PAUL IS SENT TO PRISON
The next few years of Paul Stepaside's life must be described somewhat
briefly, although they were not without importance. They were the
formative period of the young man's history and naturally shaped his
whole future. Habits of thought were formed, and the tendencies of his
boyhood were hardened and fashioned by the circumstances which
surrounded him. Consequently, the passing from youth to manhood, with
all its shaping, moulding forces, is doubtless the most vital in the
life of any man. Nevertheless there is not much to say about them, as
only a few outstanding events happened to him. The development of his
character went on, but that development was silent and almost unnoticed
by those with whom he came into contact. Still, there were certain
things of which cognisance must be taken, because not only did they
affect his future but they formed a part of the chain of events which
led to the tragic issues which presently evolved.
His first few days in Brunford were not happy ones. The life of a busy
manufacturing town was utterly different from that of St. Mabyn. The
long rows of ugly houses, the black, slimy streets, the smoke-begrimed
atmosphere, the roar of machinery, and the life of the operatives, all
made him feel that here was a new world indeed! It seemed to him
harsh, sordid, ugly, and more than once he longed for the clear skies,
the green fields, and the quiet restfulness of his old Cornish home.
Nevertheless it had its compensations. He was at the heart of a great,
busy, manufacturing centre, and the life there could not help but be
educational in the highest degree. He had no difficulty in finding
work. A loom manufacturer took him on for a few days to give him a
trial, and then, finding that Paul was skilful with his blacksmithing
tools, he engaged him as one of his permanent hands. He obtained
lodgings near the centre of the town, with an old couple who took quite
an interest in him. They were Methodists, and, learning that Paul was
acquainted with a minister who had formerly been in the Brunford
circuit, felt quite at home with him. This led, moreover, to his being
visited by the minister of Hanover Chapel, who took a great interest in
him, notwithstanding Paul's unconcealed contempt for anything like
religious influences. The legacy which his mother had left him seemed
to close up all those avenues of life and thought. His programme was
clearly marked out, and in order to carry it through, everything must
become subservient to it. His trade, the earning of wages, were merely
means to an end, and that end he constantly kept before his eyes.
First he must become educated; he must have knowledge--knowledge
sufficient to enable him to fulfil the purpose which was born in his
mind on the night he met his mother on the Altarnun Moors. If he could
satisfy his ambitions, so much the better; but he determined that
nothing should stand in the way of his carrying out the grim resolution
which was the great purpose for which he lived.
He had not been in Brunford many months when he saw in the _Manchester
Guardian_ an account of a trial which was being conducted in that city,
and noticed that the leading counsel was G. D. Graham, the name which
had determined him to come to Brunford. He had made up his mind that
this man was his father. He knew he had very insufficient data on
which to go; nevertheless, it became a sort of fixed idea with him.
But he determined to make sure, and so, obtaining leave from his work,
he started one morning to Manchester, in order to be present at the
trial which was attracting some notice in the county. It was with a
grim sort of feeling in his heart that he entered the Manchester Law
Courts and climbed the steps leading to the room wherein the trial was
being held.
"I shall know him," he said to himself, "know him among a thousand!"
He did not seem to consider that this visit would lead to anything; he
only wanted to see the man who had blackened his mother's life. The
justice chamber was very full as he entered it, and he could not help
being impressed by the scene before him. The judge, with his legal
robes and his formidable-looking wig, sitting grave and stern on his
seat of eminence; the eager faces of the barristers; the watchful eyes
of the solicitors; the important look on the faces of the twelve
jurymen who sat huddled in a kind of square box; the anxious face of
the man who stood in the witness-box giving evidence; all appealed to
the young fellow's imagination, and caused his pulses to throb
violently. So great was the impression made upon him that for the
moment he almost forgot the purpose for which he came. This was life
indeed, and the work of making looms appeared to him as a kind of
sordid drudgery. The ambitions which had lain smouldering in his heart
for a long time sprang into flame again, and he determined that, while
he saw no chance of his being a judge, or even like one of the
barristers who sat around the table beneath the judge's bench, he at
least could become prominent in the great busy life of the world. The
case itself, too, cast a kind of spell upon him; he listened eagerly to
the questions that were being asked, and as he caught the meaning of
the things for which these men were fighting, the picture of his
mother's sorrows became less real and less vital. But this was not for
long. Presently one of the counsel rose to address the jury, and there
was a kind of flutter among the spectators as he did so.
