries had met, as concerted, near the foot of thebridge, and all except Philip Grant seemed to rejoice in the progress ofthe conflagration. Chowles made some comment upon his moody looks andsilence, and whispered in his ear, "You have now an opportunity ofretrieving your fortune, and may make yourself richer than your son.Take my advice, and do not let it pass."

  "Away, tempter!" cried Grant--"I have lighted a fire within my breastwhich never will be quenched."

  "Poh, poh!" rejoined Judith; "do not turn faint-hearted now."

  "The fire rages fiercely," cried Solomon Eagle, gazing at the vast sheetof flame overtopping the buildings near them, "but we must keep italive. Take the remainder of the fire-balls, Hubert, and cast them intosome of the old houses in Crooked-lane."

  Hubert prepared to obey. "I will go with you, and point out the bestspots," said Chowles. "Our next place of rendezvous must be the vaultsbeneath Saint Faith's."

  "Agreed!" exclaimed the others. And they again separated, Hubert andChowles to kindle fresh fires, and Grant to watch the conflagration at adistance. As to Solomon Eagle, he rushed towards the scene ofdestruction, and forcing himself into the midst of the crowd, mounted apost, crying in a loud voice:

  "I told you a second judgment would come upon you on account of youriniquities, and you now find that I avouched the truth. The Lord himselfhath come to preach to you, as he did in the fiery mount of Sinai, and aterrible exhortation it shall be, and one ye shall not easily forget.This fire shall not be quenched till the whole city is laid prostrate.Ye doubted my words when I told you of the plague; ye laughed at me andscoffed me; but ye became believers in the end, and now conviction isforced upon you a second time. You will vainly attempt to save yourdwellings. It is the Lord's will they should be destroyed, and man'sefforts to avert the judgment will be ineffectual!"

  While the majority listened to him with fear and trembling, and regardedhim as a prophet, a few took the opposite view of the question, andcoupling his appearance with the sudden outbreak of the fire, weredisposed to regard him as an incendiary. They therefore cried out--"Hehas set fire to our houses. Down with him! down with him!"

  Other voices joined in the outcry, and an attempt was made to carry themenace into effect; but a strong party rallied round the enthusiast, whoderided the attempts of his opponents. Planting himself on the steps ofSaint Margaret's Church, he continued to pour forth exhortations to thecrowd, until he was driven into the interior of the pile by thefast-approaching flames. The whole body of the church was filled withpoor wretches who had sought refuge within it, having brought with themsuch of their goods as they were able to carry off. But it soon becameevident that the sacred structure would be destroyed, and their screamsand cries on quitting it were truly heartrending. Solomon Eagle was thelast to go forth, and he delayed his departure till the flames burstthrough the windows. Another great storehouse of oil, tar, cordage,hemp, flax, and other highly inflammable articles, adjoining the church,had caught fire, and the flames speedily reached the sacred fabric. Theglass within the windows was shivered; the stone bars split asunder; andthe seats and other woodwork withinside catching fire, the flamesascended to the roof, and kindled its massive rafters.

  Great efforts were now made to check the fire. A few of the cumbrous andunmanageable engines of the day were brought to the spot, but no watercould be obtained. All the aqueducts, pipes, and sluices were dry, andthe Thames water-tower was found to be out of order, and the pipesconnected with it empty. To add to the calamity, the tide was out, andit was not only difficult, but dangerous, to obtain water from theriver. The scanty supply served rather to increase than check theflames. All sorts of rumours prevailed among the crowd. It could nolonger be doubted that the fire, which kept continually breaking out infresh places, was the work of incendiaries, and it was now supposed thatit must have been caused by the French or the Dutch, with both of whichnations the country was then at war, and the most fearful anticipationsthat it was only the prelude of a sudden invasion were entertained. Someconjectured it might be the work of the Papists; and it chancing that aprofessor of that religion was discovered among the mob, he was withdifficulty rescued from their fury by the watch, and conveyed toNewgate. Other persons, who were likewise suspected of beingincendiaries, were conveyed with him.

  This, though it satisfied the multitude, did not check the progress ofthe fire, nor put a stop to the terror and tumult that prevailed. Everymoment a fresh family were turned into the street, and by their criesadded to the confusion. The plunderers had formed themselves into bands,pillaging everything they could lay hands on--carrying off boxes, goods,and coffers, breaking into cellars, broaching casks of spirits and ale,and emptying flasks of wine. Hundreds of persons who did not join in thepillage made free with the contents of the cellars, and a large portionof the concourse was soon in a state of intoxication.

  Thus, wild laughter and exclamations of frenzied mirth were heard amidthe wailings of women and the piteous cries of children. It was indeeddreadful to see the old and bed-ridden forced into the street to seek ahome where they could; nor yet less dreadful to behold others rousedfrom a bed of sickness at dead of night, and by such a fearful summons.Still, fanned by the wind, and fed by a thousand combustible matters,the fire pressed fearfully on, devouring all before it, and increasingin fury and power each instant; while the drunken mob laughed, roared,shouted, and rejoiced beside it, as if in emulation of the ragingflames.

  To proceed for a moment to Wood Street. When Philip Grant quittedLeonard in the manner before related, the latter followed him to thedoor, and saw him disappear in the gloom. But he did not attemptpursuit, because he could not persuade himself that any danger wasreally to be apprehended. He thought it, however, advisable to consultwith Mr. Bloundel on the subject, and accordingly proceeded to his roomand roused him.

  After hearing what had occurred, the grocer looked very grave, and said,"I am not disposed to treat this matter so lightly as you do, Leonard. Ifear this unhappy man has some desperate design in view. What it is Icannot--dare not--conjecture. But I confess I am full of apprehension. Ishall not retire to rest to-night, but shall hold myself in readiness toact in whatever way may be necessary, You had better go forth, and ifanything occurs, give notice to the proper authorities. We have not nowsuch a lord mayor as we had during the season of the plague. The firmand courageous Sir John Lawrence is but ill succeeded by the weak andvacillating Sir Thomas Bludworth. Still, the latter may be equal to thisemergency, and if anything happens, you must apply to him."

  "I will follow your advice implicitly," rejoine
d Leonard. "At the sametime, I think there is nothing to apprehend."

  "It is better to err on the safe side," observed the grocer; "you cannotthen reproach yourself with want of caution."

  Shortly after this, Leonard sallied forth, and having determined whatcourse to pursue in the first instance, proceeded to Saint Paul's. Hefound every door in the sacred structure fast closed. Not satisfied withthis, he knocked at the great northern entrance till the summons wasanswered by a verger, and stating his object, demanded to be admitted,and to search the cathedral, as well as Saint Faith's. The vergeroffered no objection, and having examined the old building throughout,without discovering any traces of the person he was in quest of, Leonardquitted it.

  More than ever convinced that he was right in his supposition, and thatno danger was to be apprehended, he was about to return home, when theidea occurred to him that he might perhaps find Grant at the plague-pitin Finsbury Fields, and he accordingly shaped his course thither. A longperiod had elapsed since he had last visited the melancholy spot, and itwas not without much painful emotion that he drew near the vast moundcovering the victims of the pestilence. But Grant was not there, andthough he paced round and round the dreary inclosure for some time, noone came. He then proceeded to the lesser plague-pit, and kneelingbeside the grave of Amabel, bedewed it with his tears.

  As he arose, with the intention of returning to Wood Street, he observedan extraordinary light in the sky a little to the left, evidentlyproduced by the reflection of a great fire in that direction. Onbeholding this light, he said to himself, "Mr. Bloundel was right. Thisis the danger with which the city is threatened. It is now too late toavert it." Determined, however, to ascertain the extent of the calamitywithout an instant's loss of time, he set off at a swift pace, and inless than half an hour reached Fish Street Hill, and stood beside theconflagration. It was then nearly three o'clock, and a vast chasm ofblackening ruins proclaimed the devastation that had been committed.Just as he arrived, the roof of Saint Margaret's fell in with atremendous crash, and for a few minutes the fire was subdued. It thenarose with greater fury than ever; burst out on both sides of the sacredstructure, and caught the line of houses leading towards London Bridge.The first house was that of a vintner; and the lower part of thepremises--the cellars and vaults--were filled with wine and spirits.These instantly blazed up, and burnt with such intensity that theadjoining habitation was presently in flames.

  "I know who hath done all this!" exclaimed Leonard, half involuntarily,as he gazed on the work of destruction.

  "Indeed!" exclaimed a bystander, gazing at him. "Who is it?--theDutchman or the Frenchman?"

  "Neither," replied Leonard, who at that moment discovered Grant amongthe group opposite him. "Yonder stands the incendiary!"

  III.

  PROGRESS OF THE FIRE.

  Instantly surrounded and seized by the mob, Grant offered no resistance,but demanded to be led with his accuser before a magistrate. Almost asthe words were uttered, a cry was raised that the lord mayor and thesheriffs were coming along East-cheap, and the prisoner and Leonard wereimmediately hurried off in that direction. They met the civicauthorities at the corner of Saint Clement's-lane; but instead of payingany attention to them, the lord mayor, who appeared to be in a state ofgreat agitation and excitement, ordered the javelin-men, by whom he wasattended, to push the mob aside.

  "I will not delay your worship an instant," cried Leonard; "but thisdreadful fire is the work of incendiaries, of whom that man," pointingto Grant, "is the principal. I pray your worship to question him. He mayhave important revelations to make."

  "Eh, what?" cried the lord mayor, addressing Grant. "Is it true you arean incendiary? Who are your accomplices? Where are they?"

  "I have none," replied Grant, boldly--"I deny the charge altogether. Letmy accuser prove it if he can."

  "You hear what he says, young man," said the mayor. "Did you see him setfire to any house? Did you find any fire-balls on his person?"

  "I did not," replied Leonard.

  "I searched him, your worship," cried Chowles, who was among thebystanders, "the moment he was seized, and found nothing upon him. It isa false and malicious charge."

  "It looks like it, I must say," replied the mayor. "On what grounds doyou accuse him?" he added, angrily, to Leonard.

  "On these," replied Leonard. "He came to me three hours ago, andconfessed that he had a desperate design against the safety of the city,and made certain proposals to me, to which I would not listen. This isnot the season for a full explanation of the matter. But I pray yourworship, as you value the welfare of the city, to have him secured."

  "There can be no harm in that," replied the lord mayor. "His appearanceis decidedly against him. Let him be taken care of till the morrow, whenI will examine further into the matter. Your name and place of abode,young man?"

  "I am called Leonard Holt, and my business is that of a grocer, inWood-street," was the reply.

  "Enough," rejoined the mayor. "Take away the prisoner. I will hearnothing further now. Lord! Lord! how the fire rages, to be sure. Weshall have the whole city burnt down, if we do not take care."

  "That we shall, indeed," replied Sir Robert Viner, one of the sheriffs,"unless the most prompt and decisive measures are immediately adopted."

  "What would you recommend?" cried the lord mayor, despairingly. SirRobert looked perplexed by the question.

  "If I might offer an opinion," interposed Leonard, "I would advise yourworship to pull down all the houses in the way of the fire, as the onlymeans of checking it."

  "Pull down the houses!" cried the lord mayor. "Who ever heard of such anidea? Why, that would be worse than the fire. No, no; that will neverdo."

  "The young man is in the right," observed Sir Joseph Sheldon, the othersheriff.

  "Well, well--we shall see," replied the mayor. "But we are losing timehere. Forward! forward!"

  And while Grant was borne off to Newgate by a guard of javelin-men, thelord mayor and his company proceeded to Fish-street-hill, where thewhole conflagration burst upon them. The moment the lord mayor appeared,he was beset on all sides by hundreds of families soliciting hisprotection. Others came to give him the alarming intelligence that avery scanty supply of water only could be obtained, and that already twoengines had been destroyed, while the firemen who worked them hadnarrowly escaped with life. Others again pressed him for instructionshow to act--some suggesting one plan--some another,--and being of a weakand irresolute character, and utterly unequal to a fearful emergencylike the present, he was completely bewildered. Bidding the houselessfamilies take refuge in the churches, he ordered certain officers toattend them, and affecting to doubt the statement of those who affirmedthere was no water, advised them to go to the river, where they wouldfind plenty. In vain they assured him the tide was out, the Thameswater-tower empty, the pipes and conduits dry. He would not believeanything of the sort, but upbraiding his informants with neglect, badethem try again. As to instructions, he could give none.

  At last, a reluctant assent being wrung from him by Sir Joseph Sheldon,that a house should be pulled down, as suggested by Leonard,preparations were instantly made for putting the design into execution.The house selected was about four doors from the top ofFish-street-hill, and belonged to a birdcage-maker. But they encounteredan unexpected opposition. Having ascertained their purpose, the ownerfastened his doors, and refused to admit them. He harangued the mob fromone of the upper windows, and producing a pistol, threatened to fireupon them if they attempted to gain a forcible entrance. The officers,however, having received their orders, were not to be intimidated, andcommenced breaking down the door. The birdcage-maker then fired, butwithout effect; and before he had time to reload, the door had yieldedto the combined efforts of the multitude, who were greatly enraged athis strange conduct. They rushed upstairs, but finding he had lockedhimself in the room, left him there, supposing him secure, and commencedthe work of demolition. More than a hundred men were engaged in thetask; but though the
y used the utmost exertion, they had little morethan unroofed the building, when a cry was raised by those in thestreet that the house was on fire. Alarmed by the shout, they descended,and found the report true. Flames were issuing from the room latelyoccupied by the birdcage-maker. The wretch had set fire to his dwelling,and then made his escape with his family by a back staircase. Thusdefeated, the workmen, with bitter imprecations on the fugitive,withdrew, and Leonard, who had lent his best assistance to the task,repaired to the lord mayor. He found him in greater consternation thanever.

  "We must go further off, if we would do any good," said Leonard; "and asthe present plan is evidently too slow, we must have recourse togunpowder."

  "Gunpowder!" exclaimed the lord mayor. "Would you blow up the city, likea second Guy Fawkes? I begin to suspect you are one of the incendiariesyourself, young man. Lord, Lord! what will become of us?"

  "If your worship disapproves of my suggestion, at least give orders whatis to be done," rejoined Leonard.

  "I have done all I can," replied the mayor. "Who are you that talk to methus?"

  "I have told your worship I am a simple tradesman," replied Leonard."But I have the welfare of the city at heart, and I cannot stand by andsee it burnt to the ground without an effort to save it."

  "Well, well, I dare say you mean very well, young man," rejoined thelord mayor, somewhat pacified. "But don't you perceive it's impossibleto stop such a fire as this without water, or engines. I'm sure I wouldwillingly lay down my life to preserve the city. But what can Ido?--what can any man do?"

  "Much may be done if there is resolution to attempt it," returnedLeonard. "I would recommend your worship to proceed, in the first place,to the wharves on the banks of the Thames, and cause the removal of thewood, coal, and other combustible matter with which they are crowded."

  "Well thought of," cried the lord mayor. "I will go thither at once. Doyou stay here. Your advice will be useful. I will examine you touchingthe incendiary to-morrow--that is, if we are any of us left alive, whichI don't expect. Lord, Lord! what will become of us?" And with manysimilar ejaculations, he hurried off with the sheriffs, and the greaterpart of his attendants, and taking his way down Saint Michael's-lane,soon reached the river-side.

