Section 6: Narration of the Great Fire of 1666

I proceed now to give a narration of the judgment of the fire; in which I shall be more brief, it being dispatched in fewer days than the plague was in months.

It was September 2, 1666, that the anger of the Lord was kindled against London, and the fire began: it began in a baker's house in Pudding Lane by Fish Street Hill: and now the Lord is making London like a fiery oven in the time of his anger, and in his wrath does devour and swallow up our habitations. It was in the depth and dead of the night, when most doors and senses were locked up in the city; that the fire does break forth and appear abroad; and like a mighty giant refreshed with wine, does awake and arm itself, quickly gathers strength, when it had made havoc of some houses; rushes down the hill towards the Bridge; crosses Thames Street, invades Magnus Church at the Bridge foot, and though that church were so great, yet it was not a sufficient barricade against this conqueror; but having scaled and taken this fort, it shoots flames with so much the greater advantage into all places round about; and a great building of houses upon the Bridge is quickly thrown to the ground. Then the conqueror, being stayed in his course at the Bridge, marches back towards the city again; and runs along with great noise and violence through Thames Street westward, where having such combustible matter in its teeth, and such a fierce wind upon its back, it prevails with little resistance, to the astonishment of the beholders.

My business is not to speak of the hand of man; which was made use of in the beginning and carrying on of this fire. The beginning of the fire at such a time, when there had been so much hot weather, which had dried the houses, and made them the more fit for fuel; the beginning of it in such a place, where there were so many timber houses, and the shops filled with so much combustible matter; and the beginning of it just when the wind did blow so fiercely upon that corner towards the rest of the city, which then was like tinder to the sparks; this does smell of a Popish design so hatched in the same place where the Gunpowder Plot was contrived, only that this was more successful. The world sufficiently knows how correspondent this is to Popish principles and practices; those, who could intentionally blow up King and Parliament by gunpowder, might (without any scruple of their kinds of conscience) actually burn a heretical city (as they count it) into ashes: for besides the dispensations they can have from his Holiness, or rather his Wickedness the Pope, for the most horrid crimes of murder, incest, and the like; it is not unlikely but they count such an action as this meritorious (in their kind of merit) which, in the issue, they will find to merit the flames of eternal [reconstructed: fire], instead of a crown of glory, which I wonder that in their way they can have the least hopes of. I believe that the people will now take more heed of them and their ways; and instead of promoting their cause, I hope that a contrary effect is produced; and that the before indifference of a generation more newly sprung up, who did not know them, is now turned into loathing and detestation of such a religion, as can allow of such practices. My work is not to declare what has been proved against the Papists before the Honorable Committee of Parliament appointed to inquire into their insolences; and the proofs which have been given in concerning the fire, and who have been accessory to it.

No, I would rather endeavor to turn people's eyes from men to God; for whoever were the instruments, God was the author of this evil, which has come upon us; there being no evil in the city (that is, evil of punishment) which the Lord, as a righteous, and the supreme Judge, does not inflict. And surely more of the extraordinary hand of God, than of any men, did appear in the burning of the city of London. God could have prevented men, by discovering their plots (as he did that of the Gunpowder Treason) before they had taken effect. God could have directed and given a blessing to means for the quenching of it when it was first kindled. God, who has the winds in his fist, could have gathered in the wind, and laid it asleep, or so turned it the other way, that it should have been a defense to the city; or God who has the clouds at his command, and the bottles of Heaven in his hand, could have gathered his thick clouds together, and squeezed them; opened his bottles, and poured down rain in abundance upon the city, so that if the wind had blown as it did, it should have blown water upon the fire, which would quickly have put it out. But the heavens at that time were brass, no showering clouds to be seen: the fire begins, is quickly taken notice of, though in the midst of the night; Fire, Fire, Fire does resound the streets; many citizens start out of their sleep; look out of their windows; some dress themselves, and run to the place. The Lord Mayor of the city comes with his officers; a confusion there is: counsel is taken away: and London, so famous for wisdom and dexterity, can now find neither brains, nor hands to prevent its ruin. The hand of God was in it. The decree was come forth: London must now fall: and who could prevent it? No wonder, when so many pillars are removed, if the building tumbles; the prayers, tears, and faith which sometimes London has had, might have quenched the violence of the fire; might have opened Heaven for rain, and driven back the wind: but now the fire gets mastery, and burns dreadfully; and God with his great bellows blows upon it, which makes it spread quickly, and go on with such force and rage, overturning all so furiously, that the whole city is brought into jeopardy of desolation. That night most of the Londoners had taken their last sleep in their houses; they little thought it would be so when they went into their beds; they did not in the least suspect, when the doors of their ears were unlocked, and the casement of their eyes were opened in the morning, to hear of such an enemy invading the city; and that they should see him, with such fury, enter the doors of their houses, break into every room, and look out of their casements with such a threatening countenance. As it is said (Lamentations 4:12), the inhabitants would not have believed that the adversary should have entered the gates of Jerusalem: so the inhabitants of the city would not have believed that the fire should have entered and prevailed to burn London to the ground.

