Pugilistica: The History of British Boxing, Volume 3 (of 3) / Containing Lives of the Most Celebrated Pugilists; Full Reports of Their Battles from Contemporary Newspapers, With Authentic Portraits, Personal Anecdotes, and Sketches of the Principal Patrons of the Prize Ring, Forming a Complete History of the Ring from Fig and Broughton, 1719-40, to the Last Championship Battle Between King and Heenan, in December 1863

by Henry Downes Miles

TOM SAYERS (CHAMPION).—​1849–1860.

As seven cities contended for the honour of being the birthplace of Homer, so, parvis componere magna, half a dozen places, English and Irish, have been named as the spot of dull earth whereon the last Champion of England opened his sharp little grey eyes. Somers Town and Camden Town, his favourite haunts in later life; Pimlico, now a palatial precinct of Belgravia, and several other places, have been oracularly declared, in “Answers to Correspondents,” in sundry sporting journals, to have been the locus in quo Tom struggled into what proved in his case literally “the battle of life.” A clever sporting writer (“Augur”) remarks with truth that “Ireland makes it her rule of faith always to claim the winner, be it man, woman, or quadruped. The ‘divided honours’ of Farnborough presented no obstacle to this. She adopted the maternity of Heenan out of hand, and with fair pretence, and now she has put in a post mortem claim to Tom Sayers. A regular county Kerry genealogy has been found for him, including a maternal aunt, who, naturally and nationally attributes his valour to her family infusion of the ‘blood of the Fitzgeralds!’”

In the memoir in Bell’s Life, at the date alluded to (which to our knowledge was from the pen of a trueborn Celt), we read “Tom Sayers, whose parents came from Dingle, in the county of Kerry,” &c. This gossip we pass, being able to state from personal knowledge, not only that Tom was born at “Pimlico,” a place of “fish-like smell,” in the middle of Brighton, Sussex, on May 25th, 1828, but that his father, “Old Tom,” so called from the bronzed complexion he transmitted to his son, whom he survives, is a genuine Sussex man, born at Storrington, near Steyning, in that county, where he was baptised in 1793, and in 1819 married a home-born and home-bred Sussex woman. Tom’s pedigree, therefore, is indisputably that of an Englishman. How he passed his youth, pushing off the Brighton hog-boats from the shingly beach of London-super-mare, we may also pass. In due time he was placed out to the trade of a bricklayer, and we have heard him say his first “big job” was on the Preston Viaduct of the Brighton and Lewes Railway, a noble structure of stone and white brick, visible from the Brighton terminus, crossing the Preston Road. Tom quitted Sussex, and in 1848 he was following his vocation on the extensive works of the North Western Railway at Camden Town, a locality for many years a favourite with the departed Champion.

Sayers’s Ring career was doubtless one of the most remarkable on record, his fights extending over twelve years, 1849–1860, besides numerous earlier battles. They were, within the regular P.R. ropes, sixteen in number, including one defeat and a wrangled “draw;” and in all but three cases against heavier and bigger men; for soon after the opening of his career no professional of his weight and inches cared to tackle him.

Tom was in his twenty-third year when, having migrated in the pursuit of employment from Brighton to Camden Town, he was induced by the challenge of one Aby Couch, and the stake of a “fiver,” to meet his opponent “down the river,” in the ropes of old Commissary Oliver. The affair came off on March 19th, 1849, near Greenhithe, when Tom sent Couch to rest in less than 13 minutes. For more than a twelvemonth Tom’s friends looked in vain for a customer at 10st., or thereabouts, but could not find one, though they declared him not particular to a few pounds.

A TRIO OF CHAMPIONS—​THE THREE TOMS.

At length “Tom Spring’s waiter,” Dan Collins, whom we remember as a civil, smart, intelligent news-boy, petitioned his worthy master for a shy at Master Thomas, and articles were agreed for £25 a side, to fight on October 22nd, 1850. Dan was about an inch taller than Sayers, and a trifle heavier, though each on the day was under 10st. His known skill, too, from his exhibitions at Spring’s, made him the favourite, though he had been defeated by Ned Donnelly in the previous year. We well remember the surprise of the veteran Vincent Dowling (Editor of Bell’s Life for more than its first quarter of a century), and of Tom Spring, not only at the tough resolution and remarkable endurance and strength of the “novice,” as the Camden Town hero was called, but at the gameness with which poor Dan, sadly overmatched, took his “gruel.” At Edenbridge, Kent, in the first ring, they fought nine resolute rounds in 27 minutes, when, the rural constabulary intruding, the belligerents retired to Red Hill. Spring considerately proposed to Dan to decline, saying “He had fought quite enough for his money,” but Dan earnestly entreated, and was indulged, when thirty-nine more rounds were fought in 1 hour 52 minutes, both men being heavily punished. Darkness now interposed, and the final trial was postponed to December 10th, to meet in the same ring as Young Sambo (Welsh) and Cross. This draught-board game proving a draw between black and white, burned out two hours and a half of the short daylight, and there was no time for Sayers and Dan to exhibit; so once more the decision was deferred.

On April 29th, 1851, Sayers and Collins met in fistic fray at Long Reach. The improvement of Sayers in skill made poor Dan appear to have fallen off, and though he struggled gallantly through forty-four rounds, occupying 84 minutes, the tide never turned in his favour. Collins scaled 10st. 2lbs. at this second meeting, Sayers 9st. 10lbs. If Tom reaped fame by this contest, there was but little profit in training three times for a quarter of a hundred “yellowboys.”

The great improvement of Sayers on this occasion was evident to every judge of boxing; he took a strong lead, was never headed, and won in a canter. If there was little profit in three trainings and three fights for one stake, Tom gained confidence and lots of friends. His weight, however—​too heavy for the nine-stone men, and underweight for the “middles” and “heavies”—​kept him without a match for nearly a year. The “empty praise” of his friends, too, kept him from the “solid pudding,” so that none of the 9st. men cared to meddle with him. Various challenges in the columns of Bell’s Life show the impatience with which Tom bore this enforced inactivity. At length, to the surprise and delight of the Southwarkians, Tom had, what they thought, the presumptuous hardihood to offer to meet the renowned Jack Grant, for £100 a side. Jack was at the top of his renown. He had beaten James Haggerty, drawn with Mike Madden (daylight failing), beaten Alec Keene, and received forfeit from the talented Callaghan of Derby. Winning, and nothing else, was the idea of the Borough lads. The mill came off at Mildenhall, Suffolk, June 29th, 1852, for £100 a side. Grant was attended by Harry Orme and Jemmy Welsh; Sayers by Nat Adams and Bob Fuller the pedestrian. Betting 6 and 7 to 4 on Grant.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​On appearing at the scratch, the condition and general appearance of Sayers was the theme of admiration: there was not an ounce of superfluous flesh about his body—​he appeared all wire and muscle. His phiz wore a good-humoured smile of confidence, and there was a ruddy glow upon his cheek which told of good health and condition. His attitude was graceful and firm, and, to a good judge, it was apparent that if he was as good as he looked the Borough Champion had his work cut out. Grant seemed not quite up to the mark. His arms, it is true, were muscular and brawny, and his good-tempered mug looked healthy; but there were certain accumulations of fat upon his chest and ribs which sufficiently indicated that his exercise had not been so severe as it might have been, and we were informed that, instead of weighing about 10st. 2lbs. he turned the scale at 10st. 6lb. Notwithstanding his lustiness, however, he appeared to look upon the result with quiet confidence, and to hold his adversary at a very cheap rate. His position indicated the old tactician—​the arms well up, and not too far from his body, his head back, and his eye fixed upon that of his adversary, who stood well over him, and was longer in the reach. After a little dodging, Grant, who was anxious to begin, led off with his left, slightly reaching Tom’s forehead, and jumped away from the return. Sayers followed him up, when Grant tried to repeat the dose on the forehead, but was prettily stopped. Sayers at length got home with his right on the ribs, which was followed by heavy counter-hits, Grant on the left cheek, and Sayers heavily on Grant’s nose. Ditto repeated, when Sayers gained “first blood” from a cut over that organ. Grant then went in to force the fighting, but Sayers stepped back, jobbed him again on the nose, cleverly stopping the return. Counter hits succeeded, Sayers catching a nasty one on the left side of the head, and on getting back slipped down.

2.—​Grant tried to lead off several times, but was on each occasion well stopped. He returned the compliment by twice stopping Sayers, and then lunged out his right, catching Sayers heavily under the left ear. Tom countered him with effect on the nose, and a close following, both were down; Sayers under.

3.—​Grant took the initiative, but Sayers jumped away smiling; he, however, came again directly, and led off with his left, but was stopped. He was more successful a second time, and reached Grant’s damaged nose. Grant closed for the fall, but Sayers would not struggle, contenting himself with fibbing Grant on the nose and left ear until both rolled over.

4.—​Mutual good stopping, after which Sayers delivered his left heavily on Grant’s ribs and jumped away. Counter-hits with the left followed—​Sayers on the nose, and Grant on the ribs. A close, and some sharp fibbing. A break away, and at it again, Grant delivering his right heavily on Tom’s left eye. Slight exchanges, Grant again getting it on the nose, and Sayers slipped down.

5.—​Both, on coming up, looked flushed. Sayers smiled, while Grant looked grim. The latter led off, but was twice stopped. They then got to work; sharp counter-hits were exchanged, Sayers receiving heavily on the left cheek, and Grant on the nose and jaw. A close and struggle for the fall ended in Grant being thrown, but not heavily.

6.—​Sayers tried to lead off, but Grant was wary, and stopped him. He was not to be denied; however, he made another attempt, and again reached Grant’s smeller, getting well away from the return. Sayers then repeated the dose heavily with both hands, and followed this up by one or two punches in the ribs. At length Grant swung round his dangerous right, and caught Master Tom a tremendous whack on the left ear, which staggered him. Grant then closed, but Sayers declined to struggle for the fall, and fibbed away at his man until he allowed him to slip down.

7.—​Sayers showed the effects of Grant’s visitation to his left ear, which was considerably swelled. Grant looked flushed from the taps on the nozzle. The latter led off, but was quite out of distance, and Sayers followed his example by delivering too high to be of any service. Exchanges then took place, each catching it on the right eye, Sayers’ delivery appearing to be the heavier. In getting away Sayers slipped down.

8.—​Grant took the lead, but was again stopped, and caught an awkward one on the left listener for his pains. He then succeeded in planting his left on Tom’s forehead. Grant bored in, but Sayers stepped back, administering an upper-cut, which led to a rally, in which some sharp hitting took place, and Sayers scrambled down.

9.—​Both slightly blown. Tom stopped Grant’s attempts to plant on him, and then delivered his left on the nose twice in succession. Grant again made his right sound against the left side of Tom’s head, and then sent in a heavy one on the ribs. Sayers, nothing daunted, was at him again, popped in his left on the cheek and his right on Grant’s left ear, and this bringing them to a struggle, Sayers letting himself down easy.

10.—​Grant tried to force the fighting by boring in, but got it on the left eye rather heavily. Sayers, however, had not the strength to stall him off. He again went in, caught Sayers on the left eye, and in a struggle which followed the latter again slipped down to avoid being thrown.

11.—​Grant led off, got well home on Sayers’ left ear, and then closed, and both rolled over together.

12.—​Sayers’ left ear and left side of his head were much swollen; still he smiled, and calmly awaited the attack, which was not long in coming. Grant dashed in, and commenced hitting away with both hands; he drew blood from Tom’s mouth by a heavy spank from his left. Sayers delivered on the left cheek, and the round finished by both falling together at the ropes.

13.—​Grant made his right with severity on the ribs, getting away from Sayers’ return. Sayers followed him up, and some sharp hits were exchanged left and right, both catching it on the nose and cheek, and Grant at length got down.

14.—​Grant dashed in resolutely, but twice was well stopped. Sayers then delivered his left and right on the nose and left eye. Grant, not liking this, bored in, made his right on Tom’s left cheek, closed, but Sayers catching well hold of him, threw him a cross-buttock and fell on him.

15.—​Both, anxious to get to work, led off at the same time, and each got it on the left eye. Grant was then neatly stopped twice in succession, but at length closed, and some sharp in-fighting took place, Sayers catching it on the left eye, and Grant on the left ear. The round ended by both going to grass. (Forty minutes had now elapsed, and those who had backed Grant to win in an hour began to look blue.)

16.—​A capital round. After some excellent stopping and manœuvring on both sides, they got close together, and some sharp exchanges took place, each catching it on the nose and left cheek. A close ensued, followed by a break away, and both at it again, left and right, until Grant got down, somewhat blown, his want of condition evidently beginning to tell.

17.—​Somewhat similar to the last, each catching it severely on the side of the head. The hitting appeared rather in favour of Grant, who drew more claret from Tom’s mouth. Both were eventually down.

18.—​Grant dashed in and closed for a fall, but Sayers declined the struggle, fibbed him severely on the left ear several times, and Grant slipped down. He lay on his back where he fell, blowing like a grampus until time was called, when he was carried to his corner, from whence he walked to the scratch.

19.—​Some good exchanges, Sayers on the right eye, and Grant on the nose, removing the bark, and drawing a fresh supply of the ruby. Quick exchanges, but both apparently hitting open-handed, were followed by Tom getting down cleverly.

20.—​Grant, whose ear had been lanced, came up bleeding from that organ, which was much swelled from the blows in the 18th round. He rushed in, but Sayers caught him heavily on the damaged listener. Grant, still determined, persevered, caught Tom on the left side of the head twice in succession; exchanges followed in favour of Grant, and at last Tom got down.

21.—​Sayers’ left eye began to show symptoms of adopting the early closing movement. He tried to lead off, but was stopped by Jack, who made his left again on the closing peeper, and then closed. Sayers fiddled away at his left ear until both were down.

22 and 23.—​Both slow but steady, and the rounds ended, after a few exchanges, in the men slipping down at the ropes. In the latter round Grant pursued Sayers, who ran round the ring until he got to his own corner, when he turned sharp round, caught Grant left and right on the nose and left eye, which led to the close and fall.

24.—​Grant came up bleeding from a cut over his left eye. Sayers attempted to take the lead, but was well stopped, Grant making his right heavily on his left ear, and Sayers fell through the ropes.

25.—​Sayers was again neatly stopped, and in stepping back from Grant’s return, caught his heel and fell.

26.—​Mutual good stopping, Sayers evidently the more active; he caught Grant again on his left ear, which was terribly swollen, received a heavy thump on the ribs from Grant’s right, and dropped on his south pole.

27.—​Grant dashed in with his left on the mouth, and then his right on the side of Sayers’s head. Exchanges—​Grant drawing blood from Tom’s nose. Some good in-fighting in favour of Sayers, and Grant got down.

28.—​Good counter-hits, each catching it heavily on the nose. They now went to work in earnest; the hitting on both sides was tremendous, but owing to the excellence of Sayers’s condition, he did not show it much, while Grant, who received principally on the left ear and nose, looked considerably the worse for wear. Eventually Sayers slipped to avoid Jack’s friendly hug, and Grant, who fell over him, cleverly avoided touching him with his spikes.

29 to 32.—​In these rounds Grant led off, but his want of condition prevented his being as quick as he otherwise might have been, consequently he was often stopped, and of course exhausted himself by throwing away his blows. When, however, they got at it he gave as good as he got, and the rounds ended by Sayers slipping down. In the 32nd, however, Grant threw Sayers, and fell heavily on him.

33.—​Grant came up bleeding from the mouth and left ear; he tried to lead off, but was stopped. Sayers popped in his left and right on the mouth and throat, getting it in return on the nose heavily, more of the bark being displaced, and in the end both were down.