"Yon's Graham," he heard a man say by his side, and then the purport of
his coming to Manchester laid hold of him.
"Which is Graham?" he asked of the man.
"Yon man who has just got on his feet," was the reply. "He's a rare
'un, is Graham. I wouldn't like 'im to cross-examine me! You'll see,
he'll tear t'other chap's case all to flitters!"
Paul turned his eyes towards the barrister in question, and then, he
could not tell why, but his heart became like lead. This was not the
man he had come to see. It was true he could not see the colour of his
hair, because It was hidden by his barrister's wig, but the face was
different from any he had ever seen in his dreams. The eyes were dark
and piercing, the features were almost classical. No, this was not the
man who had robbed his mother of her youth and of her beauty. After
this he took only an academical interest in the proceedings. He still
remained interested in the case, but only as a case; and the man Graham
was only a name to him. This fact altered his outlook for a time.
Hitherto he had fancied he knew where he might find the man whom he
called his enemy, but now he did not know; and, as a consequence,
everything became different. Not that he troubled much. He never
meant to try to do anything until he was ready. Somehow he knew that
when he set himself to struggle against the man he hated, the battle
would be long and hard; therefore he must be prepared; and he was not
ready yet--he had only just begun. That was why he did not trouble to
find him. When the time came he would surely have no difficulty in
discovering his whereabouts. Still, the visit to Manchester was not
without its effects. He saw a new vision of life, and that vision made
him discontented with being a mere operative. He would not, in the
future, be one who was led--he would be a leader.
When he returned to Brunford, therefore, he worked harder than ever.
He took classes at the Mechanics' Institute, and spent all his spare
time in study. By the time he was twenty Paul Stepaside could have
matriculated at the London University; but he never thought of doing
so. After all, what was passing examinations? It was a mere knowledge
of certain specified subjects, and he felt that these would not enable
him to perform the great work which he had set himself to do.
Paul was naturally greatly influenced by the life of the town in which
he lived. Brunford was a huge manufacturing centre, and was typical of
its class. The minds of the people were keenly alive, especially to
those questions which, as they believed, affected their welfare. All
sorts of socialistic schemes were discussed eagerly, and before long
Paul was keenly interested in them. He found that the town was a very
Mecca of revolutionary thoughts concerning the accepted order of
things. There were many who were of the "down-with-everything" order.
They did not believe in kings or governments, and although their
anarchism was of a mild order, there were some who proclaimed it with
such enthusiasm that Paul for a time was influenced by it. Others
there were who did not believe in private ownership of property, and
advocated that everything should be taken over by the State. There
were also several atheistic societies in the town, and before long Paul
found himself standing at street corners listening to orators who
proclaimed that there was no God, that man had no soul, that there was
no future life, and that Christianity was a great organised fraud. In
opposition to this, on the other hand, there were many who held the
wildest opinions about religion. Every conceivable sect seemed to be
represented in the town. Seventh-Day Adventists, Spiritualists,
Theosophists, Christadelphians, and innumerable others, claimed to have
the exclusive possession of the Truth.
For a time he was influenced by all these contradictory views, but
presently his strong common sense asserted itself, and he began to
laugh at the fallacies which first of all fascinated him. Nevertheless
the life of Brunford influenced him greatly, and his whole intellectual
outlook was coloured by what he saw and heard. As a working man he
naturally allied himself with the working classes, even although he did
not share many of their views, and by the time he was a little over
one-and-twenty he began to be regarded as a leader. He became an adept
in public speaking too, and the announcement that he was to be present
at a meeting was almost sure to draw a crowd. He ceased attending any
place of worship, and indeed the incipient atheism of his earlier years
seemed to settle into a kind of general unbelief in anything spiritual
or supernatural.
One evening the minister of the Hanover Chapel called at the house in
which he was lodging, and, seeing him deeply engrossed in his books,
complimented him upon his studious habits. "I hear you are becoming
quite a scholar, Mr. Stepaside," he said.
Paul shook his head.
"Why, but it's becoming well known in the town," persisted the
minister. "I noticed that you took a lot of prizes on prize-giving day
in the Mechanics' Institute, and all sorts of complimentary things were
said about you in the papers. I am sorry, however, that I've not seen
you at chapel lately."
