‘The Glory of London is now fled away like a Bird’, 5 September 1666

On the 5 September, the winds began to subside. On Fleet Street, the change in fortunes slowed the progress of the fire that got ahead of itself and stymied its path. That morning John Evelyn made his way to man the fire station at Fetter Lane where he found other courtiers preparing, with a group of sailors from Deptford docks to begin blowing up houses before the inferno reached their position, ‘to make a wider gap than any had yet been made by the ordinary method of pulling them down with engines’. The houses, workshops and Inns of Fetter Lane were razed to the ground, including the workshop belonging to PraiseGod Barbone at the sign of the Lock and Key.

The operation was a success and, beyond a single fire that rose within the Temple, the progress of the flames was halted. Elsewhere in the City as the wind began to dissipate the fire came under control. Although coals within the cellars of houses would burn for the next two months and the remains of houses, broken, solitary chimney stacks and rubble would smoke and smoulder for weeks, the worst of the fire was over by the end of the day. To count the cost at such an early stage was impossible but as Thomas Vincent noted:

‘The Glory of London is now fled away like a Bird, The Trade of London is shattered and broken to pieces, her delights have also vanished, and pleasant things laid was; now no chaunting to the sound of the Viol, and dancing to the sweet musick of the other instruments; now no drinking Wine in Bowls, and stretching upon the beds of lust; now no excess of wine and banquetting; no feasts in Halls and curious Dishes; no amorous looks, and wanton dalliances; no ruffling silks, and costly dresses; these things in that place are at an end.’

From the west, nearby to Fetter Lane where the flames finally subsided, Edward Atkyns reported ‘there is nothing but stones and rubbish, all exposed to the open air so that you can see from one end of the city to another’. To another viewer, the city resembled a wind blasted moor rather than a thriving city. The flames had not only gutted eighty-seven Parish churches and six consecrated chapels but all the major sites of trade and government: the Guildhall, Royal Exchange, Customs House, Session House, fifty-two Company Halls, the prisons at Bridewell and Newgate, Wood Street and Poultry Compters, three city gates and four stone bridges.

Fortunes were lost in an instant, plate melted into the earth and valuable spices vaporised with a heady odour. The printers of Stationers Hall alone lost £2 million worth of books and paper in the burning crypt of St Paul’s, and the wharves of Thames Street lost £1.5 million worth of wine, tobacco, sugar and plums.

Nearly 100,000 citizens were homeless. In all, over 13,000 houses were destroyed, covering a ground area of 436 acres, comprising 400 streets and 80% of the land inside the Walls as well as large regions within the liberties beyond.

On the fields beyond the City walls, thousands of refugees had spent the last night, clinging onto their possessions, hungry and destitute. The thronging crowds had nothing to protect or support themselves ‘some under tents, others under miserable hunts and hovels, without a rag, or any necessary utensils, bed or boards.’ The previous night rumours of a foreign invasion had spread through the throng. Some heard that ‘the French were coming armed against them to cut their throats and spoil them of what they have saved out of the fire’. The night was broken with calls of ‘Arms!’ that rippled panic through the groggy hoards as they searched for weapons at hand to defend the devastated City to the last.

The King became so concerned by these fears that on the next day he rode with his council to the fields and addressed the refugees himself to soothe their panic, as reported in the Gazette: ‘He told them it was immediate from the hand of God, and no plot; assured them he had examined several himself which were spoken of under suspicion, and found no reason to suspect anything of that nature’. He then promised food, ‘£500 worth of bread he intends to send them tomorrow, and next day intends to send them as much more’.

Yet these emergency measures would only work for a short time. While the city still smouldered, plans for the restoration of London needed to be put in place.