THE CHRISTENING OF THE WILLIAM SMITH.
Before two days had passed, the fires were lighted in the boiler, and
the quartz-crushing machine commenced its merry rub-a-dub-dub. The
ugly black rooks that were wont to cluster in huge flocks in the once
deserted woods and make night hideous with their rusty voices, ceased
for a time their harsh cawing and their seemingly interminable
circular flights--wondering, doubtless, as the sound reached their
ears, what new and strange monster it was that had invaded their
domain. For it was evening when the iron-shod stampers first began to
thump. It was but a trial. Before actual work commenced, a little
ceremony had to be performed. The quartz-crushing machine had to be
christened.
William Smith mentioned this to Philip, saying it was a necessary
ceremony.
"All right," said Philip, and ran straight to his princess.
The First Old Woman was with Margaret; they were snipping up old
dresses, and making them into late new ones. A new piece was to be
played at the theatre that evening.
"Margaret," said Philip, "we are going to have a christening."
"O, O!" cried the First Old Woman, and set off laughing.
Philip did not condescend to notice her, nor would he so much as smile
at a mock baby she fashioned in a moment out of the dress pieces, and
dandled in her arms. Margaret did, and pulled it away from her.
"We are going to christen the machine, Margaret."
"Who is to be godmother?" inquired the First Old Woman briskly.
"Who!" exclaimed Philip. "Why, who but Margaret, I should like to
know."
Margaret's eyes sparkled more brightly. The proposition delighted her.
"You'll have to break a bottle of Moselle against the machine,
Margaret. You would like to do it, wouldn't you?"
Margaret nodded, and gave Philip a bright look. "O, don't make a
stranger of me!" cried the First Old Woman.
The remark was suggested by Philip's stooping over Margaret under the
pretence of whispering to her, but really to kiss her--being tempted
to do so by the look she had given him. William Smith joined the
party.
"We've settled it all," said Philip to him.
"All what?"
"About the christening. Margaret will set the machine a-going."
But William Smith had settled it another way. "Margaret can christen
the next machine," he said. "The Warden's lady will christen this."
"The Warden's lady will do no such thing!" cried Philip.
"She has promised to do so," replied William Smith calmly. "Don't be a
fool, Philip. Who has it in his power to be our best friend in the
Margaret Reef? The Goldfields Warden. Who grants leases, who settles
all disputes as to boundaries and encroachments, who, in short, rules
Silver Creek? The Goldfields Warden. Who rules the Goldfields Warden?
His wife. Nothing can be clearer."
Dissatisfied Philip refused to see the logic of the argument. But
William Smith was wise in his generation; he was very desirous of
ingratiating himself into the good graces of the lady who was at the
head of society in Silver Creek, knowing the value of her influence.
He made further efforts to convince Philip, but Philip would not be
convinced. Love and prudence were at daggers drawn within him. William
Smith appealed to Margaret.
"You are a girl of sense. It is for Philip's good."
"Mr. Smith is right," said Margaret to Philip. "I don't care a pin
about it."
She said this with a pang of disappointment, for she did wish to
christen the machine; but she recognised the soundness of William
Smith's arguments. So Philip was overruled.
I said it was to be a little ceremony. William Smith made it a big
one.
He prepared a great feast, and invited all the bigwigs of Silver Creek
township to come to the christening. No infant was ever more honoured
than this iron baby with its twelve heads of stampers and its iron
cradles ready to receive and imprison the gold. Not one person refused
the invitation, and a great many came who were not invited, and who,
being cordially welcomed, went home in the evening with a skinful and
a bellyful. The Goldfields Warden, the police magistrate, the chief of
the police, the commissioners, the lawyers, the editors of local
papers, and all the lesser luminaries of Silver Creek were present.
William Smith had captured a Judge, who happened to be passing that
way, within twenty miles of the township; and he was there, in all his
glory, and right well was he treated, and right well did he speak, and
did not say a cross word even when William Smith slapped him
familiarly on the shoulders.
Talk of your laying of foundation-stones by princes and nobles and
members of parliament, with their set speeches and stale platitudes!
The present christening beat all such ceremonies out of the field.
Never could such a sight as this be seen in the old countries. Free
hand, free heart; everybody served alike; all standing together,
shoulder to shoulder, man to man. Be thankful that I have not time to
describe the entire proceedings in detail. Those who wish to read of
it more fully can send to Silver Creek for the _Herald_ and the
_Mercury_, where (supposing the copies not to be all sold) they will
find fourteen columns of description--no less; and in small type, too.