34.—​Grant planted both hands, but the steam was gone; Sayers returned on the mouth and left eye. A rally, Grant delivering on the damaged cheek-bone of his adversary, and receiving another gentle tap on his nose, which drew more fluid. A close struggle for the fall, and both down, Sayers under.

35.—​One hour and a half had now elapsed, and both appeared fatigued from their exertions. Grant stopped several well-intentioned deliveries, and returned on Tom’s left eye and nose, drawing blood from both. Good exchanges led to a close, when both were down.

36.—​Sayers came up weak, while Grant had slightly recovered. The latter led off, was twice well stopped, but ultimately sent home his right on Sayers’ left cheek and the latter slipped down.

37.—​Sayers, whose left cheek and eyebrow were much swollen and discoloured, led off, and caught Grant on the left eye and nose, but not heavily, and in retreating fell.

38.—​Grant took the lead, but was propped in the throat by Tom’s right. Grant, however, found out the side of his head with effect. Exchanges followed, both receiving on the nose; but Sayers, who was the weaker, got down on the saving suit.

39.—​Grant dashed in with his right on Tom’s left cheek, who closed, fibbed him heavily on his damaged ear, and then slipped down.

40 to 42.—​In these rounds but little mischief was done, both sparring for wind, and eventually Sayers got down cleverly.

43.—​Grant, who seemed to have got second wind, led off quickly, but Sayers jumped away. Grant followed him up, caught him on the ribs, heavily with his right, and then on the nose with his left. Sayers returned on the throat, and some heavy deliveries on both sides took place, both standing and hitting away for some time without an attempt at stopping, and there appeared to be no decided advantage on either side; at length Sayers slipped down exhausted. This was unexceptionally the severest round in the fight. The men appeared to think this was the turning-point, and each wished to make some decided impression on his game adversary.

44.—​Both were the worse for the exertions in the last round. Grant’s left ear bore marks of having been again severely visited, and we believe his seconds again found it necessary to lance it. Sayers did not show such decided marks of Grant’s handiwork, but this was mainly accounted for by his excellent condition. His left eye was, however, closing, and his left cheek much swollen. Both unwilling to begin, and some slight blows having been exchanged, Sayers slipped down.

45.—​Grant went into mill, but napped it on the left ear and nose with severity. Good exchanges followed, and Sayers again slipped down.

46.—​Grant still first to fight, but was cleverly stopped by Sayers, who was getting more active. They quickly got to in-fighting, when after a few exchanges they rolled over, and Grant excited the admiration of all by the careful manner in which he avoided falling on his man with his feet or knees.

47, 48.—​Grant took the lead in both these rounds, but was stopped in each instance, and received deliveries from Sayers’s right on his left ear. He nevertheless succeeded in each round in planting on Sayers’s left ear with his dangerous right; but the blows had not that vigour we have seen him exhibit on former occasions. Both were down in these rounds.

49.—​Some rattling exchanges took place in this round; Grant getting it on the throat and ribs, and Sayers on the chest and mouth and eventually slipping down.

50.—​Sayers made play on the ribs with his left heavily, Grant returning on the nose with his left; Grant then stopped two attempts on the part of Sayers, made his left and right on the nose and left cheek, and Sayers slipped down.

51.—​Grant again popped in a spank on Tom’s nut, receiving in return on the smeller heavily, and losing more claret. Good exchanges followed, when Grant rushed in and bored his man over the ropes.

52.—​Sayers attempted to make the running, but was stopped by Grant, who went in to mill, and planted both hands, one on the nose and the other on the left side of the head heavily. Another on the nose succeeded, which opened the claret jug again. Sayers only planted his left once on the nose and slipped down. This round was decidedly in favour of Grant.

53.—​Sayers made his left on the ribs, and tried to plant the same hand on the nose, but was well stopped. He received one from Grant’s right on the side of his head; this brought on a rally, in which he caught it on the eyebrow heavily, and slipped down.

54.—​Grant, thinking the game was now his own, again rushed in, but Sayers was with him and in the exchanges which followed he visited Grant’s left ear with great severity, catching it slightly on the side of the head, and then getting down cunning.

55.—​Grant again first, but stopped; he however, made good his right on the ribs directly afterwards, and then his left on the right eye of Sayers, who sent home his right on the neck, and his left on the left ear. Grant bored in again, received one on the left ear, which bled freely, and Sayers slipped down.

56.—​A close, and Sayers got down.

57.—​No mischief done. Some slight exchanges, and Sayers slipped down.

58.—​Sayers caught Grant as he came in on the nose and throat, and then on the mazzard heavily, drawing more of the ruby. Grant then closed, struggled, and both fell heavily to the ground—​Sayers uppermost.

59.—​Grant, who seemed weak and exhausted, was twice stopped; but in a third attempt caught Sayers on the left ear with his right, and the latter slipped down.

60.—​Grant led off, reached Sayers’ left eye, received one on his damaged listener, and slipped down.

61.—​Grant appeared determined to finish the matter off hand, rushed in left and right on Sayers’ cheek and nose. Sayers put in both hands on the left eye and nose; a rally, close, and short struggle, both again coming to the ground heavily—​Grant under.

62.—​Sayers tried to lead off, but was short; Grant just contrived to reach his nose, but the blow had no steam in it, and Sayers in getting back slipped down.

63.—​Both slow to the call of time, and both evidently exhausted. Grant was first up, but he looked much flushed; his face was much swollen, his nose anything but Roman in its appearance, and his left ear presenting an unpleasant spectacle. He rushed in, but Sayers, whose good-natured mug still bore the ghost of a smile, although nearly on the wrong side of his mouth, stopped him cleverly and got away; Grant followed him up, got home with his right on the side of his head, receiving, in return, on the left ear. A close, and long struggle for the fall, which Grant got, throwing his man and falling on him.

64 and last.—​Grant came up looking very groggy. The falls in the few last rounds had evidently shaken him. He appeared to be suffering from cramp, but still was determined. He led off, getting slightly home on Sayers’ left cheek bone. Tom retaliated on the left ear. A few sharp exchanges were succeeded by another struggle for the fall, and ultimately both came very heavily to the ground—​Grant being undermost—​Tom falling across his stomach. Both were immediately picked up and carried to their corners, and on time being called, Jemmy Welsh, on the part of Grant, threw up the sponge in token of defeat. On our inquiring as to the cause of this rather unexpected termination of the affair, we were informed that Grant was severely suffering from cramp, and had moreover injured some part of his intestines in such a manner that it was feared he was ruptured, and he was in such pain that he could not stand upright. Sayers went up to his fallen but not disgraced adversary and shook him kindly by the hand, and was proclaimed the victor amidst the shouts of his friends. Grant was conveyed on a railway truck to a small public-house in the neighbourhood, where every attention was shown to him, but he continued in great pain for some time afterwards. The poor fellow was not actually ruptured; but he had received a severe internal strain, which caused him considerable uneasiness for some time. Grant met with an accident some time before at Manchester, which always rendered him weak in the muscles of the stomach, and he considered that being not fully up to the mark, he was more than usually susceptible of injury. The fight lasted exactly two hours and a half.

Remarks.—​The great length to which our account of this “model mill” has extended imposes upon us the necessity of being brief in our remarks. Tom Sayers by this victory established for himself a reputation as a man of science, courage, and endurance, for which few were disposed to give him credit. The manner in which he stopped the determined attacks of his adversary, and the judgment with which he extricated himself from difficulty, and continually refused to struggle for the fall with a man stronger than himself, proved that his headpiece was screwed on the right way, and that although, compared with his opponent, a novice in the Prize Ring, he was perfectly acquainted with the theory of his art, and only wanted the occasion to arise to put that theory into practice. He proved himself a very hard hitter, and managed to get on to his opponent so frequently that even Grant’s iron mug displayed such bumps and contusions as the gallant hero has seldom exhibited in his former engagements. Sayers is a good-tempered, well-behaved young fellow, and bears a high character for honour and integrity. He is by this victory nearly at the top of the tree, and we trust that by his future conduct he will show that prosperity has not, in his case, as it has in many we could name in his profession, had the effect of destroying his good principles. Grant, although not destined on this occasion to wear the crown of victory, was not disgraced by his fall. He manfully disputed every inch of ground with his clever opponent, and showed that his qualifications as a sparrer were quite equal to those of Sayers. His stopping and wrestling were universally admired, while the manliness and care with which he avoided falling upon his adversary in such a way as to cause any dispute, obtained for him the repeated plaudits of the surrounding throng. The fight, as we have before observed, was conducted throughout in a way to leave nothing to be desired.

Tom now remained idle until January of the following year, 1853, when a game, resolute fellow, named Jack Martin, who had disposed of several countrymen, and grown into high favour with Ben Caunt, was brought forward by “Big Ben” to uphold the honour of the “Coach and Horses.” Tom’s standing challenge was accordingly accepted for £50 a side, and Wednesday, January 26, 1853, named as the day of battle. A foggy trip per steamer landed the voyagers in Long Reach, and, the preparations being made, the men stood up and shook hands; Alec Keene and a friend, for Sayers, and Tom Paddock and Jerry Noon as seconds for Martin, joining in the friendly ceremony.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​On toeing the scratch it was clear to all that Sayers was a bigger man than his adversary; and, if possible, in better condition. His eye had resumed its brightness, and there was a hardness in his general appearance which made him look all over a perfect gladiator. Martin, who was shorter in the reach than his opponent, showed great muscularity of arm and thighs, but elsewhere he was not nearly so well furnished. He was pale, but there was a good-humoured smile on his mug, which showed that the word fear was unknown in his vocabulary. Little time was lost in sparring—​Sayers led off, catching Martin slightly with his left on the nose. Martin immediately rushed to in-fighting, when some heavy hits were exchanged, each catching it on the left eye, and each showing claret at the same moment from cuts on the brow. After a few random shots both were down together. “First blood” was claimed by each party, but was decided by the referee to be a drawn event.

2.—​Both bleeding from the left eye, Sayers appearing to have the worst of it. He was undaunted, smiled, led off with his left, catching Martin on the right cheek. Martin again went in, and commenced pegging away with both hands. Sayers was with him, hitting with most precision, and the round ended in both again falling together.

3.—​Sayers commenced the ball, caught Martin a spank on the right cheek, received slightly on the body, and then catching Martin full with his left on the nose, sent him to grass, a clean “knock-down blow,” and thus won the second event.

4.—​Martin came up bleeding from the nose, but with a smile of confidence. Sayers led off, but Martin jumped cleverly back. He then stepped in, caught Sayers on the damaged optic, drawing more of the ruby. Heavy exchanges followed; Martin delivered his right heavily on the ribs, Sayers returning with effect on the nose. A close at the rope followed, and both were quickly down.

5.—​Martin attempted to take the lead, but was neatly stopped; he then swung round his right at the body, and immediately closed for the fall. Sayers, instead of struggling, fibbed away at Martin’s head until Martin forced him down.

6.—​Sayers led off on the nose with his left; Martin countered on the side of the head. A tremendous rally followed, the hits on both sides succeeding each other with great quickness. Each caught it on the side of the head, but the blows of Sayers, from his superior reach, told with most force. In the end both were down.

7.—​Martin led off, was well stopped, and received a nasty one on the nose; he then closed, but Sayers refused to struggle with him, and got down, Martin following suit.

8.—​Sayers commenced by planting his left on Martin’s nose with effect, and immediately repeating the dose. Martin returned on the left eye heavily, enlarging the old cut; and Sayers, in stepping away, slipped down.

9.—​Martin showed a bump on each side of his nose from the heavy blows in the last round. He tried to take the lead, but was well stopped. Ditto repeated. After which he bored in, Sayers catching him heavily on the left cheek. Martin succeeded in reaching Sayers’ damaged brow; good exchanges followed, Sayers getting, however, on Martin’s right eye, and Martin on the ribs with his right. Another tremendous rally followed, each getting heavy pepper, Martin, however, having the worst of it, and receiving on the mouth and left eye with great severity. At last they got close together, and, after a short struggle, Sayers eased himself down, and Martin fell on him.

10.—​Martin, on coming up, showed marks of the efficacy of Sayers’ handiwork in the last round. His right eye, which was previously “all serene,” was now completely closed, and his right cheek much swollen, while Sayers appeared little the worse for wear. Sayers led off, but was short; Martin then made an attempt, but failed in like manner. Counter-hits followed; Sayers again reached the right ogle of his adversary, who took all in good-humour, and still smiled with one side of his face. He now dashed in, and more exchanges took place, Martin succeeded in inflicting a cut over Sayers’ right eye, which had been hitherto unscathed. At length, after some sharp in-fighting in favour of Sayers, Martin slipped down on one knee. Sayers, who might have hit him, laughed and walked away, amidst cries of “Bravo” from both sides.

11.—​Sayers led off with his left, reaching the side of Martin’s nose. A rattling rally followed, at the end of which Sayers threw his man, and fell heavily on him.

12.—​Martin came up bleeding at all points, but still the same good-humoured fellow as ever. Sayers led off short, ditto Martin; Sayers in on the ribs with his left. Counter-hits, Sayers on the nose, and Martin on the cheek, drawing more of the ruby fluid. A close followed, and some more heavy infighting, after which, Martin contrived to swing Sayers over.

13.—​Sayers on coming up was bleeding rapidly from a severe cut on his left hand, evidently inflicted against Martin’s teeth. The men quickly got to it, counter-hits were exchanged, Martin on the ribs, and Sayers on the right cheek, followed up by two spanks, left and right, on the nose and mouth. More heavy pounding in favour of Sayers, who hit at points, while Martin hit round, and principally at the body. At length they closed, and both were down, side by side, each looking at his adversary and smiling.

14.—​Martin led off with his left, but was out of distance. Sayers, with great quickness, let go his left, and reached his opponent’s mouth. Martin merely grinned at the visitation, bored in, but only to receive another severe prop on the right eye and a spank on the nasal organ. Still he was determined, and again went at his man, who, in getting away, slipped down.

15.—​Martin’s phisog in anything but picturesque condition, his right cheek much swollen and bleeding, and his mouth completely out of kissing condition. After a few passes, slight counter-hits were exchanged, Martin getting home on the body, and Sayers on the left cheek. Martin, not to be stalled off, rushed in and delivered a heavy round hit on the ribs with his right; Sayers was with him, and visited his damaged smeller with severity. This led to another good rattling rally, in which Sayers inflicted more heavy punishment on poor Martin’s nose and right eye, while Martin only succeeded in delivering some sounding punches on his ribs. They broke away, again got at it ding-dong, and finally, in the close both were down. Martin apparently as strong on his legs as his opponent.

16.—​Good counter-hits with the left, each catching the other on the mazzard. Sayers now stopped one or two attempts on the part of his adversary very neatly, and returned heavily on the nozzle. An attempt to repeat the dose was unsuccessful, Martin quickly jumping back. Martin came again, and swung round his left on the ribs, but napped it again on the nose for his imprudence. More mutual punching in favour of Sayers followed, but still Martin’s deliveries were occasionally severe. A close, in which both fibbed away hammer-and-tongs. Sayers reaching Martin’s remaining optic, but not with sufficient force to put up the shutter, and Martin drew more claret from his opponent’s left ogle. A break away, and at it again, until Martin slipped down on one knee; Sayers again walking away smiling. This round, which was one of the best fighting rounds we have seen for many a day, elicited universal applause.

17.—​Martin came up piping, and rather slow, but still smiling, as well as his damaged phiz would allow. He endeavoured to lead off, but was easily stopped. In a second attempt he reached Tom’s left cheek, but Sayers countered him on the left eye heavily, his superior reach giving him the advantage. Martin, not to be cowed, popped in a heavy right-hander on the ribs; received again on his left eye, and, in retreating, slipped down.