  By this time, the fire had approached the summit of Fish-street-hill,and here the overhanging stories of the houses coming so close togetheras almost to meet at the top, the flames speedily caught the other side,and spread the conflagration in that direction. Two other houses werelikewise discovered to be on fire in Crooked-lane, and in an incrediblyshort space the whole dense mass of habitations lying at the west sideof Fish-street-hill, and between Crooked-lane and Eastcheap, were inflames, and threatening the venerable church of Saint Michael, whichstood in the midst of them, with instant destruction. To theastonishment of all who witnessed it, the conflagration seemed toproceed as rapidly against the wind, as with it, and to be approachingThames-street, both by Pudding-lane and Saint Michael's-lane. A largestable, filled with straw and hay, at the back of the Star Inn, inLittle Eastcheap, caught fire, and carrying the conflagration eastward,had already conveyed it as far as Botolph-lane.

  It chanced that a poor Catholic priest, travelling from Douay toEngland, had landed that night, and taken up his quarters at the hotelabove mentioned. The landlord, who had been roused by the cries of fire,and alarmed by the rumours of incendiaries, immediately called to mindhis guest, and dragging him from his room, thrust him, half-naked, intothe street. Announcing his conviction that the poor priest was anincendiary to the mob without, they seized him, and in spite of hisprotestations and explanations, which, being uttered in a foreigntongue, they could not comprehend, they were about to exercise summarypunishment upon him, by hanging him to the sign-post before thelandlord's door, when they were diverted from their dreadful purpose bySolomon Eagle, who prevailed upon them to carry him to Newgate.

  The conflagration had now assumed so terrific a character that itappalled even the stoutest spectator. It has been mentioned, that formany weeks previous to the direful calamity, the weather had beenremarkably dry and warm, a circumstance which had prepared the oldwooden houses, abounding in this part of the city, for almostinstantaneous ignition. Added to this, if the incendiaries themselveshad deposited combustible materials at certain spots to extend theconflagration, they could not have selected better places than accidenthad arranged. All sorts of inflammable goods were contained in the shopsand ware-houses,--oil, hemp, flax, pitch, tar, cordage, sugar, wine, andspirits; and when any magazine of this sort caught fire, it spread theconflagration with tenfold rapidity.

  The heat of the flames had now become almost insufferable, and thesparks and flakes of fire fell so fast and thick, that the spectatorswere compelled to retreat to a considerable distance from the burningbuildings. The noise occasioned by the cracking of the timbers, and thefalling of walls and roofs, was awful in the extreme. All the avenuesand thoroughfares near the fire were now choked up by carts, coaches,and other vehicles, which had been hastily brought thither to remove thegoods of the inhabitants, and the hurry of the poor people to save awreck of their property, and the attempts made by the gangs ofplunderers to deprive them of it, constituted a scene of unparalleledtumult and confusion. As yet, no troops had appeared to maintain order,and seeing that as much mischief was almost done by the plunderers as bythe fire, Leonard determined to go in search of the lord mayor, andacquaint him with the mischief that was occurring. Having heard that thefire had already reached London Bridge, he resolved to ascertain whetherthe report was true. As he proceeded down Saint Michael's-lane, he foundthe venerable church from which it was designated on fire, and with somedifficulty forcing his way through the crowd, reached Thames-street,where he discovered that the conflagration had even made more fearfulprogress than he had anticipated. Fishmongers' Hall, a large squarestructure, was on fire, and burning swiftly,--the flames encircling itshigh roof, and the turret by which it was surmounted. Streams of fire,too, had darted down the numerous narrow alleys leading to theriver-side, and reaching the wharves, had kindled the heaps of wood andcoal with which they were filled. The party under the command of thelord mayor had used their utmost exertions to get rid of thesecombustible materials by flinging them into the Thames; but they cametoo late, and were driven away by the approach of the fire. Most of thebarges and heavy craft were aground, and they, too, caught fire, andwere burned, with their contents.

  Finding he could neither render any assistance, nor obtain speech withthe lord mayor, and anxious to behold the terrible yet sublime spectaclefrom the river, Leonard hastened to Old Swan-Stairs, and springing intoa boat, ordered the waterman to row into the middle of the Thames. Hecould then discern the full extent of the conflagration, and trace theprogress it was making. All the houses between Fishmongers' Hall and thebridge were on fire, and behind them rose a vast sheet of flame. SaintMagnus' Church, at the foot of the bridge, was next seized by the flame,and Leonard watched its destruction. An ancient gateway followed, andsoon afterwards a large stack of houses erected upon the bridge burstinto flames.

  The inhabitants of the houses on the bridge, having now becomethoroughly alarmed, flung bedding, boxes, and articles of furniture, outof their windows into the river. A crowd of boats surrounded thestarlings, and the terrified occupants of the structures abovedescending to them by the staircases in the interior of the piers,embarked with every article they could carry off. The river presented amost extraordinary scene. Lighted by the red and fierce reflection ofthe fire, and covered with boats, filled with families who had justquitted their habitations either on the bridge or in some other streetadjoining it, its whole surface was speckled with pieces of furniture,or goods, that had been cast into it, and which were now floating upwith the tide. Great crowds were collected on the Southwark shore towatch the conflagration, while on the opposite side the wharves andquays were thronged with persons removing their goods, and embarkingthem in boats. One circumstance, noted by Pepys, and which also struckLeonard, was t
he singular attachment displayed by the pigeons, kept bythe owners of several houses on the bridge, to the spots they had beenaccustomed to. Even when the flames attacked the buildings to which thedovecots were attached, the birds wheeled round and round them, until,their pinions being scorched by the fire, they dropped into the water.

  Leonard remained on the river nearly two hours. He could not, in fact,tear himself away from the spectacle, which possessed a strangefascination in his eyes. He began to think that all the efforts of menwere unavailing to arrest the progress of destruction, and he was forawhile content to regard it as a mere spectacle. And never had he behelda more impressive--a more terrible sight. There lay the vast andpopulous city before him, which he had once before known to be invadedby an invisible but extirminating foe, now attacked by a furious andfar-seen enemy. The fire seemed to form a vast arch--many-coloured as arainbow,--reflected in the sky, and re-reflected in all its horriblesplendour in the river.

  Nor was the aspect of the city less striking. The innumerable towers andspires of the churches rose tall and dark through the wavering sheet offlame, and every now and then one of them would topple down ordisappear, as if swallowed up by the devouring element. For a shortspace, the fire seemed to observe a regular progressive movement, butwhen it fell upon better material, it reared its blazing crest aloft,changed its hues, and burnt with redoubled intensity. Leonard watched itthread narrow alleys, and firing every lesser habitation in its course,kindle some great hall or other structure, whose remoteness seemed tosecure it from immediate danger. At this distance, the roaring of theflames resembled that of a thousand furnaces. Ever and anon, it wasbroken by a sound like thunder, occasioned by the fall of some mightyedifice. Then there would come a quick succession of reports like thedischarge of artillery, followed by a shower of fiery flakes and sparksblown aloft, like the explosion of some stupendous firework. Mixed withthe roaring of the flames, the thunder of falling roofs, the cracking oftimber, was a wild hubbub of human voices, that sounded afar off like adismal wail. In spite of its terror, the appearance of the fire was atthat time beautiful beyond description. Its varying colours--itsfanciful forms--now shooting out in a hundred different directions, likelightning-flashes,--now drawing itself up, as it were, and soaringaloft,--now splitting into a million tongues of flame,--these aspects soriveted the attention of Leonard, that he almost forgot in the sight thedreadful devastation going forward. His eyes ached with gazing at thefiery spectacle, and he was glad to rest them on the black masses ofbuilding that stood in stern relief against it, and which there could belittle doubt would soon become its prey.

  It was now broad daylight, except for the mighty cloud of smoke, whicho'er-canopied the city, creating an artificial gloom. Leonard's troubledgaze wandered from the scene of destruction to Saint Paul's--an edifice,which; from the many events connected with his fortunes that hadoccurred there, had always a singular interest in his eyes. Calling tomind the denunciations poured forth by Solomon Eagle against this fane,he could not help fearing they would now be fulfilled. What added to hismisgivings was, that it was now almost entirely surrounded by poles andscaffolding. Ever since the cessation of the plague, the repairs,suspended during that awful season, had been recommenced under thesuperintendence of Doctor Christopher Wren, and were now proceeding withrenewed activity. The whole of the building was under repair, and a vastnumber of masons were employed upon it, and it was their scaffoldingthat impressed Leonard with a dread of what afterwards actuallyoccurred. Accustomed to connect the figure of Solomon Eagle with thesacred structure, he could not help fancying that he discovered a speckresembling a human figure on the central tower. If it were theenthusiast, what must his feelings be at finding his predictions sofatally fulfilled? Little did Leonard think how the prophecy had beenaccomplished!

  But his attention was speedily called to the progress of theconflagration. From the increased tumult in the city, it was evident theinhabitants were now thoroughly roused, and actively bestirringthemselves to save their property. This was apparent, even on the river,from the multitude of boats deeply laden with goods of all kinds, whichwere now seen shaping their course towards Westminster. The fire, also,had made rapid progress on all sides. The vast pile of habitations atthe north side of the bridge was now entirely in flames. The effect ofthis was awfully fine. Not only did the flames mount to a greaterheight, and appear singularly conspicuous from the situation of thehouses, but every instant some blazing fragment fell with a tremendoussplash into the water, where it hissed for a moment, and then was forever quenched, floating a black mass upon the surface. From the foot ofthe bridge to Coal Harbour Stairs, extended what Dryden finely calls "aquay of fire." All the wharves and warehouses were in flames, andburning with astonishing rapidity, while this part of Thames-street,"the lodge of all combustibles," had likewise become a prey to thedevouring element. The fire, too, had spread in an easterly direction,and consuming three churches, namely, Saint Andrew's, in Botolph-lane,Saint Mary's, in Love-lane, and Saint Dunstan's in the East, had invadedTower-street, and seemed fast approaching the ancient fortress. Sofascinated was Leonard with the sight, that he could have been wellcontent to remain all day gazing at it, but he now recollected that hehad other duties to perform, and directing the waterman to land him atQueenhithe, ascended Bread-street-hill, and betook himself toWood-street.

  IV.

  LEONARD'S INTERVIEW WITH THE KING.

  Some rumours of the conflagration, as will be supposed, had ere thisreached Mr. Bloundel, but he had no idea of the extent of the direfulcalamity, and when informed of it by Leonard, lifted up his handsdespairingly, exclaiming, in accents of the deepest affliction--"Anotherjudgment, then, has fallen upon this sinful city,--another judgment yetmore terrible than the first. Man may have kindled this great fire, butthe hand of God is apparent in it. 'Alas! alas! for thee, thou greatcity, Babylon! Alas for thee, thou mighty city! for in one hour is thyjudgment come. The kings of the earth shall bewail thee, and lament forthee, when they see the smoke of thy burning.'"

  "Your dwelling was spared in the last visitation, sir," observedLeonard, after a pause, "and you were able to shut yourself up, as in astrong castle, against the all-exterminating foe. But I fear you willnot be able to ward off the assaults of the present enemy, and recommendyou to remove your family and goods without delay to some place ofsecurity far from this doomed city."

  "This is the Lord's Day, Leonard, and must be kept holy," replied thegrocer. "To-morrow, if I am spared so long, I will endeavour to findsome place of shelter."

  "If the conflagration continues to spread as rapidly as it is now doing,to-morrow will be too late," rejoined Leonard.

  "It may be so," returned the grocer, "but I will not violate theSabbath. If the safety of my family is threatened, that is anothermatter, but I will not attempt to preserve my goods. Do not, however,let me influence you. Take such portion of our stock as belongs to you,and you know that a third of the whole is yours, and convey it where youplease."

  "On no account, sir," interrupted Leonard. "I should never think ofacting in opposition to your wishes. This will be a sad Sunday forLondon."

  "The saddest she has ever seen," replied the grocer; "for though thevoice of prayer was silenced in her churches during the awful season ofthe plague, yet then men's minds had been gradually prepared for thecalamity, and though filled with terror, they were not taken bysurprise, as must now be the case. But let us to prayers, and may ourearnest supplications avail in turning aside the Divine displeasure."

  And summoning his family and household, all of whom were by this timestirring, and in the utmost consternation at what they had heard of thefire, he commenced a prayer adapted to the occasion in a strain of theutmost fervour; and as Leonard gazed at his austere countenance, nowlighted up with holy zeal, and listened to his earnest intercessions inbehalf of the devoted city, he was reminded of the prophet Jeremiahweeping for Jerusalem before the throne of grace.

  Prayers over, the whole party sat down to th
eir morning repast, afterwhich, the grocer and his eldest son, accompanied by Leonard and Blaize,mounted to the roof of the house, and gazing in the direction of theconflagration, they could plainly distinguish the vast cloud of yellowsmoke commingled with flame that marked the scene of its ravages. As thewind blew from this quarter, charged, as has been stated, with a cloudof sparks, many of the fire-drops were dashed in their faces, andcompelled them to shade their eyes. The same awful roar which Leonardhad heard on the river likewise broke upon their ears, while from allthe adjoining streets arose a wild clamour of human voices, the burdenof whose cries was "Fire! Fire!" The church bells, which should havebeen tolling to early devotion, were now loudly ringing the alarm, whiletheir towers were crowded, as were the roofs of most of the houses, withpersons gazing towards the scene of devastation. Nothing could be moreopposite to the stillness and quiet of a Sabbath morn; and as the grocerlistened to the noise and tumult prevailing around him, he could notrepress a groan.

  "I never thought my ears would be so much offended on this day," hesaid. "Let us go down. I have seen and heard enough."

  They then descended, and Stephen Bloundel, who was greatly alarmed bywhat he had just witnessed, strongly urged his father to removeimmediately. "There are seasons," said the young man, "when even ourduty to Heaven becomes a secondary consideration; and I should be sorryif the fruit of your industry were sacrificed to your religiousscruples."

  "There are no such seasons," replied the grocer, severely; "and I amgrieved that a son of mine should think so. If the inhabitants of thissinful city had not broken the Sabbath, and neglected God'scommandments, this heavy judgment would not have fallen upon them. Ishall neglect no precaution for the personal safety of my family, but Iplace my worldly goods in the hands of Him from whom I derived them, andto whom I am ready to restore them, whenever it shall please Him to takethem."

  "I am rebuked, father," replied Stephen, humbly; "and entreat yourpardon for having ventured to differ with you. I am now fully sensibleof the propriety of your conduct."

  "And I have ever acquiesced in your wishes, be they what they may," saidMrs. Bloundel to her husband; "but I confess I am dreadfully frightened.I hope you will remove the first thing to-morrow."

  "When midnight has struck, and the Sabbath is past, I shall commence mypreparations," replied the grocer. "You must rest content till then."Mrs. Bloundel heaved a sigh, but said no more; and the grocer, retiringto a side-table, opened the Bible, and sat down calmly to its perusal.But though no further remonstrances reached his ears, there was greatmurmuring in the kitchen on the part of Blaize and Patience.

  "Goodness knows what will become of us!" cried the latter. "I expect weshall all be burnt alive, owing to our master's obstinacy. What harm canthere be in moving on a Sunday, I should like to know? I'm sure I'm toomuch hurried and flurried to say my prayers as I ought to do."

  "And so am I," replied Blaize. "Mr. Bloundel is a great deal tooparticular. What a dreadful thing it would be if the house should beburnt down, and all my mother's savings, which were to form a provisionfor our marriage, lost."

  "That would be terrible, indeed," cried Patience, with a look of dismay."I think the wedding had better take place as soon as the fire is over.It can't last many days if it goes on at this rate."

  "You are right," returned Blaize. "I have no objection. I'll speak to mymother at once." And stepping into the scullery, where old Josyna waswashing some dishes, he addressed her--"Mother, I'm sadly afraid thisgreat fire will reach us before our master will allow us to move. Hadn'tyou better let me take care of the money you intended giving me on mymarriage with Patience?"

