Pauline’s warning was well-timed, for the constables made a descent upon Caillaud’s lodgings as soon as they got him into jail, and thence proceeded to Coleman’s. They insisted on a search, and Mrs. Carter gave them a bit of her mind, for they went into every room of the house, and even into Mrs. Coleman’s bedroom.
“I’ll tell you what it is, Mr. Nadin,” she said, turning towards the notorious chief constable, “if God A’mighty had to settle who was to be hung in Manchester, it wouldn’t be any of them poor Blanketeers. Wouldn’t you like to strip the clothes off the bed? That would be just in your line.”
“Hold your damned tongue!” quoth Mr. Nadin; but, nevertheless, seeing his men grinning and a little ashamed of themselves, he ordered them back.
Meanwhile Zachariah pursued his way northwestward unchallenged, and at last came to a roadside inn, which he thought looked safe. He walked in, and found half a dozen decent-looking men sitting round a fire and smoking. One of them was a parson, and another was one of the parish overseers. It was about half-past ten, and they were not merry, but a trifle boozy and stupid. Zachariah called for a pint of beer and some bread and cheese, and asked if he could have a bed. The man who served him didn’t know; but would go and see. Presently the overseer was beckoned out of the room, and the man came back again and informed Zachariah that there was no bed for him, and that he had better make haste with his supper, as the house would close at eleven. In a minute or two the door opened again, and a poor, emaciated weaver entered and asked the overseer for some help. His wife, he said, was down with the fever; he had no work; he had had no victuals all day, and he and his family were starving. He was evidently known to the company.
“Ah,” said the overseer, “no work, and the fever and starving; that’s what they always say. I’ll bet a sovereign you’ve been after them Blanketeers.”
“It’s a judgment on you,” observed the parson. “You and your like go setting class against class; you never come near the church, and then you wonder God Almighty punishes you.”
“You can come on your knees to us when it suits you, and you’d burn my rick tomorrow,” said a third.
“There’s a lot of fever amongst ’em down my way,” said another, whose voice was rather thick, “and a damned lot of expense they are, too, for physic and funerals. It’s my belief that they catch it out of spite.”
“Aren’t you going to give me nothing?” said the man. “There isn’t a mouthful of food in the place, and the wife may be dead before the morning.”
“Well, what do you say, parson?” said the overseer.
“I say we’ve got quite enough to do to help those who deserve help,” he replied, “and that it’s flying in the face of Providence to interfere with its judgment.” With that he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and took a great gulp of his brandy-and-water.
There was an echo of assent.
“God have mercy on me!” said the man, as he sat down on the form by the table. Zachariah touched him gently, and pushed the plate and jug to him. He looked at Zachariah, and without saying a word, devoured it greedily. He just had time to finish, for the landlord, entering the room, roughly ordered them to turn out. Out they went accordingly.
“The Lord in heaven curse them!” exclaimed Zachariah’s companion when they were in the road. “I could have ripped ’em up, every one of ’em. My wife is in bed with her wits a-wandering, and there a’nt a lump of coal, nor a crumb of bread, nor a farthing in the house.”
“Hush, my friend, cursing is of no use.”
“Ah! it’s all very well to talk; you’ve got money maybe.”
“Not much. I too have no work, no lodging, and I’m driven away from home. Here’s half of what’s left.”
“What a sinner I am!” said the other. “You wouldn’t think it, to hear me go on as I did, but I am a Methodist. The last two or three days, though, I’ve been like a raving madman. That’s the worst of it. Starvation has brought the devil into me. I’m not a-going to take all that though, master; I’ll take some of it; and if ever I prayed to the Throne of Grace in my life, I’ll pray for you. Who are you? Where are you going?”
Zachariah felt that he could safely trust him, and told him what had happened.
“I haven’t got a bit of straw myself on which to put you; but you come along with me.”
They walked together for about half a mile, till they came to a barn. There was a haystack close by, and they dragged some of the dry hay into it.
“You’d better be away from these parts afore it’s light, and, if you take my advice, Liverpool is the best place for you.”
He was right. Liverpool was a large town, and, what was of more consequence, it was not so revolutionary as Manchester, and the search there for the suspected was not so strict. The road was explained, so far as Zachariah’s friend knew it, and they parted.
Zachariah slept but little, and at four o’clock, with a bright moon, he started. He met with no particular adventure, and in the evening found himself once more in a wilderness of strange streets, with no outlook, face to face with the Red Sea. Happy is the man who, if he is to have an experience
