A man who ran
past told me it was in Pudding Lane, at the top of Fish Street. The
Captain is getting up, and is going out to see it; for, with such dry
weather as we have been having, there is no saying how far it may
go."
Cyril sprang out of his bed and dressed. Captain Dave, accustomed to
slip on his clothes in a hurry, was waiting for him, and, with John
Wilkes, they sallied out. There was a broad glare of light in the
sky, and the bells of many of the churches were ringing out the
fire-alarm. As they passed, many people put their heads out from
windows and asked where the fire was. In five minutes they approached
the scene. A dozen houses were blazing fiercely, while, from those
near, the inhabitants were busily removing their valuables. The Fire
Companies, with their buckets, were already at work, and lines of men
were formed down to the river and were passing along buckets from
hand to hand. Well-nigh half the water was spilt, however, before it
arrived at the fire, and, in the face of such a body of flame, it
seemed to make no impression whatever.
"They might as well attempt to pump out a leaky ship with a child's
squirt," the Captain said. "The fire will burn itself out, and we
must pray heaven that the wind drops altogether; 'tis not strong, but
it will suffice to carry the flames across these narrow streets. 'Tis
lucky that it is from the east, so there is little fear that it will
travel in our direction."
They learnt that the fire had begun in the house of Faryner, the
King's baker, though none knew how it had got alight.
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