The Day of Judgment. Hocking Joseph
But, again, he brooded over his wrongs, and his heart became closed and bitter.
And so the days passed 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 passed away. It was early in November when he had been committed, and now it was the beginning of May. And so Lancashire was looking at its best. The sun, even through the smoke-begrimed atmosphere, was shining 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 brass 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 smashing 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 nobody 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 passed 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 passed 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," assented 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 shine again now."
"It will, too," assented 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 God."
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.
"Nay, but you mustn't say that, Paul lad," said the missionary. "Happen in a few months you will get over all these things."
"I shall never get over it," said Paul. "For six months I have been wearing prison clothes; I have been sleeping in a cold, dark cell; my name has been taken away from me, and I have simply been known by a number, and I have been looked upon not as a man, but as a beast. There's not much to make one think of God in all that, Mr. Whitman!"
"Ay, it's been hard on thee," replied the old man, "and there's many a one in Brunford who thinks something should have been done for thee. I suppose Ned Wilson felt very bitter towards you, and when he was instructing the counsel, he made him believe that you were the ringleader. There's more than one who have said that Bolitho was very unfair. However, the Lord will make everything right."
"I shall never believe that the Lord has made everything right until Bolitho and Wilson have suffered as I have suffered," replied Paul bitterly. "If I could see Bolitho in prison clothes; if he were known by a number; if he had to tramp the prison yard among the scum of the earth, as I have; if he had to lie in a cold cell with the darkness of hell in his heart, as I have, then I could believe in Providence perhaps. But when I remember that I was regarded