"Ah, Sir Cyril, it is you, is it? I have not seen you since you
bearded De Ruyter in the _Fan Fan_. Yes, you can be of use. We have
five hundred sailors and dockyard men behind; they have just arrived
from Chatham, and a thousand more have landed below the Bridge to
fight the flames on that side. Keep by me now, and, when we decide
where to set to work, I will put you under the orders of Captain
Warncliffe, who has charge of them."
When they reached the bottom of Fleet Street, the fire was halfway
down Ludgate Hill, and it was decided to begin operations along the
bottom of the Fleet Valley. The dockyard men and sailors were brought
up, and following them were some carts laden with kegs of powder.
"Warncliffe," Lord Albemarle said, as the officer came up at the head
of them, "Sir Cyril Shenstone is anxious to help. You know him by
repute, and you can trust him in any dangerous business. You had
better tell off twenty men under him. You have only to tell him what
you want done, and you can rely upon its being done thoroughly."
The sailors were soon at work along the line of the Fleet Ditch. All
carried axes, and with these they chopped down the principal beams of
the small houses clustered by the Ditch, and so weakened them that a
small charge of powder easily brought them down. In many places they
met with fierce opposition from the owners, who, still clinging to
the faint hope that something might occur to stop the progress of the
fire before it reached their abodes, raised vain protestations
against the destruction of their houses.
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