Fire! Fire!, Page 2

  Master Pepys fell grimly silent for a moment, but then took a deep breath. “Come, Tom. We must away to the king and tell His Majesty of all we have seen.”

  I thought that the king must surely have been told all about it already, but I said nothing and just nodded. Then I followed as my master hurried down the steps, heading towards the river and the palace.

  ....................

  When we arrived at the quayside where we hoped to get a boat to take us to Whitehall Palace, the crowds were even worse. People were shoving and crying and calling out to the boatmen who made a living ferrying passengers up and down the river. The crush was so great some people were pushed into the water and some of them couldn’t swim, so their cries for help and splashing added to the terrible noise. Luckily the boatmen soon picked them up and hauled them to safety.

  I shouted myself hoarse trying to get a boat, but my voice was lost amongst all the others. I waved and jumped up and down as though I’d gone mad, but as everyone else was doing exactly the same this didn’t make much difference either.

  Eventually Master Pepys himself stepped forward, looking splendid in his fine clothes and huge wig and his stomach curving outwards like the prow of a warship. He struck his long walking cane sharply on the stonework of the quayside and drew breath, filling his lungs so that he swelled up like a sail bursting with the power of hurricane.

  “BOATMAN! BOATMAN! TO ME! TO ME! I HAVE A JOURNEY TO MAKE TO THE KING HIMSELF!”

  His voice rose up and over everything like a fanfare from a dozen trumpets and no fewer than three boats immediately headed towards us. We both hurried down the steps and jumped into the nearest one before anyone else could take our place. Soon we were powering out into the flow of the river.

  Within a few strokes of the oar we were well out on the water, and looking along the riverbank we could see the fire without any buildings hiding it from view. All the streets around the road leading to London Bridge were ablaze and the wind was blowing strongly, driving the fire into more houses. It rose high up into the sky like a great forest of flames, with trunks and branches and twigs and leaves of fire. Rising up over it all was a massive, billowing cloud of black smoke that was spreading itself wide over the city – from Tower Street and then eastwards towards the distant spire of Saint Paul’s Cathedral – turning the daytime to night for those beneath it.

  The stench of the burning mixed and mingled with the screams and cries of the people running from the flames, as though flocks of terrified birds sang in a fire forest. “To the Palace of Whitehall!” Master Pepys said to the boatman and the man immediately hauled on his oars, driving us quickly through the water.

  CHAPTER 4

  We arrived at the watergate – the entranceway that led from the river directly into the huge building of Whitehall Palace itself. This was the first time I’d come to see King Charles II, and I’m proud to say that my master was well known at the palace so no one stopped him or asked him his business as we hurried through the winding corridors up towards the place where the king held court.

  For a moment I stopped and just stared at all the incredible beauty around me. But Master Pepys soon hurried me on. The contrast between the dirt and grime of the streets and the colours and richness of the palace was amazing. The bright shining gilding that covered even the wooden parts of the tables and chairs in gold reminded me for a moment of the flames that were raging through the streets of the city along the river. But I was soon distracted by the beautiful pictures that covered the walls of the corridors we hurried along. It was all so amazing. I thought Master Pepys’s home was beautiful, but the palace was something else entirely. It was like the difference between a well-made and decorated pottery cup, and a wine glass made of the finest, clearest crystal. Some of the paintings showed scenes of faraway mountains and cities as though they were windows opening onto different worlds, and others were portraits of people who seemed to stare at us as we passed by.

  Everything was so quiet too after the chaos of the fire; the roaring of the flames and screaming of the people were blocked by the thick stonework of the palace walls. In fact the only sound I could hear was the noise our hurrying feet made over the polished wooden floors. But then at last we came to a pair of huge doors where two guards stood, holding their spears across the entranceway.

  My master stepped forward importantly and spoke with confidence. “Samuel Pepys Esquire, Secretary to the Navy and now bearer of bad news about the progress of a fire that is destroying parts of our city. All seen and witnessed by my good self and ready to be told to the king … oh, and this is Tom Hubbard, my pageboy and servant.”