That which made the ruin the more dismal, was, that it was begun on the Lord's day morning: never was there the like Sabbath in London; some churches were in flames that day; and God seems to come down, and to preach himself in them, as he did in Mount Sinai; when the mount burned with fire; such warm preaching those churches never had; such lightning, dreadful sermons never were before delivered in London. In other churches ministers were preaching their farewell sermons, and people were hearing with quaking and astonishment: instead of a holy rest which Christians have taken on this day; there is a tumultuous hurrying about the streets towards the place that burned, and more tumultuous hurrying upon the spirits of those that sat still and had only the notice of the ear, of the quick and strange spreading of the fire.

Now the train-bands are up in arms watching at every quarter for foreign men, because of the general fears and jealousies, and rumors that fire-balls were thrown into houses by several of them, to help on and provoke the too furious flames. Now goods are hastily removed from the lower parts of the city; and the body of the people begin to retire, and draw upwards, as the people did from the tabernacles of Corah, Dathan and Abiram, when the earth did cleave asunder and swallow them up (Numbers 16:27, 31, 32): or rather as Lot drew out from his house in Sodom before it was consumed by fire from Heaven (Genesis 19). Yet some hopes were retained on the Lord's day that the fire would be extinguished, especially by them who lived in the remote parts; they could scarcely imagine that the fire a mile off should be able to reach their houses.

But the evening draws on, and now the fire is more visible and dreadful: instead of the black curtains of the night, which used to be spread over the city, now the curtains are yellow; the smoke that arose from the burning parts, seemed like so much flame in the night, which being blown upon the other parts by the wind, the whole city at some distance seemed to be on fire. Now hopes begin to sink, and a general consternation seizes upon the spirits of people; little sleep is taken in London this night; the amazement which the eye and ear does effect upon the spirit, does either dry up, or drive away the vapor which used to bind up the senses. Some are at work to quench the fire with water; others endeavor to stop its course, by pulling down of houses; but all to no purpose: if it be a little allayed, or beaten down, or put to a stand in some places, it is but a very little while; it quickly recruits, and recovers its force; it leaps, and mounts, and makes the more furious onset, drives back its opposers, snatches their weapons out of their hands, seizes upon the water-houses and engines, burns them, spoils them, and makes them unfit for service. Some are upon their knees in the night, pouring out tears before the Lord, interceding for poor London, in the day of its calamity; but alas I fear there are too few weeping Jeremiahs at the throne of grace: too few Moseses to stand in the gap, too few Jacobs to wrestle with the Lord, and hang about his arm. London's sins were too great, and God's anger against the city was too hot, so easily and presently to be quenched and allayed; and if by the intercession of some, a mitigation be obtained, so that the Lord does not stir up all his wrath, utterly to destroy the place, as he did Sodom and Gomorrah; yet none can prevail to call back that wrath, and reverse that decree which is gone forth against the city: the time of London's fall is come; the fire has received its commission from God to burn down the city, and therefore all attempts to hinder it are in vain.

