The Dock and the Scaffold | Page 6

been passing around
the van, a more tragic scene was passing inside it. From the moment
the report of the first shot reached him, Sergeant Brett seems to have
divined the nature and object of the attack. "My God! its these
Fenians," he exclaimed. The noise of the blows showered on the roof
and sides of the van was increased by the shrieks of the female
prisoners, who rushed frantically into the passage, and made the van
resound with their wailings. In the midst of the tumult a face appeared

at the grating, and Brett heard himself summoned to give up the keys.
The assailants had discovered where they were kept, and resolved on
obtaining them as the speediest way of effecting their purpose. "Give
up the keys, or they will shoot you," exclaimed the women; but Brett
refused. The next instant he fell heavily backwards, with the hot blood
welling from a bullet-wound in the head. A shot fired into the key-hole,
for the purpose of blowing the lock to pieces, had taken effect in his
temple. The terror-stricken women lifted him up, screaming "he's
killed." As they did so, the voice which had been heard before called
out to them through the ventilator to give up the keys. One of the
women then took them from the pocket of the dying policeman, and
handed them out through the trap. The door was at once unlocked, the
terrified women rushed out, and Brett, weltering in blood, rolled out
heavily upon the road. Then a pale-faced young man, wearing a light
overcoat, a blue tie, and a tall brown hat, who had been noticed taking a
prominent part in the affray, entered the van, and unlocked the
compartments in which Kelly and Deasey were confined. A hasty
greeting passed between them, and then the trio hurriedly joined the
band outside. "I told you, Kelly, I would die before I parted with you,"
cried the young man who had unlocked the doors; then, seizing Kelly
by the arm, he helped him across the road, and over the wall, into the
brick-fields beyond. Here he was taken charge of by others of the party,
who hurried with him across the country, while a similar office was
performed for Deasey, who, like Colonel Kelly, found himself
hampered to some extent by the handcuffs on his wrists. The main
body of those who had shared in the assault occupied themselves with
preventing the fugitives from being pursued; and not until Kelly, Deasy,
and their conductors had passed far out of sight, did they think of
consulting their own safety. At length, when further resistance to the
mob seemed useless and impossible, they broke and fled, some of them
occasionally checking the pursuit by turning round and presenting
pistols at those who followed. Many of the fugitives escaped, but
several others were surrounded and overtaken by the mob. And now the
"chivalry" of the English nature came out in its real colours. No sooner
did the cowardly set, whom the sight of a revolver kept at bay while
Kelly was being liberated, find themselves with some of the Irish party
in their power, than they set themselves to beat them with savage

ferocity. The young fellow who had opened the van door, and who had
been overtaken by the mob, was knocked down by a blow of a brick,
and then brutally kicked and stoned, the only Englishman who ventured
to cry shame being himself assaulted for his display of humanity.
Several others were similarly ill-treated; and not until the blood spouted
out from the bruised and mangled bodies of the prostrate men, did the
valiant Englishmen consider they had sufficiently tortured their
helpless prisoners. Meanwhile, large reinforcements appeared on the
spot; police and military were despatched in eager haste in pursuit of
the fugitives; the telegraph was called into requisition, and a
description of the liberated Fenians flashed to the neighbouring towns;
the whole detective force of Manchester was placed on their trail, and
in the course of a few hours thirty-two Irishmen were in custody,
charged with having assisted in the attack on the van. But of Kelly or
Deasey no trace was ever discovered; they were seen to enter a cottage
not far from the Hyde-road, and leave it with their hands unfettered, but
all attempts to trace their movements beyond this utterly failed. While
the authorities in Manchester were excitedly discussing the means to be
adopted in view of the extraordinary event, Brett lay expiring in the
hospital to which he had been conveyed. He never recovered
consciousness after receiving the wound, and he died in less than two
hours after the fatal shot had been fired.
Darkness had closed in around Manchester before the startling
occurrence that had taken place in their