  "No, no, myn goed zoon," replied Josyna, shaking her head--"I musd zeeyou married virsd."

  "But I can't be married to-day," cried Blaize--"and there's no time tolose. The fire will be upon us directly."

  "I cand help dat," returned his mother. "We musd place our drusd inGod."

  "There I quite agree with you, mother," replied Blaize; "but we mustalso take care of ourselves. If you won't give me the money, at leastput it in a box to carry off at a moment's notice."

  "Don't be afraid, myn zoon," replied Josyna. "I wond forged id."

  "I'm sadly afraid you will, though," muttered Blaize, as he walked away."There's no doing any good with her," he added to Patience. "She's asobstinate as Mr. Bloundel. I should like to see the fire of all things;but I suppose I musn't leave the house."

  "Of course not," replied Patience, pettishly; "at such a time it wouldbe highly improper. I forbid that."

  "Then I must need submit," groaned Blaize--"I can't even have my own waybefore marriage."

  When the proper time arrived, the grocer, accompanied by all his familyand household, except old Josyna, who was left in charge of the house,repaired to the neighbouring church of Saint Alban's, but, finding thedoors closed, and that no service was to be performed, he returned homewith a sorrowful heart. Soon after this, Leonard took Mr. Bloundelapart, and observed to him, "I have a strong conviction that I could beuseful in arresting the progress of the conflagration, and, as I cannotattend church service, I will, with your permission, devote myself tothat object. It is my intention to proceed to Whitehall, and, ifpossible, obtain an audience of the king, and if I succeed in doing so,to lay a plan before him, which I think would prove efficacious."

  "I will not ask what the plan is," rejoined the grocer, "because I doubtits success. Neither will I oppose your design, which is praiseworthy.Go, and may it prosper. Return in the evening, for I may need yourassistance--perhaps protection."

  Leonard then prepared to set forth. Blaize begged hard to accompany him,but was refused. Forcing his way through the host of carts, coaches,drays, and other vehicles thronging the streets, Leonard made the bestof his way to Whitehall, where he speedily arrived. A large body ofmounted troopers were stationed before the gates of the palace, and aregiment of the foot-guards were drawn up in the court. Drums werebeating to arms, and other martial sounds were heard, showing the alarmthat was felt. Leonard was stopped at the gate by a sentinel, andrefused admittance; and he would in all probability have been turnedback, if at that moment the Lords Argentine and Rochester had not comeup. On seeing him, the former frowned, and passed quickly on, but thelatter halted.

  "You seem to be in some difficulty," remarked Rochester. "Can I helpyou?"

  Leonard was about to turn away, but he checked himself.

  "I will not suffer my resentful feelings to operate injuriously toothers," he muttered. "I desire to see the king, my lord," he added, tothe earl. "I have a proposal to make to him, which I think would be ameans of checking the conflagration."

  "Say you so?" cried Rochester. "Come along, then. Heaven grant your planmay prove successful; in which case, I promise you, you shall be noblyrewarded."

  "I seek no reward, my lord," replied Leonard. "All I desire is to savethe city."

  "Well, well," rejoined Rochester, "it will be time enough to refuse hismajesty's bounty when offered."

  Upon this, he ordered the sentinel to withdraw, and Leonard followed himinto the palace. They found the entrance-hall filled with groups ofofficers and attendants, all conversing together, it was evident fromtheir looks and manner, on the one engrossing topic--the conflagration.Ascending a magnificent staircase, and traversing part of a grandgallery, they entered an ante-room, in which a number of courtiers andpages--amongst the latter of whom was Chiffinch--were assembled. At thedoor of the inner chamber stood a couple of ushers, and as the earlapproached, it was instantly thrown open. As Leonard, however, whofollowed close behind his leader, passed Chiffinch, the latter caughthold of his arm and detained him. Hearing the movement, Rochesterturned, and said quickly to the page, "Let him pass, he is going withme."

  "Old Rowley is in no humour for a jest to-day, my lord," repliedChiffinch, familiarly. "He is more serious than I have ever before seenhim, and takes this terrible fire sadly to heart, as well he may. Mr.Secretary Pepys, of the Admiralty, is with him, and is detailin
g allparticulars of the calamity to him, I believe."

  "It is in reference to the fire that I have brought this young man withme," returned the earl. "Let him pass, I say. State your plan boldly,"he added, as they entered the audience-chamber.

  At the further end of the long apartment, on a chair of state, andbeneath a canopy, sat Charles. He was evidently much disturbed, andlooked eagerly at the new-comers, especially at Leonard, expecting tofind him the bearer of some important intelligence. On the right of theking, and near an open window, which, looking towards the river,commanded a view of the fire on the bridge, as well as of part of theburning city, stood the Duke of York. The duke did not appear muchconcerned at the calamity, but was laughing with Lord Argentine, whostood close beside him. The smile fled from the lips of the latter as hebeheld Leonard, and he looked angrily at Rochester, who did not,however, appear to notice his displeasure. On the left of the royalchair was Mr. Pepys, engaged, as Chiffinch had intimated, in detailingto the king the progress of the conflagration; and next to the secretarystood the Earl of Craven,--a handsome, commanding, and martial-lookingpersonage, though somewhat stricken in years. Three other noblemen--namely, the Lords Hollis, Arlington, and Ashley--were likewise present.

  "Who have you with you, Rochester?" demanded Charles, as the earl andhis companion approached him.

  "A young man, my liege, who desires to make known to you a plan forchecking this conflagration," replied the earl.

  "Ah!" exclaimed the king; "let him accomplish that for us, and he shallask what he will in return."

  "I ventured to promise him as much," observed Rochester.

  "Mine is a very simple and a very obvious plan, sire," said Leonard;"but I will engage, on the peril of my life, if you will give mesufficient authority, and means to work withal, to stop the furtherprogress of this fire."

  "In what way?" asked Charles, impatiently;--"in what way?"

  "By demolishing the houses around the conflagration with gunpowder, soas to form a wide gap between those left and the flames," repliedLeonard.

  "A short and summary process, truly," replied the king; "but it wouldoccasion great waste of property, and might be attended with otherserious consequences."

  "Not half so much property will be destroyed as if the slower andseemingly safer course of pulling down the houses is pursued," rejoinedLeonard. "That experiment has been tried and failed."

  "I am of the young man's opinion," observed the Earl of Craven.

  "And I," added Pepys. "Better lose half the city than the whole. As itis, your majesty is not safe in your palace."

  "Why, you do not think it can reach Whitehall?" cried the king, rising,and walking to the window. "How say you, brother," he added, to the Dukeof York--"shall we act upon this young man's suggestion, and order thewholesale demolition of the houses which he recommends?"

  "I would not advise your majesty to do so--at least, not withoutconsideration," answered the duke. "This is a terrible fire, no doubt;but the danger may be greatly exaggerated, and if any ill consequencesshould result from the proposed scheme, the blame will be entirely laidupon your majesty."

  "I care not for that," replied the king, "provided I feel assured it isfor the best."

  "The plan would do incalculably more mischief than the fire itself,"observed Lord Argentine, "and would be met by the most determinedopposition on the part of the owners of the habitations condemned todestruction. Whole streets will have to be blown up, and your majestywill easily comprehend the confusion and damage that will ensue."

  "Lord Argentine has expressed my sentiments exactly," said the Duke ofYork.

  "There is nothing for it, then, but for your majesty to call for afiddle, and amuse yourself, like Nero, while your city is burning,"remarked Rochester, sarcastically.

  "Another such jest, my lord," rejoined the king, sternly, "and it shallcost you your liberty. I will go upon the river instantly, and view thefire myself, and then decide what course shall be adopted."

  "There are rumours that incendiaries are abroad, your majesty," remarkedArgentine, glancing maliciously at Leonard--"it is not unlikely that hewho lighted the fire should know how to extinguish it."

  "His lordship says truly," rejoined Leonard. "There _are_ incendiariesabroad, and the chief of them was taken by my hand, and lodged inNewgate, where he lies for examination."

  "Ah!" exclaimed the king, eagerly; "did you catch the miscreant in thefact?"

  "No, my liege," replied Leonard; "but he came to me a few hours beforethe outbreak of the fire, intimating that he was in possession of a plotagainst the city--a design so monstrous, that your majesty would giveany reward to the discloser of it. He proposed to reveal this plot to meon certain terms."

  "And you accepted them?" cried the king.

  "No, my liege," replied Leonard; "I refused them, and would have securedhim, but he escaped me at that time. I afterwards discovered him amongthe spectators near the fire, and caused his arrest."

  "And who is this villain?" cried the king.

  "I must refer your majesty to Lord Argentine," replied Leonard.

  "Do you know anything of the transaction, my lord?" said Charles,appealing to him.

  "Not I, your majesty," said Argentine, vainly endeavouring to concealhis anger and confusion. "The knave has spoken falsely."

  "He shall rue it, if he has done so," rejoined the monarch. "What hasthe man you speak of to do with Lord Argentine?" he added to Leonard.

  "He is his father," was the reply.

  Charles looked at Lord Argentine, and became convinced from the alteredexpression of his countenance that the truth had been spoken. He,therefore, arose, and motioning him to follow him, led him into therecess of a window, where they remained in conversation for someminutes. While this was passing, the Earl of Rochester observed, in anundertone to Leonard, "You have made a mortal foe of Lord Argentine, butI will protect you."

  "I require no other protection than I can afford myself, my lord,"rejoined Leonard, coldly.

  Shortly after this, Charles stepped forward with a graver aspect thanbefore, and said, "Before proceeding to view this conflagration, I mustgive some directions in reference to it. To you, my Lord Craven, whoseintrepidity I well know, I intrust the most important post. You willstation yourself at the east of the conflagration, and if you find itmaking its way to the Tower, as I hear is the case, check it at allhazards. The old fortress must be preserved at any risk. But do notresort to gunpowder unless you receive an order from me accompanied bymy signet-ring. My Lords Hollis and Ashley, you will have the care ofthe north-west of the city. Station yourselves near Newgate Market.Rochester and Arlington, your posts will be at Saint Paul's. Watch overthe august cathedral. I would not have it injured for half my kingdom.Brother," he added to the Duke of York, "you will accompany me in mybarge--and you, Mr. Pepys. You, young man," to Leonard, "can follow inmy train."

  "Has your majesty no post for me?" asked Argentine.

  "No," replied Charles, turning coldly from him.

  "Had not your majesty better let him have the custody of your gaol ofNewgate?" remarked Rochester, sarcastically; "he has an interest in itssafe keeping."

  Lord Argentine turned deadly pale, but he made no answer. Attended bythe Duke of York and Mr. Pepys, and followed at a respectful distance byLeonard, the king then passed through the ante-room, and descending thegrand staircase, traversed a variety of passages, until he reached theprivate stairs communicating with the river. At the foot lay the royalbarge, in which he embarked with his train. Charles appeared greatlymoved by the sight of the thousands of his houseless subjects, whom heencountered in his passage down the Thames, and whenever a feeble shoutwas raised for him, he returned it with a blessing. When nearly oppositeQueenhithe, he commanded the rowers to pause. The conflagration had madeformidable progress since Leonard' beheld it a few hours back, and hadadvanced, nearly as far as the Still-yard on the river-side, while itwas burning upwards through thick ranks of houses, almost as far asCannon-street. The
roaring of the flames was louder than ever--and thecrash of falling habitations, and the tumult and cries of the affrightedpopulace, yet more terrific.

  Charles gazed at the appalling spectacle like one who could not believehis senses, and it was some time before the overwhelming truth couldforce itself upon him. Tears then started to his eyes, and, uttering anejaculation of despair, he commanded the rowers to make instantly forthe shore.

  V.

  HOW LEONARD SAVED THE KING'S LIFE.

  The royal barge landed at Queenhithe, and Charles instantlydisembarking, proceeded on foot, and at a pace that compelled, hisattendants to move quickly, to keep up with him, to Thames-street. Here,however, the confusion was so great, owing to the rush of people, andthe number of vehicles employed in the removal of goods, that he wasobliged to come to a halt. Fortunately, at this moment, a company of thetrain-bands rode up, and their leader dismounting, offered his horse tothe king, who instantly sprang into the saddle, and scarcely waitingtill the Duke of York could be similarly accommodated, forced his waythrough the crowd as far as Brewer-lane, where his progress was stoppedby the intense heat. A little more than a hundred yards from this point,the whole street was on fire, and the flames bursting from the windowsand roofs of the houses, with a roar like that which might be supposedto be produced by the forges of the Cyclops, united in a vast blazingarch overhead. It chanced, too, that in some places cellars filled withcombustible materials extended under the street, and here the groundwould crack, and jets of fire shoot forth like the eruption of avolcano. The walls and timbers of the houses at some distance from theconflagration were scorched and blistered with the heat, and completelyprepared for ignition; overhead being a vast and momentarily increasingcloud of flame-coloured smoke, which spread all over the city, fillingit as with a thick mist, while the glowing vault above looked, as Evelynexpresses it, "like the top of a burning oven."

  Two churches, namely, Allhallows the Great and Allhallows the Less, wereburnt down in the king's sight, and the lofty spire of a third, SaintLawrence Poulteney, had just caught fire, and looked like a flame-tippedspear. After contemplating this spectacle for some time, Charles rousedhimself from the state of stupefaction into which he was thrown, anddetermined, if possible, to arrest the further progress of the devouringelement along the river-side, commanded all the houses on the west ofDowgate Dock to be instantly demolished. A large body of men weretherefore set upon this difficult and dangerous, and, as it proved,futile task. Another party were ordered to the same duty onDowgate-hill; and the crash of tumbling walls and beams was soon addedto the general uproar, while clouds of dust darkened the air. It waswith some difficulty that a sufficient space could be kept clear forcarrying these operations into effect; and long before they werehalf-completed, Charles had the mortification of finding the firegaining ground so rapidly, that they must prove ineffectual. Word wasbrought at this juncture that a fresh fire had broken out in Elbow-lane,and while the monarch was listening to this dreary intelligence, afearful cry was heard near the river, followed, the next moment, by atumultuous rush of persons from that quarter. The fire, as if in scorn,had leapt across Dowgate Dock, and seizing upon the half-demolishedhouses, instantly made them its prey. The rapidity with which theconflagration proceeded was astounding, and completely baffled allattempts to check it. The wind continued blowing as furiously as ever,nor was there the slightest prospect of its abatement. All the king'sbetter qualities were called into play by the present terrible crisis.With a courage and devotion that he seldom displayed, he exposed himselfto the greatest risk, personally assisting at all the operations hecommanded; while his humane attention to the sufferers by the calamityalmost reconciled them to their deplorable situation. His movements werealmost as rapid as those of the fire itself. Riding up Cannon-street,and from thence by Sweeting's-lane, to Lombard-street, and so on byFenchurch-street to Tower-street, he issued directions all the way,checking every disturbance, and causing a band of depredators, who hadbroken into the house of a wealthy goldsmith, to be carried off toNewgate. Arrived in Tower-street, he found the Earl of Craven and hisparty stationed a little beyond Saint Dunstan's in the East.

  All immediate apprehensions in this quarter appeared at an end. Thechurch had been destroyed, as before mentioned, but several houses inits vicinity having been demolished, the fire had not extended eastward.Satisfied that the Tower was in no immediate danger, the king retracedhis course, and encountering the lord mayor in Lombard-street, sharplyreproved him for his want of zeal and discretion.

