as far as London Bridge, thro' the late Fleet Street, Ludgate Hill, by St. Paul's, Cheapside, Exchange, Bishopgate, Aldersgate, and out to Moorfields, thence thro' Cornhill, &c., with extraordinary difficulty, clambering over heaps of yet smoking rubbish, and frequently mistaking where I was. The ground under my feet was so hot, that it even burnt the soles of my shoes. In the mean time the king got to the Tower by water, to demolish ye houses about the graff, which being built entirely about it, had they taken fire and attack'd the White Tower where the magazine of powder lay, would undoubtedly not only have beaten down and destroy'd all ye bridge, but sunk and torn the vessels in ye river, and render'd ye demolition beyond all expression for several miles about the country. At my return, I was infinitely concern'd to find that goodly church St. Paul's, now in a sad ruin, and that beautiful portico (for structure comparable to any in Europe, as not long before repair'd by the king) now rent in pieces, flakes of vast stone split asunder, and nothing remaining entire but the inscription in the architrave, showing by whom it was built, which had not one letter defac'd. It was astonishing to see what immense stones the heat had in a manner calcined, so that all ye ornaments, columns, freizes, and projectures of massy Portland stone flew off, even to ye roof, where a sheet of lead covering a great space was totally melted; the ruins of the vaulted roof falling broke into St. Faith's, which being filled with the magazines of books belonging to ye stationers, and carried thither for safety, they were all consum'd, burning for a week following. It is also observable, that the lead over ye altar at ye east end was untouch'd, and among the divers monu Thus ments, the body of one bishop remain'd entire. lay in ashes that most venerable church, one of the most ancient pieces of early piety in ye Christian world, besides near 100 more. The lead, iron work, bells, plate, &c., melted; the exquisitely wrought Chapel, the sumptuous Exchange, ye august fabric of Christ Church, all ye rest of the Companies Halls, sumptuous buildings, arches, all in dust; the fountains dried up and ruin'd, whilst the very waters remain'd boiling; the vorago's of subterranean cellars, wells, and dungeons, formerly warehouses, still burning in stench and dark clouds of smoke, so that in 5 or 6 miles, in traversing about, I did not see one load of timber unconsum'd, nor many stones but what were calcin'd white as snow. The people who now walk'd about ye ruins appear'd like men in a dismal desert, or rather in some great city laid waste by a cruel enemy; to which was added the stench that came from some poor creatures bodies, beds, &c. Sir Thos. Gresham's statue, tho' fallen from its niche in the Royal Exchange, remain'd entire, when all those of ye kings since ye Conquest were broken to pieces, also the standard in Cornhill, and Q. Elizabeth's effigies, with some arms on Ludgate, continued with but little detriment, whilst ye vast iron chains of the city streets, hinges, bars, and gates of prisons, were many of them melted and reduc'd to cinders by ye vehement heat. I was not able to pass through any of the narrow streets, but kept the widest; the ground and air, smoke and fiery vapour continu'd so intense, that my hair was almost sing'd, and my feet unsufferably sur-heated. The by lanes and narrower streets were quite fill'd up with rubbish, nor could one have known where he was, but by ye ruins of some church or hall, that had some remark able tower or pinnacle remaining. I then went towards Islington and Highgate, where one might have seen 200,000 people of all ranks and degrees dispers'd and lying along by their heaps of what they could save from the fire, deploring their loss; and tho' ready to perish for hunger and destitution, yet not asking one penny for relief, which to me appear'd a stranger sight than any I had yet beheld. His Majesty and Council, indeed, took all imaginable care for their relief, by proclamation for the country to come and refresh them with provisions. In ye midst of all this calamity and confusion, there was, I know not how, an alarm begun that the French and Dutch, with whom we were now in hostility, were not only landed, but were entering the city. There was, in truth, some days before, great suspicion of those two nations joining; and now, that they had been the occasion of firing the town. This report did so terrify, that on a sudden there was an uproar and tumult, that they ran from their goods, and taking what weapons they could come at, they could not be stopp'd from falling on some of those nations, whom they casually met, without sense or reason. clamour and peril became so excessive, that it made the whole court amaz'd and they did with infinite pains and great difficulty reduce and appease the people, sending troops and guards to cause them to retire into ye fields again, where they watch'd all this night. I left them pretty quiet, and came home sufficiently weary and broken. Their spirits thus a little calmed, and the affright abated, they now began to repair into ye suburbs about the city, where such as had friends or opportunity to get shelter for the present, to which the King's proclamation also invited them. The THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.* brand-the port fire for determined-resolute bulwark-defence, ship chime-clock cannon leviathan-sea monster line-of battle adumantine--hard as mar anticipate--hasten forward ble conflagration-fire Elsinore-point in Denmark Of Nelson and the North Sing the glorious day's renown, In a bold determined hand, And the princes of the land Like leviathans afloat, Lay their bulwarks on the brine; On the lofty British line: It was ten of April morn by the chime; As they drifted on their path, There was silence deep as death; But the might of England flush'd And her van the fleeter rush'd *Gained 1801. D O'er the deadly space between! [gun "Hearts of oak!" our captains cried, when each From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun!. Again! again! again! And the havoc did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back :— Their shots along the deep slowly boom; Then ceased—and all is wail, As they strike the shattered sail; Light the gloom! Out spoke the victor then, As he hail'd them o'er the wave, "Ye are brothers! ye are men! And we conquer but to save! So peace, instead of death, let us bring: But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, With the crews, at England's feet, Then Denmark bless'd our chief, As death withdrew his shades from the day: O'er a wide and woeful sight, Where the fires of funeral light Died away! |
