Fire! Fire! (6 page)

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I don't know how long I ran through the burning streets of the city. The sky was dark with clouds of smoke, so I couldn't guess the time and any church bells that still rang the hours had either been burnt down or their chimes were lost in the deafening roar of the fire. I could see no landmarks to guide me and I
soon
lost my way. One burning street looks much the same as another.

As I ran, I coughed and spluttered in the smoke. My hands were black with soot and I guessed that my face would be in the same state. My clothes were scorched too and peppered with small black holes where sparks had hit me and burned through the cloth. Some of these sparks had reached my skin and I could feel tiny burns all over my back, shoulders, arms and legs.

I knew I couldn't go on for much longer; my chest ached from the smoke and fumes and I could hardly breathe. I had to get out of the fire and find a safe place to rest. Eventually I was forced to slow down by sheer exhaustion until I was barely shuffling forwards, pushed along by the crowds of people who were still cramming the streets as they ran from the fire. Despite feeling totally worn out, I forced myself to keep looking, to keep searching for any sign of Pip. Where was he? Why couldn't I find him? But really I knew it was impossible. I suppose I secretly knew it always had been. How could I have hoped to find one little runaway dog in this huge city? Especially when the city was engulfed in flames?

The fire was closing in on everyone and everything.
It
would kill all living things in its path. What chance did any of us have against the fury of the flames?

I had no idea which direction I was heading in, but eventually I began to make out some high stone walls rising above the flames. At first I thought I'd gone round in circles and had somehow made my way back to the cathedral, but then I realized it was the Tower of London! I was closer to home than I had dared hope. If I could see the stone walls I must be at the very beginning of Tower Street, so all I had to do was head north and I'd soon reach Seething Lane where Master Pepys' house stood.

I knew that the house would be empty by now because when I'd run off in search of Pip, the servants had been packing everything up as they prepared to flee from the flames. I had no idea where they were going, either, because I hadn't been told in all the chaos or perhaps I'd forgotten. Maybe the fire had reached Seething Lane and the house would just be a smoking ruin. But I had to go and find out – it was the only link I had with the people who were the closest I had to a family. If it was gone then I really would have nothing in all the world. No home, no friends and, worst of all, no Pip! But I couldn't just
give
up and turn away. Maybe someone would come back to see if the building had survived the fire and I could ask where everyone had gone.

As soon as I could, I turned north and began to climb up the hill that led down towards the Thames and up towards the City Wall and Aldgate. And very quickly I found myself stepping out of the burning streets and into an area that was untouched by the flames. I was amazed; I'd almost begun to expect to see blazing houses and billows of smoke, as if a city on fire was the way things normally were. Of course there was still the stink of smoke and the loud roar of the inferno, but in every other way these houses seemed safe and sound. Most of them were boarded up because the owners had fled in the belief that the fire would soon reach them. But some were still occupied. As I walked by one of the larger houses, I saw a maid cleaning the smoky grime from the windows as though it was just another working day. My eyes filled with tears when I realized that normal things still happened, but I quickly blinked them away and told myself not to be stupid.

There were still plenty of people crowding the streets even here, but I soon realized that rather than going
south
to the Thames, they must be heading north, perhaps to Bishops Gate and beyond that to where there was open ground at Moorfields. There were no houses or other buildings there, so the fire couldn't reach them.

I carried on walking, my earlier exhaustion forgotten as I got closer to home. I made my way along a slowly curving street until I came to the foot of Seething Lane, where Master Pepys' house stood. I paused for a moment. With relief I saw that the fire had left the street completely untouched, but I then remembered that no one would be at home. Even so, as I'd thought earlier, perhaps people would come back at regular intervals to check that all was well, and they'd find me.

But as I walked up the lane, I began to wonder if I was still Master Pepys' pageboy at all. After all, I'd abandoned him and run off at a time when I was needed to help pack up the house and take everything to safety. Perhaps I'd been sacked and was now just another boy living on the streets of London. Even if my master did come back, would he just be angry and send me away?

My steps slowed as I thought this through, but as I had nowhere else to go I eventually picked up my pace
again
and hurried on. Perhaps Master Pepys would forgive me and let me work in the kitchens again, even if he didn't want me as a pageboy anymore.

Then at long last I saw the house. It stood as it always had in a small plot of land with a low wall around it. To the side was the tiny orchard with three apple and two pear trees where I used to take Pip first thing in the morning. I was overcome with sadness as I remembered my little black and white dog and wondered where he was and if he was still alive. Then I recalled what old Mother Bellows had said about him being safe and I decided to cheer up. But not for long. As I ran my eyes over the house I noticed that all of the windows had their shutters firmly closed and the great double front door was also shut and looked as solid and as unmoveable as stone.

Even the gates to the garden were padlocked, but it was easy to scramble over the wall and into the orchard. I found my way to the biggest apple tree and sat down staring at the house. My eyes were really heavy and I suddenly realized that I didn't know exactly how long I'd been in the fire searching for Pip. It could have been a few hours or it could have been more than a day.
Above
the blazing houses the sky was black with smoke and so it was impossible to know if the day had ended and a new one had begun. I could've been awake for more than a day and a night!

I lay back against the trunk of the tree and closed my eyes. I don't know how long I slept, but I woke up just as I was dreaming that someone was wiping the soot off my face with a wet cloth. In fact the dream was so real that even as I opened my eyes I could still feel the wet cloth scrubbing at my cheek.

I put my hands up to my wet face and felt something solid that whined and then gave a little yap.

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I tried to focus my sleepy eyes. “PIP!” I screamed and seized the dog who began licking my face again. “PIP! You're safe! Where have you been? Where did you get to?! I've been looking for you for… for… well I don't know for how long!”

