Thread by @samuelpepys

Some of our maids sitting up late to get things ready against our feast to-day, Jane called us up to tell us of a great fire they saw in the City.

I rose and slipped on my nightgown, and went to her window, and thought it to be on the backside of Marke-lane at the farthest; but, being unused to such fires as fallowed, I thought it far enough off; and so went to bed again.

I rose again to dress myself, and there looked out at the window, and saw the fire not so much as it was and further off. So to my closet to set things to rights after yesterday’s cleaning.

Jane comes and tells me that she hears that above 300 houses have been burned down to-night by the fire we saw, and that it is now burning down all Fish-street, by London Bridge.

I walked to the Tower, and there got up upon one of the high places, Sir J. Robinson’s little son going up with me; and there I did see the houses at that end of the bridge all on fire, and an infinite great fire on this and the other side the end of the bridge.

Down, with my heart full of trouble, to the Lieutenant of the Tower, who tells me that it begun this morning in the King’s baker’s house in Pudding-lane, and that it hath burned St. Magnus’s Church and most part of Fish-street already.

So I down to the water-side, and there got a boat and through bridge, and there saw a lamentable fire. Poor Michell’s house, as far as the Old Swan, already burned, and the fire running further, that in a very little time it got as far as the Stillyard, while I was there.

Everybody endeavouring to remove their goods, and flinging into the river or bringing them into lighters that lay off; poor people staying in their houses as long as till the very fire touched them, and then running into boats, or clambering from one pair of stairs to another.

Among other things, the poor pigeons, I perceive, were loth to leave their houses, but hovered about the windows and balconys till they were, some of them burned, their wings, and fell down.

Nobody, to my sight, endeavouring to quench th fire, but to remove their goods, and leave all to the fire, and having seen it get as far as the Steele-yard, and the wind mighty high and driving it into the City.

Every thing, after so long a drought, proving combustible, even the very stones of churches, and among other things the poor steeple whereof my old school-fellow Elborough is parson, taken fire in the very top, an there burned till it fell down.

To White Hall, and there up to the Kings closet in the Chappel, where people come about me, and did give them an account dismayed them all, and word was carried in to the King.

So I was called for, and did tell the King and Duke of York what I saw, and that unless his Majesty did command houses to be pulled down nothing could stop the fire.

They seemed much troubled, and the King commanded me to go to my Lord Mayor from him, and command him to spare no houses, but to pull down before the fire every way.

The Duke of York bid me tell him that if he would have any more soldiers he shall; and so did my Lord Arlington afterwards, as a great secret.

Meeting with Captain Cocke, I in his coach, which he lent me, and Creed with me to Paul’s, and there walked along Watling-street, as well as I could, every creature coming away loaden with goods to save, and here and there sick people carried away in beds.

Met my Lord Mayor in Canning Street, like a man spent, with a handkercher about his neck. He cried, like a fainting woman, “Lord! what can I do? I am spent: people will not obey me. I have been pulling down houses; but the fire overtakes us faster than we can do it.”

I walked home, seeing people all almost distracted, and no manner of means used to quench the fire. The houses, too, so very thick thereabouts, and full of matter for burning, as pitch and tar, in Thames-street; and warehouses of oyle, and wines, and brandy, and other things.

I saw Mr. Isaake Houblon, prettily dressed and dirty, at his door at Dowgate, receiving some of his brothers’ things, whose houses were on fire; and, as he says, have been removed twice already; and he doubts that they must be in a little time removed from his house also.

Home, and there find my guests, which was Mr. Wood and his wife Barbary Sheldon, and also Mr. Moone: she mighty fine, and her husband; for aught I see, a likely man.

We were in great trouble and disturbance at this fire, not knowing what to think of it. However, we had an extraordinary good dinner, and as merry, as at this time we could be.

Mrs. Batelier come to enquire after Mr. Woolfe and Stanes (who, it seems, are related to them), whose houses in Fish-street are all burned; and they in a sad condition. She would not stay in the fright.

I and Moone away, and walked, through the City, the streets full of nothing but people and horses and carts loaden with goods, ready to run over one another, and, removing goods from one burned house to another.

I to Paul’s Wharf, where I had appointed a boat to attend me, and took in Mr. Carcasse and his brother, whom I met in the streets and carried them below and above bridge to see the fire, which was now got further, both below and above and no likelihood of stopping it.

