The Day of Judgment Part 7

"Nay," was the reply, "yon's Jordan, the junior. Bolitho's not here yet. I wish summat would happen to him on the way. I tell yo' I'm feared of him. This chap is but a beginner, so to speak--a sort of John the Baptist, that prepares the way for t'other; but Bolitho's a fair terror and no mistake."

Somehow the name had a familiar sound with it.

"Bolitho, Bolitho, why it's a Cornish name!" said Paul. "I've heard it many a time down in St. Mabyn. Perhaps when he knows I am a Cornishman--that is, if he is Cornish, too--he may not be so hard on me."

Still, this was only a pa.s.sing thought, and he steeled his heart against the worst. When the case had dragged on for some time, Paul noticed that there was a flutter in the court. A man he had not hitherto seen came in and took his place beside the junior counsel for the prosecution. He heard a whisper go round the court, "There's Bolitho." And Paul's eyes were drawn to him as if by magic. There was something in the face that held his attention, fascinated him. He found his heart beating faster than was its wont and his muscles contracting as if he were about to meet an enemy. For the moment he forgot the reason why he was brought there, so keenly intent was he on examining the face of the barrister who had just come in. And yet it was not a face to be feared. It was somewhat florid, and certainly pleasant to look upon. His eyes were blue and had a somewhat dreamy expression in them, while the features suggested gentleness rather than harshness. A handsome man was this Mr. Bolitho, a man who looked as though he might have many friends. The counsel all round smiled at him, while the magistrate nodded benignly. He seemed to create an air of pleasantness. He relieved the somewhat sordid atmosphere which pervaded the chamber. How much time he had given to the case it was impossible to say, but, certainly, when he rose to cross-examine, he seemed to know every detail of it.

Presently the examination came to an end, and Mr. Bolitho rose to address the jury for the prosecution. In a way which Paul could not quite comprehend, and yet which seemed perfectly reasonable as he did it, he laid the whole blame for the trouble at Paul's door. It was his that had been the master mind. It was he who was guilty of inciting these ignorant, thoughtless youths to the act which had ended almost fatally for three men. He dragged in the quarrel which Paul had had with the son of Mr. Wilson, the owner of the mill, and insinuated that it was a matter of personal revenge which had inspired him to commit this outrage. In a few minutes it seemed to Paul that there was no blacker criminal in England than himself. This man Bolitho had created a new atmosphere in the court; his suave, almost smiling, features had changed. When he was examining he pretended to be kind and a.s.sumed a confidential and almost friendly manner. In this way he had wormed statements out of men which Paul knew to be diametrically opposed to the truth--he had even obtained the admission, from some of the youths whom he had tried to dissuade from their deed of violence, that he, Paul, had incited them rather than otherwise.

And now, in addressing the jury, this Mr. Bolitho had laid special emphasis upon it. Paul was perfectly sure that the man did not believe all he said, but he wanted to make a case, and he had fastened upon himself as the chief culprit.

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Bolitho, "I wish you to pay special attention to this man, young in years, apparently respectable, well educated, especially for his cla.s.s, and intelligent beyond the ordinary; but I want to point out to you that he is of that cla.s.s of which agitators are made, and, as such, he is a danger to the community. In the eyes of the law all these men are equally guilty, all of them were engaged in this wild, lawless deed, which has ended almost fatally for three men, two of them trustworthy officers of the law, and one a respected townsman of Brunford, and a man holding a position of trust under his employer. But think, gentlemen--these other youths were simply led by this stronger personality of Paul Stepaside. He, inspired by personal enmity towards Mr. Wilson, determined to be revenged on him for some fancied wrong done to him years before, has taken the opportunity to perpetrate this awful outrage. It is true he has not definitely said so, but he has insinuated that he tried to dissuade the others from taking part in this crime. But can such a thing be believed? The others were never capable of this plot, and, without a leader, would never have thought of partic.i.p.ating in it. On several occasions, too, since he has been in Brunford he has made public speeches. Extracts from those speeches I will now read to you."

