A
few minutes later the church blazed at every point, and was in
itself a colossal conflagration.
From this the fire darted to the bridge, burning the wooden
houses built upon it, and the water machines underneath, and
likewise creeping up Thames Street, on that side which was yet
undemolished. By this time the bells of many churches rang out
in sudden fright, as if appealing to heaven for mercy on behalf
of the people; and the whole east end of the town rose up in
alarm. The entire city seemed threatened with destruction, for
the weather having long been dry and warm, prepared the
homesteads for their fate; and it was noted some of them, when
scorched by the approaching fire, ignited before the flames had
time to reach them.
Sir Thomas Bludworth, the lord mayor, now arrived in great haste,
but so amazed was he at the sight he beheld, and so bewildered by
importunities of those who surrounded him, that he was powerless
to act. Indeed, his incapacity to direct, and inability to
command, as well as his lack of moral courage, have been heavily
and frequently blamed. Bring a weak man, fearful of outstepping
his authority, he at first forebore pulling down houses standing
in the pathway of the flames, as suggested to him, a means that
would assuredly have prevented their progress; but when urged to
this measure would reply, he "durst not, without the consent of
the owners." And when at last, after great destruction had taken
place, word was brought him from the king to "spare no house, but
pull them down everywhere before the fire," he cried out "like a
fainting woman," as Pepys recounts, "Lord! what can I do? I am
spent; people will not obey me.
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