  "I do not deserve your majesty's reproaches," replied the lord mayor."Ever since the fire broke out I have not rested an instant, and amalmost worn to death with anxiety and fatigue. I am just returned fromGuildhall, where a vast quantity of plate belonging to the citycompanies has been deposited. Lord! Lord! what a fire this is!"

  "You are chiefly to blame for its getting so much ahead," replied theking, angrily. "Had you adopted vigorous measures at the outset, itmight have easily been got under. I hear no water was to be obtained.How was that?"

  "It is a damnable plot, your majesty, designed by the Papists, or theDutch, or the French--I don't know which--perhaps all three," rejoinedthe lord mayor; "and it appears that the cocks of all the pipes at thewaterworks at Islington were turned, while the pipes and conduits in thecity were empty. This is no accidental fire, your majesty."

  "So I find," replied the king; "but it will be time enough to inquireinto its origin hereafter. Meantime, we must act, and energetically, orwe shall be equally as much to blame as the incendiaries. Let aproclamation be made, enjoining all those persons who have been drivenfrom their homes by the fire to proceed, with such effects as they havepreserved, to Moorfields, where their wants shall be cared for."

  "It shall be made instantly, your majesty," replied the lord mayor.

  "Your next business will be to see to the removal of all the wealth fromthe goldsmiths' houses in this street, and in Gracechurch-street, tosome places of security, Guildhall, or the Royal Exchange, forinstance," continued the king.

  "Your majesty's directions shall be implicitly obeyed," replied the lordmayor.

  "You will then pull down all the houses to the east of the fire,"pursued the king. "Get all the men you can muster; and never relax yourexertions till you have made a wide and clear breach between the flamesand their prey."

  "I will--I will, your majesty," groaned the lord mayor.

  "About it, then," rejoined the king; and striking spurs into his horse,he rode off with his train.

  He now penetrated one of the narrow alleys leading to the Three Cranesin the Vintry, where he ascended to the roof of the habitation, that hemight view the fire. He saw that it was making such rapid advancestowards him, that it must very soon reach the building on which hestood, and, half suffocated with the smoke, and scorched with thefire-drops, he descended.

  Not long after this, Waterman's Hall was discovered to be on fire; and,stirred by the sight, Charles made fresh efforts to check the progressof the conflagration by demolishing more houses. So eagerly did heoccupy himself in the task, that his life had well-nigh fallen asacrifice to his zeal. He was standing below a building which theworkmen were unroofing, when all at once the whole of the upper part ofthe wall gave way, dragging several heavy beams with it, and would haveinfallibly crushed him, if Leonard, who was stationed behind him, hadnot noticed the circumstance, and rushing forward with the greatestpromptitude, dragged him out of harm's way. An engineer, with whom theking was conversing at the time of the accident, was buried in theruins, and when taken out was found fearfully mutilated and quite dead.Both Charles and his preserver were covered with dust and rubbish, andLeonard received a severe blow on the shoulder from a falling brick.

  On recovering from the shock, which for some moments deprived him of thepower of speech, Charles inquired for his deliverer, and, on being shownhim, said, with a look of surprise and pleasure, "What, is it you, youngman? I am glad of it. Depend, upon it, I shall not forget the im
portantservice you have rendered me."

  "If he remembers it, it will be the first time he has ever so exercisedhis memory," observed Chiffinch, in a loud whisper to Leonard. "I adviseyou, as a friend, not to let his gratitude cool."

  Undeterred by this late narrow escape, Charles ordered fresh houses tobe demolished, and stimulated the workmen to exertion by his personalsuperintendence of their operations. He commanded Leonard to keepconstantly near him, laughingly observing, "I shall feel safe while youare by. You have a better eye for a falling house than any of myattendants."

  Worn out at length with fatigue, Charles proceeded, with the Duke ofYork and his immediate attendants, to Painters' Hall, in littleTrinity-lane, in quest of refreshment, where a repast was hastilyprepared for him, and he sat down to it with an appetite such as themost magnificent banquet could not, under other circumstances, haveprovoked. His hunger satisfied, he despatched messengers to command theimmediate attendance of the lord mayor, the sheriffs, and aldermen; andwhen they arrived, he thus addressed them:--"My lord mayor andgentlemen, it has been recommended to me by this young man," pointing toLeonard, "that the sole way of checking the further progress of thisdisastrous conflagration, which threatens the total destruction of ourcity, will be by blowing up the houses with gunpowder, so as to form awide gap between the flames and the habitations yet remaining unseized.This plan will necessarily involve great destruction of property, andmay, notwithstanding all the care that can be adopted, be attended withsome loss of life; but I conceive it will be effectual. Before orderingit, however, to be put into execution, I desire to learn your opinion ofit. How say you, my lord mayor and gentlemen? Does the plan meet withyour approbation?"

  "I pray your majesty to allow me to confer for a moment with mybrethren," replied the lord mayor, cautiously, "before I return ananswer. It is too serious a matter to decide upon at once."

  "Be it so," replied the king.

  And the civic authorities withdrew with the king. Leonard heard, thoughhe did not dare to remark upon it, that the Duke of York leaned forwardas the lord mayor passed him, and whispered in his ear, "Take heed whatyou do. He only desires to shift the responsibility of the act from hisown shoulders to yours."

  "If they assent," said the king to Leonard, "I will place you at thehead of a party of engineers."

  "I beseech your majesty neither to regard me nor them," replied Leonard."Use the authority it has pleased Heaven to bestow upon you for thepreservation of the city, and think and act for yourself, or you willassuredly regret your want of decision. It has been my fortune, with theassistance of God, to be the humble instrument of accomplishing yourmajesty's deliverance from peril, and I have your royal word that youwill not forget it."

  "Nor will I," cried the king, hastily.

  "Then suffer the petition I now make to you to prevail," cried Leonard,falling on his knees. "Be not influenced by the opinion of the lordmayor and his brethren, whose own interests may lead them to oppose theplan; but, if you think well of it, instantly adopt it."

  Charles looked irresolute, but might have yielded, if the Duke of Yorkhad not stepped forward. "Your majesty had better not act tooprecipitately," said the duke. "Listen to the counsels of your prudentadvisers. A false step in such a case will be irretrievable."

  "Nay, brother," rejoined the king, "I see no particular risk in it,after all, and I incline towards the young man's opinion."

  "At least, hear what they have got to say," rejoined the duke. "And herethey come. They have not been long in deliberation."

  "The result of it may be easily predicted," said Leonard, rising.

  As Leonard had foreseen, the civic authorities were adverse to the plan.The lord mayor in the name of himself and his brethren, earnestlysolicited the king to postpone the execution of his order till all othermeans of checking the progress of the conflagration had been tried, andtill such time, at least, as the property of the owners of the houses tobe destroyed could be removed. He further added, that it was theunanimous opinion of himself and his brethren, that the plan was fraughtwith great peril to the safety of the citizens, and that they could notbring themselves to assent to it. If, therefore, his majesty chose toadopt it, they must leave the responsibility with him.

  "I told your majesty how it would be," observed the Duke of York,triumphantly.

  "I am sorry to find you are right, brother," replied the king, frowning."We are overruled, you see, friend," he added to Leonard.

  "Your majesty has signed the doom of your city," rejoined Leonard,mournfully.

  "I trust not--I trust not," replied Charles, hastily, and with an uneasyshrug of the shoulder. "Fail not to remind me when all is over of theobligation I am under to you."

  "Your majesty has refused the sole boon I desired to have granted,"rejoined Leonard.

  "And do you not see the reason, friend?" returned the king. "Theseworthy and wealthy citizens desire to remove their property. Theirarguments are unanswerable. I _must_ give them time to do it. But wewaste time here," he added, rising. "Remember," to Leonard, "my debt isnot discharged. And I command you, on pain of my sovereign displeasure,not to omit to claim its payment."

  "I will enter it in my memorandum-book, and will put your majesty inmind of it at the fitting season," observed Chiffinch, who had taken agreat fancy to Leonard.

  The king smiled good-humouredly, and quitting the hall with hisattendants, proceeded to superintend the further demolition of houses.He next visited all the posts, saw that the different noblemen were attheir appointed stations, and by his unremitting exertions, contrived torestore something like order to the tumultuous streets. Thousands of menwere now employed in different quarters in pulling down houses, and themost powerful engines of war were employed in the work. The confusionthat attended these proceedings is indescribable. The engineers andworkmen wrought in clouds of dust and smoke, and the crash of fallingtimber and walls was deafening. In a short time, the upper part ofCornhill was rendered wholly impassable, owing to the heaps of rubbish;and directions were given to the engineers to proceed to the Poultry,and demolish the houses as far as the Conduit in Cheapside, by whichmeans it was hoped that the Royal Exchange would be saved.

  Meanwhile, all the wealthy goldsmiths and merchants in Lombard-streetand Gracechurch-street had been actively employed in removing all theirmoney, plate, and goods, to places of security. A vast quantity wasconveyed to Guildhall, as has been stated, and the rest to differentchurches and halls remote from the scene of conflagration. But in spiteof all their caution, much property was carried off by the depredators,and amongst others by Chowles and Judith, who contrived to secure a massof plate, gold, and jewels, that satisfied even their rapacious souls.While this was passing in the heart of the burning city, vast crowdswere streaming out of its gates, and encamping themselves, in pursuanceof the royal injunction, in Finsbury Fields and Spitalfields. Otherscrossed the water to Southwark, and took refuge in Saint George'sFields; and it was a sad and touching sight to see all these familiescollected without shelter or food, most of whom a few hours before werein possession of all the comforts of life, but were now reduced to thecondition of beggars.

  To return to the conflagration:--While one party continued to labourincessantly at the work of demolition, and ineffectually sought toquench the flames, by bringing a few engines to play upon them,--ascanty supply of water having now been obtained--the fire, disdainingsuch puny opposition, and determined to show its giant strength, leapedover all the breaches, drove the water-carriers back, compelled them torelinquish their buckets, and to abandon their engines, which it madeits prey, and seizing upon the heaps of timber and other fragmentsoccasioned by the demolition, consumed them, and marched onwards withfurious exultation. It was now proceeding up Gracechurch-street, SaintClement's-lane, Nicholas-lane, and Abchurch-lane at the same time,destroying all in its course. The whole of Lombard-street was choked upwith the ruins and rubbish of demolished houses, through which thousandsof persons were toiling to carry off goods, either for t
he purpose ofassistance or of plunder. The king was at the west end of the street,near the church of Saint Mary Woolnoth, and the fearful havoc anddestruction going forward drew tears from his eyes. A scene of greaterconfusion cannot be imagined. Leonard was in the midst of it, and,careless of his own safety, toiled amid the tumbling fragments of thehouses to rescue some article of value for its unfortunate owner. Whilehe was thus employed, he observed a man leap out of a window of a partlydemolished house, disclosing in the action that he had a casketconcealed under his cloak.

  A second glance showed him that this individual was Pillichody, andsatisfied that he had been plundering the house, he instantly seizedhim. The bully struggled violently, but at last, dropping the casket,made his escape, vowing to be revenged. Leonard laughed at his threats,and the next moment had the satisfaction of restoring the casket to itsrightful owner, an old merchant, who issued from the house, and who,after thanking him, told him it contained jewels of immense value.

  Not half an hour after this, the flames poured upon Lombard-street fromthe four avenues before mentioned, and the whole neighbourhood was onfire. With inconceivable rapidity, they then ran up Birchin-lane, andreaching Cornhill, spread to the right and left in that greatthoroughfare. The conflagration had now reached the highest point of thecity, and presented the grandest and most terrific aspect it had yetassumed from the river. Thus viewed, it appeared, as Pepys describes it,"as an entire arch of fire from the Three Cranes to the other side ofthe bridge, and in a bow up the hill, for an arch of above a mile long:_it made me weep to see it_." Vincent also likens its appearance at thisjuncture to that of a bow. "A dreadful bow it was," writes this eloquentnonconformist preacher, "such as mine eyes have never before seen; a bowwhich had God's arrow in it with a flaming point; a shining bow, notlike that in the cloud which brings water with it, and withal signifiethGod's covenant not to destroy the world any more with water, but a bowhaving fire in it, and signifying God's anger, and his intention todestroy London with fire."

  As the day drew to a close, and it became darker, the spectacleincreased in terror and sublimity. The tall black towers of the churchesassumed ghastly forms, and to some eyes appeared like infernal spiritsplunging in a lake of flame, while even to the most reckless theconflagration seemed to present a picture of the terrors of the LastDay. Never before had such a night as that which ensued fallen uponLondon. None of its inhabitants thought of retiring to rest, or if theysought repose after the excessive fatigue they had undergone, it wasonly in such manner as would best enable them to rise and renew theirexertions to check the flames, which were continued throughout thenight, but wholly without success. The conflagration appeared to proceedat the same appalling rapidity. Halls, towers, churches, public andprivate buildings, were burning to the number of more than ten thousand,while clouds of smoke covered the vast expanse of more than fifty miles.Travellers approaching London from the north-east were enveloped in itten miles off, and the fiery reflection in the sky could be discerned atan equal distance. The "hideous storm," as Evelyn terms the fearful andastounding noise produced by the roaring of the flames and the fallingof the numerous fabrics, continued without intermission during the wholeof that fatal night.

  VI.

  HOW THE GROCER'S HOUSE WAS BURNT.

  It was full ten o'clock before Leonard could obtain permission to quitthe king's party, and he immediately hurried to Wood-street. He hadscarcely entered it, when the cry of "fire" smote his ears, and rushingforward in an agony of apprehension, he beheld Mr. Bloundel's dwellingin flames. A large crowd was collected before the burning habitation,keeping guard over a vast heap of goods and furniture that had beenremoved from it.

  So much beloved was Mr. Bloundel, and in such high estimation was hischaracter held, that all his neighbours, on learning that his house wason fire, flew to his assistance, and bestirred themselves so actively,that in an extraordinary short space of time they had emptied the houseof every article of value, and placed it out of danger in the street. Invain the grocer urged them to desist: his entreaties were disregarded byhis zealous friends; and when he told them they were profaning theSabbath, they replied that the responsibility of their conduct wouldrest entirely on themselves, and they hoped they might never haveanything worse to answer for. In spite of his disapproval of what wasdone, the grocer could not but be sensibly touched by their devotion,and as to his wife, she said, with tears in her eyes, that "it wasalmost worth while having a fire to prove what good friends they had."

  It was at this juncture that Leonard arrived. Way was instantly made forhim, and leaping over the piles of chests and goods that blocked up thethoroughfare, he flew to Mr. Bloundel, who was standing in front of hisflaming habitation with as calm and unmoved an expression of countenanceas if nothing was happening, and presently ascertained from him in whatmanner the fire had originated. It appeared that while the whole of thefamily were assembled at prayers, in the room ordinarily used for thatpurpose, they were alarmed at supper by a strong smell of smoke, whichseemed to arise from the lower part of the house, and that as soon astheir devotions were ended, for Mr. Bloundel would not allow them tostir before, Stephen and Blaize had proceeded to ascertain the cause,and on going down to the kitchen, found a dense smoke issuing from theadjoining cellar, the door of which stood ajar. Hearing a noise in theyard, they darted up the back steps, communicating with the cellar, anddiscovered a man trying to make his escape over the wall by arope-ladder. Stephen instantly seized him, and the man, drawing a sword,tried to free himself from his captor. In the struggle, he dropped apistol, which Blaize snatching up, discharged with fatal effect againstthe wretch, who, on examination, proved to be Pillichody.

