The Blanketeers shivering on
Ardwick Green, the weavers who afterwards drilled on the Lancashire
moors, and were hung according to law, or killed at Peterloo, are
less ridiculous than those who hung or sabred them, less ridiculous
than the Crimean war and numberless dignified events in human
history, the united achievements of the sovereigns and ministries of
Europe.
The route of the three hundred was towards Stockport; but when they
reached the bridge they found it occupied by the Yeomanry and a troop
of the Life Guards. To attempt to force a passage was impossible;
but numbers threw themselves into the river, and so crossed. The
soldiers then withdrew into Stockport town, and the bridge was left
open to the main body. When they got into the street on the other
side the soldiers and police dashed at them, and arrested everybody
whom they could catch. The Major was foremost in the crowd,
endeavouring to preserve some sort of discipline, and one of the
Yeomanry, suspecting him to be a leader, rode up to him, and, leaning
from his horse, collared him. He was unarmed; but he was a powerful
man, and wrenched himself free. The soldier drew his sword, and
although Caillaud was close by, and attempted to parry the blow with
a stick, the Major lay a dead man on the ground.
Pages:
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186