DRIVEN BY LOVE INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH.
By the time Mr. Hart and William Smith reached the township, there was
a straight sheet of fire, more than a mile in length. At least three
hundred stores were in flames. Silver Creek could boast of a volunteer
fire brigade, and the brave fellows worked at their two small
fire-engines with the perspiration pouring down their faces in
streams, but they might as well have pumped water into the creek for
all the good they did. However, they worked away, approaching as close
as they dare to the immense body of flame; those who were closest to
the burning stores directed their hose towards the blazing rafters,
whilst their comrades pumped upon them to prevent their catching fire.
The shouting, the screaming, the confusion were terrible; loud cries
ran along and about the crowd with the rapidity of the flame itself,
and every few moments another store on each side of those already on
fire caught light. Strange to say, no attempt was made to stop the
fire by pulling down the buildings on either side, and so create a gap
across which the flames could not leap. The only thought that people
had was to save their goods; but even as it was, very little was
preserved from destruction.
When Mr. Hart and his companion plunged into the crowd, their first
thought, of course, was of the hotel and theatre.
"Ah," said one and another, "here's Mr. Hart! Here's William Smith!"
They made way for these two men, who ran rapidly along, and found that
the hotel had just caught fire.
"Where's Margaret? Where's Philip?" cried Mr. Hart, with anxious
glances around.
At that moment he cared not one pin for the destruction of his
property; he saw the flames beggaring him, but he paid no heed to
them. Time to think of that afterwards. All that he cared for now was
the safety of Margaret and Philip.
"Where's Margaret? Where's Philip?" he cried.
Some man among the crowd answered, that Margaret had last been seen
going into the hotel before the fire had reached it, and that she had
not come out.
"Good God!" groaned Mr. Hart, and would have plunged into the flames
but that they held him back.
At that moment Philip, who had been working half a mile away, saving
life and property with the strength of a young Hercules, was running
towards the hotel. Amidst the excitement of rushing into the blazing
stores, and pulling sleeping children and weak women out of the jaws
of death, he had not thought of his own property, and did not know
that it was on fire. Indeed, no man would have conceived it possible
that the flames could have reached the hotel in so short a time. Now,
Philip said to himself, he must get to his own place, and see what was
best to be done. He was a little bit concerned about Margaret. "I must
get her away from this," he thought. "When I see her in a place of
safety, I can come back and do my work." But as he ran towards his
hotel, the rumour ran from it that it was burning.
"The Silver Flagon's caught!" shouted the gold-diggers, one to
another, and the news was carried along past Philip, who received it
as he ran.
"Ah!" he muttered, with a great sigh, "there's an end to that. We are
ruined men. Poor Mr. Hart, poor Mr. Hart! And I persuaded him to
stop."
The thought that he himself was ruined scarcely disturbed him. Ruined
How could he be ruined, when he had Margaret? His heart was almost
light as he thought of his darling woman, but in the same moment his
hair seemed to rise from his head with horror as he heard some one
say:
"The Silver Flagon's down, and Mrs. Rowe's inside!"
"What what!" he muttered, dazed for a moment, and then he screamed:
"O my God!"
And, with a cry so terrible as to startle all who heard it, he plunged
madly towards the spot where he had last seen his beloved.
He reached it, hot, black, panting, with his hair streaming to his
shoulders, and his blue eyes gleaming wildly.
"Keep him back! Keep him back!" they shouted and laid hands on him.
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.