CHAPTER XIII.

PLAGUE, FIRE, AND FROST.

T is well that we can secure the help of two such keen observers as Samuel Pepys and John Evelyn, now that we have lost the guidance of the old Chroniclers. Both were men of position, socially and politically, in Charles II.'s reign. Evelyn was also a man of property and of good family, and withal accomplished, learned, and pious. His father and mother were married at St. Thomas's Church, Southwark, January 27th, 1613. John Evelyn's early life was in no way connected with our story, but in subsequent years, after the King's return, we constantly find him employed in honourable and onerous duties, and during 1664, when we were at war with Holland, he was appointed one of four Commissioners to take care of the sick and wounded from the Fleet, and on December 2nd we find him delivering letters from the Privy Council to St. Thomas's Hospital, desiring that half the house should be preserved for the sick and wounded, who should from time to time be sent from the Fleet: and on delivery of these papers, the Commissioners, all Members of Parliament, were invited by the Governors of the Hospital to a Banquet at Fishmongers' Hall. In 1665 came that most fearful visitation of the Plague, the last that England has ever known. Evelyn sent his wife and family to his brother at Wotton, "being resolved to stay at my house myselfe, and to look after my charge, trusting in the providence and goodness of God." His charge was, not

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only the sick and wounded, but also all prisoners of war. On fifth September, he says, "To Chatham to inspect my charge with £900 in my coach (for the prisoners' necessities). On seventh came home, there perishing neere 10,000 poore creatures weekly; however, I went all along the Citty and suburbs from Kent Street to St. James's; a dismal passage and dangerous, to see so many coffines expos'd in the streetes, now thin of people; the shops shut up, and all in mournful silence, as not knowing whose turn might be next."

And then followed that fearful calamity of the Fire of London, one of the most providential judgments that ever occurred, for from that time the fearful pestilence called the plague, has never again appeared; and yet what has this to do with Southwark ? that from Southwark alone could it be seen. The Southwark people in safety themselves, could watch the fearful sight from their own side of the river, which was thronged with spectators. The fire began on September second, and the next day Evelyn says, “I took coach with my wife and son, and went to the Bankside in Southwark, when we beheld the dismal spectacle, the whole City in dreadful flames neare the water-side; all the houses from the Bridge, all Thames Street, and upwards towards Cheapside, down to the Three Cranes, were now consumed. The fire having continued all this night (if I may call that night which was light as day for ten miles round about, after a dreadful manner), I went on foot to the same place, and saw the whole south part of the City burning from Cheapside to the Thames and along Cornhill (for it likewise kindled back against the wind as well as forward), Tower Street, Fenchurch Street, Gracious Street, and so along to Barnard's Castle, and was now taking hold of St. Paul's Church, to which the scaffolding (for it was under repairs) contributed exceedingly."

He describes how "the Thames was covered with goods floating, all the barges and boates laden with what some had time and courage to save, as, on the other hand, the carts, etc., carrying out to the fields, which for many miles were strew'd with moveables of all sorts, and tents erecting to shelter both people and what goods they could get away. Oh the miserable and calamitous spectacle! such as happily the world had not seen the like since the foundation of it, nor will be out-done till the universal conflagration of it. All the skie was of a fiery aspect, like the top of a burning oven, and the light seene above 40 miles round for many nights. God grant mine eyes may never behold the like, who now saw above 10,000 houses all in one flame; the noise and crackling and thunder of the impetuous flames, the shrieking of women and children, the hurry of people, the aire so hot and inflam'd, that they were forced to stand still and let the flames burn on, which they did for neere two miles in length and one in breadth. The clowds also of smoke, were dismall, and reach'd upon computation neer fifty-six miles in length. It seemed a resemblance of Sodom, or the last day. It forcibly called to my mind that passage-non enim hic habemus stabilem civitatem; the ruines resembling the picture of Troy. London was, but is no more! Thus I returned home." There is much more of interest about the great fire, but it was not seen from Bankside and so must not have a place here. But let me now give as a companion sketch Pepy's account of what he saw from the river; it is perhaps more graphic even than Evelyn's. "I to James's wharf, where I had appointed a boat to attend me, and took in Mr. Carcasse and his brother, whom I met in the street, and carried them below and above bridge too. And again to see the fire, which was now got further, both below and