18.—​Sayers let fly his left, but was short; both appeared fatigued from the quickness with which they had worked, and sparred a few seconds for wind. Sayers at length again led off, and caught Martin on the left eye, Martin returning on the same suit with considerable quickness. Both were now short in their deliveries. Martin at length bored in and reached Tom’s ribs with his right. Sayers returned on the right cheek, and both slipped down.

19.—​Sayers again out of distance. He soon crept closer, however, sent out his left, was neatly stopped, and cleverly got away from Martin’s return. Martin followed him up, caught him on the left cheek, and then on the body, receiving a nasty one in return on the left eye. In the close which followed he succeeded in throwing Sayers heavily, amidst the cheers of his friends, who did not think he had so much strength in him.

20.—​Sayers led off, caught Martin on the mouth, was unsuccessful in a second attempt, and then caught a heavy right-hander on the ribs. Martin sent out his left and was stopped, Sayers returning with effect on the right eye, and then on the left, from which he drew more claret. Martin, whose head was much swollen, again planted a rib bender, closed, and after a short struggle both were down.

21.—​Martin took the lead, but Sayers jumped away laughing; Martin returned the grin, and again sent out his left, which was easily stopped. Sayers once more reached his adversary’s blind side, and Martin slipped down weak.

22.—​Any odds on Sayers, who was as fresh as possible. Martin made an effort to turn the tables, but was stopped several times; he at length reached Tom’s ribs, and the latter stepping back, steadied himself, waited for Martin’s rush, and then sent out his left with terrific force, caught poor Martin on the right jaw, and the latter tumbled over on his face apparently out of time. It was thought all over, and the poor fellow was carried to his corner, but when time was called, to the surprise of all he came up for round

23, and last.—​He was evidently all abroad, and staggered about the ring. Sayers went up to him, delivered his left on the right cheek, and following this with a right-hander on the nose, down went Martin for the last time, and Sayers was proclaimed the winner after fighting 55 minutes. Sayers, although severely handled about the mug, was still fresh on his pins; both his eyes were fully open, and it was evident that, had it been necessary, he was good for many more rounds. Martin, on being conveyed to his corner, was laid upon the ground, and every effort made to restore consciousness, but it was fully five minutes before he could be made to understand what had happened. As soon as possible he was conveyed on board the steamboat, and made as comfortable as could be expected under the circumstances.

Remarks.—​A few more such battles as that we have just recorded would go far to restore the fallen fortunes of the Prize Ring. It was, in truth, as we have styled it above, a mill of the old school. More punishment was inflicted in 55 minutes than we have seen in two hours in any encounter during the last few years. There was not a single appeal to the referee, nor was there a single action on the part of either man throughout the fight at which the greatest stickler for fair play could take exception. Both had evidently made up their minds to a fair and manly struggle for victory, and their friends ably supported them in their laudable resolution, by rigidly abstaining from any interference. In fact, the only thing at which we felt inclined to cavil was the manner in which Jerry Noon seconded the losing man. A good second always remains quiet until the round is over, then picks his man up, carries him to his corner, and cleans him as tenderly as possible. Roughness, or interference during the round, only tends to confuse a man’s ideas and lead him into jeopardy. As to the merits of the men, there cannot be two opinions. Martin was clearly overmatched. He was opposed to a taller, longer and stronger man, one, moreover, possessing greater knowledge of the art of self-defence than himself. That he (Martin) is a game, resolute fellow no one will deny. A greater glutton we have seldom seen. He is, also, an exceedingly fair fighter, scorning to take the least advantage, and is possessed of that greatest of all requisites to a boxer—​unwavering good-temper. The terms of praise in which he was mentioned by all clearly showed that his conduct was appreciated as it deserved to be. Of Tom Sayers, and his manly, good-tempered style of fighting, we have before spoken in the highest terms, and it is only necessary for us to state that his conduct was as upright and his tactics were as fair as ever. He, on several occasions, refrained from punishing his adversary when he was down on one knee only—​a position in which he was perfectly entitled to strike him, and one in which he might have administered pepper with effect. He used his left hand with greater precision than in his battle with Grant, and his deliveries appeared altogether heavier than in that encounter. As we have before observed, the ring was exceedingly well kept throughout, and all had an uninterrupted view of the encounter from its commencement to its conclusion. As soon as possible after the event was decided, the crowd that had assembled took its departure—​some returning by the boat, while others, who did not fancy a return trip up the river in the dark against an ebb-tide, struck across the marshes to Dartford, and thus reached town at seven o’clock by the North Kent Railway. Among the latter was our eccentric friend, Bendigo, who quite put out the pipe of the milling orator and poet, Charley Mallett, as, while waiting at the station, he composed and sung a long extempore poem, descriptive of the day’s sport, and laudatory of the heroes and of himself, which elicited uncontrollable laughter and applause from his Corinthian auditors, and sent all back to the Metropolis in perfect good humour, caused as much by the ready wit and “hanky-panky” performances of that eccentric individual, as by the extraordinary treat they had enjoyed on the field of battle.

The year 1853 was not to expire without witnessing the first and last defeat of the gallant Tom.

Nathaniel Langham, for many years known as “mine host” of the “Mitre,” in St. Martin’s Lane, Leicester Square, whose biography illustrates a former portion of this volume, was, as the reader is already aware, of that unlucky weight, 11st., which is so difficult to match when accompanied by first-class pugilistic capabilities. Too heavy for the light men, whose average lies between 9st. and 9st. 10lbs., and too light for real “big-uns,” provided they possess skill and pluck, men of this size can find fair competitors only among men of their own weight and inches. Nat’s earlier combats, therefore, as we have already seen, were with heavy men; and his only defeat had been by Harry Orme, his superior by more than half a stone, under circumstances fully detailed at page 244 of this volume. Two years had elapsed since Nat’s defeat, and public talk had prophesied in fistic circles of “the coming man” in the person of the conqueror of Jack Grant. “Ould Nat,” who seemed for the moment laid on the shelf, pricked up his ears when he heard that Tom, whose motto was “Excelsior,” was ready to make a match with the “Champion of the Middle-weights.” Nat picked up the gauntlet, and all was soon arranged. At Lakenheath, Suffolk, on the 18th October, 1853, they met, with the result already recorded.

Defeated, but not disgraced, Tom lost no time in challenging Langham to a second trial; but the latter, for good and sufficient reasons, which we have fully set forth in our memoir of that boxer (ante [p. 251]), declined the invitation.

Sayers was, therefore, on the look-out for a new competitor, and although Tom “proposed” to several of the provincial “ten stunners” and upwards, none listened to his suit.

One evening, after some “chaff,” George Sims, a long-limbed professor of the art, immensely fancied by some of the “locals,” threw down the gauntlet to Tom, professing regret that £25 was all he could raise for the experiment, and that Tom could easily post £50. Finding that the professor was serious and “meant business,” Sayers, who declared himself “blue mouldy for want of a bating,” accepted the chance, as he said, “to keep his hand in.”

The day fixed was the 2nd of February, 1854, and on a miserably foggy morning the principals and their friends took steamer to Long Reach, below Gravesend, and soon were face to face, near the river wall. Sayers, who weighed 10st 6lbs., looked remarkably well. Sims, who stood over him, was 5 feet 10 inches, and said to be under 11st. We doubt if he were so light, despite his leanness. Sims was waited upon by Jemmy Welsh and Harry Orme, so that he had talent behind him; Sayers had Jemmy Massey and Bob Fuller as counsel. 7 to 4 and 2 to 1 on Sayers.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​Sims was so much taller than Sayers that he seemed quite a lath before him, and, as soon as he held up his hands, displayed such awkwardness that it was evidently “sovereigns to sassingers” on Sayers, and Dan Dismore immediately offered 4 to 1 on him, which was taken by Jem Burn on the off chance. Sims, after a little unartistic squaring, lunged out awkwardly, and caught Tom on the chest with his left. Tom, who was evidently waiting to find out what his adversary could do, returned smartly on the mouth, and in getting back fell on his corybungus.

2.—​Tom grinned, dodged his man, and, on the latter wildly sending out his left, countered him on the nozzle heavily. Sims immediately closed, and Tom, seizing him round the neck, pegged away with his right at the ribs and left eye until both fell.

3.—​Sims led off, evidently without any settled plan; he caught Tom slightly on the mouth, and the latter again countered him heavily on the nose, deciding the first event in his favour by producing an excellent supply of the best crimson dye. Sims did not like this, and again closed, when Tom fibbed him heavily on the proboscis, drawing more of the ruby, and then on the left eye, and both again fell.

4th and last.—​Sims on coming up looked much flushed; his left ogle winked again as if it saw so many bright stars as to be perfectly dazzled. He attempted to lead off, but was countered with the greatest ease by Tom on the left eye and mouth. He retreated as if bothered, and then went in again, when Tom let go both hands, the left on the smeller, and the right with terrific effect over the left brow, inflicting a deep cut, and drawing a copious supply of the best double-distilled. Sims was evidently stunned by the hit; for, as Sayers caught hold of him, he fell back and rolled over him. It was at once perceptible that it was all over; poor Sims lay perfectly insensible and motionless. His seconds did their best to stop the leak in his os frontis, but for some time without effect; and, as for rendering him capable of hearing the call of “Time,” that was quite out of the question, and Tom Sayers, to his own astonishment and the disappointment of those who had expected a rattling mill, was declared the conqueror, after a skirmish of exactly five minutes. Sayers was so bewildered that he could not make it out; he evidently did not know he had made so decided a hit, and displayed considerable anxiety to ascertain the fate of his less fortunate opponent. A medical gentleman was present, who soon did the needful for the poor fellow, and in about five minutes more he was himself again, and was able to walk about. He was quite dumbfounded as to the result, and expressed a strong wish to be thrown into the river; but, after some persuasion from his friends, became more calm, and thought it better “to live to fight another day.”

Remarks.—​A few words are all that are called for in the shape of remarks on this mill. Sims was from the first overmatched. He is a civil, well-behaved, courageous fellow, ridiculously over estimated by his friends. Tom Sayers and his tactics are too well known to require comment. He did all that was required of him, and left the ring without a scratch. We never saw him in better fettle; and if he ever had a day on which he was better than he ever had been before, that day was Tuesday. An easier job never fell to man’s lot; and the best wish that his friends can express is, that he may never have a worse.

This brief episode left Sayers literally without a chance of continuing the main story of his battles, of which this could be hardly reckoned more than “un affaire,” as French militaires would call it. Tom looked round and round, he sparred, and challenged, and travelled, but he was not fancied as a customer by either Londoners or provincials. He was too good a horse, and handicapping him was not so easy. There was much “talkee, talkee” about a match between himself and Tom Paddock, then claiming the Championship, and a proposal for Paddock to stake £200 to Tom Sayers’s £100, Paddock weighing 12st. 8lbs. to Tom’s 10st. 1lbs., or thereabouts. It came to nothing, however; and Tom, in despair, announced his intention of going to Australia.

Harry Poulson, of Nottingham, whose three tremendous battles with Paddock, in the first of which he was victorious, though defeated in the second and third encounters, had raised his fame deservedly, was now talked of, and Tom was induced to match himself against him. Here, again, Sayers was giving away “lumps of weight;” for Poulson, though an inch shorter than Sayers (namely, 5ft 7½in.) was a perfect Hercules in the torso, weighing 12st. 7lbs. in hard condition. He had thrashed, in provincial battles, all comers, and was known as one of the coolest, most determined, and game fellows that ever pulled off a shirt. True, he had come into the London Ring rather late in life, having been born in 1817, but his endurance and strength were considered an overmatch for Sayers. So, too, thought Jem Burn, a staunch friend of Poulson, and he proposed to stake £50 on his behalf. Sayers accepted it, and Bendigo, who was Poulson’s friend and adviser, snapped at what he declared to be “a gift” for his townsman Harry.

Many of Tom’s friends were displeased with the match, which they considered presumptuous on his part, and declared that he was completely overmatched, as it was known Poulson could not fight under 12st., and Sayers to be well ought to be more than a stone under that amount. At first he had some difficulty in finding supporters, but that was happily got over by the influence of one of the staunchest Corinthian fanciers of modern times. After he was matched, Sayers remained longer in town than was prudent, and, as a natural consequence, was too much hurried in his preparations. He was not quite a month at country quarters, and on arriving in London looked fleshy, and had evidently done insufficient work. Had he been about five pounds lighter he would have been all the better. He was, nevertheless, extremely sanguine of success, and assured his backers that he would fully justify the confidence they had placed in him. We saw Tom at Nat Langham’s, the “Cambrian,” on the Monday evening. He was surrounded by an extensive circle of the upper-crust supporters of the P.R. His weight was about 10st. 12lbs. or 13lbs.

Poulson, after his last defeat by Paddock, had remained at Nottingham, where he followed his laborious occupation as a navvy until informed of the proposed match, in which, as already stated, he was taken in hand by Jem Burn. That facetious worthy, determined that no pains should be spared, summoned Bendigo to his assistance, and under the able tutelage of that eccentric but painstaking ex-champion did Harry get himself into very first-rate trim. Every muscle in his powerful frame was beautifully developed, and there did not seem to be an ounce of superfluous meat in any place. As the men were not tied to weight, no scaling took place at the last moment on which dependence could be placed. He was certainly not less than 12st., and might have been a pound or so more. His height 5ft. 7½in., and in figure and general appearance, although shorter and thicker set, marvellously like “the renowned” Bendigo. On the Monday before the battle Poulson took up his quarters under the hospitable roof of “My Nevvy,” at the “Rising Sun,” where he was greeted by an admiring circle, including many patricians. He retired to his “flea pasture” at an early hour; but the eccentric Bendy kept the company at the “Rising Sun” in a perpetual grin until the approach of the small hours reminded him that he, too, had work to do early in the morning, upon which he retired to roost, as did the host himself, who, although suffering from gout, had made up his mind to be present. The betting, at both Jem’s and Nat’s, varied between 6 and 7 to 4 on Poulson—​odds which the superior strength, weight, and condition of the countryman fully justified. The betting was tolerably brisk, but there were more layers of odds than takers.

By six o’clock in the morning all the Fancy were astir, and great was the difficulty in getting cabs. A hard frost had set in, and most of the vehicles were detained at home to get the horses “roughed.” Several, owing to this unforeseen occurrence, were unable to catch the train at eight o’clock; and, had it not been for the opportune arrival of the drag of an old friend, Sayers would, in all probability, have been left behind. As it was, he cut it so fine that he only arrived as the station-doors were closed. The journey down was performed by eleven o’clock, and within half an hour the ring was ready at Appledore. The men lost no time in entering its precincts, Poulson attended by Bob Fuller and Bendigo, and Sayers receiving the friendly assistance of Nat Langham and Jemmy Massey. Umpires and a referee were soon appointed, and at six minutes to twelve the men toed the scratch. The betting now was tolerably brisk at 7 to 4 on Poulson—​odds which, at one period of the fight, advanced to 3 to 1, which was laid by Tom Paddock, whose confidence in his old opponent’s tried game and resolution tempted him to overstep the bounds of prudence in his investments.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​The disparity in weight was very perceptible, as was also the superior condition of Poulson. Sayers, however, had the advantage in height and length. Poulson threw himself into the old-fashioned attitude, with both hands held somewhat high, and planted firmly on both pins. Sayers, on the contrary, assumed an elegant position, resting most upon his left foot, his right arm across the mark, and the left well down. He fiddled a little, until Poulson went in and let go his left and right. The former was stopped; but with the latter he got home on Tom’s nut. A sharp rally instantly took place, which brought them to close quarters, in which Sayers fibbed his man very cleverly, catching him heavily on the conk, and in the end both were down, Poulson under.