There was a supplement to each paper, and William Smith bought a
thousand copies of each, and scattered them broadcast over the land
and over the seas. When his old mother in London received the papers,
and had the accounts of the grand doings read to her, she could at
first hardly believe that she had borne him; but she soon recovered
herself, and related to the gossips who sat about her, and whom she
was regaling (being quite a lady now with the money William Smith
regularly sent her), insignificant incidents in her son's baby life
which shadowed forth the great position he was one day to make for
himself. If he had heard them, they would have been new to him, for he
had no remembrance of them. But when does a mother ever forget the
smallest trifle relating to the baby she suckled at her breast? In the
glowing reports of the christening in the _Silver Creek Herald_ and
_Mercury_ William Smith's name was mentioned ninety-seven times, and
there was a wonderful unanimity in the praise bestowed upon him for
his enterprise. He deserved all the good things that were said of him,
for such men as he are the life and soul of new communities.
And all this time I have not told you the name of the machine. Well,
not a soul knew it before the words passed the lips of the Judge, who
acted as spokesman on the occasion. Truth to tell, no one thought of
it. Being requested by William Smith to perform the ceremony, the
Judge rose, and standing on an eminence before the great baby, said it
struck him as a strange thing that when he asked William Smith what
was to be the name of the infant, William Smith scratched his head,
and said he did not know.
"It shows the modesty of the man," said the Judge, assuming a judicial
attitude--"and true greatness lies in modesty--not to have thought of
the only name which this iron infant can appropriately bear." (William
Smith chuckled slyly at this. The idea of calling him modest! A man
who could laugh in the face of a storm, as he could and did!) "I can
say nothing in praise of William Smith," continued the Judge, "that he
does not deserve. He is a representative man; in him enterprise,
industry, forethought, and that truly British quality, Pluck, are
typified. Although I have only been in this thriving township a few
hours, I have heard enough of him, and seen enough of him, to make me
wish to hear and see more; and I look forward to the day when I shall
welcome him as a member of the Legislative Assembly which makes the
laws for this prosperous colony. I hear that William Smith has made up
his mind that this machine shall turn out the largest cake of retorted
gold which the gold-diggings have yet produced. He will do it, if he
has made up his mind to it, for nothing can check or frustrate
determination when it is in partnership with common sense and sound
judgment--as it is in this case. In christening this machine the
'William Smith,' I pay a fitting tribute to the man by whose
enterprise it was placed on this spot;" et cetera, et cetera, et
cetera.
No occasion to speak of the cheers with which the Judge's oration was
received; but loud and deafening as they were, they were nothing to
the volleys that were given when the wife of the Goldfields Warden, as
the leader of fashion in Silver Creek, broke the bottle of champagne
against the machine, and dubbed it the William Smith. Then, everything
being prepared, the first shovelful of golden quartz out of Philip's
shaft was thrown beneath the stampers by the Judge, and the machine
commenced its music, and every man and woman present drank success to
it, in sparkling Number Two Moselle. With three times three! And three
times three again! And again! And again!
After the lady of the Goldfields Warden broke the bottle of champagne
against the machine, cunning William Smith begged her acceptance of
the handsomest specimen of quartz and gold which had been found in
Philip's claim. She thanked him and smiled sweetly on him, and
conversed with him, telling her husband afterwards that William Smith
was a most superior man, and had evidently moved in good society in
the old country.
You understand that Margaret was at the ceremony of the christening.
She looked lovely, not only in Philip's eyes, but in the eyes of all
the men and the unfashionable women. Would you like to know how she
was dressed? Her gown was of pale-blue muslin, daintily trimmed with
ribbons of the same colour. Around her white throat and slender wrists
were frillings of delicate lace. And on her head was the sweetest hat,
whispers of which must have floated across the seas and set the
fashion here, notwithstanding that other ladies may claim the credit
of designing it. It was a broad flapped Leghorn hat, turned up
coquettishly on one side with a bunch of cornflowers, with a
blue-gauze veil floating behind it. And if any lady quarrels with
Margaret's taste, or with my description, and says I am wrong in my
particulars, I shall be glad to hear from her.
The few fashionable ladies--numbering not more than half-a-dozen--who
were present, acted as they act in more civilised circles. They put up
their gold spectacles, and surveyed Margaret as they would have
surveyed a curiosity, and canvassed and appraised her features and her
clothes. They rendered her a kind of patronising justice; they said
she was pretty, and dressed in fair taste, but they spoke of her in a
tone that plainly proclaimed she was not of their order. Margaret
cared not a whit for their looks; she was very happy. The gold-diggers
regarded her with pride and admiration, making it a sort of boast--as
though it reflected credit upon themselves--that Silver Creek could
show the prettiest girl on any gold diggings; so Margaret was
surrounded with friends and admirers. She was presented to the Judge,
who said many fine things to her, and she not only carried off the
palm in beauty, but also in manners and conversation. Philip's joy and
delight in her knew no bounds; he discovered fresh charms in her in
every new dress that she wore, and if she had not restrained him, he
would have made open love to her before all the people. She was
compelled to give him a few moments now and then, so that he might
have opportunities for secretly pressing her hand. She was as proud of
him as he was of her, for as she was the handsomest woman he was the
handsomest man there.