On the Lord's day night the fire had run as far as Garlick-hithe in Thames-street, and had crept up into Cannon-street, and leveled it with the ground; and still is making forward by the water-side, and upward to the brow of the hill, on which the city was built.

On Monday Grace-church-street is all in flames, with Lombard-street on the left hand, and part of Fen-church-street on the right, the fire working (though not so fast) against the wind that way: before it were pleasant and stately houses, behind it ruinous and desolate heaps. The burning then was in fashion of a bow, a dreadful bow it was, such as my eyes never before had seen; a bow which had God's arrow in it with a flaming point; it was a shining bow; not like that in the cloud, which brings water with it, and withal signified God's covenant not to destroy the world any more with water: but it was a bow which had fire in it, which signified God's anger, and his intention to destroy London with fire.

Now the flames break in upon Cornhill, that large and spacious street, and quickly cross the way by the train of wood that lay in the streets not taken away, which had been pulled down from houses to prevent its spreading: and so they lick the whole street as they go: they mount up to the top of the highest houses; they descend down to the bottom of the lowest vaults and cellars; and march along on both sides of the way, with such a roaring noise, as never was heard in the city of London; no stately building so great, as to resist their fury: the Royal Exchange itself, the glory of the merchants, is now invaded with much violence; and when once the fire was entered, how quickly did it run round the galleries, filling them with flames; then came down stairs, compasses the walks, giving forth flaming volleys, and fills the court with sheets of fire; by and by down fall all the kings upon their faces, and the greatest part of the stone-building after them, (the founder's statue only remaining) with such a noise, as was dreadful and astonishing.

Then, then the city did shake indeed; and the inhabitants did tremble, and flew away in great amazement from their houses, lest the flames should devour them; Rattle, rattle, rattle, was the noise which the fire struck upon the ear round about, as if there had been a thousand iron chariots beating upon the stones: and if you opened your eye to the opening of the streets, where the fire was come, you might see in some places whole streets at once in flames, that issued forth, as if they had been so many great forges from the opposite windows, which folding together, were united into one great flame throughout the whole street; and then you might see the houses tumble, tumble, tumble, from one end of the street to the other with a great crash, leaving the foundations open to the view of the heavens.

Now fearfulness and terror does surprise the citizens of London; confusion and astonishment does fall upon them at this unheard of, unthought of judgment. It would have grieved the heart of an unconcerned person, to see the rueful looks, the pale cheeks, the tears trickling down from the eyes (where the greatness of sorrow and amazement could give leave for such a vent), the smiting of the breast, the wringing of the hands; to hear the sighs and groans, the doleful and weeping speeches of the distressed citizens, when they were bringing forth their wives (some from their childbed) and their little ones (some from their sick bed) out of their houses, and sending them into the countries, or somewhere into the fields with their goods. Now the hopes of London are gone, their heart is sunk; now there is a general removal in the city, and that in a greater hurry than before the plague; their goods being in greater danger by the fire, than their persons were by the sickness. Scarcely are some returned, but they must remove again, and not as before, now without any more hopes of ever returning, and living in those houses any more.

Now carts, and drays, and coaches, and horses, as many as could have entrance into the city were laden, and any money is given for help — 5 pounds, 10 pounds, 20 pounds, 30 pounds for a cart, to bear forth into the fields some choice things, which were ready to be consumed; and some of the country folk had the conscience to accept of the highest price, which the citizens did then offer in their extremity; I am mistaken if such money does not burn worse, than the fire out of which it was raked. Now casks of wine, and oil, and other commodities are tumbled along, and the owners shove as much of their goods as they can towards the gate: every one now becomes a porter to himself, and scarcely a back either of man or woman that has strength, but had a burden on it in the streets. It was very sad to see such throngs of poor citizens coming in, and going forth from the unburnt parts, heavy laden with some pieces of their goods, but more heavy laden with weighty grief and sorrow of heart, so that it is wonderful they did not quite sink under these burdens.