2.—​Both were flushed from the rapid in-fighting in the last round, which had evidently been severe. Poulson tried to lead off, but was too slow for his active opponent. He persevered, and at last got home with his right over Tom’s left ear. This led to more heavy exchanges and a close, in which Poulson caught Sayers round the neck. Sayers hit up, but without doing any damage, and in the end was down, Poulson on him.

3.—​Sayers came up smiling but cautious. He fiddled his man until he got within distance, when he lunged out his left on the right brow, but too high for mischief. Poulson returned heavily on the ribs with his right, when Tom retreated. Poulson followed him again, let go his left and right, was beautifully countered, but again too high and on the side of the nut, and Poulson slipped down.

4.—​Sayers feinted and let go his left on the nose, but not heavily. Poulson was wild and missed his return, whereupon Sayers put in his left very neatly on the right cheek. Poulson now went in ding-dong, but his blows wanted precision. He got close, when Sayers caught him on the right peeper and the right lug, from each of which there was a tinge of blood. Tom then closed and threw his man very neatly, falling on him. (“First blood” for Sayers.)

5.—​Sayers again feinted to draw his man, who came in, and Sayers sent his left over his shoulder. Poulson then closed, threw, and fell on him.

6.—​Tom, after one or two feints and dodges, again let fly his left, but was well stopped. Poulson, however, missed his return with the right at the body. He now rushed in determined, and some tremendous punching, left and right, ensued, in which Sayers hit straighter and oftener, but Poulson heavier with his right, which paid some heavy visits to Tom’s nut.

7.—​Sayers again feinted and succeeded in drawing his man, who let go both hands, but out of distance. Sayers with quickness returned on the forehead, but was too high. Heavy counter-hits followed to a close, in which the fibbing was severe, Sayers receiving on the left side of his head and returning on the mouth.

8.—​Both, much flushed on the dial, came up laughing. Poulson lunged out his right, catching Tom heavily on the ribs and then on the cheek, Tom instantly closed, and, after a sharp struggle, in which it was thought Poulson had the best of it, Sayers cleverly back-heeled him, throwing him heavily and falling on him.

9.—​Poulson tried again to deliver his right on the ribs, but Sayers was well away. Harry rushed after him, slinging out both hands, when Tom ducked and escaped. Poulson persevered, and at last caught him with his right on the ribs, when some more severe in-fighting in favour of Poulson took place. In the end both were down.

10.—​On coming up Tom’s nose showed that Harry had been there in the last round; his ribs, also, were unmistakably bruised. He feinted to draw his adversary, and let go his left, which was stopped, and Poulson returned on the ribs. Sayers, with great quickness, countered him as he delivered this blow, and sent him to grass by a sharp left-hander on the right temple. (“First knock-down blow” for Sayers.)

11.—​Poulson came up slow, as if posed by the blow in the last round. Sayers dodged with his left, and popped it over Harry’s right peeper, getting quickly away from the return. Poulson followed him up, but missed his right; he persevered until they got to close quarters, when Sayers again knocked him down by a heavy right-hander on the jaw. (Loud cheers for Sayers, the Poulsonites looking blue.)

12.—​Tom came up smiling and all alive, dodged, and put in his left very straight on Harry’s nasal promontory. Poulson instantly rushed in, but napped it on the right side of his nut and slipped down.

13.—​Poulson, who had been called on to fight with his left, waited for Sayers, and, on the latter coming near, caught him heavily with that hand on the proboscis, staggering him. Tom soon came again, and retaliated by a heavy delivery on the mouth with his left. After some mutual sparring, Harry was short with his left, and Tom countered him with the right on the left peeper, and then with the left bang on the olfactory organ. Some sharp exchanges ensued, in which Poulson drew the ruby from Tom’s snout, and Tom slipped down.

14.—​Both got quickly to work. No stopping; and, after one or two harmless cracks, Sayers got down.

15.—​Poulson again attempted to fight with his left; but Sayers was too quick for him, and nailed him on the right cheek. Harry tried it again, but was stopped; and Sayers then let drive with his left on the smelling-bottle very heavily; he retreated, feinted, and, by putting the double on, succeeded in delivering another smack on the same organ. Some very heavy exchanges followed, in which Sayers got home on the right eye and Harry on the sneezer; Sayers slipped down.

16.—​Tom came up filtering the juice from his beak. Poulson tried to plant his favourite right, but was stopped. He then tried his left, but was out of distance. After several more wild efforts, Sayers caught him with his left heavily on the right cheek, and retreated. Poulson followed him to the corner and let go his left and right, when Sayers countered him on the cheek. Poulson retaliated on the mouth very heavily, and Tom slipped down.

17.—​Tom was now bleeding from the mouth and nose. He was as steady as ever, and planted his left on the side of the head. This led to some sharp in-fighting, without material damage, and in the end Sayers slipped down, tired.

18.—​Poulson bored in, let go his left, which was stopped, and Sayers was out of distance with his return. The same thing was repeated on both sides; but, on their getting closer, some good counter-hits were exchanged, Poulson getting it on the jaw and Tom on the damaged nose. Tom retreated, followed by Harry, who let go both hands, but was prettily popped on the nozzle. Some more sharp exchanges followed, Tom getting it heavily on the left eye, and in the end Tom was down.

19.—​Tom’s left peeper showed signs of closing. Poulson, seeing this, bored in, but was propped on the forehead and cheek. He persevered, when Tom succeeded in planting a very straight nose-ender, which removed the bark from Harry’s proboscis. The force of his own blow staggered Tom, who slipped down.

20.—​The gnomon of Harry’s dial was by no means set straight by these visitations. He tried his dangerous right at the body, but missed. Sayers nailed him again on the snout, and got down.

21.—​Tom again put in his favourite double on Harry’s os frontis and nose, and, on receiving Poulson’s right on the ribs, fell.

22.—​Harry, in his usual style, lunged out his right at the body, but was short; Tom returning on the right peeper, and getting cleverly away. Poulson followed him up, and, after innocuous exchanges, Sayers went down.

23.—​Poulson again led off, but was propped neatly on the forehead and nose. This led to sharp counter-hitting in favour of Poulson, and Sayers was again down.

24.—​Tom tried his double and got home his left on the frontal bone, to the detriment of his knuckles, and again too high to be effective. Poulson pegged away at the ribs and the side of his head very heavily, the latter blow knocking Tom off his pins.

25.—​Tom seemed much fatigued; he nevertheless led off, but without effect. Poulson tried to return, when Tom met him on the nose with his left, and then on the forehead. Poulson once more reached Tom’s nose with his right, and Tom was down.

26.—​Harry tried his left, and succeeded in reaching Tom’s right peeper, but not heavily. Tom returned on the forehead, and then delivered his left on the snout. He retreated to draw his man, and as he came caught him a tremendous spank on the potato-trap with his right, but in retreating caught his foot against the stake and fell.

27.—​Harry’s mouth much swollen from the hit in the last round. He rushed in, when Tom caught him on the nasal organ heavily with his left, and got away. Poulson now tried his left, but was short; and Sayers caught him once more on the lips, renewing the supply of carmine. Poulson rushed after him, and Tom in getting away again caught against the stake and fell heavily.

28.—​Tom smiling, dodged and popped in his left on the mouth, and then on the nose with great quickness, drawing more gravy. Poulson rushed after him, but missed his right; some slogging punches followed on both sides to a close, in which both fell, Sayers under.

29.—​They immediately closed, and after some sharp fibbing, in which Sayers was the quicker and straighter, both were again down. One hour had now elapsed.

30.—​Tom led off, and again reached Harry’s nose. It was a long shot, and not heavy. Poulson missed his return, whereupon Sayers planted his left twice in succession on the nose, and, after receiving a little one on the chest, slipped down.

31.—​Poulson led off with his left, but was stopped, and Sayers was short in his return. Harry then missed his right on the ribs, and napped a hot one on the kisser from Tom’s left. This visitation Tom repeated, and then got on Harry’s nose. Harry rushed at him, and Tom slipped down, the ground being in a dreadful state.

32.—​Sayers feinted and again got well on the mug and nose with his left, and Harry was short with his return. Tom drew him, and as he came got home on the right eye. Harry now reached his left cheek heavily, and Tom got down.

33.—​Tom planted his left slightly on the dexter ogle, and then in the mazzard, getting cleverly away from the return. Poulson followed him up and delivered another terrific smack with his right on the nose, drawing a fresh supply of the sap. A close followed, in which Tom slipped down, bleeding from his proboscis.

34.—​Poulson tried both mauleys, but was short. He then rushed in again, missed, and Tom, in getting back, fell. He was evidently weak, and it was now that Paddock laid 3 to 1, thinking, no doubt, that Poulson, who from his fine condition showed scarcely a mark, would tire him out.

35.—​Poulson went to work, missed his left, but caught Tom with his right on the larboard cheek, which was much swollen, and in the close which followed Tom was down.

36.—​Tom led off with his left on the nose, but not heavily. Harry returned on the nose and the side of his head, and Tom slipped down.

37.—​Harry let go, and planted his right on the nose. Exchanges followed in favour of Poulson, and Sayers got down.

38.—​Tom collected himself, waited for his man, and nailed him twice in succession on the right eye. Slight exchanges followed, and they fell opposite to one another on their knees, the ground being more slippery than ever, and their spikes almost useless.

39.—​Tom dodged, put in his left and right on Harry’s optics; the latter then went to work, and some heavy exchanges ensued in favour of Poulson who nailed Tom with effect on the left eye, and Tom fell. His left eye was nearly closed.

40.—​Tom still took the lead, caught Harry on the snuffbox heavily, and in retreating slipped down.

41.—​Tom busy with the left on the right eye, and then on the mouth. Poulson returned heavily on the left goggle, and then bored Tom down through the ropes, his left daylight being quite extinguished.

42.—​Sayers tried his left on the mouth, but was stopped, and Poulson dashed in, nailed him with the right on the mouth, closed, and fibbed him until Tom was down.

43.—​Tom, although evidently tired, came up smiling, feinted, and let go his left on the right cheek. Poulson dashed in, when Tom met him heavily over the left eyebrow. Poulson still followed him as he retreated, and Tom nailed him on the nose. In the end Tom got down in his corner.

44.—​Tom “put his double on,” but it wanted steam. Poulson then bored in, closed at the ropes, and, after a short struggle, both were down.

45.—​On getting close, some heavy counter-hitting took place, Tom getting on to the right peeper, and Poulson on the mouth, renewing the supply of crimson. Tom retreated, came again and caught his man on the temple, and then on the mouth. Poulson returned on the latter organ and ribs with his right.

46.—​The left side of Tom’s nut was much swollen, and his nose all shapes but the right. He came up undaunted, let go his left well on the right ogle, which at last began to show signs of a shut-up. Tom retreated, followed by Poulson, and as the latter let go his right, Tom countered him bang on the right eye. Poulson returned slightly on the nose.

47.—​Sayers once more tried his double with effect, and got on the right eye. Poulson rushed after him, when Tom slipped down in rather a questionable manner, but there was no appeal.

48.—​Tom crept in and popped his left on the nose. A close followed, in which Tom got down on the saving suit.

49.—​Poulson tried to take the lead, but was too slow for the nimble Tom, who got quickly away. Harry persevered, and got well on the ribs twice in succession very heavily.

50.—​Tom evidently felt the effects of the visitations to the ribs, for his left arm certainly did not come up with the same freedom as before. Poulson went in, delivered another rib-bender, and Tom got down.

51.—​Harry tried to improve his advantage; but Sayers propped him beautifully on the nose, received another little one on the ribs, and dropped.

52.—​Poulson once more swung out his right; but Tom got away, and, as Harry followed, planted his left on the smeller. Poulson then bored him down, and falling himself, carefully avoided dropping on Sayers by placing a knee on each side of him. This manly forbearance on the part of Poulson elicited loud applause on all sides, the more particularly as it was not the first time during the fight.

53.—​Poulson again let go his left and right, but Tom was away, planting his left on the jaw as Harry came after him. Poulson succeeded in delivering his right slightly on the cheek, and Sayers got down.

54.—​Poulson led off left and right, but was stopped, and he, in turn, stopped Tom’s attempted deliveries. Tom then made his left on the throat and mouth by one of his clever doubles, and, after napping a little one on the proboscis, dropped.

55.—​Poulson popped his right on Tom’s damaged peeper, and then on the jaw very heavily. Heavy exchanges followed, each getting it on the side of the cranium, and in the end Sayers was down.

56.—​Tom feinted, put his double on the mouth and throat, and, as Poulson followed him up, he took advantage of a slight hit to go down.

57.—​Poulson dashed his right on the left cheek, and Tom was again down, evidently requiring rest.

58.—​Harry got well on to Tom’s conk with his right, and then with his left, and Tom dropped.

59.—​Harry again led off, but the blow was of no effect; he followed it by another on the nose, and a third on the side of the head, and Tom went to earth.

60.—​Harry made his left and right, but they were very slight, and Tom got down.

61.—​Sayers was now recovering his wind, and, waiting for his man, countered him very straight on the right eyebrow as he came in, inflicting a cut, and drawing the carmine. Exchanges in favour of Sayers followed, who again caught his man over the right peeper, and, in the end, Tom got down, the Poulson party asking why he did not stand up, and claiming a foul, which was not allowed, there being no ground for it.

62.—​Tom led off, but missed, and napped a heavy smack on the whistler from Poulson’s left. On getting close, a tremendous counter-hit with the right was exchanged, Sayers getting it on the jaw, and Poulson on the right eye, each knocking his adversary down.

63.—​Both slow to time, the counter in the last round having been a shaker for each. Poulson was bleeding from the right ogle, and Tom from the mouth. Tom again got on to Harry’s right eye, and, on getting a little one on the mouth, once more fell.

64.—​Tom, again very weak and tired, waited for his man, caught him slightly on the left cheek, and slipped down. Another claim that he went down without a blow disallowed, the ground being very bad; the referee, however, cautioned him to be careful.

65.—​Tom tried his left, which was easily stopped, and Poulson nailed him on the mouth. A close and fibbing followed, when Tom, having all the worst of this game, got down.

66.—​Poulson led off with his right, which was stopped, and Sayers missed his return; Poulson then caught him a little one with his right on the side of his nut, and Tom, glad of the excuse, got down.

67.—​Harry tried his left, and succeeded in reaching Tom’s right cheek. Heavy counter-hits followed, Poulson on the nose, and Tom on the left cheek; and Tom, in turning, after getting another crack on the side of his occiput, dropped.

68.—​Poulson dashed out his left, but Sayers got cleverly away. He tried it again with the same result, and on making a third essay, Tom countered him well off on the right ogle. He then made his left twice on the left eye, and, as Poulson rushed at him, got down. Two hours had now passed, and the punishment was pretty equally divided. Poulson’s right eye, like Tom’s left, was completely closed, and each of their noses was much out of shape. The right side of Tom’s face was unscathed, but his ribs bore heavy marks of punishment. Poulson had a mouse under his left eye, but was much stronger on his legs than Sayers, and it was still thought he must wear him out. Many also imagined that, as Tom was getting slower, Poulson would knock him out of time with his dangerous right.

69.—​Tom tried to lead off with his left, but was stopped twice in succession, and Poulson nailed him on the snorer. Tom returned the compliment by a tidy smack with his right on the mouth, drawing more of the cochineal; slight exchanges followed, and Sayers got down.

70.—​Tom’s left was again stopped, and Harry was short in his return. Tom then feinted and popped his double on the nose and right cheek, which he cut slightly.

