At the Sign of the Silver Flagon

Obedient Margaret moved a few paces away, and closed her eyes, and raised the picture of her lover, handsome, and brave, and noble, to feast upon mentally. Philip stole to her, kissed her fresh lips, and whispered a word in her ear. Then he looked about him for pen and ink, and brought them to the table.

"Now," he said, in a low tone to Mr. Hart, "please to sign these papers."

He took from his pocket the duplicate agreements, by which he sold, and Mr. Hart bought, a fourth of his share in the claim on the Margaret Reef. Mr. Hart gently shook his head. But Philip would not be denied. He pressed and argued, and argued and pressed, and even threatened, until all that Mr. Hart could do was to sit still and listen. But still he would not sign.

"Margaret," said Philip, "come and help me."

Up jumped Margaret, and ran to the table.

"This is how it is," said Philip, appealing to her, but Mr. Hart interrupted him.

"No, no; let me explain."

"Stop his mouth, Margaret!"

Margaret placed her small hand on Mr. Hart's mouth, having to encircle his neck with her soft arm to do so. He could not quarrel with the necklace, and he kissed her hand.

"O, you may kiss it!" said she. "Philip will not be angry, nor will I."

"I angry!" exclaimed Philip, "with him or you. Keep your hand there, and let him kiss it as often as he likes."

She gave Philip her other hand as a reward, and he warmed it in his.

"This is how it is, Margaret-" and Philip explained the matter to her.

She was grave and silent when his story was finished, out of sympathy for Mr. Hart's loss, and also out of gratitude for her lover's goodness. There was nothing sordid in either of their souls.

"It amounts to this," said Margaret, in unconscious imitation of Philip's style, "that Mr. Hart wants to part us."

"My dear child!" he remonstrated.

"You do! You know you do! for if you don't sign, and become a shareholder in the Margaret Reef, Margaret and Philip will never be married. No, Philip; I'm resolved! I'll never marry you unless I have my own way in this."

"Do you hear what she says?" shouted Philip, triumphantly. "And do you intend to part us for ever?"

The upshot of it all was that Mr. Hart was compelled to yield; but he declared, in broken words, and with tears in his eyes, that he yielded only under compulsion. It might have been, for at the last moment, before signing, he was about to dash the pen away, when Margaret stayed his hand, and with her fingers upon his guided them to sign his name. It would not make a bad picture this; and one almost as good followed, for Philip seized Margaret round the waist, and they waltzed round the old man, singing and laughing, while the storm howled without, and the tears were running down Mr. Hart's face.

"God bless you, my dears!" said Mr. Hart, and would have continued his expressions of gratitude, had not Margaret drowned his voice with her tra-la-la. It was arranged that the share should be paid for with the first two hundred and fifty pounds that would come to Mr. Hart out of the division of profits.

"So after all," said Philip, "it's only lending you the money for a week or two."

"It is giving me the gold," observed Mr. Hart.

"You gave me Margaret," replied Philip softly; "and do you think she's not worth more than all the gold in the world! I am your debtor still, and shall be all my life."

Delicious words, both to utter and hear.

They sat together until sunrise, and Margaret fell asleep in her lover's arms. Lives there the man who has not enjoyed some such heavenly minutes as these? Philip tasted then the most perfect happiness in his life.

When the sun rose, the storm cleared away. Margaret awoke, and sighed and blushed, and looked tenderly at Philip, and Mr. Hart found something so interesting at his window that he was compelled to keep his back to them. They forgave the rudeness; and presently came also to the window, and looked out upon a glorious sight. The skies were glowing with grand colour. Broad masses of golden light fringed with purple, which changed gradually to crimson, rose from the dip of the horizon. Brightly shone the sun in its bed; the sky was dotted with feather-clouds of rosy red in the east, and fairy islands of the loveliest shades of blue, flecked with white, moved towards them from the west. Raindrops seemed to hang, like glistening eyes, between cloud and land; the heavens laughed; all was sweet, and fresh, and beautiful.