Paul remained silent.
"You've not forgotten the advice which the wise man gave in the last
chapter of Ecclesiastes, I hope?" said the minister.
"What advice?" asked Paul.
"'Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth,'" replied the
minister. "I hope you have not forgotten that."
"Where is He--what is He?" asked Paul. "Who can tell?"
"Why," asked the minister, "do you not believe that there is a God in
the heavens--a God Who is at once our Father and our Judge?"
"I see little signs of either," he replied. "It is easier to believe
in the Devil than to believe in God! All we know is that we are here,
and we have to fight our battles and do our work."
"But do you mean to say," asked the minister, "that you feel no
responsibility towards God?"
"Look here, sir," replied Paul, "this world in which we live is not a
very big affair, and it's one of millions upon millions of other
worlds. Now I put it to you: What do you think the God Who made all
this--if there is a God at all--Who made all these millions of worlds
swirling through space, cares about little insects like you and me, who
just crawl upon the face of this tiny globe. Still, as I said, we have
our life to live and our work to do, and we must act according to the
instincts of our being."
"But if the instincts of your being lead you to do something wrong?"
said the minister.
"What is right, and what is wrong?" asked Paul. "All I know is that I
have my own plans of life. I have my programme marked out, and I mean
to carry the programme through."
The minister did not quite understand what he meant. "But what about
your relations with your fellow-men, my young friend?" he asked.
"What of them?" asked Paul. "I was reading the other day the life of
Napoleon, who said that if a million men stood between him and the
objects he desired to obtain he would sacrifice those million men."
The minister, a simple-minded man, who thought but little outside the
narrow groove in which he worked, was somewhat aghast at this statement.
"And do you mean to say that is your sentiment?" he said.
For the moment the spirit of mischief entered Paul's heart. It seemed
pleasant to him to shock this godly man and to make him feel that he
had no sympathy with the conventional morality he preached.
"It seems to me," said Paul, "that, if there is a God, He helps those
who help themselves. The battle is to the strong, and the race to the
swift. If you do not win, somebody else does. Well, I don't mean to
be beaten in the battle, and if there is someone who stands in my way
of getting to the goal I desire to reach, that someone has got to be
swept out of the way."
One event we must mention which was destined to have a marked influence
on Paul's life. It need not be described at length, but it is
necessary that it be referred to briefly. A certain manufacturer had a
son some few years older than Paul. This manufacturer was named
Wilson. He was one of the largest employers in the town, and his son
Ned was looked upon as one who would one day be one of the most
important men in Brunford. He was a fellow of some intelligence, and,
while essentially of the manufacturing class, he had, perhaps owing to
his education, ambitions to be associated with the older families of
the county. He was strongly opposed to the democratic feeling which
prevailed among the working classes, and, on more than one occasion
strongly resented the expression of certain opinions by his father's
employees. When Paul was about twenty years of age a quarrel sprang up
between him and young Ned Wilson. Paul, burning with enthusiasm for
the class whose fortunes he had espoused, spoke at a public gathering,
and exposed the ill-treatment of one of Wilson's employees. Wilson
appeared at the gathering and denied the statement which Paul made, and
hurled many offensive epithets at him. It was a sordid affair
altogether, and the matter would not have been mentioned but for its
influence on Paul's after-life. The result of the quarrel was that
Paul was discharged from the position he had held ever since he came to
Brunford, and was, as a consequence, for some time out of work.
Moreover, lying stories were set afloat, which, while they did not harm
him greatly, caused him to feel bitterly towards the man who had
maligned him.
When Paul had been in Brunford about five years a strike took place
which convulsed the whole town. Like many another of these
manufacturing disturbances, the cause seemed trivial in the extreme.
Nevertheless, it spread from mill to mill, and from trade to trade, in
such a way that practically the whole of the operatives had ceased
working. As all the world knows by this time, the unions of the North
of England are so closely connected as to form them into one
homogeneous body. In this case, two people, a man and his wife, became
at cross purposes with what was called the tackler. This tackler, or
foreman, had insisted upon something which to the man and his wife was
utterly unfair. Eventually they were discharged, and on their appeal
to the secretary of the union to which they belonged, the whole case
was taken up seriously and discussed with a great deal of warmth. The
employer in question supported his foreman and refused to take the
couple back. Thereupon the union threatened to call out all their
members if they were not reinstated. This led to a pitched battle
between the operatives and the employers. The masters naturally
supported their own class, while the operatives, feeling that their
position was endangered, stood to their guns. As a consequence,
therefore, the trade of the whole town was in a state of stagnation.
