The old gentleman,
however, assuring me that both fires were one and the same, that it had
burnt a whole night and day, and was visible as far as Epsom, I thought it
time to see into the truth of the matter. I ordered my horse, and
promising to bring back a correct account, purely to satisfy the house
that there was no such thing, (for some of the domestics had kindred in
London,) I set off at a round gallop, looking towards the north, as if I
could already discern what I had doubted. Nobody was stirring at
Leatherhead; but at Epsom, sure enough, there was a great commotion, all
the people being at their doors, and vowing they saw the fire; which,
however, I could not discern. That there was a fire, however, and a
dreadful one, was but too certain, from accounts brought into the town
both by travellers and the inhabitants; so with the natural curiosity
which draws us on and on upon much less occasions, especially on a road, I
pushed forward, and soon had pretty clear indications of a terrible fire
indeed. I began to consider what the King might think of it, and whether
he would not desire to have his active servants about him. At Morden the
light was so strong, that it was difficult to persuade one's-self the fire
was not much nearer; and at Tooting you would have sworn it was at the
next village. The night was, nevertheless, a very fine one, with a
brilliant moon.[2] Not a soul seemed in bed in the villages, though it
was ten o'clock. There was a talk of the French, as if they had caused it.
Pages:
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51