  Efforts were made to check the fire, but in vain. The villain hadaccomplished his diabolical purpose too well. Acquainted with thepremises, and with the habits of the family, he had got into the yard bymeans of a rope-ladder, and hiding himself till the servants weresummoned to prayers, stole into the cellar, and placing a fire-ball amida heap of fagots and coals, and near several large casks of oil, andother inflammable matters, struck a light, and set fire to it.

  "I shall ever reproach myself that I was away when this calamityoccurred," observed Leonard, as the grocer brought his relation to anend.

  "Then you will do so without reason," replied Mr. Bloundel, "for youcould have rendered no assistance, and you see my good neighbours havetaken the matter entirely out of my hands."

  "Whither do you intend removing, sir?" rejoined Leonard. "If I mightsuggest, I would advise you to go to Farmer Wingfield's, at KensalGreen."

  "You have anticipated my intention," replied the grocer; "but we mustnow obtain some vehicles to transport these goods thither."

  "Be that my part," replied Leonard. And in a short space of time he hadprocured half a dozen large carts, into which the whole of the goodswere speedily packed, and a coach having been likewise fetched byBlaize, Mrs. Bloundel and the three younger children, together with oldJosyna and Patience, were placed in it.

  "I hope your mother has taken care of her money," whispered the latterto the porter, as he assisted her into the vehicle.

  "Never mind whether she has or not," rejoined Blaize, in the same tone;"we shan't want it. I am now as rich as my master--perhaps richer. Onstripping that rascal Pillichody, I found a large bag of gold, besidesseveral caskets of jewels, upon him, all of which I consider lawfulspoil, as he fell by my hand."

  "To be sure," rejoined Patience. "I dare say he did not come veryhonestly by the treasures, but you can't help that, you know."

  Blaize made no reply, but pushing her into the coach, shut the door. Allbeing now in readiness, directions were given to the drivers of thecarts whither to proceed, and they were put in motion. At this momentthe grocer's firmness deserted him. Gazing at the old habitation, whichwas now wrapped in a sheet of flame, he cried in a voice broken withemotion, "In that house I have dwelt nearly thirty years--in that houseall my children were born--in that house I found a safe refuge from thedevour
ing pestilence. It is hard to quit it thus."

  Controlling his emotion, however, the next moment, he turned away. Buthis feelings were destined to another trial. His neighbours flockedround him to bid him farewell, in tones of such sympathy and regard,that his constancy again deserted him.

  "Thank you, thank you," he cried, pressing in turn each hand that wasoffered him. "Your kindness will never be effaced from my memory. Godbless you all, and may He watch over you and protect you!" and withthese words he broke from them. So great was the crowd and confusion inCheapside, that nearly two hours elapsed before they reached Newgate;and, indeed, if it had not been for the interference of the Earl ofRochester, they would not, in all probability, have got out of the cityat all. The earl was stationed near the Old 'Change, at the entrance toSaint Paul's Churchyard, and learning their distress, ordered a party ofthe guard by whom he was attended to force a passage for them. Both Mr.Bloundel and Leonard would have declined this assistance if they had hadthe power of doing so, but there was no help in the present case.

  They encountered no further difficulties, but were necessarily compelledto proceed at a slow pace, and did not reach Paddington for nearly twohours, being frequently stopped by persons eagerly asking as to theprogress of the fire. One circumstance struck the whole party asremarkable. Such was the tremendous glare of the conflagration, thateven at this distance the fire seemed close beside them, and if they hadnot known the contrary, they would have thought it could not be furtheroff than Saint Giles's. The whole eastern sky in that direction seemedon fire, and glowed through the clouds of yellow smoke with which theair was filled with fearful splendour. After halting for a short time atthe Wheat Sheaf, which they found open,--for, indeed, no house wasclosed that night,--to obtain some refreshment, and allay theintolerable thirst by which they were tormented, the party pursued theirjourney along the Harrow-road, and in due time approached Wingfield'sresidence.

  The honest farmer, who, with his wife and two of his men, was standingin a field at the top of the hill, gazing at the conflagration, hearingthe noise occasioned by the carts, ran to the road-side to see what wascoming, and encountered Mr. Bloundel and Leonard, who had walked up theascent a little more quickly than the others.

  "I have been thinking of you," he said, after a cordial greeting hadpassed between them, "and wondering what would become of you in thisdreadful fire. Nay, I had just told my dame I should go and look afteryou, and see whether I could be of any service to you. Well, I should bebetter pleased to see you in any way but this, though you could not bewelcomer. I have room in the barn and outhouses for all you havebrought, and hope and trust you have not lost much."

  "I have lost nothing except the old house," replied the grocer, heavinga sigh.

  "Another will soon be built," rejoined Wingfield, "and till that is doneyou shall not quit mine."

  The coach having by this time arrived, Wingfield hastened towards it,and assisted its occupants to alight. Mrs. Bloundel was warmly welcomedby Dame Wingfield, and being taken with her children to the house, wastruly happy to find herself under the shelter of its hospitable roof.The rest of the party, assisted by Wingfield and his men, exertingthemselves to the utmost, the carts were speedily unloaded, and thegoods deposited in the barns and outhouses. This done, the drivers wereliberally rewarded for their trouble by Mr. Bloundel, and after drainingseveral large jugs of ale brought them by the farmer, made the best oftheir way back, certain of obtaining further employment during thenight.

  Fatigued as he was, Leonard, before retiring to rest, could not helplingering on the brow of the hill to gaze at the burning city. The sameeffect was observable here as at Paddington, and the conflagrationappeared little more than a mile off. The whole heavens seemed on fire,and a distant roar was heard like the rush of a high wind through amighty forest. Westminster Abbey and Saint Paul's could be distinctlyseen in black relief against the sheet of flame, together withinnumerable towers, spires, and other buildings, the whole constitutinga picture unsurpassed for terrific grandeur since the world began, andonly to be equalled by its final destruction.

  Having gazed at the conflagration for some time, and fancied that hecould even at this distance discern the fearful progress it made,Leonard retired to the barn, and throwing himself upon a heap of straw,instantly fell asleep. He was awakened the next morning by FarmerWingfield, who came to tell him breakfast was ready, and havingperformed his ablutions, they adjourned to the house. Finding Mr.Bloundel comfortably established in his new quarters, Leonard proposedas soon as breakfast was over to proceed to town, and Wingfieldvolunteered to accompany him. Blaize, also, having placed his treasures,except a few pieces of gold, in the custody of Patience, begged to makeone of the party, and his request being acceded to, the trio set out onfoot, and gleaning fresh particulars of the fearful progress of thefire, as they advanced, passed along Oxford-road, and crossing HolbornBridge, on the western side of which they were now demolishing thehouses, mounted Snow-hill, and passed through the portal of Newgate.

  Here they learnt that the whole of Wood-street was consumed, that thefire had spread eastward as far as Gutter-lane, and that Saint Michael'sChurch, adjoining Wood-street, Goldsmiths' Hall, and the church of SaintJohn Zachary, were in flames. They were also told that the greater partof Cheapside was on fire, and wholly impassable--while the destructiveelement was invading at one and the same time Guildhall and the RoyalExchange. They furthermore learnt that the conflagration had spreadfearfully along the side of the river, had passed Queenhithe, consumingall the wharves and warehouses in its way, and having just destroyedPaul's Wharf, was at that time assailing Baynard's Castle. Thisintelligence determined them not to attempt to proceed further into thecity, which they saw was wholly impracticable; and they accordinglyturned down Ivy-lane, and approached the cathedral with the intention,if possible, of ascending the central tower. They found a swarm ofbooksellers' porters and assistants at the northern entrance, engaged intransporting immense bales of books and paper to the vaults in SaintFaith's, where it was supposed the stock would be in safety, permissionto that effect having been obtained from the dean and chapter.

  Forcing their way through this crowd, Leonard and his companions crossedthe transept, and proceeded towards the door of the spiral staircaseleading to the central tower. It was open, and they passed through it.On reaching the summit of the tower, which they found occupied by somedozen or twenty persons, a spectacle that far exceeded the utmoststretch of their imaginations burst upon them. Through clouds of tawnysmoke scarcely distinguishable from flame, so thickly were they chargedwith sparks and fire-flakes, they beheld a line of fire spreading alongCheapside and Cornhill, as far as the Royal Exchange, which was now inflames, and branching upwards in another line through Lawrence-lane toGuildhall, which was likewise burning. Nearer to them, on the north, thefire kindled by the wretched Pillichody, who only, perhaps, anticipatedthe work of destruction by a few hours, had, as they had heard,proceeded to Goldsmiths' Hall, and was rapidly advancing down SaintAnn's-lane to Aldersgate. But it was on the right, and to thesouth-east, that the conflagration assumed its most terrific aspect.There, from Bow Church to the river-side, beyond the bridge as far asBillingsgate, and from thence up Mincing-lane, crossing Fenchurch-streetand Lime-street to Gracechurch and Cornhill, describing a space of morethan two miles in length and one in depth, every habitation was on fire.The appearance of this bed of flame was like an ocean of fire agitatedby a tempest, in which a number of barks were struggling, some of thembeing each moment engulfed. The stunning and unearthly roar of theflames aided this appearance, which was further heightened by theenormous billows of flame that ever and anon rolled tumultuously onwardas they were caught by some gust of wind of more than usual violence.The spires of the churches looked like the spars of "tall admirals,"that had foundered, while the blackening ruins of the halls and largerbuildings well represented the ribs and beams of mighty hulks.

  Leaving Leonard and his companions to the contemplation of thistremendous
spectacle, we shall proceed to take a nearer view of itsravages. Every effort had been used to preserve the Royal Exchange bythe city authorities, and by the engineers, headed by the king inperson. All the buildings in its vicinity were demolished. But in vain.The irresistible and unrelenting foe drove the defenders back as before,seized upon their barricades, and used them, like a skilful besieger,against the fortress they sought to protect. Solomon Eagle, who wasmounted upon a heap of ruins, witnessed this scene of destruction, anduttered a laugh of exultation as the flames seized upon their prey.

  "I told you," he cried, "that the extortioners and usurers who resortedto that building, and made gold their god, would be driven forth, andtheir temple destroyed. And my words have come to pass. It burns--itburns--and so shall they, if they turn not from their ways."

  Hearing this wild speech, and beholding the extraordinary figure of theenthusiast, whose scorched locks and smoke-begrimed limbs gave himalmost the appearance of an infernal spirit, the king inquired, withsome trepidation, from his attendants, who or what he was, and beinginformed, ordered them to seize him. But the enthusiast set theirattempts at naught. Springing with wonderful agility from fragment tofragment of the ruins, and continuing his vociferations, he at lastplunged through the flame into the Exchange itself, rendering furtherpursuit, of course, impossible, unless those who desired to capture him,were determined to share his fate, which now seemed inevitable. To theastonishment of all, however, he appeared a few minutes afterwards onthe roof of the blazing pile, and continued his denunciations tilldriven away by the flames. He seemed, indeed, to bear a charmed life,for it was rumoured--though the report was scarcely credited--that hehad escaped from the burning building, and made good his retreat toSaint Paul's. Soon after this, the Exchange was one mass of flame.Having gained an entrance to the galleries, the fire ran round them withinconceivable swiftness, as was the case in the conflagration of thislater structure, and filling every chamber, gushed out of the windows,and poured down upon the courts and walks below. Fearful and prodigiouswas the ruin that ensued. The stone walls cracked with the intenseheat--tottered and fell--the pillars shivered and broke asunder, thestatues dropped from their niches, and were destroyed, one onlysurviving the wreck--that of the illustrious founder, Sir ThomasGresham.

  Deploring the fate of the Royal Exchange, the king and his attendantsproceeded to Guildhall. But here they were too late, nor could they evenrescue a tithe of the plate and valuables lodged within it for security.The effects of the fire as displayed in this structure, were singularlygrand and surprising. The greater part of the ancient fabric beingcomposed of oak of the hardest kind, it emitted little flame, but becameafter a time red hot, and remained in this glowing state till night,when it resembled, as an eye-witness describes, "a mighty palace ofgold, or a great building of burnished brass."

  The greatest fury of the conflagration was displayed at the Poultry,where five distinct fires met, and united their forces--one which cameroaring down Cornhill from the Royal Exchange--a second downThreadneedle-street--a third up Walbrook--a fourth alongBucklersbury--and a fifth that marched against the wind up Cheapside,all these uniting, as at a focus, a whirl of flame, an intensity ofheat, and a thundering roar were produced, such as were nowhere elseexperienced.

  To return to the party on the central tower of the cathedral:--Stunnedand half stifled by the roar and smoke, Leonard and his companionsdescended from their lofty post, and returned to the body of the fane.They were about to issue forth, when Leonard, glancing down the northernaisle, perceived the Earl of Rochester and Lord Argentine standingtogether at the lower end of it. Their gestures showed that it was notan amicable meeting, and mindful of what had passed at Whitehall,Leonard resolved to abide the result. Presently, he saw Lord Argentineturn sharply round, and strike his companion in the face with his glove.The clash of swords instantly succeeded, and Leonard and Wingfieldstarted forward to separate the combatants. Blaize, followed, but morecautiously, contenting himself with screaming at the top of his voice,"Murder! murder! sacrilege! a duel! a duel!"

  Wingfield was the first to arrive at the scene of strife, but just as hereached the combatants, who were too much blinded by passion to noticehis approach, Lord Argentine struck his adversary's weapon from hisgrasp, and would have followed up the advantage if the farmer had notwithheld his arm. Enraged at the interference, Argentine turned his furyagainst the newcomer, and strove to use his sword against him--but inthe terrible struggle that ensued, and at the close of which they felltogether, the weapon, as if directed by the hand of an avenging fate,passed through his own breast, inflicting a mortal wound.

  "Susan Wingfield is avenged!" said the farmer, as he arose, drenched inthe blood of his opponent.

  "Susan Wingfield!" exclaimed the wounded man--"what was she to you?"

  "Much," replied the farmer. "She was my daughter."

  "Ah!" exclaimed Argentine, with an expression of unutterable anguish."Let me have your forgiveness," he groaned.

  "You have it," replied Wingfield, kneeling beside him, "and may Godpardon us both--you for the wrong you did my daughter, me for beingaccidentally the cause of your death. But I trust you are not mortallyhurt?"

  "I have not many minutes to live," replied Argentine. "But is not thatLeonard Holt?"

  "It is," said Rochester, stepping forward.

  "I can then do one rightful act before I die," he said, raising himselfon one hand, and holding the other forcibly to his side, so as to stanchin some degree the effusion of blood. "Leonard Holt," he continued, "mysister Isabella loves you--deeply, devotedly. I have tried to conquerthe passion, but in vain. You have my consent to wed her."

  "I am a witness to your words my lord," said Rochester, "and I call uponall present to be so likewise."

  "Rochester, you were once my friend," groaned Argentine, "and may yet bea friend to the dead. Remember the king sells titles. Teach this youngman how to purchase one. My sister must not wed one of his degree."

  "Make yourself easy on that score," replied Rochester; "he has alreadysufficient claim upon the king. He saved his life yesterday."

  "He will trust to a broken reed if he trusts to Charles's gratitude,"replied Argentine. "Buy the title--_buy_ it, I say. My sister left meyesterday. I visited my anger on her head, and she fled. I believe shetook refuge with Doctor Hodges, but I am sure he can tell you where sheis. One thing more," continued the dying man, fixing his glazing eyes onLeonard. "Go to Newgate--to--to a prisoner there--an incendiary--andobtain a document of him. Tell him, with my dying breath I charged youto do this. It will enable you to act as I have directed. Promise me youwill go. Promise me you will fulfil my injunctions."

  "I do," replied Leonard.

  "Enough," rejoined Argentine. "May you be happy with Isabella." Andremoving his hand from his side, a copious effusion of blood followed,and, sinking backwards, he expired.