So, in another land, which lay beneath them, and on another morning, when summer was waning, the old man shall stand, after a strange and eventful night, gazing on the sunrise with grateful eyes and grateful heart, embracing her who is dearer to him than his heart's blood.

"This is like the dawn of life, my sweet!" whispered Philip to Margaret.

"Of our life, Philip," she whispered.

Mr. Hart heard them.

"A happy dawn," he prayed. "May it bring a happy day!"

But prayers could not avert what was soon to come.

CHAPTER XV

PHILIP IS CONVINCED OF THE EFFICACY OF MARGARET'S PRAYERS

William Smith, the practical, the indefatigable, the restless, the dauntless, the man of action, who seemingly could do without sleep, and who had become a hero by contact with opportunity-(well, that is my opinion, and I alone am responsible for what is here written) – William Smith, I say, burst into the room, crying:

"Come, Philip, come! To the Margaret reef!"

Margaret darted out of Philip's arms; she would not let all the world see. Smith knew how matters stood between Philip and Margaret, and he winked at Mr. Hart, and did not look at the lovers-that is, significantly.

"Ah!" said Philip, reluctantly coming back to earth-and water, I might say; "the dam!"

"Yes," said William Smith, "the dam. I told you you might pray for rain. Now pray for the dam."

"I know a prayer," thought Philip and prayed; "Margaret!"

"You get to bed, my girl," said William Smith to Margaret; "all the danger's over now, and all the harm's done. The horses are outside."

"I shall want one," put in Mr. Hart.

"You!" exclaimed William Smith. "What interest have you in the dam? See to your theatre."

"What interest!" said Philip. "Why, he happens to be a shareholder in the Margaret Reef. Didn't you know?"

"No; but I'm glad to hear it. Good luck to the Margaret, and all concerned in it. I'll have a horse ready for you in a jiffy." (A new kind of conveyance for a horse to be harnessed to.)

Out he went again, and before he returned, Margaret had disappeared, first telling Philip that she was going to pray for the dam. Philip was satisfied that her praying was better than the best of puddling. Before the men mounted, they had a look at the theatre; it was a mass of ruins. The wind only had not only blown it down, but had blown pieces of it miles away. In a gully, four miles from the spot, into which a pick had not yet been stuck, the first thing that was found some months afterwards by men who went to seek for gold was a scratch wig belonging to the Low Comedian: which puzzled the prospectors. They did not go to that gully to find scratch wigs. Some part of the wardrobe belonging to the actors was buried beneath the ruins of the theatre, but a great deal had been blown away. Most of it was brought back, at odd times, by diggers and their wives, who had rare laughs over the queer vestments. Some of them made a great commotion in the township one day, by marching into High Street, dressed most absurdly. Charles the Second, in a red wig and with Macbeth's shield on his arm, was followed by Clown, with heavy eyebrows, moustaches, and Lord Dundreary whiskers; behind him came one who was half Roman and half Scotchman; and a perfect piece of patchwork brought up the rear. A fine jollification followed, you may be sure, when they halted at the Rose, Shamrock and Thistle.

As William Smith and his companions were gazing on the ruins of the theatre, a dozen labourers came up, and under the direction of one began to clear away the fallen timber. Mr. Hart and Philip looked to William Smith for an explanation. He gave it them. While the storm was raging, he had made a contract for a new theatre. It might almost be thought that he slept with one eye open. Mr. Hart said as much. William Smith laughed.

"It would be a useful thing to be able to do," he said. "But what are you wondering at? William Smith never loses a day."

He was a kind of man to put heart into men when misfortune overtook them. He would say, "If bad fortune gives me a slap in the face, I don't lay down and whimper." (He was not particular as to his grammar, although he had a proper respect for knowledge and education.) "I don't lay down and whimper," said he; "I tuck up my sleeves, and set to-with a will."