71.—​Poulson let go his left, but did not get home. On Sayers attempting to return, Harry popped him on the nose, and Tom got down.

72.—​Poulson’s left was stopped easily; he then tried a one, two, and reached Tom’s mouth with his right; the left, however, did not reach its destination (the unscathed side of Tom’s phisog). In the end Tom got down.

73.—​Sayers stopped Poulson’s one, two, and then got home on the right eye. Poulson returned on the chin. Some rapid exchanges followed, Tom making both hands on the mouth and left cheek, and Poulson getting in on Tom’s nose. Poulson closed, when Tom caught him heavily on the mouth, and Poulson got down.

74.—​Tom put in a well-delivered left-hander on the damaged peeper. Slight exchanges followed, and Tom got down.

75.—​Tom getting more lively every round, and Poulson’s head at last beginning to swell. Tom let go his left on the throat; good counter-hits followed, Poulson on the mouth, and Tom on the side of the head. Poulson then dashed in with his right on the ribs, leaving marks of his knuckles. Tom retaliated on the right eye, and a determined rally followed, in which each got pepper; but Sayers was straighter in his deliveries. In the end he was down. The Poulson party began now to look serious; their man was gradually going blind of both eyes, and Sayers appeared to be no weaker than he was an hour ago, added to which he had still a good eye.

76.—​Both came up piping from the effects of the last round. Poulson tried his left twice, but Sayers got away, and, as Harry came after him, met him well on the mouth, and then on the right eye, and in the end both fell side by side.

77.—​Sayers came up smiling as well as his distorted mug would allow; he dodged, and then got well over Poulson’s guard on to his left eye. Harry instantly returned on the chin, when Tom once more popped his left on the mouth heavily, and got away. He played round his man and at last sent home another left-hander on the left eye—​a cross hit. Poulson just reached his jaw with his right, and Tom got down.

78.—​Tom made play with his left on the right ogle, and avoided the return. Poulson persevered, and at last Tom got down in his corner.

79.—​Poulson dashed in his right on the nose, but not very heavily; Sayers returned on the right gazer, and napped a heavy right-hander on the cheek, from the effect of which he went down weak.

80.—​Tom steadied himself, crept close, and popped his left on the left eye. Poulson rushed at him, and heavy counter-hits were exchanged on the jaw, both coming to the ground side by side.

81.—​Tom missed two attempts to deliver, and received another heavy thwack on the bread-basket. Heavy exchanges ensued in favour of Poulson, who was always best at close quarters, and Sayers got down.

82.—​Tom came up a little stronger, and let go his left, but not heavily, on the right cheek. Poulson tried a return, but Tom, who gradually retreated, propped him as he came in, on the right eye and nose. Poulson, determined if possible, to make a decided turn in his favour, persevered, and some rattling ding-dong fighting took place, each getting it heavily on the dial, and in the end both were down.

83.—​Both looked the worse for the last round, but Poulson’s left eye was fast following suit with his right, and it was evident to all that if Sayers kept away it was a mere question of time. Sayers feinted, put in his double very neatly on the mouth, and then got a hot one on the left cheek. Good exchanges at close quarters followed, in which Poulson’s visitations to Tom’s snout were anything but agreeable, while Tom was busy on the right eye. This was another ding-dong round, and astonished every one after the men had fought so long. In the end Sayers got down, and Poulson fell on his knees at his side.

84.—​Tom’s double was once more successful, and he got well on Harry’s smeller. Poulson once more reached the left side of the nut, just by the ear, and Tom fell.

85.—​Poulson led off with his left, getting well on Tom’s nose. Good counter-hits followed, Tom getting it on the mouth, and Harry on the left eye. Poulson now dashed in, but got one on the right eye; he, however, nailed Tom on the right ear, drawing claret. Another desperate rally followed, in which Jack was as good as his master, and in the end Sayers got down. Two hours and thirty minutes had now elapsed.

86.—​Poulson dashed in, but Sayers stepped nimbly back, propping him as he came on the left eye. Harry at last made his right on the left ear, and Tom got down.

87.—​Poulson again rushed in, but Sayers, after propping him over the right eye, dropped. Another claim of foul not allowed.

88.—​Tom tried his left, but was short; Poulson then rattled in, caught him on the left side of his knowledge-box, and Tom dropped.

89.—​Poulson, after being short with his one, two, made his right on the ribs, and Tom fell.

90.—​Poulson again hit out of distance; he persevered, and eventually nailed Tom slightly on the nozzle, and that hero wisely got down, by way of a rest, finding that Harry was still dangerous at close quarters.

91.—​Tom stopped Harry with great neatness, and then planted his left on the throat; heavy exchanges followed in favour of Poulson, who again reached Tom’s left ear very severely, drawing more of the Burgundy, and Tom fell very weak.

92.—​Tom, who staggered up, received a heavy one from Harry’s right on the brow, and got down.

93.—​Neither very ready at the call of “Time,” but Tom slowest; he nevertheless came up steady, and, as Poulson rushed in, planted his left very heavily, first on the right eye and then on the nose, and got away, followed by Poulson, who forced the fighting. Heavy exchanges followed, Harry on the ribs and Tom on the forehead, and Tom down.

94.—​Poulson for the first time got on to Tom’s right eye, but not heavily; he then popped his right on the ear, and also on the ribs very heavily, staggering Tom, who evidently winced under the latter visitation. Tom, however shook himself together, and some sharp exchanges took place, which ended in Sayers dropping to avoid a fall.

95.—​Poulson’s right neatly stopped. He tried again with a rush, but Tom cleverly ducked and got away. Poulson followed him up, and napped a sharp reminder over the right brow; Poulson returned on the chest, and Tom got down.

96.—​After some harmless exchanges, Sayers got down, amidst the groans of the Nottingham party.

97.—​Poulson was again neatly stopped, and Tom returned heavily on the mouth, turning on the main once more. Poulson made his right on the ribs, and then on the left cheek, and, after one or two harmless passes, Tom got down.

98.—​Sayers put in his double on the throat, and Poulson rushed to a close, and, after a brief struggle, Sayers fell; Poulson again, and in the most manly way, avoiding failing on him.

99.—​Tom, evidently the best man, dodged, and put in his left on the side of Poulson’s head; Harry wide of the mark with his return. Tom came again, dodged him, and whack went his left on the smelling-bottle. Slight exchanges followed, and then Poulson, as Sayers was retreating, caught him a heavy right-hander on the jaw which knocked him down.

100.—​The Poulsonians anxious for the call of “Time;” but to their surprise Tom came up quite steady. He dodged his man, popped in his double on the nose and left peeper without a return, and then on the throat, and in getting back fell.

101.—​Poulson, nearly blind, dashed in with determination, and heavy counter-hits were exchanged, Tom getting well on the mouth and Harry on the nose, and Sayers slipped down. Three hours had now elapsed.

102.—​Sayers drew a fresh supply of the ruby from Harry’s right cheek, and, in retreating, fell. Another claim of foul.

103.—​Poulson went in and made his right on the side of Tom’s head. Tom retreated, advanced, making his usual feint, but, on seeing Poulson coming at him, he tried to get back, and, his legs slipping apart, he could not get himself into a defensive position, and fell. Another claim of foul was here made; but the referee, who had not seen the round, owing to the interposition of the bodies of the seconds and backers of Poulson, pronounced “fair;” and in his decision we decidedly concur, as, in our opinion, the fall on the part of Sayers was entirely unpremeditated and accidental. It was for some time before order was restored; and the delay was of the greatest advantage to Sayers, while it had an opposite effect on Poulson, whose left eye was now all but closed.

104.—​Tom came up gaily, dodged his man, who came towards him, and then nailed him heavily on the proboscis and left peeper. A close followed, and Sayers got down.

105.—​Slight exchanges, in which no damage was done, and Sayers slipped down.

106.—​Poulson dashed in to make a last effort, and heavy counter-hits were exchanged. Sayers caught him on the left eye, and received a heavy rib-bender and then a crack on the left ear, whereupon he dropped.

107.—​Sayers, bleeding from the left ear, came up slowly and feinted in his usual style; caught Harry on the right eye, and then on the mark. Poulson popped his right heavily on the ribs, and another give-and-take rally followed, at the end of which Sayers, who was still weak on his legs, got down.

108.—​Poulson’s face was now much swollen and there was scarcely a glimmer from his left peeper. He was, however, still strong as ever on his pins. He rushed in, knowing he had no time to spare, and caught Tom heavily with his right on the left ear. Exchanges followed, Sayers being straightest. Poulson bored in, and got home heavily with his right on the ribs, when Tom delivered his left heavily on the jaw, and knocked him down.

109, and last.—​The last blow had evidently been a settler for the gallant Poulson: he came up slowly and all abroad. The game fellow tried once more to effect a lodgement, but missed, his head came forward and Tom delivered the coup de grâce by a heavy right-hander on the jaw, which again knocked the veteran off his legs, and, on being taken up, he was found to be deaf to the call of “Time.” He recovered in a few minutes, and shed bitter tears of disappointment at the unsatisfactory and unexpected termination of his labours. Sayers walked to a public house adjoining the field of battle, and of course was vociferously congratulated by his friends and admirers upon his triumphant success. Poulson was also conveyed to the public-house, and, after taking some refreshment, became himself. He was quite blind, and his mug otherwise much battered, but beyond this had sustained no serious injuries. Sayers complained a good deal of the punishment about his body, and the repeated visitations to the side of his head, but of course the fact of his being the winner went far to allay the physical suffering he endured. Both were enabled to return to town in the same train with their friends, and arrived at their respective houses about half-past nine o’clock. The fight lasted three hours and eight minutes.

Remarks.—​Owing to the minute details which we have given of all the material incidents in this really extraordinary battle, we may spare our readers the trouble of reading many observations upon the respective merits of the men, of which the account of the different rounds will have enabled them to form as correct an opinion as ourselves. Tom Sayers, by his quickness on his legs, his steadiness and excellent judgment, not only astonished his adversary and his backers, but completely took his own friends by surprise. He had evidently much improved, in every possible way, since his defeat by Nat Langham. Great fault was found with him for his too constant resort to the dropping system; but for this he had every excuse. He scarcely ever went down without having had a bustling round, and once only during the battle did we observe anything at which an impartial man would cavil. This was at a period in the middle of the fight when he was extremely weak, and at the time no appeal was made by the friends of Poulson. It must be taken into consideration that Tom was anything but himself, and the ground was far from favourable for keeping on his legs and getting out of the reach of his weighty and powerful adversary. It has been urged that the ground was as much against Poulson as Sayers; but this was hardly so. Poulson is a steady ding-dong fighter, of the squarest build, does not depend much on his defensive tactics, and makes little use of his legs; while Tom had to be continually jumping back, and, when opposed to such superior weight, would of course find proportionate difficulty in keeping on his pins. Indeed, many times when he fell he came to the ground with such a “thud” as must have shaken a good deal of his strength out of him. We are aware that since the match had been made many things had occurred to harass Tom’s mind, and that he had pecuniary difficulties to contend with which, we trust, will not exist in future matches; and this, again, must be taken into consideration. He does not want for friends, and, we doubt not, with steadiness and good conduct, will find himself on the high road to prosperity. Of Harry Poulson’s gallantry and manliness we cannot say too much. He fought from first to last in a game, straightforward manner, with an evident determination to do his best to win in a fair and honourable way. He scorned to take advantage of many opportunities of falling on his man, when he might have done so with perfect fairness, and otherwise comported himself in a manner as reflects the very highest credit upon his character as a man, and a demonstrator of the noble art of self-defence. Although evidently annoyed at being unable to get home as he expected, he still never allowed his temper to get the better of him; and often when Tom, from his shifty tactics, evaded what had been intended as a finisher, he stood and shook his head at him, as much as to say it was too bad, but not once did he allow a harsh or angry expression to escape him. He is truly one of the gamest of the game; but he is too slow, and depends too much on his right hand, to have much chance of success against a really finished boxer. We do not consider that his age had anything to do with his defeat, for he is as fresh as most London boxers who are ten years his juniors. His bravery and universal good conduct cannot but secure him the respect and support of all admirers of such good qualities.

The conquest of Poulson was unquestionably the greatest achievement of Sayers’s pugilistic career. He was now established as a man with whom the men under 12 stone on the boxing list must not meddle; at any rate, none other were likely to get backers against him.

From this period the name of Tom Sayers mixes itself with every question of the belt and the Championship.

In the year 1855, a proposition was set on foot by a number of patrons of the Ring, to raise, by subscription, a sum of money to purchase a belt of greater intrinsic value than anything of the kind previously presented, in lieu of the belt which had “gone astray” during the squabbles between Bendigo, Caunt, and the Tipton Slasher. Lists were opened, and before long a sum of nearly £100 was collected. To Mr. Hancock, of New Bond Street, was entrusted the manufacture of the trophy, and from that gentleman’s establishment was produced the elegant badge of the highest fistic honours which Tom Sayers so well and so worthily won. On the belt being ordered, the committee who undertook its management issued the following as the conditions on which it should be held: “That it should not be handed over to any person claiming the Championship until he had proved his right to it by a fight; that any pugilist having held it against all comers for three years, without a defeat, should become its absolute possessor; that the holder should be bound to meet every challenger of any weight who should challenge him for the sum of £200 a side, within six months after the issue of such challenge, within the three years; that he should not be bound to fight for less than £200 a side; that at the final deposit for every match within the three years the belt should be delivered up to the committee until after the battle; and, finally, that on the belt being given to the winner of any Champion-fight, he should deposit such security as should be deemed necessary in the hands of the committee to ensure the above regulations being carried out.”

No sooner did it become known that the belt was ready for whosoever could win it, than there was a general stirring up of the dormant energies of the big men who had retired, or thought to be about to retire, from the Ring. Harry Broome shook himself together; the Tipton Slasher roused him from his lair; Tom Paddock’s hair stood on end between hope and fear of disappointment; while Aaron Jones, who about this time (1855) had fought the second of two tremendous battles with Paddock, and, though defeated, had entirely removed any impressions as to his want of pluck caused by his battles with Harry Orme, also pricked up his ears, and issued a defiant grunt. The only man among the recent combatants for Champion’s honours who made no sign was Harry Orme, who was content to rest upon his well-earned reputation. At first it was thought there would not be found a man sufficiently venturous to tackle the “Ould Tipton,” but this was soon seen to be a fallacy; for not one only, but each and every of the aspirants sent out a defiance to the crooked-legged hero of the hardware districts. The first cartel that reached him was that of Aaron Jones, and with him preliminaries were at once arranged.

The challenges of Broome and Paddock arriving afterwards, the Slasher informed them that they must wait the issue of the struggle with Jones. Broome and Paddock seemed both disinclined to wait for this event, and neither was desirous of postponing his claims to those of his co-challenger, and, as a natural consequence, a good deal of badinage took place between them, which ended in their being matched for £200 a side, to ascertain which should have the preference. While they were in training Aaron Jones was compelled to forfeit to the Tipton Slasher, through meeting with an accident during his training; so that there appeared a clear course for the winner.

The fight between Broome and Paddock took place on the 19th of May, 1856, and was won by Tom Paddock with ease in 51 rounds, and 63 minutes, it being at once apparent that, though Harry Broome had all the will and the courage to do deeds of valour, the power had deserted him, and he had become prematurely old and stale. (See page 294.)