  VII.

  THE BURNING OF SAINT PAUL'S.

  Several other persons having by this time come up, the body of LordArgentine was conveyed to Bishop Kempe's Chapel, and left there till afitting season should arrive for its removal. Confounded by the tragicalevent that had taken place, Leonard remained with his eyes fixed uponthe blood-stained pavement, until he was roused by an arm which gentlydrew him away, while the voice of the Earl of Rochester breathed in hisear, "This is a sad occurrence, Leonard; and yet it is most fortunatefor you, for it removes the only obstacle to your union with the LadyIsabella. You see how fleeting life is, and how easily we may bedeprived of it. I tried to reason Lord Argentine into calmness; butnothing would satisfy him except my blood; and there he lies, though notby my hand. Let his fate be a lesson to us, and teach us to live incharity with each other. I have wronged you--deeply wronged you; but Iwill make all the atonement in my power, and let me think I amforgiven."

  The blood rushed tumultuously to Leonard's heart as he listened to whatthe earl said, but overcoming his feelings of aversion by a powerfuleffort, he took the proffered hand.

>   "I do forgive you my lord," he said.

  "Those words have removed a heavy weight from my soul," repliedRochester; "and if death should trip up my heels as suddenly as he didhis who perished on this spot, I shall be better prepared to meet him.And now let me advise you to repair to Newgate without delay, and seethe wretched man, and obtain the document from him. The fire will reachthe gaol ere long, and the prisoners must of necessity be removed. Amidthe confusion his escape might be easily accomplished."

  "Recollect, my lord, that the direful conflagration now prevailingwithout is owing to him," replied Leonard. "I will never be accessory tohis escape."

  "And yet his death by the public executioner," urged Rochester. "Thinkof its effect on his daughter."

  "Justice must take its course," rejoined Leonard. "I would not aid himto escape if he were my own father."

  "In that case, nothing more is to be said," replied Rochester. "But atall events, see him as quickly as you can. I would accompany you, but myduty detains me here. When you return from your errand you will find meat my post near the entrance of the churchyard in front of SaintMichael's le Quern; that is, if I am not beaten from it. Having seen thefather, your next business must be to seek out the daughter, and removeher from this dangerous neighbourhood. You have heard where she is to befound."

  Upon this they separated, Leonard and his companions quitting thecathedral by the great western entrance, and proceeding towardsPaul's-alley, and the earl betaking himself to the north-east corner ofthe churchyard. The former got as far as Ivy-lane, but found it whollyimpassable, in consequence of the goods and furniture with which it wasblocked up. They were, therefore, obliged to return to the precincts ofthe cathedral, where Blaize, who was greatly terrified by what he hadseen, expressed his determination of quitting them, and hurried back tothe sacred pile. Leonard and the farmer next essayed to get up AveMaria-lane; but, finding that also impassable, they made for Ludgate,and, after a long delay and severe struggle, got through the portal. TheOld Bailey was entirely filled with persons removing their goods; andthey were here informed, to their great dismay, that the conflagrationhad already reached Newgate Market, which was burning with the greatestfury, and was at that moment seizing upon the gaol. No one, however, inanswer to Leonard's inquiries, could tell him what had become of theprisoners.

  "I suppose they have left them to burn," observed a bystander, who heardthe question with a malicious look; "and it is the best way of gettingrid of them." Paying no attention to the remark, nor to the brutal laughaccompanying it, Leonard, assisted by Wingfield, fought his way throughthe crowd till he reached the prison. The flames were bursting throughits grated windows, and both wings, as well as the massive gateconnecting them, were on fire. Regardless of the risk he ran, Leonardforced his way to the lodge-door, where two turnkeys were standing,removing their goods.

  "What has become of the prisoners?" he asked.

  "The debtors are set free," replied the turnkey addressed, "and all butone or two of the common felons are removed."

  "And where are those poor creatures?" cried Leonard, horror-stricken.

  "In the Stone Hold," replied the turnkey.

  "And have you left them to perish there?" demanded Leonard.

  "We couldn't help it," rejoined the turnkey. "It would have been riskingour lives to venture near them. One is a murderer, taken in the fact;and the other is quite as bad, for he set the city on fire; so its rightand fair he should perish by his own contrivance."

  "Where does the Stone Hold lie?" cried Leonard, in a tone that startledthe turnkey. "I must get these prisoners out."

  "You can't, I tell you," rejoined the turnkey, doggedly. "They're burntto a cinder by this time."

  "Give me your keys, and show me the way to the cell," cried Leonard,authoritatively. "I will at least attempt to save them."

  "Well, if you're determined to put an end to yourself, you may try,"replied the turnkey; "but I've warned you as to what you may expect.This way," he added, opening a door, from which a thick volume of smokeissued; "if any of 'em's alive, you'll soon know by the cries." And, asif in answer to his remark, a most terrific shriek at that moment burston their ears.

  "Here are the keys," cried the turnkey, delivering them to Leonard. "Youare not going too?" he added, as Wingfield pushed past him. "A couple ofmadmen! I shouldn't wonder if they were incendiaries."

  Directed by the cries, Leonard pressed forward through the blinding andstifling smoke. After proceeding about twenty yards, he arrived at across passage where the smoke was not quite so dense, as it found anescape through a small grated aperture in the wall. And here a horriblesight was presented to him. At the further extremity of this passage wasa small cell, from which the cries he had heard issued. Not far from itthe stone roof had fallen in, and from the chasm thus caused the flameswere pouring into the passage. Regardless of the risk he ran, Leonarddashed forward, and reaching the cell, beheld Grant, still living, butin such a dreadful state, that it was evident his sufferings must soonbe ended. His hair and beard were singed close to his head and face, andhis flesh was blistered, blackened, and scorched to the bone. On seeingLeonard, he uttered a hoarse cry, and attempted to speak, but the wordsrattled in his throat. He then staggered forward, and, to Leonard'sinexpressible horror, thrust his arms through the bars of the cage,which were literally red-hot. Seeing he had something in one hand,though he could not unclose his fingers, Leonard took it from him, andthe wretched man fell backwards. At this moment a loud crack was heardin the wall behind. Several ponderous stones dropped from their places,admitting a volume of flame that filled the whole cell, and disclosinganother body on the floor, near which lay that of Grant. Horrified bythe spectacle, Leonard staggered off, and, catching Wingfield's arm,sought to retrace his steps. This was no easy matter, the smoke being sodense, that they could not see a foot before them, and was obliged tofeel their way along the wall. On arriving at the cross passage,Wingfield would fain have turned off to the right, but Leonard drew himforcibly in the opposite direction; and most fortunate was it that hedid so, or the worthy farmer would inevitably have perished. At lastthey reached the lodge, and sank down on a bench from exhaustion.

  "So, my masters," observed the turnkey, with a grim smile, "you were notable to rescue them, I perceive?" But receiving no answer, he added,"Well, and what did you see?"

  "A sight that would have moved even your stony heart to compassion,"returned Leonard, getting up and quitting the lodge. Followed byWingfield, and scarcely knowing where he was going, he forced his waythrough the crowd, and dashing down Snow-hill, did not stop till hereached Holborn Conduit, where, seizing a leathern bucket, he filled itwith water, and plunged his head into it. Refreshed by the immersion, henow glanced at the document committed to him by Grant. It was a piece ofparchment, and showed by its shrivelled and scorched appearance theagony which its late possessor must have endured, Leonard did not openit, but thrust it with a shudder into his doublet.

  Meditating on the strange and terrible events that had just occurred,Leonard's thoughts involuntarily wandered to the Lady Isabella, whoseimage appeared to him like a bright star shining on troubled waters, andfor the first time venturing to indulge in a hope that she might indeedbe his, he determined immediately to proceed in search of her.

  It was now high noon, but the mid-day sun was scarcely visible, or notvisible at all; as it struggled through the masses of yellow vapour itlooked red as blood. Bands of workmen were demolishing houses on thewestern side of Fleet Ditch, and casting the rubbish into the muddysluice before them, by which means it was confidently but vainly hopedthat the progress of the fire would be checked. Shaping their coursealong the opposite side of the ditch, and crossing to Fleet Bridge,Leonard and his companion passed through Salisbury-court to Whitefriars,and taking a boat, directed the waterman to land them at Puddle Dock.The river was still covered with craft of every description laden withgoods, and Baynard's Castle, an embattled stone structure of greatstrength and solidity, built at the
beginning of the fifteenth centuryon the site of another castle as old as the Conquest, being now wrappedin flames from foundation to turret, offered a magnificent spectacle.From this point the four ascents leading to the cathedral, namely,Addle-hill, Saint Bennet's-hill, Saint Peter's-hill, and Lambert-hill,with all their throng of habitations, were burning--the black lines ofruined walls standing in bold relief against the white sheet of flame.Billows of fire rolled upwards every moment towards Saint Paul's, andthreatened it with destruction.

  Landing at the appointed place Leonard and his companion ascended SaintAndrew's-hill, and, proceeding along Carter-lane, soon gained theprecincts of the cathedral. Here the whole mass of habitations on thesummit of Saint Bennet's-hill extending from the eastern, end ofCarter-lane to Distaff-lane, was on fire, and the flames were dashed bythe fierce wind against the south-east corner of the cathedral. A largecrowd was collected at this point, and great efforts were made to savethe venerable pile, but Leonard saw that its destruction was inevitable.Forcing a way through the throng with his companion, they reached DoctorHodges's residence at the corner of Watling-street, and Leonard, withoutwaiting to knock, tried the door, which yielded to his touch. Thehabitation was empty, and from the various articles scattered about itwas evident its inmates must have fled with the greatest precipitation.Alarmed at this discovery, Leonard rushed forth with Wingfield, andsought to ascertain from the crowd without whither Doctor Hodges wasgone, but could learn nothing more than that he had departed with hiswhole household a few hours before. At last it occurred to him that hemight obtain some information from the Earl of Rochester, and he wasabout to cross to the other side of the churchyard, when he was arrestedby a simultaneous cry of horror from the assemblage. Looking upwards,for there he saw the general gaze directed, he perceived that thescaffolding around the roof and tower of the cathedral had kindled, andwas enveloping the whole upper part of the fabric in a network of fire.Flames were likewise bursting from the belfry, and from the loftypointed windows below it, flickering and playing round the hoarybuttresses, and disturbing the numerous jackdaws that built in theirtimeworn crevices, and now flew screaming forth. As Leonard gazed at thesummit of the tower, be discerned through the circling eddies of smokethat enveloped it the figure of Solomon Eagle standing on the top of thebattlements and waving his staff, and almost fancied he could hear hisvoice. After remaining in this perilous situation for some minutes, asif to raise anxiety for his safety to the highest pitch, the enthusiastsprang upon a portion of the scaffolding that was only partly consumed,and descended from pole to pole, regardless whether burning or not, withmarvellous swiftness, and apparently without injury. Alighting on theroof, he speeded to the eastern extremity of the fane, and therecommenced his exhortations to the crowd below.

  It now became evident also, from the strange roaring noise proceedingfrom the tower, that the flames were descending the spiral staircase,and forcing their way through some secret doors or passages to the roof.Determined to take one last survey of the interior of the cathedralbefore its destruction, which he now saw was inevitable, Leonardmotioned to Wingfield, and forcing his way through the crowd, which wasnow considerably thinned, entered the southern door. He had scarcelygained the middle of the transept when the door opened behind him, andtwo persons, whom, even in the brief glimpse he caught of them, he knewto be Chowles and Judith, darted towards the steps leading to SaintFaith's. They appeared to be carrying a large chest, but Leonard was toomuch interested in what was occurring to pay much attention to them.There were but few persons besides himself and his companion within thecathedral, and these few were chiefly booksellers' porters, who werehurrying out of Saint Faith's in the utmost trepidation. By-and-by,these were gone, and they were alone--alone within that vast structure,and at such a moment. Their situation, though perilous, was one thatawakened thrilling and sublime emotions. The cries of the multitude,coupled with the roaring of the conflagration, resounded from without,while the fierce glare of the flames lighted up the painted windows atthe head of the choir with unwonted splendour. Overhead was heard ahollow rumbling noise like that of distant thunder, which continued fora short time, while fluid streams of smoke crept through the mightyrafters of the roof, and gradually filled the whole interior of thefabric with vapour. Suddenly a tremendous cracking was heard, as if thewhole pile were tumbling in pieces. So appalling was this sound, thatLeonard and his companion would have fled, but they were completelytransfixed by terror.

  While they were in this state, the flames, which had long been burningin secret, burst through the roof at the other end of the choir, andinstantaneously spread over its whole expanse. At this juncture, a cryof wild exultation was heard in the great northern gallery, and lookingup, Leonard beheld Solomon Eagle, hurrying with lightning swiftnessaround it, and shouting in tones of exultation, "My words have come topass--it burns--it burns--and will be utterly consumed!"

  The vociferations of the enthusiast were answered by a piercing cry frombelow, proceeding from Blaize, who at that moment rushed from theentrance of Saint Faith's. On seeing the porter, Leonard shouted to him,and the poor fellow hurried towards him. At this juncture, a strangehissing sound was heard, as if a heavy shower of rain were descendingupon the roof, and through the yawning gap over the choir there poured astream of molten lead of silvery brightness. Nothing can be conceivedmore beautiful than this shining yet terrible cascade, which descendedwith momentarily increasing fury, sparkling, flashing, hissing, andconsuming all before it. All the elaborately carved woodwork and stallsupon which it fell were presently in flames. Leonard and his companionsnow turned to fly, but they had scarcely moved a few paces when anotherfiery cascade burst through the roof near the great western entrance,for which they were making, flooding the aisles and plashing against themassive columns. At the same moment, too, a third stream began to fallover the northern transept, not far from where Blaize stood, and a fewdrops of the burning metal reaching him, caused him to utter the mostfearful outcries. Seriously alarmed, Leonard and Wingfield now rushed toone of the monuments in the northern aisle, and hastily clambering it,reached a window, which they burst open. Blaize followed them, but notwithout receiving a few accidental plashes from the fiery torrents,which elicited from him the most astounding yells. Having helped him toclimb the monument, Leonard pushed him through the window afterWingfield, and then cast his eye round the building before he himselfdescended. The sight was magnificent in the extreme. Prom the flamingroof three silvery cascades descended. The choir was in flame, and aglowing stream like lava was spreading over the floor, and slowlytrickling down the steps leading to the body of the church. Thetransepts and the greater part of the nave were similarly flooded. Abovethe roar of the flames and the hissing plash of the descending torrents,was heard the wild laughter of Solomon Eagle. Perceiving him in one ofthe arcades of the southern gallery, Leonard shouted to him to descend,and make good his escape while there was yet time, adding that in a fewmoments it would be too late.

  "I shall never quit it more," rejoined the enthusiast, in a voice ofthunder, "but shall perish with the fire I have kindled. No monarch onearth ever lighted a nobler funeral pyre."

  And as Leonard passed through the window, he disappeared along thegallery. Breaking through the crowd collected round Wingfield andBlaize, and calling to them to follow him, Leonard made his way to thenorth-east of the churchyard, where he found a large assemblage ofpersons, in the midst of which were the king, the Duke of York,Rochester, Arlington, and many others. As Leonard advanced, Charlesdiscerned him amid the crowd, and motioned him to come forward. Apassage was then cleared, for him, through which Wingfield and Blaize,who kept close beside him, were permitted to pass.

  "I am glad to find no harm has happened to you, friend," said Charles,as he approached. "Rochester informed me you were gone to Newgate, andas the gaol had been burnt down, I feared you might have met with thesame mishap. I now regret that I did not adopt your plan, but it may notbe yet too late."

