London Bridge in Plague and Fire: A Novel

16. Morgan Wood, a Child of the Bridge, Returns

16 Morgan Wood, a CHiLd oF THe Bridge, reTurnS Morgan wrote, “rapidly approaching—the day of our arrival in the Pool. Will i walk home from Katherine’s dock or hire a waterman to take me to old Swan Steps?” on the verge of sleep, Morgan decided he would take his very first step on the Bridge from Saint Magnus Martyr Church at the north end, the sacred place from which he had set out to sea. From the Pool where London Rocket docked to discharge cargo, he imagined first going ashore west of the White Tower and enter Thames Street, pass by the Custom House, go on past Botolph Lane, Pudding Lane, then down new Fish Street to Saint Magnus Martyr. every street was as real in memory and imagination as the deck of his ship. imagining walking on the Bridge, dodging death by horse or wheel, set his blood pounding. a stroll on Thames Street, he expected, would be something between. after seven years at sea, he was returning to walk again where memory had often taken him—upon London Bridge. But finally, he decided, ‘By water i left, by water i shall return to the Bridge.’ “Well, i have lived a cloistered life indeed on this ship. Farewell.” Having written, in Thomas dekker’s The Seven Deadly Sins of London, his final marginalia, Morgan intended his farewell gesture to his life at Morgan Wood, a CHiLd oF THe Bridge, reTurnS 284 sea as an exile from the Bridge would be to throw, as ancient victorious warriors threw their spears into river Thames, his first spear, Sir Philip Sidney’s Arcadia; his second spear, Plato’s Republic; his third spear, dante’s Divine Comedy; his fourth spear, Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales; his fifth spear, after some hesitation, William Tyndale’s translation of the New Testament; his sixth spear, Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice; his seventh spear, John of Salisbury’s Vita S. Thomae; his eighth spear, Thomas nashe’s The Unfortunate Traveler, or the Life of Jack Wilton; and his last spear, his Thomas dekker. The Seven Deadly Sins of London overboard , all his memories, his thoughts would be inscribed now only on the moving stream of his mind, the actual bridge underfoot day by day. as Morgan slept, the pilot came aboard and brought the ship into the Pool. Morgan opened the porthole onto a view not of London but of Southwark where more autumn fire smoke than he remembered drifted over the rooftops. When he went on deck and turned smiling toward London bank, a frown of bewilderment began in a second, turned to a frown of shock the next: London was on fire, from the White Tower to Temple Bar. no flames. only smoke and morning mist in tortured entanglement. Black structures, steeples, like broken spears stuck straight up. The remembered image of the Bridge whirled him around West. London Bridge stretched from bank to bank intact, except for a few blackened structures and the open space the fire of 1633 left at the north end. He stared, as late dawn defined all structures along the bank, and gradually up on Thames Street and around Saint Paul’s and Ludgate Hill and Cripplegate. none on fire, many still smoking, few standing intact . ashes. Black holes. Black spaces. a few houses and taverns and great Halls here and there starkly standing out for being whole amid the black ruins. Many brick chimneys. From where he stood, he could not see, but expected that he soon would, the tower of Saint Magnus Martyr. He assumed, of course, that the waterman would put him ashore at the London end, but suddenly he cut toward the rapids, to shoot the Bridge! “a rousing homecoming, my lad!” Morgan suspected the waterman wanted to give him at the end of his travels an adventure far greater than any Morgan may have experienced at sea—a matter of personal pride in his own profession. 285 Morgan Wood, a CHiLd oF THe Bridge, reTurnS “i aim my craft as i aim my cock—straight between the piers. Shoot the Bridge, fuck the wife. My cock in my hand all day long—my steering shaft. i feel it like flesh and the water like fast fucking. it’s all in fun. get on your mark. ready. Set. go!” ‘To a watery grave—after all those near fatal accidents and nautical misfortunes...