On this, Mr. Bolitho read certain statements which Paul was reported to have made--statements from which it would appear that he hated the cla.s.s of employers who were prosecuting him that day.

"I am urging these things, gentlemen," continued Mr. Bolitho, "because I wish the guilt to be fastened where it ought to be fastened. It has been clearly proved that all these men were guilty of the charges of which they are accused, but surely it should be borne in mind that more guilt should be attached to the leader and the inspirer of these outrageous deeds than to those thoughtless and almost irresponsible fellows who were led like sheep to the slaughter."

Paul listened like one bewildered, and presently his heart became filled with black rage. He realised now the meaning of what the secretary of the union had said to him. He could not understand why it was that this clever counsel had tried to make him a scapegoat for all the rest; but now he saw it was really so. The others, who were really guilty of a thing which he himself condemned, were made to appear as almost innocent, while he, who had done his best to dissuade them from their mad act, was condemned as one who had acted like a devil. Once, during Mr. Bolitho's speech, Paul lost control over himself. "Liar!"

he exclaimed. And his voice rang out above that of the counsel. A wave of excitement swept over the crowd. The judge looked at him with stern eyes, but before he had time to speak Paul persisted, "I say he is a liar, my lord. He has said things that are not true. He has twisted things out of their true meaning. He has made inferences appear like facts!"

He was unable to proceed further after this, owing to the action of the presiding magistrate--indeed it was a wonder that he had been allowed to say so much--but the intensity of his voice for the moment startled this grave man, and this caused him to allow what under ordinary circ.u.mstances would never have been possible.

As may be imagined, Mr. Bolitho made the most of this interruption.

For some reason or other, he seemed to have taken a personal dislike to the young man before him, and now he used the interruption to emphasise what he had hitherto said.

"I ask you, gentlemen," he insisted, "to consider the evidence of these men"--and from the way he spoke it might seem as though he were acting as counsel for the others--"and then think of who is likely to be really guilty. These youths are just ordinary, ignorant, irresponsible fellows, waiting to be led, but incapable of leading--without education, and with no more than ordinary intelligence. But here is this Stepaside, regarded as a leader among a certain cla.s.s in the town, an agitator, a dangerous man."

And so on, until at length his speech came to a close, and all felt that, whatever might happen to the others, the jury would regard Paul as the one who was responsible for what had taken place, and who, if either of the three injured men should die, would be regarded as guilty of not only outrage, but perhaps of manslaughter. Presently the judge summed up the case, and then waited while the jury left their box to consider their verdict.

By this time Paul was almost careless as to results. He felt perfectly sure that the punishment meted out to him would not be a light one; but he did not care. He was past that. His mind and heart were filled with rage against the man who had blackened his name. He fell to studying him while he waited, and again he was fascinated. While he had addressed the jury his eyes had shone with apparently righteous indignation; he was eager, almost pa.s.sionate, in his denunciation of crime. But now it might seem as though his interest in the matter had gone. He chatted and laughed with the other barristers, and accepted their congratulations upon his speech. As Paul listened, too, he heard him accept an invitation to go with one of them to dinner that night, and afterwards accompany them to a place of amus.e.m.e.nt. And this was the man who had so ruthlessly, so cruelly, and so untruthfully defamed his own character.

Presently the jurymen returned, and the court awaited their verdict. A little later Paul knew that the others were committed to one month's imprisonment, while he himself was condemned to six months' hard labour. The young man's face never moved a muscle. He stood perfectly rigid, perfectly silent, as the judge p.r.o.nounced the sentence, and then, when all was over, he turned towards the barristers' table, and his eyes met those of the man who, he knew, was practically responsible for the extreme punishment meted out to him. Mr. Bolitho smiled, and then, turning, left the court, while a policeman laid hold of Paul's arm and led him away to his cell.