Soon after Paddock’s defeat of Broome, Paddock obtained the acme of his desires—​viz., a match with his old opponent, the Slasher; but when £80 a side had been staked Master Tom allowed his temper to get the better of his judgment, and, having offended his best friends, had to forfeit through a scarcity of “ochre.” This was not only a disappointment to himself, but also to his opponent, who was thus foiled in his efforts to get hold of the belt, which could not be obtained without a mill, and which he had made sure of winning from Tom Paddock. Just previous to this mishap Jones had recovered from his accident, and, to the surprise of all, had been matched with the “coming man,” Tom Sayers; so that even here the “Old’un” was again done out of an opponent, and the belt still remained in abeyance, to abide the issue between Sayers and Jones, the winner to meet the ponderous Tipton for the coveted trophy. This fight, which took place on the banks of the Medway, on the 19th February, 1857, we now propose to narrate.

Owing to the puritanical persecution to which the Ring had been for some time subjected, a line of country had to be selected which had for a long time been untried, so that there was every prospect of matters being adjusted in that quarter without let or hindrance. Although bills were circulated, stating that a train would leave the Great Northern Station at King’s Cross on Tuesday at nine o’clock, it was at the eleventh hour considered that the locality would on the present occasion be too “warm,” and therefore, an alteration was deemed prudent. This alteration could not be made public at so late a period, and it was only those who happened to consult the initiated at the benefit of the Pugilistic Benevolent Association, on the previous Monday evening, who got a due to the real state of the case. The consequence was that on Tuesday morning, at the Fenchurch Street Station, there were at the utmost 180 persons, including a considerable number of patricians and a very small proportion of the professors of the noble art, while of the “roughs” and other noisy demonstrators there was an almost total absence. These gentry and some few unfortunates of the higher class hastened to the Great Northern terminus at the hour named in the handbills, and great was their disappointment, and loud their indignation, at finding themselves sold.

The start from Fenchurch Street took place at eight o’clock precisely, and by nine o’clock Tilbury was reached, where all at once embarked in a vessel provided for the purpose, and by twenty minutes to ten were safely on board, and, greatly to the credit of the managers of the expedition, a start was at once effected. In order to throw dust in the eyes of the Blues, it was determined to proceed straight to the mouth of the river; and, in the face of a stiff gale from E.N.E., the journey to the Nore was effected in excellent style. The lumpy water in this locality had, as may be imagined, a most unpleasant effect upon many of the voyagers, whose stomachs, unaccustomed to salt water, and anything but improved in tone by their nocturnal vigils (as they had sat up all night in order to be early in the morning), were turned inside out; and the consequence was that swabs and buckets of water were in strong demand. After about an hour’s tossing among the billows, “’bout ship” was the cry, the river was re-entered, and the vessel sped homewards until a spot was reached not far from Canvey Island, where Freeman and the Tipton Slasher fought. With some difficulty a landing was effected, and Tom Oliver, Tom Callas, Puggy White, &c. proceeded to form the lists, although it was not without extraordinary exertions that anything like a favourable spot could be found, and even this was rough and extremely uneven, from the late heavy weather. Numerous were the mishaps of the company on landing, but by no means equal to those they experienced on attempting to regain the vessel after the battle was over, when thick darkness overspread the land, and led many an unwary traveller into mud and mire of the most consistent character. The ring was pitched by half-past twelve o’clock, and a tolerable outer ring was established; but, as usual when the attendance is small, the difficulty of preserving this outer circle intact was very great, and towards the close of the fight, notwithstanding the exertions of some of the ring-keepers, the spectators crowded close to the ring, but, fortunately, did not disturb the ropes and stakes.

The combatants, who had made a sort of demi-toilette on board the steamer, quickly entered the ring, Sayers attended by Jemmy Welsh and George Crockett, Jones advised by Alec Keene and Mike Madden. The stake was £100 a side. The career of Tom’s youthful antagonist will be found sketched at pages 253, 283, and 289 of this volume. Jones had the advantage of Sayers in age by five years; his height 5 feet 11½ inches, and his weight 12st.

Jones, after his defeat by Orme, was on the shelf for a period of two years. He then came out with a challenge to Tom Paddock, which was accepted, and the men met July 18, 1854, at Long Reach, for £100 a side, and, after as gallant a struggle as was ever witnessed, Jones became blind, and his friends gave in for him, after fighting 121 rounds in two hours and twenty-four minutes. So satisfied were his backers on this occasion that they at once expressed their willingness to make a fresh match. After some little time articles were entered into, and they went into training for the second mill. This affair came off at Mildenhall on the 26th of June, 1855, and was another display of manly courage and perseverance on both sides. Towards the close Jones, who for some time had the best of it, fell off very weak, and Paddock, who, like his opponent, was much punished and exhausted, saw that his time was come, and, shaking himself together, he rattled away in style until poor Aaron was once more compelled to cry “a go,” after a contest of sixty-one rounds, in one hour and twenty-nine minutes. Jones after this was matched with the Tipton Slasher, as we have already stated, but this went off; and this brings us to the present meeting.

On entering the ring both men were loudly cheered, and both looked equally confident. No sooner had they put in an appearance than speculation began. The Sayers party originally stood out for 6 to 4, but being unable to get on at that price, they reduced their demands to 5 to 4, at which price considerable business was done, and a bet of £10 to £8 was made and staked between the men. It was piercingly cold; and, the ground being in a moist state, all looked anxious for business, in the hope that the excitement of the combat would dispel some of the shivering fits to which the spectators, one and all, notwithstanding their Crimean-looking outfits, seemed to be subject. Little time was lost by the men in denuding themselves of their remaining outer-garments, and, the handkerchiefs having been tied to the stakes (a light grey and white for Sayers, and a neat white and blue check for Jones), at one o’clock precisely “Time” was called, hands were clasped, and the men began

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​On baring their forequarters to the piercing breeze, a perceptible shiver ran through the carcases of the combatants. Sayers looked in perfect condition; every muscle was perceptible, and we doubt whether there was an ounce of superfluous flesh about him. There was a smile of confidence on his lips and bright sparkle in his eye that betokened extraordinary health and spirits. His attitude was artistic and firm, yet light. Of course he stood on the defensive, and eyed his heavier opponent. There did not appear to be that disparity of size that really existed; for Jones stooped rather on throwing himself on guard, and thus reduced his height almost to a level with that of the gallant Tom, who was upright as a dart. Aaron’s condition did not seem to us so first-rate as the first glance at him had led us to suppose. His muscles, though large, were too well covered, while his back and chest also displayed much superfluous meat, and we should say that his weight could not have been less than 12st. 4lbs. He, like Sayers, looked confident, but was far more serious in his demeanour. They both commenced the round with the utmost caution, sparring, and attempting to draw one another into something like an opening; but for a long time neither would throw a chance away. At length Jones dashed out left and right; but the blows passed over Tom’s shoulders, and Tom with quickness tapped Aaron on the face, but without force. Sayers now let go his left, but Jones retreated. Tom persevered, and was cleverly stopped. In a third attempt, after more dodging, he got heavily on Aaron’s mouth and stepped back without a return. Jones now assumed the offensive, but was stopped, and Tom, after another dodge or two, planted his left heavily on the mark, and then the same hand on the side of Aaron’s nut, but not heavily. Jones returned heavily on the right peeper, and shortly after made a second call at the same establishment. More stopping and dodging, until Sayers paid another visit to Aaron’s kisser, Jones missing his return. Each now stopped a lead; but immediately afterwards Jones popped in his left on the snuff-box, a heavy hit without a return. Tom grinned a ghastly grin; but the crack evidently made him see stars. Jones attempted to repeat the dose; but Tom got well away, and, as he retreated, popped his left on the neck. More excellent stopping on both sides, and, after a few harmless exchanges, Tom tried a double with his left and got on the throat, but the blow lacked steam. Jones returned with quickness over the left peeper, inflicting a cut and drawing the claret. (“First blood” for Jones.) Tom, although staggered, was undaunted, and went at his man with determination. He once more got on the bread-basket heavily. Good counter-hits followed, in which Jones again reached Tom’s damaged peeper, drawing more of the essential, and Tom delivered a straight one on the snout, removing a small portion of the bark. Tom then got on the left eye, and, after some sharp punching at close quarters, both fell. This round lasted exactly half an hour.

2.—​Tom came up much flushed, and the crimson distilling from his damaged eye. After a little dodging, he tried his double, but did not get it home. He tried a second time, but was stopped, and Jones returned on the left eye. This led to very heavy counters, each on the larboard goggle. Jones now feinted, and popped his left on the nose. They got hold of one another, swung round, broke away, and Sayers then popped his left again on the left eye. Severe exchanges followed at close quarters, and both in the end were down.

3.—​Sayers quickly led off with his left, and was stopped. He then tried his double, but was short. In a third essay he got home on Aaron’s nose, but not heavily. Twice again did he pop in gentle taps, but he now napped another rattler on the left eye. Severe exchanges followed, Aaron again turning on the stream from Tom’s left brow, and Tom tapping his opponent’s snuff-box. More exchanges in favour of Jones; and in the end both fell in a scrambling struggle, Jones under.

4.—​Tom’s left brow and the left side of his canister were much swollen, but he was still confident, and led off, Jones countering him well on the mouth. Heavy exchanges followed, Tom on the nose, and Jones on the left cheek, and both again slipped down, the ground being anything but level.

5.—​Tom let fly his left, but was neatly stopped; Jones returned on the side of the brain pan, and got down.

6.—​Sayers came up, looking very serious, and it subsequently turned out that he was suffering from severe cramp in the stomach and lower extremities. He went in, feinted, and got well home on Jones’s left eye. This led to sharp exchanges and a close, when both were down, Jones being underneath. Aaron had now a bump on his left peeper, which was apparently closing.

7.—​Aaron lost no time in sending out his left, which fell on Tom’s chest. Heavy counter-hits followed, Jones on the nose, and Tom on the mouth. More exchanges in favour of Sayers, who again got on Aaron’s damaged optic, and the latter got down.

8.—​Sayers went to his man, and tried his double, the second blow dropping on Aaron’s sneezer, and Tom then got cleverly away from the return. Exchanges ensued, Tom on the mark, and Aaron on the mazzard; Aaron then got home his right heavily on the left side of Tom’s knowledge-box, then his left on the left eye, and in the close Sayers was down.

9.—​Aaron led off, but was well stopped, and this led to some sharp exchanges, Jones on the bad peeper, and Tom on the left brow. Sayers tried another double, and once more visited Aaron’s nose, but not heavily. More mutual stopping, and Jones, at length, in getting away, slipped and fell. One hour had now elapsed.

10.—​Tom planted his left on the beak, and received a little one in return on the forehead. Jones now let fly his left and right, but was cleverly stopped. In a second essay he got home on the left cheek. Heavy exchanges followed, Tom getting on both peepers, and Jones on the side of Tom’s cranium with both daddles, and Tom fell.

11.—​Aaron had now a mark on each peeper, the left fast closing. Tom’s left, too, appeared almost shut up. Jones tried to take the lead, but missed; Sayers likewise missed his return. Exchanges followed in favour of Jones, who, in the end, closed, and in the struggle both fell, Jones uppermost.

12.—​No time lost; both quickly at it, and some sharp exchanges took place in favour of Jones, who got heavily on Tom’s nose. Tom made his left on the body heavily, and they then pegged away wildly at close quarters until Jones got down.

13.—​Aaron dashed in and pegged away left and right, but without precision, and ultimately bored his man down.

14.—​Jones feinted and popped his left on the left eye, without a return. Tom then let go his left, but was short, and Jones, in dashing at him in return, slipped and fell.

15.—​Aaron led off, left and right, but Tom got away. He came again, and tried to plant his left, but was short. He then tried his double, but Jones got away. Both now sparred and dodged, but nothing came of it. At last Jones dashed in, and heavy exchanges took place in favour of Jones, who, however, in the end, fell.

16.—​Both at once went to work, and heavy exchanges took place, each napping it on the left ogle, and both fell through the ropes.

17.—​Tom’s forehead and left eye much disfigured. Jones let fly his left and right on the sides of the nob very heavily, and both again fell through the ropes.

18.—​Tom came up slowly, and was nailed on the damaged peeper. In return he caught Aaron on the brow, but not heavily. Jones then made his left and right on the side of the head and left eye, and Tom retaliated on the nose a little one. A close followed, and in the end both were down, Jones under.

19.—​Tom dodged and got home on Aaron’s smeller with his left, and Aaron then made both hands on the left side of Tom’s wig-block. A close and sharp struggle, when both fell, Tom under.

20.—​Jones dashed in and let go both hands on the head. Tom returned on the left brow, and both fell backwards.

21.—​Aaron again dashed in. He missed his right, closed, and both fell, Jones under.

22.—​Tom now led off, but missed, and Jones caught him heavily with his right on the frontispiece, and knocked him down. (“First knock-down for Jones.”)

23.—​Tom, on coming up, showed the effect of the last blow on his forehead. He attempted to lead off, but was very short. He tried again with a like result; and Jones, in letting go both hands in return, overreached himself and fell.

24.—​Aaron rattled in, planted his left and right on the scent-box and left ear, the latter very heavy, and bored Tom down.

25.—​Tom came up bleeding from a severe cut on the left lug, and his gnomon much out of straight. He tried to lead off, but Jones caught him on the right brow, but not very heavily. Tom then got home on the body, and tremendous counter-hits followed, in favour of Jones, who, in the end, slipped and fell, Tom catching him, just as he reached the ground, on the side of the head.

26.—​Jones went in left and right, closed, and both were down. Sayers was now very weak, and the Jonesites were in ecstasies.

27.—​Aaron led off, getting well on the side of Tom’s nut with his right. Tom missed his return, and Jones then planted his left and right on the top of the skull; closed at the ropes, where Tom managed to throw him but not heavily.

28.—​Jones led off, and got well on Tom’s nose with his left, and Tom returned on the side of the head. After a little dodging, Jones popped his left on Tom’s left peeper, and his right on the jaw, again flooring Tom and falling on him.

29.—​Tom, who was excessively weak, came up slow, but determined; he tried his left at the body, but was short. Jones then let fly his left in return, but was countered on the mouth. He then planted his left and right on Tom’s damaged listener, and in the end fell.

30.—​Aaron, after a few dodges, once more popped a little ’un on Tom’s ear. Tom thereupon dashed in, but got a little one on the nose, and another on the side of the head, and Jones, in getting away, fell, laughing.

31.—​Jones attempted to lead off, but Tom got away. Jones followed him up, caught him again on the side of the nob, closed, and both rolled over together.

32.—​Jones dashed in, planted both hands on the brain-pan, closed, and forced Tom down.

33.—​Jones again rushed in, but inflicted no damage, and again bored Tom down.

34.—​Jones still forced the fighting, and caught Tom, who seemed very tired, on the side of the head, and, in the end, both slipped down.

35.—​Sayers was forced down, after getting a gentle reminder on the side of his damaged figure-head.

36.—​Tom, a little refreshed, sparred about for wind, until Jones went in, and heavy exchanges took place, in favour of Jones, when both fell backwards.

37.—​Tom, recovering a little, tried his double, but Jones got away, and, as Tom came, he nailed him on the left brow. Tom then made his left on the mark, but again napped it heavily on the left eye. Aaron now got on the nose with his left—​a heavy spank—​and, in getting back, he staggered and fell.

38.—​Jones dodged, and planted his left on the mouth heavily, and his right on the side of the head. Tom returned slightly on the nose, and, after slight exchanges, both fell.

39.—​Very slight exchanges, and Sayers slipped down.

40.—​After a little sparring they got close, and exchanges took place, each getting it on the mouth. Sayers then tried his left at the mark, but Jones got away. Tom followed him up, and was caught by Aaron, left and right, on the side of his head and fell.

41.—​Tom came up, shook himself, and rattled in, but he got it on the top of his cranium. Jones, in stepping back, fell. Two hours had now expired.