  "It is not too late t
o save a portion of your city, sire," repliedLeonard; "but, alas! how much is gone!"

  "It is so," replied the king, mournfully.

  Further conversation was here interrupted by the sudden breaking out ofthe fire from the magnificent rose window of the cathedral, the effectof which, being extraordinarily fine, attracted the monarch's attention.By this time Solomon Eagle had again ascended the roof, and making hisway to the eastern extremity, clasped the great stone cross thatterminated it with his left hand, while with his right he menaced theking and his party, uttering denunciations that were lost in theterrible roar prevailing around him. The flames now raged with afierceness wholly inconceivable, considering the material they had towork upon. The molten lead poured down in torrents, and not merelyflooded the whole interior of the fabric, but ran down in a wide andboiling stream almost as far as the Thames, consuming everything in itsway, and rendering the very pavements red-hot. Every stone, spout, andgutter in the sacred pile, of which there were some hundreds, added tothis fatal shower, and scattered destruction far and wide; nor will thisbe wondered at when it is considered that the quantity of lead thusmelted covered a space of no less than six acres. Having burned withincredible fury and fierceness for some time, the whole roof of thesacred structure fell in at once, and with a crash heard at an amazingdistance. After an instant's pause, the flames burst forth from everywindow in the fabric, producing such an intensity of heat, that thestone pinnacles, transom beams, and mullions split and cracked with asound like volleys of artillery, shivering and flying in everydirection. The whole interior of the pile was now one vast sheet offlame, which soared upwards, and consumed even the very stones. Not avestige of the reverend structure was left untouched--its bells--itsplate--its woodwork--its monuments--its mighty pillars--itsgalleries--its chapels--all, all were destroyed. The fire ragedthroughout all that night and the next day, till it had consumed all butthe mere shell, and rendered the venerable cathedral--"one of the mostancient pieces of piety in the Christian world"--to use the words ofEvelyn, a heap of ruin and ashes.

  VIII.

  HOW LEONARD RESCUED THE LADY ISABELLA.

  The course of events having been somewhat anticipated in the lastchapter, it will now be necessary to return to an earlier stage in thedestruction of the cathedral, namely, soon after the furious burstingforth of the flames from the great eastern windows. While Leonard, incommon with the rest of the assemblage, was gazing at this magnificentspectacle, he heard a loud cry of distress behind him, and turning atthe sound, beheld Doctor Hodges rush forth from an adjoining house, theupper part of which was on fire, almost in a state of distraction. Anelderly man and woman, and two or three female servants, all of whomwere crying as loud as himself, followed him. But their screams fell onindifferent ears, for the crowd had become by this time too muchaccustomed to such appeals to pay any particular attention to them.Leonard, however, instantly rushed towards the doctor, and anxiouslyinquired what was the matter; the latter was so bewildered that he didnot recognise the voice of the speaker, but gazing up at the house withan indescribable anguish, cried, "Merciful God! the flames have by thistime reached her room--she will be burned--horror!"

  "Who will be burned?" cried Leonard, seizing his arm, and gazing at himwith a look of apprehension and anguish equal to his own--"Not the LadyIsabella?"

  "Yes, Isabella," replied Hodges, regarding the speaker, and for thefirst time perceiving by whom he was addressed. "Not a moment is to belost if you would save her from a terrible death. She was left in afainting state in one of the upper rooms by a female attendant, whodeserted her mistress to save herself. The staircase is on fire, or Imyself would have saved her."

  "A ladder! a ladder!" cried Leonard.

  "Here is one," cried Wingfield, pointing to one propped against anadjoining house. And in another moment, by the combined efforts of thecrowd, the ladder was brought and placed against the burning building.

  "Which is the window?" cried Leonard.

  "That on the right, on the second floor," replied Hodges. "GraciousHeaven! the flames are bursting from it."

  But Leonard's foot was now on the ladder, and rushing up withinconceivable swiftness, he plunged through the window regardless of theflame. All those who witnessed this daring deed, regarded hisdestruction as certain, and even Hodges gave him up for lost. But thenext moment he appeared at the window, bearing the fainting female formin his arms, and with extraordinary dexterity obtaining a firm footingand hold of the ladder, descended in safety. The shout that burst fromsuch part of the assemblage as had witnessed this achievement, and itssuccessful termination, attracted the king's attention, and he inquiredthe cause of the clamour.

  "I will ascertain it for your majesty," replied Rochester, andproceeding to the group, he learnt, to his great satisfaction, what hadoccurred. Having gained this intelligence, he flew back to the king, andbriefly explained the situation of the parties. Doctor Hodges, itappeared, had just removed to the house in question, which belonged toone of his patients, as a temporary asylum, and the Lady Isabella hadaccompanied him. She was in the upper part of the house when the firebroke out, and was so much terrified that she swooned away, in whichcondition her attendant left her; nor was the latter so much to blame asmight appear, for the stairs were burning at the time, and a moment'sdelay would have endangered her own safety.

  "Fate, indeed, seems to have brought these young persons together,"replied Charles, as he listened to Rochester's recital, who took thisopportunity of acquainting him with Lord Argentine's dying injunctions,"and it would be a pity to separate them."

  "I am sure your majesty has no such intention," said Rochester.

  "You will see," rejoined the monarch. And, as he spoke, he turned hishorse's head, and moved towards the spot where Leonard was kneelingbeside Isabella, and supporting her. Some restoratives having beenapplied by Doctor Hodges, she had regained her sensibility, and wasmurmuring her thanks to her deliverer.

  "She has not lost her beauty, I perceive," cried Charles, gazing at herwith admiration, and feeling something of his former passion revivewithin his breast.

  "Your majesty, I trust, will not mar their happiness," said Rochester,noticing the monarch's libertine look with uneasiness. "Remember, youowe your life to that young man."

  "And I will pay the debt royally," replied Charles; "I will give himpermission to marry her."

  "Your majesty's permission is scarcely needed," muttered Rochester.

  "There you are wrong, my lord," replied the king. "She is now my ward,and I can dispose of her in marriage as I please; nor will I so disposeof her except to her equal in rank."

  "I discern your majesty's gracious intentions," replied Rochester,gratefully inclining his head.

  "I almost forget my deliverer's name," whispered Charles, with a smile,"but it is of no consequence, since he will so speedily change it."

  "His name is Leonard Holt," replied Rochester, in the same tone.

  "Ah!--true," returned the king. "What ho! good Master Leonard Holt," headded, addressing the young man, "commit the Lady Isabella Argentine tothe care of our worthy friend Doctor Hodges for a moment, and stand upbefore me." His injunctions being complied with, he continued, "The LadyIsabella Argentine and I owe our lives to you, and we must both evinceour gratitude--she by devoting that life, which, if I am notmisinformed, she will be right willing to do, to you, and I by puttingyou in a position to unite yourself to her. The title of Argentine hasbeen this day extinguished by most unhappy circumstances; I thereforeconfer the title on you, and here in this presence create you BaronArgentine, of Argentine, in Staffordshire. Your patent shall be made outwith all convenient despatch, and with it you shall receive the hand ofthe sole representative of that ancient and noble house."

  "Your majesty overwhelms me," replied Leonard, falling on his knee andpressing the king's hand, which was kindly extended towards him, to hislips. "I can scarcely persuade myself I am not in a dream."

  "You will soon awaken to the sense of the joyful re
ality," returned theking. "Have I not now discharged my debt?" he added to Rochester.

  "Right royally, indeed, my liege," replied the earl, in a tone ofunaffected emotion. "My lord," he added, grasping Leonard's hand, "Isincerely congratulate you on your newly-acquired dignities, nor less inthe happiness that awaits you there."

  "If I do not answer you fittingly, my lord," replied the new-made peer,"it is not because I do not feel your kindness. But my brain reels. PrayHeaven my senses may not desert me."

  "You must not forget the document you obtained this morning, my lord,"replied Rochester, endeavouring to divert his thoughts into a newchannel. "The proper moment for consulting it may have arrived."

  Lord Argentine, for we shall henceforth give him his title, thrust hishand into his doublet, and drew forth the parchment. He opened it, andendeavoured to read it, but a mist swam before his eyes.

  "Let me look at it," said Rochester, taking it from him. "It is a deedof gift," he said, after glancing at it for a moment, "from the lateLord Argentine--I mean the elder baron--of a large estate in Yorkshire,which he possessed in right of his wife, to you, my lord, here describedas Leonard Holt, provided you shall marry the Lady Isabella Argentine.Another piece of good fortune. Again and again, I congratulate you."

  "And now," said Charles, "other and less pleasing matters claim ourattention. Let the Lady Isabella be removed, under the charge of DoctorHodges, to Whitehall, where apartments shall be provided for her atonce, together with fitting attendants, and where she can remain tillthis terrible conflagration is over which, I trust, soon will be, when Iwill no longer delay her happiness, but give her away in person.Chiffinch," he added to the chief page, "see all this is carried intoeffect."

  "I will, my liege, and right willingly," replied Chiffinch.

  "I would send you with her, my lord," pursued Charles to Argentine, "butI have other duties for you to fulfil. The plan you proposed ofdemolishing the houses with gunpowder shall be immediately put intooperation, under your own superintendence."

  A chair was now brought, and the Lady Isabella, after a tender partingwith her lover, being placed within it, she was thus transported, underthe charge of Hodges and Chiffinch, to Whitehall, where she arrived insafety, though not without having sustained some hindrance andinconvenience.

  She had not been gone many minutes, when the conflagration of thecathedral assumed its most terrific character; the whole of the mightyroof falling in, and the flames soaring upwards, as before related. Upto this time, Solomon Eagle had maintained his position at the easternend of the roof, and still grasped the stone cross. His situation nowattracted universal attention, for it was evident he must speedilyperish.

  "Poor wretch!" exclaimed the king, shuddering, "I fear there is no wayof saving him."

  "None, whatever my liege," replied Rochester, "nor do I believe he wouldconsent to it if there were. But he is again menacing your majesty."

  As Rochester spoke, Solomon Eagle shook his arm menacingly at the royalparty, raising it aloft, as if invoking the vengeance of Heaven. He thenknelt down upon the sloping ridge of the roof, as if in prayer, and hisfigure, thus seen relieved against the mighty sheet of flame, might havebeen taken for an image of Saint John the Baptist carved in stone. Notan eye in the vast crowd below but was fixed on him. In a few moments herose again, and tossing his arms aloft, and shrieking, in a voicedistinctly heard above the awful roar around him, the single word"_Resurgam!_" flung himself headlong into the flaming abyss. Asimultaneous cry of horror rose from the whole assemblage on beholdingthis desperate action.

  "The last exclamation of the poor wretch may apply to the cathedral, aswell as to himself," remarked the monarch, to a middle-aged personage,with a pleasing and highly intellectual countenance, standing near him:"for the old building shall rise again, like a phoenix from its fires,with renewed beauty, and under your superintendence, Doctor ChristopherWren."

  The great architect bowed. "I cannot hope to erect such anotherstructure," he said, modestly; "but I will endeavour to design anedifice that shall not disgrace your majesty's city."

  "You must build me another city at the same time, Doctor Wren," sighedthe king. "Ah!" he added, "is not that Mr. Lilly, the almanac-maker,whom I see among the crowd?"

  "It is," replied Rochester.

  "Bid him come to me," replied the king. And the order being obeyed, hesaid to the astrologer, "Well, Mr. Lilly, your second prediction hascome to pass. We have had the Plague, and now we have the Fire. You maythank my clemency that I do not order you to be cast into the flames,like the poor wretch who has just perished before our eyes, as a wizardand professor of the black art. How did you obtain information of thesefatal events?"

  "By a careful study of the heavenly bodies, sire," replied Lilly, "andby long and patient calculations, which, if your majesty or any of yourattendants had had leisure or inclination to make, would have affordedyou the same information. _I_ make no pretence to the gift of prophecy,but this calamity was predicted in the last century."

  "Indeed! by whom?" asked the king.

  "By Michael Nostradamus," replied Lilly; "his prediction runs thus:--

  'La sang du juste a Londres fera faute, Bruslez par feu, le vingt et trois, les Six; La Dame antique cherra de place haute, De meme secte plusieurs seront occis.'[1]

  And thus I venture to explain it. The 'blood of the just' refers to theimpious and execrable murder of your majesty's royal father of blessedmemory. 'Three-and-twenty and six' gives the exact year of the calamity;and it may likewise give us, as will be seen by computation hereafter,the amount of habitations to be destroyed. The 'Ancient Dame'undoubtedly refers to the venerable pile now burning before us, which,as it stands in the most eminent spot in the city, clearly 'falls fromits high place.' The expression 'of the same sect' refers not to men,but churches, of which a large number, I grieve to say it, are alreadydestroyed."

  [Footnote 1:

  'The blood of the just shall be wanting in London, Burnt by fire of three-and-twenty, the Six; The ancient Dame shall fall from her high place, Of the same sect many shall be killed.']

  "The prophecy is a singular one," remarked Charles, musingly "and youhave given it a plausible interpretation." And for some moments heappeared lost in reflection. Suddenly rousing himself, he took forth histablets, and hastily tracing a few lines upon a leaf, tore it out, anddelivered it with his signet-ring to Lord Argentine. "Take this, mylord," he said, "to Lord Craven. You will find him at his post inTower-street. A band of my attendants shall go with you. Embark at thenearest stairs you can--those at Blackfriars I should conceive the mostaccessible. Bid the men row for their lives. As soon as you join LordCraven, commence operations. The Tower must be preserved at all hazards.Mark me!--at all hazards."

  "I understand your majesty," replied Argentine--"your commands shall beimplicitly obeyed. And if the conflagration has not gone too far, I willanswer with my life that I preserve the fortress." And he departed onhis mission.

  IX.

  WHAT BEFEL CHOWLES AND JUDITH IN THE VAULTS OF SAINT FAITH'S.

  Having now seen what occurred outside Saint Paul's, we shall proceed tothe vaults beneath it. Chowles and Judith, it has been mentioned, weredescried by Leonard, just before the outbreak of the fire, stealing intoSaint Faith's, and carrying a heavy chest between them. This chestcontained some of the altar-plate, which they had pillaged from theConvocation House. As they traversed the aisles of Saint Faith's, whichwere now filled with books and paper, they could distinctly hear theraging of the fire without, and Judith, who was far less intimidatedthan her companion, observed, "Let it roar on. It cannot injure us."

  "I am not so sure of that," replied Chowles, doubtfully, "I wish we hadtaken our hoards elsewhere."

  "There is no use in wishing that now," rejoined Judith. "And it wouldhave been wholly impossible to get them out of the city. But have nofear. The fire, I tell you, cannot reach us. It could as soon burn intothe solid earth as into this place."

&n
bsp; "It comforts me to hear you say so," replied Chowles. "And when I thinkof those mighty stone floors above us, I feel we are quite safe. No, no,it can never make its way through them."

  Thus discoursing, they reached the charnel at the further end of thechurch, where Chowles struck a light, and producing a flask of strongwaters, took a copious draught himself and handed the flask to Judith,who imitated his example. Their courage being thus stimulated, theyopened the chest, and Chowles was so enraptured with its glitteringcontents that he commenced capering round the vault. Recalled toquietude by a stern reproof from Judith, he opened a secret door in thewall, and pushed the chest into a narrow passage beyond it. Fearful ofbeing discovered in their retreat, they took a basket of provisions andliquor with them, and then closed the door. For some time, theyproceeded along the passage, pushing the chest before them, until theycame to a descent of a few steps, which brought them to a large vault,half-filled with bags of gold, chests of plate, caskets, and otherplunder. At the further end of this vault was a strong wooden door.Pushing the chest into the middle of the chamber, Chowles seated himselfupon it, and opening the basket of provisions, took out the bottle ofspirits, and again had recourse to it.