The employers declared that they refused to be dictated to by the
people to whom they paid wages; and the operatives, feeling that their
liberties and rights were in danger, would concede nothing to them. As
is ordinary in such cases, a great deal of unruly behaviour was
witnessed, the public-houses reaped a rich harvest, and acts of
violence became general. In this case, a number of youths, utterly
foolish and irresponsible, conceived a plot to "pay out," as they call
it, the employers, and, in order to carry it out, held secret meetings,
the purport of which, unknown to them, gradually leaked out. Into this
plot Paul found himself drawn, but instead of encouraging the youths in
their design, he did his best to dissuade them. This, as may be
imagined, did not please them. To those who have studied the history
of strikes in the northern manufacturing towns, it is well known that
nothing appeals to a certain element of the population more strongly
than acts of violence, and Paul found that his well-meant efforts met
with great disfavour. Still, a kind of loyalty held him to them, even
while he refused to participate in what they proposed to do. One night
a number of these lads found their way to a certain mill, with the
intention of destroying some new machinery that Mr. Wilson, who has
already been mentioned, had lately bought at great cost. When Paul
heard of it he also hastened thither, in order to do his best to put an
end to the mischief. As I have said, the designs of these lads had
leaked out, and, as a consequence, the owner of the mill was prepared.
A number of policemen had ambushed themselves, together with some of
the foremen. The result was that when the lads were making their way
towards this machinery they were stopped, and an endeavour was made to
make them prisoners. This led to a pitched battle between the youths
on one side and the representatives of the employers on the other, and
Paul, in spite of himself, was found on the side of the youths. In the
struggle which followed two policemen and one of the foremen were badly
injured, while several of the lads bore marks which they would carry to
their graves.
That same night Paul found himself, with nearly all the others, in
Brunford police-station, in order to await his trial. The case was
regarded so seriously that bail was not allowed; and therefore Paul,
with the others, had to remain in durance vile until the case could be
publicly tried.
During the time he lay in prison he felt himself deeply humiliated and
vastly ashamed. He called himself a fool for having been led into such
a false position. While sympathising with the attitude which the
operatives, as a whole, had taken, he utterly disapproved of the
foolish plot into which he had been drawn, and yet here he was, not
only regarded as equally culpable with the rest, but as a kind of
leader; he, who had always prided himself upon his respectability, and
upon appealing to the intelligence of the people instead of to brute
force, was guilty of mixing himself up in this vulgar squabble which
had led to such an ignominious end. The disgrace of it, too, was hard
to bear; keenly sensitive as he was, and with an abhorrence of anything
like brawls of any sort, he felt as though he was dragged through mire.
Of course the unions took up their case and promised to defend them.
They had a large amount of money at their disposal in the union funds,
and they promised that the best legal advice obtainable should be
employed in their behalf. As I have said, feeling ran very high in the
town, and the magistrates before whom the case was brought in the first
instance, being in the main manufacturers, and therefore strongly
prejudiced in favour of their class, were not likely to regard the
action of Paul and of others from a favourable standpoint. They
accordingly committed the accused for trial at the Quarter Sessions in
Manchester. The secretary of one of the unions visited Paul before the
trial.
"It's a serious business, Stepaside," he said, "and I am afraid it will
go hard with you!"
"But no one was seriously hurt," said Paul.
"I doan't know so much about that," replied the secretary. "One of th'
bobbies has been i' bed ever since. Wilson's tackler is said to be i'
queer street. His head was bashed in, and one of his arms broken. I
tell thee, it was a bad thing for us all. You see it's turned public
opinion agin us, and we weavers are lost when that's the case. Still,
we mun fight it out."
"I don't want to back out from anything," said Paul; "but, as a matter
of fact, I did my best to keep the chaps from going up to Wilson's
mill."
