The three months’ struggle that followed interested the general public more than any previous conflict. The details were described, and the action of the employers and the policy of the Union was discussed in every newspaper. The men found unexpected friends in the little group of “Christian Socialists,” who threw themselves heartily into the fray, and rendered excellent service, not only by liberal subscriptions,[355] but also by letters to the newspapers, public lectures, and other explanations of the men’s position. The masters remained obdurate, insisting not only upon the unconditional withdrawal of the men’s demands, but also upon their signing the well-known “document” forswearing Trade Union membership. The capitalists, in fact, took up the old line of absolute supremacy in their establishments, and expressly denied the men’s right to take any collective action whatsoever. Notwithstanding the subscription of £4000 by the public and £5000 by other trade societies, the funds at the disposal of the Union soon began to run short. The Executive had undertaken to support not only the 3500 of its own members and the 1500 mechanics who were out, but also the 10,000 labourers who had been made idle. Altogether over £43,000 was dispensed during the six months in out-of-work pay. Early in February the masters opened their workshops. By the middle of March the issue of the struggle was plain, and during April the men resumed work on the employers’ terms. Almost all the masters insisted on the actual signature of the “document” by their men, and most of these, under pressure of imminent destitution, reluctantly submitted, without, however, carrying out their promise by abandoning the Union. Judge Hughes, writing in 1860, describes this act of bad faith by the men as “inexcusable,” but there is much to be said for the view taken by the Amalgamation Executive, who declared that they held themselves “and every man who unwillingly puts his hand to that detestable document which is forced upon us to be as much destitute of that power of choice which should precede a contract as if a pistol were at his head and he had to choose between death and degradation.”[356] A promise extorted under “duress” carries with it little legal and still less moral obligation, and whatever discredit attaches to the transaction must be ascribed at least as much to the masters who made the demand as to the unfortunate victims of the labour war who unwillingly complied with it.[357]