When they were in the saddle, and riding along towards the Margaret Reef, they saw evidences of the same kind of spirit in other men. Numbers of tents had been literally torn into shreds by the storm; valuable shafts had fallen in; tools and windlasses and puddling machines had been swept away by the flood, which in many places had made hills of gullies and gullies of hills. All was confusion, but men were working everywhere, with goodwill, to repair the damage. Very different were the faces of these men and women from the faces of some poor people I saw a short time since, in the crowded city in which these words are written, after an extraordinary high tide in the river, the waters of which had overflowed its banks, and washed into the cellars where they lived and slept. In the new country the men and women bustled about vigorously, with faces almost cheerful; in the old, they stood, banging their heads dolefully, and with not spirit enough amongst them to make one good worker out of a hundred. But the cases are different.

As William Smith and his companions rode along, looking this way and that, Philip suddenly cried "O!" as though he was shot, and turned his horse's head to the west, whereas the Margaret Reef lay to the north of them. Away he galloped, as though for dear life, with no thought of the Margaret Reef in his mind, and William Smith and Mr. Hart followed him. They went only some five hundred yards, but the horses had to make some big leaps over new watercourses in that short distance. Philip jumped off his horse, and tying the animal to a fallen tree, set to work helping some men to dig the earth away from a tent which had been nearly buried by the caving in of a hill. Seeing what was the matter, William Smith, who was at first disposed to grumble, jumped off his horse, and in another minute he and Mr. Hart were by the side of Philip, with their sleeves tucked up. Philip worked like a young Hercules, and when sufficient of the earth was cleared away, he cut a great gash in the canvas roof, and, stooping over with a rope tied round his waist, tenderly lifted two children from the chasm, and handed them to the gold-diggers. He was like a steam hammer, that can come down one minute with an awful thump and beat ten tons of metal into shape, and the next can come down with a tap gentle enough to fashion a thin leaf into the likeness of a delicate flower. After the two children came a woman, whom he raised in his arms as though she weighed about an ounce, and at sight of whom the gold-diggers, seeing that she was alive and comparatively unhurt, raised a great shout. And one, her husband, who was lying on the ground, crippled, burst into a passion of grateful tears. I should like to tell you the story of this family, but I have not time just now. Philip and his companions could scarcely escape from the persons they had helped to rescue, but they had other work to look to, and having ascertained that there was no more human life to be saved, they mounted their horses, and resumed their course. At the foot of the range, on the other side of which the dam lay, Philip paused for a moment to breathe the spell of Margaret's name, but William Smith dashed straight on. The first things that met their sight were wrecks of canvas tents and broken tent-poles lying about. William Smith bit his nether lip, but said not a word. He was already calculating the cost of another and a stronger dam; what he chiefly regretted was the waste of time and water. The panting horses reached the brow of the range, and the men leaped off. William Smith did not stop to ask questions of his workmen, but ran swiftly onward, to see with his own eyes. He was an older and a weaker man than Philip, who raced at his heels, but he was the first to reach the dam.

"Hurrah!" he screamed. "Hurrah! hurrah!" And Philip followed suit, and made the hills resound again with his joyous shouts.

A fair sheet of water lay before them, winking in the eyes of the sun. The head man-I cannot call him master; there was no such thing, in the sense that we in England understand it-met William Smith with a smiling face, and they shook hands. But both of them sobered down within a minute.

"A tolerable piece of work this of yours," observed William Smith, in an off-hand way.

"Middlingish," was the reply, in an indifferent tone.

This implied that making such a dam as this was nothing to him. Give him a real difficult job to accomplish, such as joining two seas, or levelling a mountain a few thousands of feet in height, or making a new river within a week or so, and then you might be able to see what he could do. To construct such a dam as this, however, was really no joke. It was a masterly piece of work, and it was executed in a masterly manner; there was not a flaw in not it, a crack in its sides. They examined it carefully, critically.

"If it will stand such a storm as last night," said William Smith, "it will stand anything."

Philip, as you may guess, was overjoyed; but he was unjust. He gave all the credit to Margaret. He complimented the responsible man in a cool way, which implied, "It is capitally done; but you have Margaret to thank for it, you know."

Philip's faint praise did not affect the contractor. He was not vain-glorious; he had undertaken a piece of work, and had done it well, and was satisfied, having been well paid for it.

CHAPTER XVI

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.