"That may be," replied the secretary, "but the general opinion is that
thou wert the leader of th' gang, and we shall have rare hard job to
get thee off, whatever happens to the rest. Still, we think none the
worse of thee, lad, and if thou hast got to go to quod, thou shalt have
a rare big home-coming when thou comes out. We'll have bands of music
and a big feed, and all that sort of thing."
"Who have you got to defend us?" said Paul.
"Eh, well, we have got Sutcliffe, our own lawyer, and he's briefed
Robson, the barrister."
"Is Robson a good man?" asked Paul.
"Good! why he's got off more of our chaps than any other man. Still,
it looks black, because the case is clear agin us. There is no doubt
the chaps were up to mischief, they got into Wilson's mill, and
there'll be some turncoats in the town who'll say as 'ow they knaw that
they meant to break the machinery. Then there's the two bobbies and
Wilson's tackler, all of them i' bed, and the doctor'll be there to
give evidence. There's no getting out of that."
When he had gone, Paul thought over the whole case very seriously.
What part should he play? He knew he could bring witnesses to prove
that he had done his best to dissuade the lads from their act of
violence, but, by so doing, should he be playing the game? He wanted
to be loyal to his companions, even while he was innocent of willingly
acting with them. It was rather a delicate point. If he failed to
speak he would be regarded as a kind of ringleader of the gang. If, on
the other hand, he told the truth, and brought witnesses to attest to
what he had to say, he would be looked upon as a kind of sneak.
When the day of trial came, therefore, he was not in an enviable frame
of mind. He knew that hundreds of eyes would be upon him, and that he
would have a very undesirable publicity. Only a few weeks before the
strike he had been spoken of as a possible candidate for the town
council, and he, young as he was, had rejoiced in the thought. He had
pictured himself speaking at public meetings and receiving the votes of
the townspeople; he saw himself, too, elected at the head of the poll,
and having a seat in the council chamber among the most prominent men
in the town. But now his publicity would be of an entirely different
nature. He was spoken of as the leader of a gang of roughs who
attempted to break up machinery, and who had half-killed three men who
represented peace and order. Still, he set his teeth together and
thought of his plan of action.
"I suppose Wilson will be well represented," he said to the secretary
of the union, to whom he had spoken before.
"Ay, he's got Bolitho for th' senior and Jordan for th' junior."
"Bolitho!" said Paul, "I never heard of him."
"Where have you lived?" asked the secretary. "'E's the smartest chap
in the Northern Circuit, and there's many as ses he's makin' several
thousand a year. I have 'eard as 'ow Wilson 'ad a 'ard job to get him,
'e's that thronged with work, and when they 'ad got him, he said as 'ow
it meant six months more to every one of you."
"What sort of a chap is he?" asked Paul.
"Eh, one of those smooth-spoken fellows. You think when he's
cross-examining you 'e's on your side, and all the time 'e's worming
out the most damning things against you. He's a kind of oily voice,
too, and he makes people believe in him, whether they will or no. You
must be careful about that, for directly he comes to address the jury
he takes the meanest advantages of what he has dragged out of the
witnesses."
Presently Paul found himself and the others in the same room wherein he
had watched the trial of some months before. He thought of the G. D.
Graham about whom he had such strange fancies, and remembered the shock
he had received when he discovered that he was altogether mistaken. He
little thought then that he would be here to-day as a dangerous
character, and as one who had committed a grave offence against the
public weal. Presently he was able to take note of his surroundings.
The lofty chamber; the solemn-looking magistrates; the barristers at
their benches; the jury in their box; the prisoners standing sullen and
defiant, yet wondering how they would acquit themselves in the trial;
and as many of the public as could gain admission into the room, eager,
and wondering what the upshot would be.
Evidently the case was going to be a long one. The counsel for the
prosecution opened it with a long and vigorous speech. He described
the history of the strike, told of the excitable condition of the
people, and related how difficult it had been for the police to keep
order in the town. After this he went on, with more or less accuracy,
to tell of the plot of the prisoners who had been brought there that
day, and of the charges that were brought against them.
"Is that Mr. Bolitho?" asked Paul of the secretary of the union, who
was allowed to stand near him.
"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 passing 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 assumed 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 class, and intelligent beyond the ordinary; but I
want to point out to you that he is of that class 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 participating 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
class 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
circumstances 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 class 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 passionate, 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 amusement. 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 pronounced 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.