The excitement in Manchester on that memorable September night was intense. That a desperate and bloody fray was imminent, every one knew, and the people were trusting to the defensive line on the river bank to protect them from the foreign destroyer. Would they be strong enough to effectively resist? Would they be able to drive back the Russians and defeat them?
The people of Lancashire who condemned our military administration did not do so without cause. It had been claimed by many that England could never be invaded; nevertheless our course should have been to prepare for possible events. Our Army, being small, should have been better equipped and armed, as well as trained to balance weakness in numbers. Again, there had always existed a hideous hindrance to the efficiency of the Auxiliaries—the arms. Many of the Martini-Henrys carried by the Volunteers bore date of a quarter of a century ago, and their barrels were so worn they could not be fired accurately; while others possessed the Snider, which was practically a smoothbore from wear. What was the use of weapons surpassed in power by those of other nations? It was an unpalatable truth that had now at last dawned upon Britain, that in arming her soldiers she was far behind the rest of the world.
While Manchester spent the sultry night in feverish excitement at the knowledge that the enemy had advanced almost to their doors, the British outposts were being harassed by the enemy, who, flushed with success, were advancing gradually onward towards the line of defence. The Russian front had been suddenly widely extended, evidently aiming at a concentric attack on Manchester, and an attempt to wholly envelop the defenders' position by cavalry operating on both flanks.
Some terribly desperate encounters took place during a frightful thunderstorm which lasted a portion of the night, and many a brave Briton fell while performing valiant deeds for the honour of his country. The anxiety within the British lines that hot night was intense.
Reports coming in told of fierce fighting all along the line. Soon after midnight a British patrol, supported by cavalry, that had been sent out from Northenden to Baguley, was suddenly attacked by a party of Russians, who lay in ambush close to Wythenshaw Hall. A short but fierce fight ensued, but the British, knowing that part of the country well, succeeded in totally annihilating their antagonists. The firing, however, attracted attention in the Russian lines, with the result that a second attack was quickly made upon them, compelling them to retire up the hill at Lawton Moor, where they dashed into a small wood, closely pressed by the enemy. The attack was desperate. There is something terrible in a fight in a wood at night. The combatants could see nothing save an occasional flash in the impenetrable darkness, and hoarse cries went up from the mysterious inferno. Neither invader nor defender could distinguish each other, and in the half-hour that followed, many a Russian shot his comrade in mistake for his foe.
At last the defenders, finding that the slightest rustling of boughs brought down a volley from magazine rifles, stood motionless, scarcely daring to breathe, and waited anxiously, until at last the enemy, seeing that their efforts to drive them out were useless, withdrew, and went off towards Baguley.
In another direction, close to Henbury, near Macclesfield, a squadron of British cavalry surprised a small outpost camp of Russians, and cut it up terribly, killing half the number; but pushing on to Marthall, six miles across country, they came into collision with a body of Russian dragoons, and after a very fierce encounter were compelled to fall back again after considerable loss. On the outskirts of Northwich, and on the borders of Delamere Forest, skirmishes occurred, resulting in serious loss on both sides. A reconnoitring party of Russians was totally swept away and every man killed, by a British party who were concealed in an old farm building close to Alderley village; while another engaged in surveying the roads to Altrincham had been forced to retreat, leaving half their number dead or wounded on the edge of Tatton Park.