Met with the King and Duke of York in their barge, and with them to Queenhith and there called Sir Richard Browne to them. Their order was only to pull down houses apace, and so below bridge the water-side; but little was or could be done, the fire coming upon them so fast.

Good hopes there was of stopping the fire at the Three Cranes above, and at Buttolph’s Wharf below bridge, if care be used; but the wind carries it into the City so as we know not by the water-side what it do there.

The River full of lighters and boats taking in goods, and good goods swimming in the water, and only I observed that hardly one lighter or boat in three that had the goods of a house in, but there was a pair of Virginalls in it.

So near the fire as we could for smoke; and all over the Thames, with one’s face in the wind, you were almost burned with a shower of firedrops. This is very true; so as houses were burned by these drops of fire, three or four, nay, five or six houses, one from another.

We to a little ale-house on the Bankside, over against the Three Cranes, and there staid till it was dark almost, and saw the fire grow.

As it grew darker, the fire appeared more and more, and in corners and upon steeples, and between churches and houses, as far as we could see up the hill of the City, in a most horrid malicious bloody flame, not like the fine flame of an ordinary fire.

We staid till, it being darkish, we saw the fire as only one entire arch of fire from this to the other side the bridge, and in a bow up the hill for an arch of above a mile long: it made me weep to see it.

The churches, houses, and all on fire and flaming at once; and a horrid noise the flames made, and the cracking of houses at their ruins.

So home with a sad heart, and there find every body discoursing and lamenting the fire; and poor Tom Hater come with some few of his goods saved out of his house, which is burned upon Fish-street Hill.

The noise coming every moment of the growth of the fire; so as we were forced to begin to pack up our own goods; and prepare for their removal; and did by moonshine (it being brave dry, and moon shine, and warm weather) carry much of my goods into the garden.

Mr. Hater and I did remove my money and iron chests into my cellar, as thinking that the safest place. And got my bags of gold into my office, ready to carry away, and my chief papers of accounts also there, and my tallies into a box by themselves.

My Lady Batten sent me a cart to carry away all my money, and plate, and best things, to Sir W. Rider’s at Bednall-greene. Which I did riding myself in my night-gown in the cart.

Lord! to see how the streets and the highways are crowded with people running and riding, and getting of carts at any rate to fetch away things.

I find Sir W. Rider tired with being called up all night, and receiving things from several friends. His house full of goods, and much of Sir W. Batten’s and Sir W. Pen’s.

Home, with much ado to find a way, nor any sleep all this night to me nor my poor wife.

My wife and I and all my people labouring to get away the rest of our things, and did get Mr. Tooker to get me a lighter to take them in, and we did carry them over Tower Hill, which was by this time full of people’s goods, bringing their goods thither; and down to the lighter.

And here was my neighbour’s wife, with her pretty child, and some few of her things, which I did willingly give way to be saved with mine; but there was no passing with any thing through the postern, the crowd was so great.

The Duke of York came by the office, and spoke to us, and did ride with his guard up and down the City, to keep all quiet (he being now General, and having the care of all).

Lay down a little upon a quilt of W. Hewer’s in the office, all my own things being packed up or gone.

After me my poor wife did the like, we having fed upon the remains of yesterday’s dinner, having no fire nor dishes, nor any opportunity of dressing any thing.

Up by break of day to get away the remainder of my things; which I did by a lighter at the Iron gate.

Sir W. Pen and I to Tower-street, and there met the fire burning three or four doors beyond Mr. Howell’s, whose goods, poor man, his trayes, and dishes, shovells, &c., were flung all along Tower-street in the kennels.

Sir W. Batten not knowing how to remove his wine, did dig a pit in the garden, and laid it in there; and I took the opportunity of laying all the papers of my office that I could not otherwise dispose of.

Thinking of the burning of this office I did propose for the sending up of our workmen from Woolwich and Deptford yards and to write to Sir W. Coventry to have the Duke of York’s permission to pull down houses rather than lose this office, which would hinder the King’s business.

Sir W. Pen and I did dig another pit, and put our wine in it; and I my Parmazan cheese, as well as my wine and some other things.

Mrs. Turner and her husband supped with my wife and I, in the office, upon a shoulder of mutton from the cook’s, without any napkin or any thing, in a sad manner, but were merry.