Monday night was a dreadful night; when the wings of the night had shadowed the light of the heavenly bodies, there was no darkness of night in London, for the fire shines now round about with a fearful blaze, which yielded such light in the streets, as if it had been the sun at noon day. Now the fire having worked backward strangely against the wind to Billingsgate, etc., along Thames Street eastward, runs up the hill to Tower Street, and having marched on from Gracechurch Street, makes further progress in Fenchurch Street, and having spread its wing beyond Queenhithe in Thames Street westward, mounts up from the waterside through Dowgate, and Old Fish Street into Watling Street. But the great fury of the fire was in the broader streets; in the midst of the night it had come down Cornhill, and laid it in the dust, and runs along by the Stocks, and there meets with another fire which came down Threadneedle Street; a little further with another, which came up from Wallbrook; a little further with another, which comes up from Bucklersbury, and all these four joining together, break into one great flame at the corner of Cheapside with such a dazzling light, and burning heat, and roaring noise by the fall of so many houses together, that was very amazing. And though it were somewhat stopped in its swift course at Mercers Chapel, yet with great force in a while, it conquers the place, and burns through it, and then with great rage proceeds forward in Cheapside.

On Tuesday the fire was burning up the very bowels of London; Cheapside is all in a light fire in a few hours' time, many fires meeting there as in the center; from Soper Lane, Bow Lane, Bread Street, Friday Street, and Old Change, the fire comes up almost together, and breaks furiously into the broad street, and most of that side of the way was together in flames — a dreadful spectacle! And then partly by the fire which came down by Mercers Chapel, partly by the fall of the houses across the way, the other side is quickly kindled, and does not stand long after it. Now the fire gets into Blackfriars, and so continues its course by the water, and makes up towards St. Paul's Church on that side, and Cheapside fire besets the great building on this side, and the church — though all of stone outward, though naked of houses about it, and though so high above all buildings in the city — yet within a while, does yield to the violent assaults of the conquering flames, and strangely takes fire at the top. Now the lead melts and runs down, as if it had been snow before the sun; and the great beams and massive stones, with a great noise fall on the pavement, and break through into St. Faith's Church underneath; now great flakes of stone scale, and peel off strangely from the side of the walls. The conqueror having got this high fort, darts its flames round about; now Paternoster Row, Newgate Market, the Old Bailey, and Ludgate Hill have submitted themselves to the devouring fire, which with wonderful speed rushes down the hill into Fleet Street. Now Cheapside fire marches along Ironmonger Lane, Old Jury, Lawrence Lane, Milk Street, Wood Street, Gutter Lane, Foster Lane: now it runs along Lothbury, Cateaton Street, etc. From Newgate Market, it assaults Christ Church, and conquers that great building, and burns through Martin's Lane towards Aldersgate, and all about so furiously, as if it would not leave a house standing upon the ground.

Now horrible flakes of fire mount up into the sky, and the yellow smoke of London ascends up towards Heaven, like the smoke of a great furnace; a smoke so great, as darkened the sun at noonday (if at any time the sun peeped forth, it looked red like blood). The cloud of smoke was so great, that travelers did ride at noonday some miles together in the shadow thereof, though there were no other cloud beside to be seen in the sky.

And if Monday night was dreadful, Tuesday night was more dreadful, when far the greatest part of the City was consumed: many thousands who on Saturday had houses convenient in the City, both for themselves, and to entertain others, now have not where to lay their head; and the fields are the only receptacle which they can find for themselves and their goods; most of the late inhabitants of London lie all night in the open air, with no other canopy over them, but that of the heavens. The fire is still making towards them, and threatens the suburbs; it was amazing to see how it had spread itself several miles in compass; and among other things that night, the sight of Guild-hall was a fearful spectacle, which stood the whole body of it together in view, for several hours together, after the fire had taken it, without flames (I suppose because the timber was such solid oak), in a bright shining coal, as if it had been a palace of gold, or a great building of burnished brass.

