A Tale of the Plague and the Fire, William Harrison Ainsworth [free e books to read online TXT] 📗

recognise at the time, but who proved to be the Earl of Rochester. He conducted me to a place of safety, thrust a purse into my hand, and left me. As soon as I could do so with safety, I returned 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 the hope of a union with her, I have striven to banish her image from my mind."

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

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

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

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

"Reflect," cried Grant, in an agonised tone. "A word from you will not only 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 not otherwise," replied Grant.

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

"Hear me, Leonard, and consider well what you do," cried Grant, planting himself before the door. "I love you next to my daughter, and chiefly because she loves you. I have told you I have a design to discover, to which I am a party--a hellish, horrible design--which threatens this whole 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 to your 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 up all your goods and make preparations for instant flight, for the danger will invade you before you are aware of it."

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

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

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

"Off!" exclaimed Grant, dashing him forcibly backwards. And striking down Blaize, who tried to stop him in the passage, he threw open the street-door, and disappeared. Fearful of pursuit, Grant took a circuitous route to Saint Paul's, and it was full half an hour after the interview above related before he reached the cathedral. Just as he passed through the small door, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnight, and when he gained the mid aisle, he heard footsteps approaching, and encountered his friends.

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

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

"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 it to Fish-street-hill, struck off on the right into an alley that brought them to Pudding-lane.

"This is the house," said Chowles, halting before a two-storied wooden habitation, over the door of which was suspended the sign of the "Wheat Sheaf, 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 the fuze at Chowles's lantern. The enthusiast then approached a window of the baker's shop, and breaking a small pane of glass within it, threw the fire-ball into the room. It alighted upon a heap of chips and fagots lying near a large stack of wood used for the oven, and in a few minutes the whole pile had caught and burst into a flame, which, quickly mounting to the ceiling, set fire to the old, dry, half-decayed timber that composed it.


II.

THE FIRST NIGHT OF THE FIRE.

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

"At last the great design is executed," observed Chowles, rubbing his hands gleefully. "The fire burns right merrily, and will not soon be extinguished. Who would have thought we should have found such famous assistants as the two madmen, Solomon Eagle and Robert Hubert--and your scarcely less mad foster-brother, Philip Grant? I can understand the motives that influenced the two first to the deed, but not those of the other."

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

"You are in a fair way of obtaining your wish," replied Chowles; "but provided 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 sorry to miss. You forget, too, that if Saint Paul's should be burnt down, we shall lose our hoards. However, there's no chance of that."

"Not much," replied Judith, interrupting him. "But see! the baker has at last 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 was burst open, and a poor terrified wretch appeared at it in his night-dress, vociferating in tones of the wildest alarm, "Fire! fire!--help! help!"

"Shall we go forward?" said Chowles. Judith hesitated for a moment, and then 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 the ground, "and I will endeavour to let down my wife and children. The staircase is on fire, and we are almost stifled with smoke. God help us!" And the exclamation was followed by fearful shrieks from within, followed by the appearance of a woman, holding two little children in her arms, at the window.

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

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

At this juncture, the baker, who had disappeared for a few seconds from the window, again presented himself at it, and, with some difficulty, forced a feather bed through it, which was instantly placed by Chowles in such a position beneath, as to break the fall of the descending parties. Tying a couple of sheets together, and fastening one end round his 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 their example, the floor of the room gave way, and though he succeeded in springing through the window, he missed the feather bed, and broke his leg in the fall. He was picked up by Chowles and Judith, and placed upon the bed in a state of insensibility, and was soon afterwards conveyed with his family to the house of a neighbour.

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

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

The two wretches now thought it time to bestir themselves. So much confusion prevailed, that they were wholly unobserved, and under the plea of rendering assistance, they entered houses and carried off whatever excited their cupidity, or was sufficiently portable. No wealthy house had been attacked as yet, and therefore their spoil was but trifling. The poor baker seemed to be the bearer of ill-luck, for he had not been many minutes in his new asylum before it likewise caught fire. Another house, too, in Fish-street-hill, and lower down than the first, was observed to be burning, and as this was out of the current of the wind, and consequently could not have been occasioned by the showers of sparks that marked its course, a cry was instantly raised that incendiaries were abroad, and several suspicious-looking persons were seized in consequence.

Meantime no efforts had been made to stop the progress of the original conflagration in Pudding-lane, which continued to rage with the greatest fury, spreading from house to house with astonishing rapidity. All the buildings in this neighbourhood being old, and of wood, which was as dry as tinder, a spark alighting upon them would have sufficed to set them on fire. It may be conceived, therefore, what must have been the effect of a vast volume of flame, fanned by a powerful wind. House after house caught, as if constructed of touchwood, and the fire roared and raged to such a degree, that those who stood by were too much terrified to render any effectual assistance. Indeed, the sole thought that now seemed to influence all was the preservation of a portion of their property. No one regarded his neighbour, or the safety of the city. The narrow street was instantly filled with goods and furniture of all kinds, thrown out of the windows or pushed out of the doors; but such was the fierceness of the fire, and the extraordinary