At the Sign of the Silver Flagon

by B. L. Farjeon

But he dashed them aside as though they had been so many feathers, and, with knitted brows and lips tightly closed, and breast that heaved as though it would burst, he ran with swift desperation into the flames. A spasm of horror rose to the throat of every looker-on, and kept him silent for a moment. During that brief moment, which seemed an hour, their eyes were strained in the direction of Philip's flying form. They could see him beating the flames away with one hand, while his other arm was raised to save his eyes from the fire. Only for a moment was their attention thus occupied; the sound of a familiar voice fell upon their ears; they turned, and to their amazement, saw Margaret moving among them. Her hair was hanging loose, and she was seeking for Philip's face among the throng of bearded men. She knew all the faces that were about her, but she did not recognise one of them until she saw Mr. Hart's. To him she ran, and asked if he knew where Philip was. The men still had their hands upon Mr. Hart, and the look of horror in his face answered her. Following the direction of his eyes, which were fixed upon the burning hotel, she in her turn saw the outline of her Philip's form struggling through the flames. All this was the work of two moments.

"Philip Philip!" she screamed, and ran towards him.

It was useless now to attempt to hold Mr. Hart; he broke from the prison of their arms as easily as Philip had done, and wound his around Margaret.

"O merciful God!" she screamed, tearing at the air. "Philip! Philip! I am here! Margaret is here!"

All on fire as he was, her voice reached him; he made an effort to escape, and by love's instinct in the direction where Margaret was. But he fell among some falling rafters, and seemed to be of them; and as he fell, a gasp of mingled anguish and joy escaped his bursting heart; it sounded like "Margaret!" Then Mr. Hart, with swift and furious action, resigned Margaret to the arms of the miners, and flew into the flames towards his friend. All the strength and dexterity of his youth came back to him; he had marked the exact spot where Philip had fallen, and he darted to it with an eagle's keen sight, and rushed out of the flames, dragging Philip's insensible form after him. They were both on fire; but fifty blankets were flung over them with lightning rapidity, and a hundred pitying arms were stretched forth to bear them tenderly to a place of safety.

[CHAPTER XXII.]

"DEAR OLD FELLOW! GOD BLESS MARGARET AND YOU!"

THE sun rose next morning upon a sad sight. High Street, Silver Creek, was nothing but a long line of ruins. More than five hundred stores had been burnt to the ground. All over the gold-diggings work was suspended, and the diggers flocked in to see the sight. They did not stand idly by; they tacked up their sleeves, and every European and American there gave a day's work for nothing. William Smith sent orders to the Margaret Range; the William Smith quartz-crushing machine was stopped, and all the workmen came in to lend a helping hand. They did wonders under William Smith's directions; he was to many what sound wine is to enfeebled bodies. He strengthened, sympathised, encouraged, all in a breath, and set a fine example by working as zealously as the most zealous. It was not with him "Do as I say," but "Do as I do." The first duty of the workers was a solemn one: to find the ashes of those who had been burnt to death in the fire. Five persons were known to have perished--among them Margaret's mother. Strangely enough, no one had thought of her while the fire was raging; in the larger interest that centred around Margaret and Philip this poor little quiet woman had been forgotten. Very tenderly and gently were the remains of the dead gathered from the ruins; they were but blackened cinders, which crumbled almost at the touch; and awe and grief were on the faces of the rough men as they deposited the sad heaps on ground made sacred by its burden, and covered them over with blankets. This duty performed, their thoughts turned to other and more cheerful matters, and they bustled briskly about.

Before noon twenty canvas tents were up, at a little distance from the street--the ground there was as yet too hot to build upon--and twenty burnt-out storekeepers had recommenced business. So great were the bustle and animation, that the sufferers really had no time to be faint-hearted. Every man's example was an encouragement to his neighbour; emulation was excited, and all strove to outvie each other. But we must away from the scene--nearer ties claim our attention. In a week Silver Creek township will seem scarcely the worse for its terrible conflagration. Business will be carried on as usual and the building of new stores will be going on from one end of High Street to the other. None will be put up of canvas. Most of them will be built of wood, and a few of stone. Thus cities are made. Experience teaches.

In a large tent, on the Camp Ground where the Government buildings are erected, are three persons. Mr. Hart, with his left arm in a sling, is standing by the side of a low bed, gazing mournfully down. So rapidly was his noble task accomplished, when he rushed into the flames to save his friend, that he escaped with very little injury. He was scorched and burnt, but not seriously, his left arm being the part of him which had suffered the most. The physical part of him, I should say; for all that was mental in him was quivering with anguish.