CHAPTER IV

PAUL MEETS MARY BOLITHO

There is no need to describe at length Paul's experiences during the time he was imprisoned in Strangeways Gaol. The moral effect of prison life is rather harmful than good. In Paul Stepaside's case, at all events, it was so. He knew his punishment was unjust, he knew he was guiltless of the crime which had been attributed to him; knew, too, that for some purpose which he could not understand a case was made out against him which had no foundation in fact. These things alone would have had a tendency to embitter his heart and to make him rail at the so-called justice of the land. But when we add to this the fact that he was of a proud, sensitive nature, that he shrank from the unenviable notoriety to which he had been exposed, and that he writhed under the things that had been said about him, it can be easily seen that his whole nature rose up in revolt. Everything in the gaol aroused his antagonism, and made him bitter and revengeful. The daily routine, the constant surveillance of the warders, the thousand indignities to which he was subjected, made him, even while he said nothing, grind his teeth with pa.s.sion and swear to be revenged in his own time.

One thing, however, interested him during his stay there: it was his study of the Book of Job, and he read through this old Eastern poem which fascinated him. At first he was prejudiced against it because it was in the Bible, but the majesty of the poem charmed him, overwhelmed him. He had read the plays of Shakespeare; he had closely studied what many consider to be the great dramatist's masterpiece, but "Macbeth"

seemed to him poor and small compared with the Book of Job. The picture of Satan going to and fro on the earth, the story of Job's calamities, of his sorrows, and of the dire extremity in which he found himself, appealed to him and fascinated him. Yes, it was fine. The old Eastern poet had seen into the very heart of life. He had enabled Job to answer tellingly, brilliantly, these three wise fools who poured out their plat.i.tudes. In spite of himself, too, he was influenced by the conclusion of the poem. It was not only poetically just, but there was something in it that comforted him, that gave him hope in spite of himself, Was there, after all, he wondered, a G.o.d Who spoke out of the whirlwind, Who laughed at men's little theories, and worked His own will? It would be splendid if it were so. The idea possessed him; G.o.d behind all, in all, through all, the G.o.d Who made and controlled all the swirling worlds, and yet, in His infinite compa.s.sion, cared for every living creature that moved. Yes, it was stupendous; and if it were true, then---- But, again, he brooded over his wrongs, and his heart became closed and bitter.

And so the days pa.s.sed by and lengthened into weeks, and the weeks into months, and at last Paul found himself free again. It was ten o'clock in the morning when he was set at liberty, and he realised that during the time he had been in prison the winter had pa.s.sed away. It was early in November when he had been committed, and now it was the beginning of May. And so Lancas.h.i.+re was looking at its best. The sun, even through the smoke-begrimed atmosphere, was s.h.i.+ning almost brightly, and the twitter of birds welcomed him as he left the prison a free man. To his surprise, he found outside the prison gates a number of men awaiting him, who, on his appearance, raised a shout of welcome.

Paul had hoped to have escaped without notice. As we have said, he was keenly sensitive to the disgrace which he had suffered, and hated the thought that questioning eyes would be upon him. Therefore, when he saw that the crowd of men who had come from Brunford to give him a welcome had also attracted a number of people in the district, he was almost angry at their coming, and yet he could not help feeling grateful. After all, it showed a kind spirit, and he appreciated their presence accordingly.

"Come on, lad," said one of the men. "We'll just have a drink and then we'll catch the train for Brunford. We've ordered a rare dinner for thee at 'The Black Cow,' and to-night there's goin' to be a meeting in the Primitive Methodist schoolroom in honour of thy return."

"Is the strike all over?" asked Paul.

"Ay, the strike's all over. The matter's been patched up, and we are making fair bra.s.s i' Brunford now."

"And what has become of the other chaps?" asked Paul.

"You mean the chaps as wur tried with thee? Two on 'em are still i'

Brunford; the rest have gone to Canada. We've summat to tell thee about that."

"What?" asked Paul.

"Weel, you see, they confessed as 'ow 'twere not thee who set 'em on to smas.h.i.+ng Wilson's machinery, but that thou didst thy best to stop them, so, I tell thee this, thou art a sort of hero i' Brunford now. It's all over th' place that thou art a sort of martyr, and that thou suffered in their stead, instead of letting on and proving, as thou couldst easily prove, that thou wert agin their plan. Thou just kept quiet, so that they might get off easy, even though thou wert kept longer in quod thysen. The papers have had articles about it, too, and the affair has been called 'A Miscarriage of Justice.'"