Pip barked excitedly and then licked my face again. I laughed and hugged him close, and we were both so happy that neither of us heard the person approaching.
Suddenly
someone grabbed my shoulder in a strong grip and spun me round.

I gasped and stared up into the face of… Master Pepys. His eyes bulged and his wig slipped to one side as he glared at me. I just knew I'd been sacked!

Terrified I immediately began to gabble explanations and excuses: “I'm sorry… I didn't mean to run away… I was looking for Pip… I was afraid he'd die in the fire…”

Master Pepys said nothing but suddenly gathered us both in a huge hug. “Thank God, thank God, my two best boys are safe!” he said and laughed aloud.

I was amazed; I thought we were going to be beaten, and yet here he was laughing and behaving as though he really cared what happened to us. Not only that, but I had no idea he even knew Pip existed. The little dog spent most of his time in the kitchens and cellars where my master rarely went.

For the next few minutes I tried to explain everything that had been happening. I had to pick up Master Pepys' wig from the dusty ground twice and replace it on his head, while he continued to smile at us, like – as he said himself – “A man who'd lost a crust of bread and found a roast chicken instead.”

But
then at last he seemed to remember he should be angry with us and, after a few tries, he managed to make his face look stern and told us that we'd both get a beating later for running away. Pip obviously didn't believe him and yapped until Master Pepys finally picked him up and had his face washed too.

“Come now, into the house both of you to get clean and fed and ready for the new day ahead,” he said, leading the way to the locked front doors.

“But is there any food left in the house? Hasn't everything been taken to safety?” I asked, suddenly realizing how very hungry I was.

“You're right, Tom. There's not a crumb to be found anywhere inside. But fortunately I brought a basket of goodies with me in case I got peckish during my visit to check on things.”

CHAPTER
8

The fire died at last, though it died slowly, and throughout Thursday reports came in that it had been stopped at several points. I didn't know it at the time of course, but its defeat began on Wednesday while I was still searching for Pip. High brick walls at Middle Temple and also at Fetter Lane had stopped it moving north and firebreaks at Cripplegate, Smithfield and Holborn Bridge prevented it from destroying any more homes and lives.

It's been claimed by the government that only six people died, but nobody believes that. Some say that the authorities have only bothered to count those they think important – in other words, the rich, the aristocracy and those with power. But I remember the screams and cries as I walked through the burning streets, and I believe many more died in the flames. When the Great Plague killed thousands of people, their bodies were
left
as evidence. But the fire burnt its victims to ash and unrecognizable charred cinders that could be ignored and shovelled away with the other debris as the clear-up began.

That morning I stood on my bed and looked out of the window in the roof of the attic bedroom I shared with Pip. I held the little dog in my arms so that we could both see the still-smoking ruins that spread far to the east towards Holborn Hill and south to the Thames in the early morning light.

“Look, Pip, it's stopped. We're safe and we still have a place in Master Pepys' home. We're lucky, though there are thousands that'll be sleeping under the skies tonight and for many more nights to come.”

Pip yapped as though he understood, but then he wriggled to be put down and we both headed for the stairs to start our day.

After breakfast Master Pepys decided he wanted to see the ruins “at first hand”. We set out to walk towards the blackened and broken walls of Saint Paul's Cathedral that towered in the distance over the debris of what had once been a large part of the city. I'd been told that eighty-four churches had been destroyed as well as
more
than 13,000 houses. But those numbers gave no real idea about the people whose lives had been ruined. Many had lost their businesses – the only way they had of making a living and feeding themselves and their families. Someone in the government had calculated that more than 100,000 were now homeless, with very little hope of getting anywhere else to live.

This made me think of Mother Bellows, the old Puritan lady I'd helped, but at least I thought she'd be safe with her family, unlike some who might have nobody to help them.

In the end all I could do was accept that I could do nothing to help; I was just a twelve-year-old boy who had the good fortune to work for a kind master in a good household and I quietly breathed a sigh of relief. In fact, I was soon back into the routine of being a pageboy and, as Master Pepys and I made our way towards the ruins of the burnt streets, I walked two paces behind him, carrying his finely embroidered gloves.

Everything was deadly quiet where once there'd been the hustle and bustle of a busy city. But even so there were many people about, picking their way through the
ruined
houses. I thought that perhaps they were looking for where their homes had once stood, but many of them just seemed dazed and wandered about aimlessly.

We walked on for what seemed like hours and, even though the fire was now definitely out, the ruins still smoked and gave off heat and sparks in great billowing clouds.

There were rumours that the fire had been started deliberately by the country's enemies, but my master didn't believe it:

“Accident, Tom, pure accident,” he said, when I asked him. “It's said that a bakery in Pudding Lane didn't put out its ovens properly and that a spark escaped and set fire to rubbish and from there it spread.” He fell silent for a moment before adding. “There's a lesson to be learnt from that, my boy… from a tiny spark of mischief can come the greatest of tragedies.”

I nodded, but said nothing as we arrived before the huge broken remains of Saint Paul's Cathedral. Some of its walls still stood, but they were blackened and there were great holes where the stones had exploded in the heat. It was also completely roofless and the great central tower had fallen in, leaving nothing but a smoking shell.

“
Even the houses of God have been destroyed,” I said quietly.

Master Pepys laid his hand on my shoulder. “But they will rise again, my lad. They will rise again. Already the king is calling for plans that will allow a great re-building of all that has been lost. But this time it will be better. It will be built of stone and of brick so that no fire will ever again burn our city…”

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That night as I lay in my bed, I told Pip what Master Pepys had said and he yapped as though agreeing with every word. We went to sleep, safe in the knowledge that our city would never burn again.