During Monday the flames attacked Cornhill, and then commenced to
demolish the Royal Exchange. Having once made an entrance in
this stately building it revelled in triumph; climbing up the
walls, roaring along the courts and galleries, and sending
through the broken windows volleys of smoke and showers of
sparks, which threatened to suffocate and consume those who
approached. Then the roof fell with a mighty crash, which seemed
for a time to subdue the powerful conflagration; the walls
cracked, parted, and fell; statues of kings and queens were flung
from their niches; and in a couple of hours this building, which
had been the pride and glory of British Merchants, was a
blackened ruin.
The citizens were now in a state of despair. Upwards of ten
thousand houses were in a blaze, the fire extending, according to
Evelyn, two miles in length and one in breadth, and the smoke
reaching near fifty miles in length. Mansions, churches,
hospitals, halls, and schools crumbled into dust as if at
blighting touch of some most potent and diabolical magician.
Quite hopeless now of quenching the flames, bewildered by loss,
and overcome by terror, the citizens, abandoning themselves to
despair, made no further effort to conquer this inappeasable
fire; but crying aloud in their distraction, behaved as those who
had lost their wits. The king and the Duke of York, who on
Sunday had viewed the conflagration from the Thames, now alarmed
at prospect of the whole capital being laid waste, rode into the
city, and by their presence, coolness and example roused the
people to fresh exertions.
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