g walls, the crushing of
glass, the shrieks of women, and the imprecations of men.

And those who lived near the waterside, or in houses on the bridges,
hurried their goods and chattels into boats, barges, and lighters,
in which they likewise took refuge. For the destruction of wharfs and
warehouses, containing stores of most inflammable nature, was brief and
desperate. The Thames, now blood-red from reflection of the fierce sky,
was covered with craft of all imaginable shape and size. Showers of
sparks blown by the high wind fell into the water with hissing sounds,
or on the clothes and faces of the people with disastrous and painful
effects; and the smoke and heat were hard to bear. And it was remarked
that flocks of pigeons, which for generations had found shelter in the
eaves and roofs of wooden houses by the riverside, were loath to leave
their habitations; and probably fearing to venture afar by reason of
the unwonted aspect of the angry sky, lingered on the balconies and
abutments of deserted houses, until in some cases, the flames enwrapping
them, they fell dead into the waters below.

On Sunday evening Gracechurch Street was on fire; and the flames spread
onwards till they reached, and in their fury consumed, the Three Cranes
in the Vintry. Night came, but darkness had fled from the city; and
for forty miles round all was luminous. And there were many who in the
crimson hue of the heavens, beheld an evidence of God's wrath at the
sins of the nation, which it was now acknowledged were many and great.

Throughout Sunday night the fire grew apace, and those who, in the
morning had carried their belongings to parts of the city which they
believed would by distance ensure safety, were now obliged to move
them afresh, the devastation extending for miles. Therefore many were
compelled to renew their labours, thereby suffering further fatigue; and
they now trusted to no protection for their property save that which
the open fields afforded. Monday morning came and found the flames yet
raging. Not only Gracechurch Street, but Lombard Street, and part of
Fenchurch street, were on fire. Stately mansions, comfortable homes,
warehouses of great name, banks of vast wealth, were reduced to charred
and blackened walls or heaps of smoking ruins. Buildings had been pulled
down, but now too late to render service; for the insatiable fire, yet
fed by a high wind, had everywhere marched over the dried woodwork and
mortar as it la