which threw a bright light upon them, so that every ball of their enemies struck home, while every one of their own shots missed its mark.  Nevertheless, the firing lasted half-an-hour, until the ammunition was exhausted, and the object of the visit—­the demolition of all the destructible objects in the yard—­was attained.  Then the military approached, and the brickmakers withdrew to Eccles, three miles from Manchester.  A short time before reaching Eccles they held roll-call, and each man was called according to his number in the section when they separated, only to fall the more certainly into the hands of the police, who were approaching from all sides.  The number of the wounded must have been very considerable, but those only could be counted who were arrested.  One of these had received three bullets (in the thigh, the calf, and the shoulder), and had travelled in spite of them more than four miles on foot.  These people have proved that they, too, possess revolutionary courage, and do not shun a rain of bullets.  And when an unarmed multitude, without a precise aim common to them all, are held in check in a shut-off market-place, whose outlets are guarded by a couple of policemen and dragoons, as happened in 1842, this by no means proves a want of courage.  On the contrary, the multitude would have stirred quite as little if the servants of public (i.e., of the bourgeois) order had not been present.  Where the working-people have a specific end in view, they show courage enough; as, for instance, in the attack upon Birley’s mill, which had later to be protected by artillery.

In this connection, a word or two as to the respect for the law in England.  True, the law is sacred to the bourgeois, for it is his own composition, enacted with his consent, and for his benefit and protection.  He knows that, even if an individual law should injure him, the whole fabric protects his interests; and more than all, the sanctity of the law, the sacredness of order as established by the active will of one part of society, and the passive acceptance of the other, is the strongest support of his social position.  Because the English bourgeois finds himself reproduced in his law, as he does in his God, the policeman’s truncheon which, in a certain measure, is his own club, has for him a wonderfully soothing power.  But for the working-man quite otherwise!  The working-man knows too well, has learned from too oft-repeated experience, that the law is a rod which the bourgeois has prepared for him; and when he is not compelled to do so, he never appeals to the law.  It is ridiculous to assert that the English working-man fears the police, when every week in Manchester policemen are beaten, and last year an attempt was made to storm a station-house secured by iron doors and shutters.  The power of the police in the turnout of 1842 lay, as I have already said, in the want of a clearly defined object on the part of the working-men themselves.