  I stood as straight as I could and felt in that moment almost as important as my master. The guards stamped to attention, withdrew their spears and, as if by magic, the doors opened behind them.

  Before us was a huge room full of men and women dressed in colours as bright as flowers in a garden. Everyone was chattering and laughing brightly and when they finished their conversations they bowed or curtsied deeply before moving on to someone else to talk with. I couldn’t help thinking of the burning streets along the river where people were dying in the flames or running in fear of their lives.

  At the top of the room in the distance I could see a canopy of velvet that hung over a gilded chair where a tall man sat.

  Master Pepys surged forward across the room, ignoring the questions that were flung at us, until we stood before the gilded chair. Here he bowed deeply, waving his hand before him as though cleaning dust from his shoes. I bowed too, though without the dusting, then I stood up again and found I could hardly breathe. I was standing before the king himself … the king! The most important man in all the land! His wig was so long the ends of it almost rested in his lap where two small spaniels sat, and his clothes glowed with gold and brilliant colours. For a moment I thought I was going to faint, but then I pulled myself together. What a fool I’d look if I collapsed in a heap in front of the king.

  “Pepys,” His Majesty said quietly. “What news?”

  “Of a great fire, my Lord. It spreads without stopping. London Bridge has collapsed into the Thames. When I awoke this morning over three hundred houses had been destroyed and by now many more must have been swallowed up by its fury.”

  “Yes, I’ve been told something of a fire, but no details. Obviously it has got out of hand.” I looked at His Majesty, amazed that he seemed so calm and unworried. But then I realized that perhaps he really wasn’t worried. After all, the fire would have to get much worse before it threatened the king in his palace with its high stone walls. But I did think he should have been worried for the people he ruled, people who were running from the flames even as we stood before his throne.

  The king turned then and murmured to a richly dressed man who stood next to the gilded chair. The man was so like him he could only be the king’s brother. King Charles turned back to us.

  “The Duke of York agrees with me, something must be done. Pepys, go to Thomas Bloodworth, the mayor, and tell him he must pull down houses to make a firebreak. He’s rumoured to be somewhere near Saint Paul’s Cathedral. Take a carriage from the royal stables and fly like the wind.”

  He was then distracted by one of the small spaniels that had got itself entangled in his long wig. When he looked up again, he seemed surprised to see us. “Still here, Pepys? Go… like the wind.”

  My master bowed again but then asked: “shall I tell him that help is on the way, Your Majesty… perhaps in the form of men to fight the fire?”

  The king seemed surprised to be asked a question. “There may be help, presently. I’m considering sending in the army under the command of the Duke of York, though I’ve not yet decided which regiments to appoint to the role, or how many.”

  His Majesty then picked up an embroidered glove that lay in his lap and flicked it at us as though we were flies bothering him.

  Master Pepys bowed again and then we were hurrying back through the room and out into the ma
ze of corridors that flew by in a blur of colour, gilded furniture and beautiful pictures. Then we were out into a wide yard where carriages stood with horses already harnessed and waiting.

  I guessed most of them must have belonged to the ladies and gentlemen who’d been in the room with the king, but we didn’t pause to think about what they’d say if we took their carriage into the fire. We just leapt into the nearest one while my master roared at the coachman to go “On the orders of the king!” Suddenly we jolted and bumped to a start and then surged forward, gathering speed. My heart was racing!

  Soon we were clattering through the streets and heading straight for the fire.

  ....................

  The coachman seemed to enjoy carrying out the king’s orders. As we got closer to the flames he galloped through the crowds of Londoners running from the destruction, lashing out with his whip to clear a way and shouting that he was on a mission for “His Majesty himself!”

  People dived out of the way of the flashing hooves of the two horses as we surged on through the smoke and flying sparks, getting ever closer to St Paul’s, which rose up in the distance like a huge stone ship.

  My heart was pounding as though I was the one running instead of the horses. I swayed and rocked inside the coach, while Master Pepys hung on to his wig, which flapped like a bird in the wind.

