All night long did we work, sometimes up to our knees in mud, encouraging and directing—­running greater risks of being crushed under falling buildings than I should like to enjoy again—­resisting the appeals of Jews, who offered large amounts of money if we would only direct the men to save their houses and stores, and getting well abused when we refused to comply—­treating all alike, working for the greatest good, until daylight appeared and the fire was subdued, and Melbourne was saved from destruction.

I looked around for the lieutenant-governor.  He had wrung his hands three hours before, and asked “God to bless him,” and declared that he was tired and must retire to bed, and to bed he had gone; and the only member of his staff on the ground was Colonel Hensen.

“You have worked hard enough, gentlemen,” said the officer, shaking our hands with a friendly grip.  “Go to your home, and leave the rest to me and my men.”

“We do not feel near as tired as those gallant fellows,” Fred said, pointing to the soldiers who still manned the brakes of the engines.

“I intend to have them relieved immediately, and allow them all day to get rested,” answered the officer.

“Then we will return home, for our presence is no longer needed here,” I replied.

“Before you go let me thank you in the name of the lieutenant-governor.  Through your instrumentality thousands of pounds’ worth of property has been saved; and our merchants owe you a debt of gratitude which I hope they will repay before you leave the city.”

“We hope thanks will be the only coin offered,” cried Fred, quickly, “for we would not have you think that we have labored through the night for hire.  If we have been instrumental in doing your city a service we are glad of it, because it may be the means of obtaining a better reputation for Americans than they have hitherto enjoyed in Australia.”

“I shall ever look upon Americans with respect from this time forward,” the colonel said, warmly.  Once more he shook our hands, and then we called Smith and edged our way through the crowd to the rude house, where I found the hound had broken half a dozen panes of glass in his desperate attempts to escape and join me.

Tired and almost exhausted with our night’s work, we quickly threw ourselves upon our hard beds, and slept soundly, nor did we awaken until the loud baying of the hound aroused us.

CHAPTER XIX.

Pardon of Smith and the old stockman.—­Grand dinner at the governor’s.

“Hullo,” I heard somebody shout; “is this the way you receive your friends?  Call off the dog, or he’ll eat me for his dinner.”

I started up and spoke to the hound, and then saw, to my surprise, that our visitor was no other than the captain of police.