"People, yeomen, constables," says Sir William Jolliffe, one of these hussars, "in their confused attempts to escape, ran one over another, so that by the time we had arrived at the midst of the field, the fugitives were literally piled up to a considerable elevation above the level of the ground." Surely, both magistrates and soldiers might now have been satisfied. A defenceless multitude have no means of resistance, and, doing their best to get away, might have been left to do so without further molestation, which would be equally brutal in the magistrates, and cowardly in the soldiers. But neither of these parties seems to have thought so on this unhappy occasion. The magistrates issued no orders to desist, and the soldiers, by the confession of one of their officers, went on striking with the flats of their swords at the impeded people, who were thrown down in their vain efforts to get away, and piled in struggling heaps on the field. Mr. Hulton confessed that he walked away from the window after he had let loose the horse-soldiers on the people. "He would rather not see any advance of the military." He was, in fact, so tender-hearted that he did not mind the people--men, women, and children, met to exercise their political rights--being trodden down under the iron hoofs of horses, and cut down by the sword, so long as he did not see it. Hunt, and about a dozen of his friends, were seized on the platform. Bamford and some others, who had escaped, were afterwards taken. The streets were then cleared by the infantry. Such was the celebrated Manchester massacre, in which the actual wounds inflicted by the soldiers do not appear to have been many. About seventy people were carried to the infirmaries, or went there, to have their wounds dressed--a considerable number for severe cuts and fractured limbs; and six lives were lost, including a special constable run over by the cavalry, and a Manchester Yeoman, who was struck from his horse by a brickbat, aimed by a man whom he was pursuing.