  I was excited and terrified at the same time; the closer we got to the inferno the more likely we were to die. But we were going to help – maybe even stop the fire!

  “What did the king mean when he said the mayor should knock down houses to make a firebreak? What exactly is a firebreak?” I asked.

  Master Pepys glanced at me through his wig that was still flapping in the wind. “A firebreak is a wide gap made in the line of houses. It would stop the fire spreading further because there wouldn’t be anything left to burn.”

  “Oh, I see… that’s a good idea.” I said.

  “Well yes, it is, as long as whoever knocks down the houses also takes away all of the wood and other material that the building was made of, that can still burn.”

  “Ah, yes,” I replied. “And that would be hard work and very difficult.”

  “Exactly so, Tom,” Master Pepys said, and looked at me meaningfully.

  ....................

  We were now galloping along Fleet Street back towards Tower Hill and I could see the fire dancing over the roofs of the houses, towering up into the air in a wall of blazing light. It almost sounded like a storm at sea: roaring, hissing and crashing. As it burned, it seemed to draw the air into it, creating a huge wind, as though the flames needed to breathe. But the wind only drove the fire along, leaping from roof to roof like a living creature and sending up huge billows of smoke and deadly sparks.

  Now the horses started to throw their heads about and look very scared as they saw the burning buildings more clearly and the stench of smoke got stronger. Soon we came to a complete standstill as the horses reared up and screamed.

  “It’s no good, sir, they’ll go no nearer,” the coachman said regretfully, and we were forced to climb down. We were plunged into the crowds of people hurrying by with bags and boxes stuffed with what they could save from the flames. Master Pepys pressed a coin into the coachman’s hand to show his thanks, and then, holding onto his wig, he began to battle against the flow of people as though against the strongest tide. I followed behind, hanging onto my master’s coattails.

  “Not far now, Tom,” he bellowed over the noise. “The king said Master Bloodworth was somewhere near Saint Paul’s.”

  “But how will we find him, sir, in all this… this… mix and muddle and clatter?” I shouted back as I coughed and spluttered in the smoke.

  Master Pepys carried on pressing forwards, like a man wading through a river. “I’m not sure… but we must try. It is our duty to the king.”

  I found myself thinking that if the king wanted to give orders to Master Bloodworth, the mayor of his city, then perhaps he should find him himself. But then I pushed such thoughts out of my head, horrified by my treacherous thoughts.

  Suddenly there was a huge blast, as though a barrel of gunpowder had exploded somewhere in the flames. Several people in the crowds threw themselves to the ground. I too ducked down, terrified, but my master carried on moving forward as though nothing had happened and I had to follow.

  I could feel the heat now almost like a solid wall. We both paused for a moment as we got used to the hot air forcing its way up our nostrils and then down into our lungs.

  “Saints and sausages, Tom,” Master Pepys gasped. “I feel my words should burst into fire as I speak!”

  I nodded and looked around at the blazing buildings. We were on Fleet Street, a main highway that was mercifully wider than many of the roads in this old part of the city. But as we struggled on through the pressing crowds and the heat and smoke, we somehow got pushed away from the wide road of the main route and into the tangled and twisted side streets that led south towards the River Thames. I don’t know how far out of our way we went because the streets were like a maze. We also had to keep alert as buildings collapsed into the street around us and filled all the open space with rubble. We both took out handkerchiefs and held them over our mouths as we scurried on like ants in a grassfire. But then suddenly a loud CRACK!!! echoed through the air and we skidded to a stop. A wall as high as a cliff slowly toppled forward and fell with a mighty crash into the street.

  The cloud of smoke and dust billowed over us, like a strangely hot winter fog. We both coughed and spluttered, but Master Pepys soon began to move forward once more and I hung onto his coattails again, scared of getting lost in the firestorm.

  Soon we came to an area where the fire had already burned away most of the houses and, though it was still mightily hot and smoke billowed around us in dense clouds, we could hurry on much more quickly.