42.—​Jones, steady, let go his left on the side of Tom’s head, and then both mauleys on the same spot. Tom followed him up, but got it again on the brow. He, however, got home on Jones’s body, and, in retreating slipped and fell.

43.—​Long sparring for wind, until Jones once more made play on the left side of Tom’s occiput, and then on his snout. Tom returned on the latter organ, but not heavily. He now tried his favourite double, but did not get home. In a second attempt he got heavily on Aaron’s proboscis, and got away. Exchanges followed, in which Tom again delivered heavily on the nose with his left, and in the end Jones dropped.

44.—​Tom was now evidently recovering from his exhaustion. He came up steadier, and sparred shiftily until Jones commenced the attack, when he stopped him neatly. Heavy counter-hits followed on the jaw, after which Sayers tried the double once again, but was stopped. More good counter-hits, Tom getting well on Aaron’s left eye, and receiving on the mouth. Aaron’s left eye all but closed.

45.—​More sparring, until Jones let fly his left, but Sayers got away. Exchanges followed, Tom on the whistler, and Jones on the nose, but not heavily. More sharp counter-hitting, Tom once more getting on the left eye severely. Jones returned, but not effectively, with both hands on the side of the head, and in getting away from the return he fell.

46.—​Jones succeeded in planting a spanking hit from the left on the left eye, and then another with the same hand on the left cheek. In a third attempt he was stopped. Heavy counter-hits followed, and in the end Jones fell, Sayers falling over him.

47.—​Aaron feinted with his left, and got well on Tom’s nose; a very straight hit. Tom, in return, tried his double, but was short. After some more ineffectual attempts they got to it, and tremendous exchanges took place, each getting it on the nose and left eye, and in the end Jones got down. Two hours, fifteen minutes.

48.—​Tom tried to lead off, but was stopped, and Jones planted his left on the cheek. Tom now stopped two of Jones’s hits, after which heavy exchanges took place, Tom getting well on to the left eye, and Jones on the nose. More sharp exchanges, left and right, each getting pepper in earnest, and the favours mutually divided. A break away, and to it again, ding-dong, and Tom drew the crimson from Aaron’s left peeper, which was now effectually closed. In the end Jones fell. It was now anybody’s battle; Tom had quite recovered his wind, and was nearly as strong as his heavier opponent.

49.—​Both much punished. Sayers sparred until Jones tried to lead off, when he got away. Jones followed him up, but was short in his deliveries. In the end they closed, and as they were falling Tom popped his right sharply on Aaron’s back.

50.—​Jones, after sparring, led off, and got home on the nose, but not heavily; Tom returned on the right peeper, and some pretty exchanges, left and right, took place, followed by a break away, and Jones then stopped Tom’s left; Tom, in return, stopped Aaron, and planted his left on the mark, and then on the left eye, and Jones got down.

51.—​Jones led off, but was stopped. He persevered, and a good give-and-take rally followed, Jones getting on the left eye, and Tom on the left cheek heavily. Tom next got on the mouth, drawing the Burgundy, and then on the nose and left cheek. Another sharp rally followed, after a break away, and in the end both down.

52.—​Sayers visibly improving while Jones fell off. Jones was short in his lead, and Tom returned on the smelling-bottle, and got away. Jones followed and dashed out his left, but Tom ducked his head. Tom then got home on the mouth and nose, and drew more of the ruby from the latter ornament. Jones succeeded in returning a little ’un on the left eye, and Sayers slipped down.

53.—​Jones, who was bleeding from the left eye and month, led off, but was well stopped. He then missed his left, but in the end heavy exchanges, left and right, took place, Jones on the side of the nut and the neck, and in getting back he fell.

54.—​Tom now essayed a lead, but was stopped. A second attempt reached Aaron’s body, but not heavily, and Jones returned on the nose. Tom tried his double, but missed, and Jones popped a little one on the mouth, and then his left on the left eye, and fell in the corner.

55.—​Tom dodged about until he got within distance, and then got home heavily on the mark. Jones returned on the jaw with his right, but not heavily. After some more sparring, Jones dashed in, when Tom met him very sharply on the right cheek-bone with his left, and Aaron fell all of a heap. He was carried to his corner, where it was with the utmost difficulty he could be got round at the call of “Time.”

56.—​Jones came up all abroad, and Tom popped in another spank on the same spot, whereupon Jones again fell. It was thought to be all over; but, by dint of shaking him up, Aaron was again enabled to respond to the call.

57.—​Tom rushed at his man to administer the coup de grace, but, going in without precision, he contrived to run against Aaron’s left, which was swung wildly out, the blow, which alighted on Tom’s nose, regularly staggered him. He quickly recovered himself, and went in again, but Jones fell weak.

After this, the battle continued to the 62nd round, Jones getting gradually blind, and Sayers becoming very tired. At length in the 62nd round, after slight exchanges, the men, who were much exhausted, stood still, looking at each other for some time, their seconds covering them with rugs. Upon this the referee and umpires called on them to go in and finish. Both went to the scratch, but on Sayers approaching Jones, the latter retreated to his corner, and Tom, in obedience to the orders of his seconds, declined going to fight him there. It was getting dark, and it was clear that Jones and his friends were determined not to throw a chance away. The referee once more called on Jones to go to the scratch, which he did, but with precisely the same result; and the referee, seeing that Tom was not strong enough to go with prudence to finish on his adversary’s ground, and that Jones was unwilling to try the question at the scratch in his then exhausted state, ordered the men to shake hands, leaving the motion as to further hostilities to a future day. Both were severely punished; each had a peeper closed; Jones’s right was fast following his left, and his right hand was injured; so that a second meeting the same week was not to be thought of. The fight lasted exactly three hours. The men and their friends now hastened to regain the vessel, and it was dark long ere the last of the company were safely on board. Of course there were many laughable accidents in the mud through which all had to wade; but luckily, nothing occurred of a serious nature to mar the pleasures of the day, which, although in some measure clouded by the fact that the battle was not finished, still left sufficient impression on the minds of the spectators to cause them to remember this brilliant passage of arms, which formed so hopeful an opening to the pugilistic year 1857. The vessel conveyed the company with all due speed to a convenient place for debarkation, whence they obtained a passage by railway to the Metropolis, which was reached in safety by nine o’clock. Numerous complaints were made by the disappointed ones who went to the Great Northern Railway, at the manner in which they were deceived; and the only consolation is that we are sorry for those whom we should have been glad to welcome at the ring-side, but who have themselves alone to blame for not finding out the final fixture as many others had done; while as to others of a certain class, who are always more free than welcome, we can with truth say their room was better than their company, and we rejoice, with others who were present, that they were so completely sold. Some unlucky wights got a sort of hint as to the fixture, and arrived within a few miles of the spot at a late hour in the afternoon, and were landed, but unluckily for them, on the wrong island, and here the poor fellows had to remain all night, and sleep under a haystack. The boats that landed them had departed, and they could make no one hear; so that, cold, hungry, and thirsty, they had to weather the cold, severe night in the best way they could.

The renewed battle, which was for £200 and an additional bet of £100, was fixed for Tuesday, the 10th February, 1857, on the same spot as the previous gallant encounter. On this occasion Sayers was seconded by Jemmy Massey and Bill Hayes, with Jemmy Welsh as bottle-holder; Aaron Jones by Alec Keene and Jack Hicks, Jack Macdonald taking care of the restoratives. 7 to 4 on Sayers.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​On toeing the scratch the condition of both men struck the spectators with admiration. In our opinion it was perfect on both sides, but the development of muscle was decidedly in favour of Sayers, who is better ribbed up, and has his thews and sinews laid on in the right place. He looked brown, wiry, and healthy, and, for a middle weight, seemed wonderfully big. Jones, who is of fairer complexion, was altogether more delicate in appearance than Sayers, and, although so much taller, heavier, and longer, did not loom out so much larger as might be expected. He is a fine-made, muscular young fellow, but still there is an appearance about him which at once leads to the conclusion that his stamina is scarcely fitted for the wear and tear of gladiatorial encounters. He is about twenty-six years of age, and in height is over 5 feet 11 inches, while Tom Sayers is thirty-one, and is little more than 5 feet 8 inches. It was soon seen that Sayers intended to pursue different tactics to those he adopted on the previous occasion. He dodged about for a few seconds, and then let go his left and right with great quickness, but Jones stopped him neatly, and in getting back fell.

2.—​Tom came up smiling, feinted with his left, and then tried his favourite double; the first hit was stopped, but the second caught Aaron on the chin. This he repeated, and got away without a return. After trying his double once more without success, he planted his left very heavily on the mark. Jones at once went to close quarters, and some quick in-fighting took place in favour of Sayers, who got well on to Aaron’s snuffbox with his left, drawing “first blood.” Jones got on the left side of Tom’s head, but not heavily, and at length both fell.

3.—​Both quick to the call of “Time,” and Sayers at once went to work with his left, Jones countering him heavily, each getting it on the forehead. Tom then popped his left on the mark, and Aaron returned, but not heavily, on the nose. Tom now again planted the left on the mark, and was stopped in a second effort. Heavy exchanges next took place, Tom once more drawing the cork from a cut on Aaron’s sniffer, and receiving on the left ear. After a few dodges, Tom again approached, and made a heavy call on Aaron’s bread-basket, then planted a stinger between the eyes, and got away laughing. He attempted to repeat the dose, but was stopped. Another effort was more successful, and he dropped on the mark, staggering Jones, who, however, recovered himself, and popped his left on the chest, then on the left cheek, but not heavily. Sparring until Tom got within distance and shot out his left heavily on the proboscis, without a return, Jones being a little wild. Tom now essayed his double, but Jones got away, and returned on the mouth. Tom persevered, and napped a little ’un on the left eye for his pains; still, he would be at work, and got well on Aaron’s left peeper, drawing the ruby. Heavy exchanges followed, Jones getting on Tom’s left brow, and Tom turning on the home-brewed from Aaron’s nasal organ. After two or three slight exchanges in favour of Sayers, he again put the double on, reaching the left cheek and bread-basket. Next he popped another hot one on the victualling department, receiving a slight return on the forehead. After a break away he stole in, and bang went his left on Aaron’s damaged eye, drawing more of the ruby. A merry little rally followed in favour of Sayers, who at last broke away, and sparred as if blown from his fast fighting. Jones approached to take advantage of this, when Tom propped him on the brow, and then on the forehead. Jones returned with both hands, but not heavily, on the brow and body, and another bustling rally came off, Tom getting home on the left ogle and throat heavily, and Aaron on the larboard cheek. Another break away, and Tom, on getting himself together, resumed the double, got on the mark very heavily, and then popped his right on the left side of Aaron’s nob; he got away laughing, and as Jones tried to follow him up he warned him off by a pop on the left eye. A heavy rally at last took place, in which Jones got sharply on the left ear, and Sayers on the left eye, and this protracted and well-fought round was concluded by Tom slipping down.

4.—​Sayers, on coming up, showed a mark on his forehead, and another on his left ear, while Aaron’s left eye and nose were much out of the perpendicular. Tom lost no time in going to work, and planted his one, two, the left on Aaron’s right eye, and the right on the left jaw, knocking Aaron off his pins. (“First knock-down” for Sayers.) Jones seemed all abroad, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he was got round to the call of “Time.”

5.—​Sayers at once went in left and right, but he was too anxious to finish his handiwork, and the blows lacked precision. He reached the side of Aaron’s nob, and Jones returned slightly on the same spot, and after mild exchanges, both fell. This gave Jones time to get round, and by the commencement of the next round he had shaken off the nasty one he had got in the fourth.

6.—​Tom tried his double, but missed, and Jones rushed in to close, when Tom caught him round the neck and punched him heavily on the left peeper and nozzle, drawing more of the ruby, In the end both fell, Sayers under.

7.—​Aaron came up with his left eye all but closed. Tom let go his left, but Jones returned on the nose. Tom tried again and got on the ribs; Jones returned merrily left and right, but did little damage, and Tom fell in his corner.

8.—​Jones dashed in and pegged away with both mauleys on the left side or Tom’s knowledge-box; Tom returned on the left brow and closed, when both fell, Tom under.

9.—​Jones again dashed in, and some sharp in-fighting took place, followed by a close, in which both fell, Jones, this time, being underneath.

10.—​Tom’s dial seemed flushed, but his eyes were still uninjured. Jones rattled in to close, some quick fibbing took place, followed by a long struggle for the fall, which Sayers got and fell on his man. In drawing his legs away, he brought one foot in smart contact with Aaron’s leg, which was claimed as a foul kick, but disallowed by the referee, being evidently accidental.

11.—​Jones again took the initiative, and let go both hands on Tom’s forehead, and then his left on the nose. Tom returned on the left eye, and then a squasher on the mark. Exchanges, and Sayers fell, evidently fatigued by his fast fighting.

12.—​Jones persevered in his forcing system, and got on the left side of Tom’s cranium, Tom returning very heavily on the nose. Jones again went in, and planted his left under the left optic, closed, and both fell, Tom under.

13.—​Jones rushed at Tom, and pegged away at him in his corner. It was a rambling, scrambling round, and both fell, no mischief being done.

14.—​Jones again led off, but Tom propped him well on the left eye, and Aaron fell on his face.

15.—​Good exchanges on the left cheek, after which Jones got well on Tom’s throat, closed, and both were down.

16.—​Jones dashed at Tom, popped in his left and right on the frontispiece and nose, and bored Tom through the ropes.

17.—​Jones again opened the ball, got on to Tom’s left ear, closed, and both were down.

18.—​Aaron led off on Tom’s nose; Tom returned on the left eye, very heavily, and Aaron fell.

19.—​Tom resumed the initiative, and reached Aaron’s nose—​by his favourite double. Jones returned, but not heavily, on the forehead; after which Tom cross-countered him prettily on the left peeper, and this led to exchanges in favour of Jones, when Sayers fell.

20.—​Both quick to work; good exchanges, and in the end Jones floored Tom by a heavy right-hander on the jaw. (Loud cheers for Jones.)

21.—​Jones, elated, rushed in, but Tom steadied him by a straight ’un on the left cheek, and Jones dropped.

22.—​Aaron missed both hands, and after some sparring Tom caught him heavily on the left ogle, and Jones dropped. Sayers also fell.

23.—​Tom, who seemed getting fresh wind, rattled in, and planted his double on the nose and mouth. Jones rushed at him, and in the scramble Sayers was bored over.

24.—​Tom popped a left-hander on the “grubbery,” received a little one on the nose, and fell.

25.—​Heavy exchanges, Sayers on the left eye, and Aaron on the nose. Jones slipped down.

26.—​Jones led off with both hands, but not heavily, and Tom returned severely on the nose and left eye, which was now quite closed. Jones fell.

27.—​Jones rushed to close quarters, and after a brief struggle fell.

28.—​Tom feinted, and popped his left twice on Aaron’s damaged peeper. Jones returned on the mouth, and Tom fell.

29.—​Jones went to work, catching Tom over the right eye, and Sayers in getting back fell.

30.—​Both went to work with good will, and, after sharp exchanges in favour of Sayers, Jones got down.

31.—​Aaron tried to lead off, but was well stopped, and Tom returned on the mark. He next popped his left on the left cheek, and in getting away slipped down, just escaping a heavy upper-cut.

32.—​Tom feinted, and then got well on to Aaron’s nose with his left, and retreated, Aaron pursuing him. At length they got close, and Tom sent in a stiffener on the scent-box, receiving a right-hander on the left ear, which opened a cut received in their former fight, and both fell.

33.—​Tom again seemed tired, and sparred for wind. Jones came to him, when Tom let go his left on the jaw, closed, and both fell.