  "How comfortable and secure we feel in this quiet place," he said;"while all above us is burning. I declare I feel quite merry, ha! ha!"And he forced a harsh and discordant laugh.

  "Give me the bottle," rejoined Judith, sternly, "and don't grin like adeath's head. I don't like to see the frightful face you make."

  "It's the first time you ever thought my face frightful," repliedChowles, "and I begin to think you are afraid."

  "Afraid!" echoed Judith, forcing a derisive laugh in her turn;"afraid--of what?"

  "Nay, I don't know," replied Chowles; "only I feel a littleuncomfortable. What if we should not be able to breathe here? The veryidea gives me a tightness across the chest."

  "Silence!" cried Judith, with a fierceness that effectually insuredobedience to her command.

  Chowles again had recourse to the bottle, and deriving a false couragefrom it, as before, commenced skipping about the chamber in his usualfantastical manner. Judith, did not attempt to check him, but remainedwith her chin resting upon her hand gazing at him.

  "Do you remember the Dance of Death, Judith?" he cried, executing someof the wildest flourishes he had then performed, "and how I surprisedthe Earl of Rochester and his crew?"

  "I do," replied Judith, sternly, "and I hope we may not soon have toperform that dance together in reality."

  "It was a merry night," rejoined Chowles, who did not hear what shesaid, "a right merry night--and so to-night shall be, in spite of whatis occurring overhead. Ha! ha!" And he took another long pull at theflask. "I breathe freely now." And he continued his wild flourishesuntil he was completely exhausted. He then sat down by Judith, and wouldhave twined his bony arms round her neck, but she roughly repulsed him.

  With a growl of displeasure, he then proceeded to open and examine thevarious bags, chests, and caskets piled upon the floor, and the sight oftheir contents so excited Judith, that shaking off her misgivings, shejoined him, and they continued opening case after case, glutting theirgreedy eyes, until Chowles became aware that the vault was filled withsmoke. As soon as he perceived this, he started to his feet in terror.

  "We are lost--we shall be suffocated!" he cried! Judith likewise arose,and her looks showed that she shared in his apprehensions.

  "We must not stay here," cried Chowles; "and yet," he added, with anagonised look at the rich store before him, "the treasure! thetreasure!"

  "Ay, let us, at least, take something with us," rejoined Judith,snatching up two or three of the most valuable caskets.

  While Chowles gazed at the heap before him, hesitating what to select,the smoke grew so dense around them, that Judith seized his arm, anddragged him away. "I come--I come!" he cried, snatching up a bag ofgold.

  They then threaded the narrow passage, Judith leading the way andbearing the light. The smoke grew thicker and thicker as they advanced;but regardless of this, they hurried to the secret door leading to thecharnel. Judith touched the spring, but as she did so, a sheet of flameburst in and drove her back. Chowles dashed passed her, and with greatpresence of mind shut the door, excluding the flame. They then hastilyretraced their steps, feeling that not a moment was to be lost if theywould escape. The air in the vault, thickened by the smoke, had becomeso hot that they could scarcely breathe; added to which, to increasetheir terror, they heard the most awful cracking of the walls overhead,as if the whole fabric were breaking asunder to its foundation.

  "The cathedral is tumbling upon us! We shall be buried alive!" exclaimedChowles, as he listened with indescribable terror to the noise overhead!

  "I owe my death to you, wretch!" cried Judith, fiercely. "You persuadedme to come hither."

  "I!" cried Chowles. "It is a lie! You were the person who proposed it.But for you I should have left our hoards here, and come for them afterthe fire was over."

  "It is you who lie!" returned Judith, with increased fury, "that was myproposal."

  "Hold your tongue, you she-devil," cried Chowles, "it is you who havebrought me into this strait--and if you do not cease taunting me, I willsilence you for ever."

  "Coward and fool!" cried Judith, "I will at least have the satisfactionof seeing you die before me."

  And as she spoke, she rushed towards him, and a desperate strugglecommenced. And thus while the walls were cracking overhead, threateningthem with instant destruction, the two wretches continued their strife,uttering the most horrible blasphemies and execrations. Judith, beingthe stronger of the two, had the advantage, and she had seized heropponent by the throat with the intention of strangling him, when a mostterrific crash was heard causing her to loose her gripe. The airinstantly became as hot as the breath of a furnace, and both started totheir feet. "What has happened?" gasped Chowles.

  "I know not," replied Judith, "and I dare not look down the passage."

  "Then I will," replied Chowles, and he advanced a few paces up it, andthen hastily returned, shrieking, "it is filled with boiling lead, andthe stream is flowing towards us."

  Scarcely able to credit the extent of the danger, Judith gazed down thepassage, and there beheld a glowing silvery stream trickling slowlyonwards. She saw too well, that if they could not effect their retreatinstantly, their fate was sealed.

  "The door of the vault!" she cried, pointing towards it, "where is thekey? where is the key?"

  "I have not got it," replied Chowles, distractedly, "I cannot tell whereto find it."

  "Then we are lost!" cried Judith, with a terrible execration.

  "Not so," replied Chowles, snatching up a pickaxe, "if I cannot unlockthe door, I can break it open."

  With this, he commenced furiously striking against it, while Judith, whowas completely horror-stricken, and filled with the conviction that herlast moments were at hand, fell on her knees beside him, and gazing downthe passage, along which she could see the stream of molten lead, nownearly a foot in depth, gradually advancing, and hissing as it came,shrieked to Chowles to increase his exertions. He needed no incitementto do so, but nerved by fear, continued to deal blow after blow againstthe door, until at last he effected a small breach just above the lock.But this only showed him how vain were his hopes, for a stream of fireand smoke poured through the aperture. Notwithstanding this, hecontinued his exertions, Judith shrieking all the time, until the lockat last yielded. He then threw open the door, but finding the wholepassage involved in flame, was obliged to close it. Judith had nowrisen, and their looks at each other at this fearful moment wereterrible in the extreme. Retreating to either side of the cell, theyglared at each other like wild beasts. Suddenly, Judith casting her eyesto the entrance of the vault, uttered a yell of terror, that caused hercompanion to look in that direction, and he perceived that the stream ofmolten lead had gained it, and was descending the steps. He made a rushtowards the door at the same time with Judith, and another
struggleensued, in which he succeeded in dashing her upon the floor. He againopened the door, but was again driven backwards by the terrific flame,and perceived that the fiery current had reached Judith, who waswrithing and shrieking in its embrace. Before Chowles could again stir,it was upon him. With a yell of anguish, he fell forward, and wasinstantly stifled in the glowing torrent, which in a short time floodedthe whole chamber, burying the two partners in iniquity, and the wholeof their ill-gotten gains, in its burning waves.

  X.

  CONCLUSION.

  Lord Argentine proceeded, as directed by the king, to the eastern end ofTower-street, where he found Lord Craven, and having delivered him theking's missive, and shown him the signet, they proceeded to the westernside of the Tower Dock, and having procured a sufficient number ofminers and engineers, together with a supply of powder from thefortress, commenced undermining the whole of the row of habitationscalled Tower-bank, on the edge of the dock, having first, it is scarcelynecessary to state, taken care to clear them of their inhabitants. Thepowder deposited, the trains were fired, and the buildings blown intothe air. At this time the whole of the western side of the Tower Moatwas covered with low wooden houses and sheds, and, mindful of the king'sinstructions, Lord Argentine suggested to Lord Craven that they shouldbe destroyed. The latter acquiescing, they proceeded to their task, andin a short time the whole of the buildings of whatever description, fromthe bulwark-gate to the city postern, at the north of the Tower, andnearly opposite the Bowyer Tower, were destroyed. Long before this wasaccomplished they were joined by the Duke of York, who lent his utmostassistance to the task, and when night came on, a clear space of atleast a hundred yards in depth, had been formed between the ancientfortress and the danger with which it was threatened.

  Meantime the conflagration continued to rage with unabated fury. Itburnt throughout the whole of Monday night, and having destroyed SaintPaul's, as before related, poured down Ludgate-hill, consuming all inits way, and, crossing Fleet Bridge, commenced its ravages upon thegreat thoroughfare adjoining it. On Tuesday an immense tract was onfire. All Fleet-street, as far as the Inner Temple, Ludgate-hill, andthe whole of the city eastwards, along the banks of the Thames, up tothe Tower Dock, where the devastation was checked by the vast gap ofhouses demolished, were in flames. From thence the boundary of the fireextended to the end of Mark-lane, Lime-street, and Leadenhall, thestrong walls of which resisted its fury. Ascending again by the Standardon Cornhill, Threadneedle-street, and Austin Friars, it embracedDrapers' Hall, and the whole mass of buildings to the west ofThrogmorton-street. It next proceeded to the then new buildings behindSaint Margaret's, Lothbury, and so on westward to the upper end ofCateaton-street, whence it spread to the second postern in London Wall,and destroying the ramparts and suburbs as far as Cripplegate, consumedLittle Wood-street, Mungwell-street, and the whole of the city wall onthe west as far as Aldersgate. Passing a little to the north of SaintSepulchre's, which it destroyed, it crossed Holborn Bridge, andascending Saint Andrew's-hill, passed the end of Shoe-lane, and so on tothe end of Fetter-lane. The whole of the buildings contained within thisboundary were now on fire, and burning with terrific fury. And so theycontinued till the middle of Wednesday, when the wind abating, and animmense quantity of houses being demolished according to LordArgentine's plan, the conflagration was got under; and though it brokeout in several places after that time, little mischief was done, and itmay 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 ofhigh rank, took his way over the smouldering heaps of rubbish, and alongthe ranks of ruined and blackened walls denoting the habitations thathad once constituted Fleet-street. It was with no little risk, and somedifficulty, that he could force his way, now clambering over heaps ofsmouldering ashes, now passing by some toppling wall, which fell with aterrific crash after he had just passed it--now creeping under animmense pile of blackened rafters; but he at length reached FleetBridge, where he paused to gaze at the scene of devastation around him.

  It was indeed a melancholy sight, and drew tears to his eyes. Theravages of the fire were almost inconceivable. Great beams were burnt tocharcoal--stones calcined, and as white as snow, and such walls andtowers as were left standing were so damaged that their instant fall wasto 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 lingeredin the lower parts of many habitations, especially where wine, spirits,or inflammable goods had been kept; and these "voragos of subterraneancellars," as Evelyn terms them, still emitted flames, together with aprodigious smoke and stench. Undismayed by the dangers of the path hehad to traverse, the young man ascended Ludgate-hill, still encounteringthe same devastation, and passing through the ruined gateway, the end ofwhich remained perfect, approached what had once been Saint Paul'sCathedral. Mounting a heap of rubbish at the end of Ludgate street, hegazed at the mighty ruin, which looked more like the remains of a citythan those of a single edifice.

  The solid walls and buttresses were split and rent asunder; enormousstones were splintered and calcined by the heat; and vast flakes havingscaled from off the pillars, gave them a hoary and almost ghostlyappearance. 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. Partof the roof, in its fall, broke through the solid floor of the choir,which was of immense thickness, into Saint Faith's, and destroyed themagazine of books and paper deposited there by the booksellers. Theportico, erected by Inigo Jones, and which found so much favour inEvelyn's eyes, that he describes it as "comparable to any in Europe,"and particularly deplores its loss, shared the fate of the rest of thebuilding--the only part left uninjured being the architrave, theinscription on which was undefaced.

  Having satiated himself with this sad but striking prospect, the youngman, with some toil and trouble, crossed the churchyard, and gainedCheapside, where a yet more terrific scene of devastation than thatwhich he had previously witnessed burst upon him. On the right of LondonBridge, which he could discern through the chasms of the houses, andalmost to the Tower, were nothing but ruins, while a similar waste layon the left. Such was the terrible change that had been wrought in theaspect of the ruined city, that if the young man had not had some marksto guide him, he would not have known where he was. The tower and ruinedwalls of Saint Peter's Church pointed out to him the entrance toWood-street, and, entering it, he traversed it with considerabledifficulty--for the narrow thoroughfares were much fuller of rubbish,and much less freed from smoke and fiery vapour, than the wider--untilhe 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 amere heap of ruins. While gazing at them, he heard a voice behind him,and turning, beheld Mr. Bloundel and his son Stephen, forcing their waythrough what had once been Maiden-lane. A warm greeting passed betweenthem, and Mr. Bloundel gazed for some time in silence upon the wreck ofhis dwelling. Tears forced themselves into his eyes, and his companionswere no less moved. As he turned to depart, he observed to the young manwith some severity:

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

  Lord Argentine, for such it was, now explained to the wonder-strickengrocer all that had occurred to him, adding that he had intended comingto him that very day, if he had not been thus anticipated, to give himthe present explanation.

  "And where are Farmer Wingfield and Blaize?" asked Mr. Bloundel. "Wehave been extremely uneasy at your prolonged absence."

  "They are both at the palace," replied Lord Argentine, "and have bothbeen laid up with slight injuries received during the conflagration; butI believe--nay, I am sure--they will get out to-day."

  "That i
s well," replied Mr. Bloundel; "and now let me congratulate you,Leonard--that is, my lord--how strange such a title sounds!--on your newdignity.

  "And accept my congratulations, too, my lord," said Stephen.

  "Oh! do not style me thus," said Argentine. "With you, at least, let mebe ever Leonard Holt."

  "You are still my old apprentice, I see," cried the grocer, warmlygrasping his hand.

  "And such I shall ever continue in feeling," returned the other,cordially returning the pressure.

  Three days after this, Lord Argentine was united to the LadyIsabella.--the king, as he had promised, giving away the bride. The Earlof Rochester was present, together with the grocer and his wife, and thewhole of their family. Another marriage also took place on the same daybetween Blaize and Patience. Both unions, it is satisfactory to be ableto state, were extremely happy, though it would be uncandid not tomention, that in the latter case, to use a homely but expressive phrase,"the grey mare proved the better horse." Blaize, however, wasexceedingly content under his government. He settled at Willesden withhis wife, where they lived to a good old age, and where some of hisdescendants may still be found.

  Mr. Bloundel sustained only a trifling loss by the fire. Another housewas erected on the site of the old habitation, where he carried on hisbusiness as respectably and as profitably as before, until, in thecourse of nature, he was gathered to his fathers, and succeeded by hisson Stephen, leaving an unblemished character behind him as a legacy tohis family. Nor was it his only legacy, in a worldly sense, for his timehad not been misspent, and he had well-husbanded his money. All hisfamily turned out well, and were successful in the world. Stephen roseto the highest civic dignities, and the younger obtained greatdistinction. Their daughter Christiana became Lady Argentine, beingwedded to the eldest son of the baron and baroness.

  Mike Macascree, the piper, and Bell, found a happy asylum with the samenoble family.

  As to Lord and Lady Argentine, theirs was a life of uninterruptedhappiness. Devotedly attached to her lord, the Lady Isabella seemed onlyto live for him, and he well repaid her affection. By sedulouslycultivating his talents and powers, which were considerable, he wasenabled to reflect credit upon the high rank to which it had pleased agrateful sovereign to elevate him. He lived to see the new cathedralcompleted by Sir Christopher Wren, and often visited it with feelings ofadmiration, but never with the same sentiments of veneration and awethat he had experienced when, in times long gone by, he had repaired toOLD SAINT PAUL'S.

  THE END.

 
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