"The people think I'm not disgraced, then?" said Paul, and there was a flash of eagerness in his eyes.

"Disgraced! Nay, it's all t'other way, and I can tell thee this, that many think that Wilson and his son Ned are disgraced for setting on Bolitho to make it hard for thee."

"Did they do this?" asked Paul.

"Ay, they did an' all. From what we can hear, Bolitho had special instructions to let t'other chaps down easy. It was not hard to do this, because thou art a chap with eddication and brains, and art a bit of a leader, while t'others were nowt but ninnies. Anyhow, the truth's out at last, and n.o.body i' Brunford will look upon thee as disgraced."

In spite of himself Paul could not help being pleased, and he no longer resented the presence of the people who had gathered round the prison gates and who had listened eagerly to what had been said. Rather there was a feeling of triumph in his heart as cheer after cheer was raised.

He was thought of as one who fought the battles of the working people, and he had suffered as a consequence No one looked on him as one disgraced, but rather as one who had suffered for their cause.

Nevertheless the marks of the prison were still upon his heart. No man could spend six months in Strangeways Gaol as he had spent them, and suffer as he had suffered, without being influenced thereby. The iron had entered his soul, and even kindly words and hearty cheers could not remove from him the fact that he had been treated unjustly, and that his character had been blackened.

When the train arrived in Brunford, another crowd, far larger than that which met him at Manchester, had gathered at the station, and there was quite a triumphal march down the Liverpool Road towards the town hall.

Arrived there, Paul could not help noticing a number of the councillors leaving the steps of this great civic building, and among others he noticed both Mr. Wilson and his son, who were responsible for his imprisonment.

"Sitha, Ned Wilson," shouted one of the men. "This is the chap that thou set on Bolitho to persecute, and this is the chap that thou told lees about."

The two men laughed uneasily and pa.s.sed up the road without comment.

Evidently the tables were turned on them. As for the others, they spoke to Paul kindly. There was no ill-will remaining because of the strike, the relations between master and men in these manufacturing districts being sometimes almost confidential. In many cases they belong to the same social order, even although the one is rich and the other comparatively poor. Many of the manufacturers, who were now employers of labour, were themselves operatives twenty or thirty years before, and had worked side by side with those whom they now employed.

As a consequence, it was the order of the day for a weaver to call his employer by his Christian name; indeed, many would think it beneath their dignity to call an employer "Mister." On one occasion the son of a large employer of labour in Brunford was sitting in his father's office when one of the operatives entered. He wanted to find his employer's groom, so he said to his young master, "Arthur, canst thou tell me where Mester Smith is?"

Paul quickly found that he lost no prestige whatever on account of his incarceration in Strangeways Gaol. On every hand he was met with kindness, and to his delight he found the place where he had been working still kept open for him. The day pa.s.sed away amidst expressions of goodwill on every hand, and Paul, wellnigh worn out with the excitement of the last few hours, was about to return to his lodgings, when an event happened which altered the course of his life.

He was walking down the main street of the town, when, remembering that he needed to do some shopping, he dropped in at a hosier's place of business, the owner of which met him with great heartiness.

"Ay, Paul, lad," he said, "I'm delighted to see you. Mr. Whitman and I were just talking about you." And he turned, as he spoke, to an old, pale-faced, kindly man who stood by his side. Old William Whitman was the town missionary for Brunford, and was beloved by everybody.

"Ay," a.s.sented the old man, "and we've been praying for thee too, lad.

I'm afraid your cross has been hard to bear, but, never mind, the sun will s.h.i.+ne again now."

"It will, too," a.s.sented the hosier. "We think none the worse of thee, lad, for what thou hast undergone, and 'appen thou wilt find that this strange working of Providence 'll be oal for thy good."

"I don't see much of Providence in it," said Paul, "except that it makes me realise how kind the people here are. There seems a great deal more of the Devil than of G.o.d."

At that moment the shopkeeper's attention was drawn away from him by the coming of another customer, leaving him and the town missionary together.