Half-starved operatives, with pale, wan faces, stood in groups in Deansgate, Market Street, Piccadilly, and London Road, while men, armed with any weapons they could obtain, rushed out along the main roads to the south of the city to assist in its defence. Lancashire men exhibited commendable patriotism, even though they had not hesitated to criticise the administration of our War Department; for now at the critical hour not a man flinched from his duty, both old and young taking up arms for their country's honour. During the eventful night at all approaches to the city from the south the roads had been thrown into a state of hasty defence. A formidable barricade had been constructed at a point in the Stretford Road close to the Botanical Gardens to prevent the enemy from advancing up the Chester or Stretford New Roads; another was thrown up at the junction of Chorlton Road, Withington Road, Upper Chorlton Road, and Moss Lane West; a third opposite Rusholme Hall prevented any march up the Wilmslow Road; while others of minor strength blocked the Anson Road close to the Elms, the London Road at Longsight, the Hyde Road opposite Belle Vue Prison, and at Ivy Place in the Ashton Old Road. These had all been raised out of any materials that came to hand. Barrels, brick rubbish, planks, doors, flooring of houses hastily torn up, and scaffold poles lashed together; in fact, the barriers were huge piles of miscellaneous and portable articles, even furniture from neighbouring houses being utilised, while lengths of iron railings and wire torn from fences played an important part in these hastily-built defences. Behind them, armed with rifles, shot-guns, pistols, knives, and any other weapon that came handiest, the men of Manchester waited, breathlessly impatient in the expectation of attack. As dawn spread bright and rosy, and the mist cleared from the low meadows beside the Mersey, the distant firing was continuous, and the one or two shells that fell and burst in the centre of the city were precursory of an awful sanguinary struggle. Scarcely a person in that densely populated area had slept that night, and the streets were everywhere full, the most exciting and heartrending scenes being witnessed. A great crowd that assembled in Albert Square was addressed by the Mayor from the steps of the Town Hall, and urged to strain every muscle to drive back the invaders, in order that the disaster at Birmingham should not be repeated. Even as he spoke, in the interval of wild cheering and the energetic singing of the National Anthem and "Rule, Britannia," the distant crackling of rifles and the low booming of field guns could be heard. It was the din of battle--the catastrophe caused by the cunning spy Von Beilstein, who was still living in luxury in London, and who still posed as the friend of Geoffrey Engleheart and Violet Vayne!