  Then ahead I could see where the fire must have been blown around almost in a circle by the strong wind. Before we knew it we were walking through what looked like a tunnel of fire as houses on both sides of the street erupted into flames.

  Worse even than the smoke and the heat were the cries and screams of people and what must have been animals. Many of those who lived in the buildings had obviously escaped, because now these roads were empty of everything apart from the terrible choking fumes. I didn’t like to think what could be happening to those who were screaming. They must’ve been trapped in some way, but there was nothing we could do – we couldn’t have got through the heat and flames to rescue anyone. Besides, we were carrying the orders of the king himself and nothing could be allowed to delay those.

  The wind was now blowing more and more strongly and the flames roared up as though a giant blacksmith was using massive bellows to stoke up his forge, ready to melt the world away to nothing. I clung on to Master Pepys’ coat even more tightly as I tried not to panic, and noticed he was holding his wig over his face as well as his handkerchief to keep the smoke out of his lungs. Unfortunately I was too young for a wig, and they were also too expensive for a pageboy. But just as I was staring in envy at my master, he glanced back at me and, realizing I was coughing and spluttering more than him, immediately handed me the wig.

  “Here, Tom, use this. It’s my second best wig so don’t get it too snotty!” He shouted over the roaring fire.

  I took it from him gratefully and held its thick curls over my mouth and nose. Then, finally, the way ahead cleared and we found ourselves on a part of the street where the flames hadn’t reached. The smoke rolled away and Saint Paul’s Cathedral loomed up before us, rising high into the sky like a mountain.

  We headed as straight for it as we could and at last emerged back onto the wider way of Fleet Street. The road led directly to the cathedral and, within a few minutes, we arrived safely. The area around the huge church was still untouched by the fire and we hurried forwards into a space that was free of smoke and flames. For a moment we paused to breathe in air that wasn’t quit
e as smoky and to enjoy the peace of an area that wasn’t yet in flames. Many houses to the north and west still stood untouched, but the fire was heading towards them rapidly.

  “Those are the buildings that must be demolished if the conflagration is to be stopped!” said Master Pepys, waving his hand at them.

  I guessed that ‘conflagration’ was another word for an enormous fire, and I looked out at the area of housing that had to be pulled down by order of the king.

  Then, almost as though we’d made it happen just by talking about it, shouting voices rose up and suddenly with a CRACK and a CRASH one of the houses fell to the ground, disappearing in a billow of dust and disturbing the strange calm that had settled over the place.

  We stood staring, our mouths hanging open. Then we saw a gang of men appear from the billowing cloud carrying long iron poles, hammers and huge spades. All of them were covered in dust, but one was wearing something that might once have been a fine coat. On his head was a wig so dirty it looked like a spaniel’s ears after it’s been rolling in mud.

  “Look, Tom, I do believe… yes, I think I’m right… I’m almost certain that’s Master Bloodworth, the mayor!”

  The strange dirty figure saw us, strolled over and gave a deep bow. “Do I have the pleasure of the company of Master Samuel Pepys, Secretary to His Majesty’s Navy?”

  “Indeed you do, sir,” my master answered, returning the bow. “And do I have the pleasure of the company of Master Thomas Bloodworth, the Lord Mayor of London?”

  “I am the very same,” the Mayor answered. “May I ask the nature of your business?”

  “Certainly you may. I have come on a mission from His Majesty the King to convey his direct order that you should demolish houses in the path of the conflagration in order to create a firebreak and so quench its power.”

  I listened to the fine language between the two gentlemen and felt myself tiny and unimportant before such good manners and wealth. But then I looked south towards the river where the fire raged and people screamed in fear and agony. I also looked at the filth and grime on the mayor’s clothes and I realized that the fire cared nothing for good manners, fine speeches and money. If you were caught in its flames you would die in terror and pain, whether you were the richest person in England… or the poorest. For some reason that made me feel a little better. We’re all the same, it’s just that some are lucky enough to have wealth and power. But not even that could save you from terrible accidental happenings like fires.