Zealand

15. Ashore

I followed Captain up the low embankment from Bessy, a long row of houses appearing as we neared the top. I counted eight, the one at the end without a roof – the burnt one, I assumed. As we walked toward it, Captain called, "Good morrow, Mister Harcourt. How goes the work?"

A man looked up from sawing. "And a good morrow to you, sir." Then he pointed across the fields. "Are you safe there?"

I followed his point to see London ablaze, and I stared at it while Captain replied, "Aye, for the nonce. But it grew too close to my home to dare remain, and we have removed from there."

He took a fancy stick from a pouch, lifted it to his eye, pointed it toward the fire, and moved it about. After a long pause, he said, "It now approaches the top of Billingsgate, and I fear my house at the wharf will be lost by day's end." He moved the stick again, and while I puzzled its purpose, he continued, "And the ones along Thames Street, as well."

"Aye, we hear it's near half a thousand now burnt. God's wrath for the evil of the city, some say." He shrugged. "Where have you removed to, sir?"

Captain tilted his head toward the creek. "To here until the fire is out, then..." He paused and shrugged. "How progresses the work?"

Mister Harcourt turned and raised an arm toward the top of the brick walls. "The cruck blades[1] are all cut, and the end pairs are raised. The last two sets'll be up and tied afore the sun's down."

"And the slates?"

"Ridge beam and purlins[2] going up to-morrow and the start of the rafters. The slates can follow the battens up starting Thursday. Roof should be done by Saturday."

"Much sooner than you had thought."

"Aye, sir. I brung in twelve more men to get it done quick." He nodded toward London. "We'll soon have plenty more to do."

"Indeed." Captain pointed toward the house. "I wish to use the hearth to cook this evening. Can you clean around it and leave me some wood scraps?"

"Aye, sir. It shall be done."

"Thank you. This is Charles, my new crewman."

I swelled with pride at being called a man, and even more at being called crew. After we had shaken hands, Captain led me across the field and up the gentle slope, and I asked, "What's that fancy stick you took to your eye, sir?"

"Stick, lad?"

I pointed. "The one in your pouch with the gold and leather."

"Aha! The telescopium.[3] A brass tube with lenses to make distant objects appear as if closer." Then he pointed ahead to a pool of bubbling water. "I will show you after we quench our thirst."

He lay on his belly and supped water into his mouth, then he rolled onto his back in the grass and sighed. I drank my fill and sat beside him, and after a long silence, I said, "Cept for that walk to the goose grange, I ain't never been in the open countryside. So clean-smelling here compared to the city."

"Aye, lad. London has grown foul – much more foul than other cities."

"Maybe when they build after the fire, it'll be better."

"Yes, we can hope wisdom will prevail." He sat up and pointed toward London. "Less than three miles away from it here, yet this is so clean and unspoilt."

"Three miles? Seems we came much more than that."

"Aye, we did, lad. Near four and a half as the river flows – and with all our tacking, more than five. But only three as a dove would fly." He took the telescopium from his pouch and held it to his eye. After a brief moment, he lowered it and shook his head. "No hope remains. It now spreads along the dock."

I squinted my eyes this way and that, trying to see where was what, then he handed me the instrument, its heaviness surprising me. I looked through it, seeing nought but flames and smoke, and I told him this.

"Lower it until you see the river, lad. Then sweep along it until you see either the bridge or the Tower, and from there, find the Billingsgate entrance."

I soon found his house, and after examining it for a while, I said, "It's still safe, sir."

"For the moment, lad. But follow along the dock to the fire; those warehouses are dry as dust. And the conduit up the hill has likely now been burnt through, making useless my drilling."

I did follow, and then I continued up St Mary Hill, seeing both sides of it alight. His houses there, too. But I said nothing. What could I say that would not add to his grief? He has lost so much. And the ones in Thames Street next.

When finally I lowered the telescopium, I saw Captain filling the goatskin where the water pissed a stream from a groove between two rocks. No tap to stop it – not like across in Fleet Street – this just keeps flowing.

As we walked down the slope toward Bessy, Captain said, "At sea, we learn to not fight the tempests, but to yield to them, that we suffer little if any damage. Here, it matters not whether we fight or yield. Either way, we are powerless, and we lose."

I pondered this, finding no response that might ease his loss, so I remained silent as we headed toward Bessy's mast, which stood proud above the roofs. When we came around from behind a house, a man standing at the top of the embankment shouted, turned and ran toward the village.

Captain was fast after him, and when I saw the man would soon be caught, I hastened to the edge to see what he had been about. Why he had fled.

There below me on the drying edge of the creek, two men lugged sacks, and another carried a rolled carpet on his shoulder.

Notes:
[1] A cruck blade is half an internal arch that supports the roof of a timbered house.
[2] Purlins are horizontal beams that span the crucks and carry the roof rafters. Battens are nailed horizontally across the rafters, and the slates are fastened to them.
[3] The Latin form, telescopium, was used until anglicised to telescope in the late 17th century.