Walking into the garden, and saw how horridly the sky looks, all on a fire in the night, was enough to put us out of our wits; and, indeed, it was extremely dreadful, for it looks just as if it was at us; and the whole heaven on fire.

I walked in the dark down to Tower-street, and there saw it all on fire, at the Trinity House on that side, and the Dolphin Tavern on this side, which was very near us; and the fire with extraordinary vehemence.

Now begins the practice of blowing up of houses in Tower-street, those next the Tower, which at first did frighten people more than anything, but it stopped the fire where it was done, it bringing down the houses to the ground in the same places they stood.

W. Hewer went to see how his mother did, and comes home, telling us he hath been forced to remove her to Islington, her house in Pye-corner being burned; the fire is got so far that way, and the Old Bayly and was running down to Fleete-streete; and Paul’s is burned and Cheapside.

I wrote to my father, but the post-house being burned, the letter could not go.

I lay down in the office again upon W. Hewer’s quilt, being mighty weary, and sore in my feet with going till I was hardly able to stand.

My wife calls me up and tells me of new cryes of fire, it being come to Barkeing Church, which is the bottom of our lane.

I up, and finding it so, resolved presently to take my wife away, and did, and took my gold, which was about 2350l, W. Hewer, and Jane, down by Proundy’s boat to Woolwich.

But, Lord! what sad sight it was by moon-light to see the whole City almost on fire, that you might see it plain at Woolwich, as if you were by it.

There, when I come, I find the gates shut, but no guard kept at all, which troubled me, because of discourse now begun, that there is plot in it, and that the French had done it.

I got the gates open, and to Mr. Shelden’s, where I locked up my gold, and charged my wife and W. Hewer never to leave the room without one of them in it, night, or day.

Home; and whereas I expected to have seen our house on fire, it was not.

But to the fyre, and there find greater hopes than I expected; for my confidence of finding our Office on fire was such, that I durst not ask any body how it was with us, till I come and saw it not burned.

I find by the blowing up of houses, and the great help given by the workmen out of the King’s yards, there is a good stop given to it, as well as at Marke-lane end as ours; it having only burned the dyall of Barking Church, and part of the porch, and was there quenched.

I up to the top of Barkeing steeple, and there saw the saddest sight of desolation that I ever saw; every where great fires, oyle-cellars, and brimstone, and other things burning.

To Sir W. Pen’s, and there eat a piece of cold meat, having eaten nothing since Sunday, but the remains of Sunday’s dinner.

Mr. Young and Whistler and I walked into the town, and find Fanchurch-street, Gracious-street, and Lumbard-street all in dust.

The Exchange a sad sight, nothing standing there, of all the statues or pillars, but Sir Thomas Gresham’s picture in the corner.

I did see a poor cat taken out of a hole in the chimney, joyning to the wall of the Exchange; with, the hair all burned off the body, and yet alive.

Walked into Moorefields (our feet ready to burn, walking through the town among the hot coles), and find that full of people, and poor wretches carrying their goods there, and every body keeping his goods together; drank there, and paid twopence for a plain penny loaf.

Homeward, having passed through Cheapside and Newgate Market, all burned, and seen Anthony Joyce’s house in fire.

I took up a piece of glass of Mercers’ Chappell in the street, where much more was, so melted and buckled with the heat of the fire like parchment.

So home, and find there good hopes of saving our office; but great endeavours of watching all night, and having men ready; and so we lodged them in the office, and had drink and bread and cheese for them.

I met Mr. Gawden at the gate of the office to call our men to Bishop’s-gate, where no fire had yet been near, and there is now one broke out which did give great grounds to people, and to me too, to think that there is some kind of plot in this.

It was pretty to see how hard the women did work in the cannells, sweeping of water; but then they would scold for drink, and be as drunk as devils. I saw good butts of sugar broke open in the street, and people go and take handsfull out, and put into beer, and drink it.

I over to Southwarke, and took boat on the other side the bridge, and so to Westminster, thinking to shift myself, being all in dirt from top to bottom; but could not there find any place to buy a shirt or pair of gloves, Westminster Hall being full of people’s goods.

To the Swan, and there was trimmed; and then to White Hall, but saw nobody; and so home.

I did go with Sir W. Batten, and our neighbour, Knightly, to Sir R. Ford’s, and there dined in an earthen platter — a fried breast of mutton; a great many of us, but very merry, and indeed as good a meal, though as ugly a one, as ever I had in my life.