Chapter XXI: 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.