Zealand

22. The Rebuilding Act

Saturday, 9th February 1666[1]

Days turned to weeks and weeks to months as we waited. October fell behind us, and with November came cold weather, then colder in December and more so in January. But with a steady supply of wood scraps from building the row of houses, we had a warming fire in both the oven[2] and the hearth during the day. And at night, we had a second and thicker goose ticking on our beds.

The promised directions and permissions for rebuilding had still not been issued, and eager for news, Captain walked frequently to the Royal Dockyard to learn the latest progress. The debates in Parliament dragged on, and he grew increasingly impatient, so to distract him, I asked that he tell me more of his seafaring adventures. These and our reading kept us both entertained.

Then on the ninth of February, he returned from the dockyard with a broad smile on his face, and as he doffed his hat and cape, he said, "Finally! Parliament has stopped bickering. The Rebuilding Act has been passed, and yesterday, the King gave his formal assent. It is now law."

"Oh, wonderful!" I bounded from my chair. "What does it say?"

"I would dearly love to know, but it has not yet been printed. I was told copies will be available in Westminster by noon on Tuesday." He clapped his hands together. "We shall sail Bessy up to fetch one. Come, let us dress into working clothes and go down and begin to make her ready."

On Tuesday morning, as soon as the tide had lifted Bessy from the crib, I flipped the forward mooring line from the dolphin and poled her bow away from the embankment. While I continued poling, Captain tended the stern line, and the barge slowly swung to point down the creek.

We had a thrilling run up the Thames in the swiftness of mid-flood, the tide giving more progress than did our sails after we had rounded the big bend to head into the wind. From the Tower onward, our series of tacks allowed views, both broad and close-at-hand, of the desolation left by the fire. And after shooting through the broadest arch of the bridge, these views continued, now more slowly with the easing of the flood.

I looked through the arches to compare the extent of the destruction we knew back there to that above the bridge. Threefold here. More. Maybe fourfold. Then as we tacked toward Queenhythe, I thought about landing Mister Stourton and his family there. They would have needed to evacuate again – likely the same day.

When we approached the grand buildings of Westminster, wherries crowded all of the stairs, a steady stream of them coming and going. We doused the sails, and with the sweeps, we held Bessy in the waning flood. Finally, a place large enough opened, and we pulled her into it.

After we had moored to the stairs, Captain doffed his cape, and from his portmantle,[3] he donned a fancy waistcoat with silver and gold ornamentations. Then he arranged a scarlet cravat about his neck and put on a long, blue coat with golden lace at the ends of the sleeves and on the lappets.[4] While he adjusted the long, fluffy plumes of his hat, he said, "One must be properly attired, else it would be difficult to gain access."

He bade me remain to tend the mooring lines and to guard Bessy, then he stepped ashore and ascended the remaining few stairs. As he walked toward the buildings, I wondered at how impressive he looked. Outstanding among the others who came and went.

When he stopped and gave some coins to a beggar, I thought that might still have been my lot had Captain not taken me in. How would I have survived? The fire. The cold winter. What shelter? What food? I was little but skin and bones back then.

I felt the thickness of my arms. Now, look. Now, I have meat between bone and skin. And my clothes – no longer tattered rags. And so many. And shoes for work and for show. And slippers for at home. I breathed a deep sigh.