The fine ladies were more than gracious to him, sighing, no doubt,
that Heaven had made them such a man; but he had no eyes for any but
Margaret. The Judge conversed with him, and in conversation showed off
his learning, as even such high and mighty persons as judges are glad
of the opportunity of doing, by introducing a quotation from Horace.
Philip immediately capped it by another; and the judge, after his
first surprise, there and then set his stamp upon Philip, and said in
the hearing of the fine ladies that if Philip happened to come to
town, he would be glad to see him at his private house. This flew
round, and Philip became a king; even William Smith paled before him.
But William Smith was not to be hurt by this; so long as his
speculations were going on all right, he was satisfied. He longed to
hear the music of his machine, beating out of the quartz the bright
gold, so much of which would fall to his share; for after it was
christened, it was only set going for a few minutes; then it was
stopped, so that the workmen engaged on it might make merry with the
others.
If you had seen the jolly faces of the jolly crowd of gold-diggers and
their wives and children, and the pleased and more sober faces of the
gentlemen and their ladies; if you had seen the new tents with their
decorations which William Smith had put upon the ground; if you had
seen the leaping, and racing, and other sports which William Smith
improvised, giving handsome prizes to the winners; if you had seen the
attendants carving away at the beef and mutton, under the shadow of a
great canvas roof, without walls, for the purpose of showing, mayhap,
that every one was free to enter, and welcome to partake of the good
cheer provided; if you had seen the waving of flags and heard the
laughter and clapping of hands--you would have thought you were at an
English merrymaking of the very finest description. And a couple of
years ago the spot in which it was held was a wild tract of country,
over which the feet of twenty white men had not passed. Now hundreds
of men were working vigorously there from sunrise to sunset, working
and hoping and scheming and living their lives, and thousands more
would soon flock around them; now the hollows echoed their shouts, and
the forests of trees fell beneath their axes; now the eyes of forges
were glowing in their lairs, and the music of the anvils rang along
the hills; now diggers sat around the blazing trees of a night, and
smoked their pipes, and told their stories, and spoke of their
chances, or in more tender tones, of dear friends in the old land so
many thousands of miles across the sea; now the women, as with
grateful hearts they looked at their healthy well-fed children running
about the hills or lying asleep in their cots, thought of the future
with hope and pleasure; now men were on the earth and in its bowels,
tearing the golden rock from its bed; now steam was doing its wondrous
work, and gold was being sent down to the ports, to make men rich in
the old countries, and to pay better wages to the working man.
Some who were on the Margaret Reef on that day thought of these
things. The Judge for one; William Smith for another; our dear friend
Mr. Hart for another; Philip for---- But no. I must be veracious;
Philip thought of no such thing; he had enough to do with Margaret.
When the bustle of the ceremony was over, and people were more free to
act in accordance with their whims and fancies, Philip conducted
Margaret to his tent, and played the host to her. It was a small
house, measuring, I should say, not more than ten feet by sixteen,
white as snow outside, with a chimney the apex of which was neither
more nor less than a whisky barrel, with the ends knocked out of it.
The tent was lined inside with green baize, and Indian matting was
laid down by Philip especially for the occasion; there was a little
cupboard with two shelves in it fixed up in a corner, with an oilcloth
flap which served for a door. In another corner there was a little
shelf of books. The mantelpiece was of deal, covered with baize, and
in the very centre was Margaret's picture, smiling demurely at you;
and it deeply touched the living Margaret to see her picture garlanded
with fresh green leaves and a few simple wild flowers. On either side
of the picture were pipes and two or three dandy gimcracks which
Philip had brought away with him from Cambridge. The bed was a
stretcher, with an innocent-looking white counterpane covering its
imperfections--covering also a life-preserver and a revolver, which
Philip had put out of sight, for fear of frightening his girl. The
chairs were two stools and part of the trunk of a tree, polished in
its seat and of a comfortable height. You may be sure that everything
was sweet and clean, or Philip would not have brought his Margaret
there. She looked about in every corner, making grand discoveries and
uttering little screams at this and that.
"I declare, sir," she exclaimed, "you are more comfortable than I
thought you were! I wonder why you want to change."
"Wouldn't you," he asked gaily, "in my place?" She considered deeply,
making wrinkles in her forehead.
"No," she said, in a decided tone, "I really don't think I should. If
I were in your place, I would change my mind."
"You would not--if you were in my place."
"I would! unless I was a very foolish creature."
He shook his head with fond seriousness.
"My name is Constancy," he said: and was proceeding, when she
interrupted him quickly with:
"Constancy's a woman; I'll take that name, if you please, sir."
All the time they were in the tent together he did not kiss her; a
feeling of delicacy restrained him.