On Wednesday morning, when people expected that the suburbs would be burnt, as well as the City, and with speed were preparing their flight, as well as they could with their luggage into the countries and neighboring villages, then the Lord had pity on poor London; his bowels begin to relent; his heart is turned within him, and he stays his rough wind in the day of the east wind; his fury begins to be allayed; he has a remnant of people in London, and there shall a remnant of houses escape; the wind now is hushed; the commission of the fire is withdrawing, and it burns so gently, even where it meets with no opposition, that it was not hard to be quenched, in many places, with a few hands. Now the citizens begin to gather a little heart, and encouragement in their endeavors to quench the fire. A check it had at Leaden-hall by that great building; a stop it had in Bishopsgate-street, Fen-church-street, Lime-street, Mark-lane, and towards the Tower; one means, under God, was the blowing up of houses with gunpowder. Now it is stayed in Lothbury, Broad-street, Coleman-street; towards the gates it burnt, but not with any great violence; at the Temple also it is stayed, and in Holborn, where it had got no great footing; and when once the fire was got under, it was kept under, and on Thursday the flames were extinguished.

But on Wednesday night, when the people late of London, now of the fields, hoped to get a little rest on the ground, where they had spread their beds, a more dreadful fear falls upon them than they had before, through a rumor that the French were coming armed against them to cut their throats, and spoil them of what they had saved out of the fire; they were now naked, and weak, and in ill condition to defend themselves, and the hearts, especially of the females, do quake, and tremble, and are ready to die within them; yet many citizens having lost their houses, and almost all that they had, are fired with rage and fury: and they begin to stir up themselves like lions, or like bears bereaved of their whelps, and now Arm, Arm, Arm, does resound the fields and suburbs with a dreadful voice. We may guess at the distress and perplexity of the people this night, which was something alleviated when the falseness of the alarm was perceived.

Thus fell great London, that ancient city! that populous city! London, which was the queen city of the land, and as famous as most cities in the world; none so famous for the Gospel and zealous profession of the reformed religion. And yet how is London departed like smoke, and her glory laid in the dust? How is her destruction come, which no man thought of, and her desolation in a moment? How do the nations about gaze and wonder? How does the whole land tremble at the noise of her fall? How do her citizens droop and hang down their heads? Her women and virgins weep, and sit in the dust? Oh, the paleness that now sits upon the cheeks! the astonishment and confusion that covers the face, the dismal apprehensions that arise in the minds of most, concerning the dreadful consequences which are likely to be of this fall of London? How is the pride of London stained, and beauty spoiled! her arm broken, and strength departed? Her riches almost gone, and treasures so much consumed? The head now is sick? and the whole body faint; the heart is wounded, and every other part is sensible of its stroke; never was England in greater danger of being made a prey to a foreign power, than since the firing and fall of this city, which had the strength and treasure of the nation in it. How is London ceased, that rich city! that joyous city! one corner indeed is left, but more than as many houses as were within the walls are turned into ashes.

The merchants now have left the Royal Exchange; the buyers and sellers have now forsaken the streets: Grace-church-street, Cornhill, Cheapside, Newgate Market, and the like places, which used some time to have throngs of traffickers, now are become empty of inhabitants; and instead of the stately houses which stood there last summer, now they lie this winter in ruinous heaps. The glory of London is now fled away like a bird, the trade of London is shattered and broken to pieces, her delights also are vanished, and pleasant things laid waste; now no chanting to the sound of the viol, and dancing to the sweet music of other instruments; now no drinking wine in bowls, and stretching upon the beds of lust; now no excess of wine and banqueting; no feasts in halls and curious dishes; no amorous looks and wanton dalliances; no ruffling silks, and costly dresses; these things in that place are at an end. But if houses for sin alone were sunk, and fuel for lust only were consumed, it would not be so much; but the houses also for God's worship (which formerly were a bulwark against the fire, partly through the walls about them, partly through the fervent prayers within them) now are devoured by the flames, and the habitations of many who truly fear God have not escaped; and in the places where God has been served, and his servants have lived; now nettles are growing; owls are screeching; thieves and cut-throats are lurking. A sad face there is now in the ruinous part of London: and terrible has the voice of the Lord been, which has been crying, indeed roaring in the city by these dreadful judgments of the plague and fire, which he has brought upon us.

Thus you have the narration of the judgments themselves.