34.—​Tom slowest to time. He tried his left, but was stopped; Aaron closed, and Tom fibbed him on the left eye as they fell.

35.—​After a little dodging, they got close, and heavy counters were exchanged. They now closed, and, as they fell, Tom again put a little one on Aaron’s left eye.

36.—​A close and a struggle, when both fell, Jones under.

37.—​Sayers led off, but was stopped, and, after a wild scramble, Tom fell. One hour and five minutes had now elapsed.

38.—​Jones dashed in, but Tom steadied him by a left-hander on the left cheek, and Aaron got down.

39.—​Jones, still first, let go left and right on the mouth and left cheek. Sayers returned on the blind eye, and got down.

40.—​Jones let fly his left, but missed. Slight exchanges to a close, and both down.

41.—​Jones, on the forcing system, planted his left on the jaw and then on the left ear, and as he was pursuing his man he fell on his face.

42.—​Jones missed his left. Tom returned open-handed on the back, and Jones dropped.

43.—​Jones dashed to a close at the ropes, where they pegged away smartly but ineffectually until they fell.

44.—​Tom got home on the left jaw. Aaron missed both hands, and fell.

45.—​Jones went to work, but without precision, and as Sayers retreated, Jones fell on his face. It was clear that Tom was carefully nursing himself, while Jones, feeling that both his ogles were going, was forcing the fighting, in order to tire out his opponent before he became blind.

46.—​Jones rattled in and caught Tom on the left cheek, but not heavily. Tom returned on the left peeper, drawing more claret, and Jones dropped.

47.—​Aaron, in his anxiety, missed both mauleys, and Tom caught him a heavy right-hander on the proboscis, whereupon Jones dropped.

48.—​Jones went to his man, who nailed him on the left ogle, and, as Jones persevered, he caught him heavily on the throat, and Jones fell.

49.—​Tom tried to lead off, but was short, and Jones returned heavily on the ribs with his right. He then attempted to close, but, on Sayers catching hold of him, he fell.

50.—​Tom tried his double, but Jones stopped him, and in getting away slipped down.

51.—​Slight exchanges; Jones on the mouth and Sayers on the nose, and Jones down.

52.—​Jones led off and was neatly stopped. Tom missed his return, and Jones fell forward.

53.—​Tom led off and got on Aaron’s blind eye. Jones returned very slightly on the nose, and fell.

54.—​Tom planted his left heavily on the mark, which led to mutual exchanges, and Jones fell.

55.—​Tom feinted and popped both hands slightly on Aaron’s good eye, which began to tell tales. Jones returned on the left ear, but it was too long a shot to do damage, and Sayers fell.

56.—​Aaron opened the ball, and planted his left and right on the nose and ear twice in succession. He then rushed in, when Tom stopped him by a straight one on the blind eye, and Jones down.

57.—​Jones again went to work, but Tom was too quick on his pins, and got out of harm’s way. Sayers missed his return, and Jones fell.

58.—​Tom, still on the nursing system, kept himself quiet, waiting for the attack. Jones went in, but Tom stepped back; slight exchanges ensued, and Jones down.

59.—​Jones let go his left; Tom ducked his nut, and the blow went over, when Jones fell. A claim of foul, as Jones fell without a blow. The referee said, “Fight on.”

60.—​Jones popped his left on the chest; Tom returned on the left cheek, and Jones fell. One hour and a half had now elapsed.

61.—​Jones, still first to begin, got on Tom’s nose and fell, Tom falling over him.

62.—​Jones planted his left very slightly on the ride of Tom’s nob; Tom just touched him on the smeller in return, and Jones down again.

63.—​Jones rushed in, caught Tom on the chin, and Tom fell. The blow was not very heavy.

64.—​Jones missed both hands, got a little one on the side of his nut, and fell.

65.—​Jones got home, left and right, heavily on the ribs; Tom retaliated on the mark, and Jones down.

66.—​Jones let go his left, but Tom avoided the force of the blow by stepping back. He returned on the neck, and Jones got down.

67–71.—​In all these rounds Jones led off, but did no mischief, from Tom’s quickness on his pins, and in each Jones was down.

72.—​Tom still waiting and resting himself; Jones came in and planted his right on the ribs. Tom returned on the right ogle, but not heavily, and Jones down, his right eye going fast. Sayers, though much tired, had both eyes well open, and his face presented no very serious marks of punishment.

73.—​Heavy exchanges, and Jones fell on his face.

74.—​Jones tried to lead off, but was stopped. Counter-hits, Sayers on the nose, and Jones on the cheek, and Jones fell.

75.—​Heavy exchanges, in favour of Sayers, and Jones down.

76.—​Jones, who saw he must do it quickly or not at all, dashed in recklessly, but was stopped. Tom popped a little one on the nose, and Jones down.

77.—​Jones was again stopped, and Tom got well on his good eye, and Jones fell.

78.—​Sayers stopped Aaron’s rush, and again got on to his good peeper. Jones instantly fell on his knees.

79.—​Aaron delivered his left on the nose, and, in trying to repeat it fell on his face. Another claim that he had fallen without a blow not allowed.

80.—​Heavy exchanges, Tom getting again on Aaron’s good peeper, which was now all but shut up, and Jones down.

81.—​Jones led off, but wofully out of distance, and fell forward.

82.—​Exchanges in favour of Sayers, and Jones down weak.

83.—​Tom, who saw his time had arrived, went in, planted his favourite double on Aaron’s good peeper, and Jones fell.

84.—​After a little fiddling, Tom crept close again, dashed out his left on the good eye, and then on the cheek, and Jones down.

85 and last.—​Jones made a last effort, was easily stopped, and, as he turned round Tom caught him with his right a terrific half-arm hit on the right eye, and knocked him off his pins. It was evidently a finisher. Poor Aaron’s nob fell forward, and it was at once apparent that his remaining daylight was closed; and his seconds, seeing this, of course threw up the sponge, Tom being proclaimed the winner, after a gallant battle of exactly two hours. Sayers at once went to shake hands with his brave antagonist, and then repaired on board the vessel, whither he was soon followed by Jones, whose damaged peeper was at once looked to by a medical friend. The poor fellow was very severely punished, but he did not seem to feel this so acutely as he did the bitter disappointment of having to play second fiddle to one so much smaller than himself. The expedition quickly got under way, and all reached the Metropolis by nine o’clock. As soon as Sayers was dressed he went round among his fellow-passengers, and made a collection for his fallen antagonist, which reached the sum of £8. Beyond fatigue, and a few trifling bruises on his forehead and nose, he was unscathed, and he certainly could scarcely be said to have a black eye.

Remarks.—​We have little doubt that many of our readers will have anticipated the remarks that we feel called upon to make respecting the two game encounters between these men. On the first occasion it was obvious that Sayers felt he had a great undertaking before him, and he was therefore naturally cautious in the outset not to throw a chance away which might at once put the victory beyond his reach. Jones was known to be a very heavy hitter with his right, as was proved by the severe punishment he dealt out to Tom Paddock in both their mills. Sayers accordingly “played ’possum,” and in the first few rounds allowed him to take the initiative, in order that he might measure his powers carefully before he exposed himself to danger. Tom proved himself extremely quick on his pins, and by his agility he to a certain extent neutralised the effect of Jones’s severe lunges. True, he got hit occasionally with effect, as witness the cut over his left eye, and also on his left ear. Jones, to his surprise, found before him a man clearly his superior at out-fighting, and one, too, as he soon discovered, but little his inferior in bodily strength. For the first hour and a half, it will be recollected, he had apparently the advantage, Sayers suffering severely from cramp, and having to depend principally upon his legs to keep him out of harm’s way; but after this he gradually recovered, and Jones, as was the case in his fights with Paddock, after the said hour and a half, gradually fell off, and became languid in his exertions. Tom, of course, improved the occasion, and showed such superiority in hitting that many thought he would have won with the greatest certainty had not darkness come on. We must confess that, although we did not say so at the time, we entertained a similar opinion, and we at the same time thought that the darkness was in other respects an unfortunate circumstance for Sayers, believing, as we did, that Jones, profiting by experience, would at the next meeting have resorted to a different system of milling, and, by at once going to close quarters, have reduced his adversary to such a state in a few rounds as to render victory certain. It seemed to us that this would have been his game in the first fight, instead of trusting to long shots, at which he found Sayers as good as himself, and we, in common with others, were fully prepared to see him adopt the system. There is no harm now in making known our opinion that Aaron’s performance on the first occasion disappointed us not a little. We all along thought Sayers had overmatched himself, and it was not until the conclusion of the first round that we changed our mind. Many shared our belief that the man who could maul the game and resolute Paddock as Jones had done must prove too much for an antagonist so inferior in size and weight as Sayers, and many blamed the latter for his presumption. Among this latter class we do not number ourselves, for it is our practice never to blame a man for soaring at high game when he really feels confidence in his own powers. Ambition, when kept within bounds, is a praiseworthy quality, and Sayers merely followed the example of other middle weights who had preceded him, in essaying to raise himself to a higher level when he could not find an antagonist worthy of his fist in his own sphere. How fully he was justified in his confident aspirations the result has proved. On Tuesday last, as may be gathered from our account of the fight, Jones fought even less “judgmatically” than at the first merry meeting. Instead of forcing the fighting at once, as he had expressed his intention of doing, he allowed Sayers to open the ball, and in the very onset to inflict such punishment upon him as to shake the confidence of his friends very materially; and not only did he allow his adversary to take extraordinary liberties with him, but he seemed to have lost his precision in returning, and for some time made not the slightest impression upon Tom’s wig-block. The exceedingly clever performance of Sayers in the third round, and the apparent impunity with which he got home upon all parts of Aaron’s dial, took his own friends by surprise, and the fear expressed was that he was fighting too fast for a long day, and that the strength and length of his opponent must tell with fearful effect when he became tired. He was cautioned as to this, but requested to be allowed to fight his own way, as he knew what suited him best. The blow on Aaron’s jaw in the fourth round was very severe, and nearly decided the event, and this we are induced to believe had some effect in stopping his rushes later in the fight, when, had he been capable of continuing the offensive with effect, the result might have been very serious to Tom, who for a long period was exceedingly fatigued, and had to nurse himself in the most careful manner in order to bring himself through. The improvement he (Sayers) displayed in every way, since his last match, was extraordinary. His system of leading off is almost perfect, and his quickness on his legs would have delighted the late Mr. John Jackson, whose opinion on the subject of this qualification is well known. He had little recourse to stopping, trusting to his activity to keep him out of harm’s way, and the success with which his manœuvring was attended was proved by the fact that he had scarcely a black eye, and, beyond exhaustion, had nothing to complain of. In addition to his quickness in defence, he seems also to have acquired greater facility in pursuing the offensive, and the weight with which many of his blows fell upon his opponent proved that his hitting was as effective as that of most 12 stone men. As usual, he stood up in the gamest, most resolute manner, and faced his adversary throughout with the utmost good humour, but, at the same time, with determination. By many it was expected he would have adopted the dropping system, as he had done with Poulson; but we were delighted to perceive that on neither occasion did such a notion enter his head; and indeed we are told that even with the bold Nottingham man he would not have had recourse to it, had he not been terribly out of condition, and altogether in such a state as to be incapable otherwise of resisting the onslaughts of so powerful an opponent. We understand that Tom has now an intention of looking still higher in the scale for an opponent worthy of his powers, and both Tom Paddock and the Tipton Slasher are talked of as his next antagonists, but that he will first rest on his oars a while to recover from his recent fatigue. How far this may be true we know not, but we presume time will show. Of this, however, we are confident, that whoever the Middle Weight Champion may next pick out, that worthy must look to his laurels, and leave no stone unturned to get himself fit for the fray; for big as he may be, he will have a hard day’s work before him. Of Aaron Jones we must say that his exhibition on each day disappointed us, and fell far short of what we expected after his extraordinary encounters with Paddock. True it is that he never once flinched from punishment, and when severely hit persevered in the most manly way to turn the scale in his favour. Not a word can now be said against his character for gameness and gluttony, for both which qualities he had already earned for himself sufficient fame in his passages with Paddock to remove any stigma that his meetings with Orme might have cast upon him. Most gamely did he persevere while Sayers was fatigued to force the milling and to wear out his antagonist; but, owing to the great quickness and judgment of Tom, his efforts recoiled upon himself; and, being unable to effect any punishment, he did but reduce himself below the level of the gallant Tom, and thus fall a prey to his opponent’s superior judgment and tactics.

Sayers’s triumphant coups d’essai with two good “big ’uns” gave him an open “perspective view” of the goal of his ambition—​the Championship—​an honour never yet achieved by a middle-weight. With this view he addressed a challenge to the redoubtable 13 stone Tipton Slasher, who then claimed the belt; the Tipton having received forfeit in 1856 from Harry Broome, who retired, and in the year 1857 from both Tom Paddock and Aaron Jones.

Never since the memorable battle between Caunt and Bendigo, in Sept., 1845, had there been a match which excited such general interest outside the circle of regular supporters of true British boxing. Here was a man, the acknowledged Champion of the Middle-weights, boldly throwing down the gauntlet to the equally acknowledged Champion of England, and daring him to combat for the title and reward to which for so long a time he had laid claim without meeting an adversary of his own weight and inches daring enough to deny his pretensions. Not a semblance of ill feeling was there existing between the men, and we are glad to state that throughout, even up to the very contest itself, they maintained towards one another the most kindly sentiments. The only matter at issue between them was whether a man of 5 feet 8½ inches, and under 11st. in weight, possessed of whatever science he might be, could contest, with any chance of success, against one topping the 6 feet by half an inch, and weighing not less than 14st. 6lb. The Slasher himself laughed at the idea of defeat, and stated to us his firm belief that on entering the ring he would, in addition to his other advantages, be found the cleverer man of the two. He said he had made up his mind not to run all over the ring after his younger and more active opponent, but to take his stand at the scratch, and await the onslaughts of the gallant Sayers. This we (who knew the bold Tom’s capabilities) deemed a sound determination; how far the burly Tiptonian adhered to it on entering the ring will appear in the sequel. Sayers also, to some measure, made us his confidant as to his intentions on the day of battle, and intimated that he believed the Slasher was perfectly worn-out and incapable of anything like prolonged exertion. He had fully made up his mind, he said, to keep him on his pins, and lead him about the ring, by forcing the pace, until he should be so exhausted as to be somewhat nearer his own mark. He, like the Slasher, scorned the idea of defeat, and felt such intense confidence from the very day the match was made, that he invested almost every penny he possessed upon the result of the encounter. The excitement in all quarters increased week by week from the time the match was made, and in every sporting circle the contest was made one of the great themes of discussion. The general feeling at first appeared to be that Sayers had by his victory over Aaron Jones got above himself, and that his overweening confidence would lead him into unexpected difficulties, if, indeed, as was in many quarters anticipated, the match did not end in a forfeit on his part. As the time approached, however, and it was found that both men were in active work, and evidently both meaning mischief, the doubts as to the match going on vanished, the only point remaining for discussion being the foolhardiness of Sayers, and the overweening confidence of his friends in allowing the match to come to an issue for the full stakes. The Sayers party, however, maintained their own opinion, and from first to last contended that the Slasher was stale and out of practice, that he was destitute of scientific acquirements, and so slow that any want of size and weight on the part of his adversary was fully compensated for by these deficiencies. We believe they never refused to take 6 to 4, and finally accepted 5 to 4 against their pet.

The doings of Tom’s gigantic opponent will be found in our fourth Chapter. We have noted the awakening given to the Ring by the announcement of the New Champion Belt, and the Slasher’s defiant challenge. Tom accepted the terms, and Jemmy Massey immediately made the match for the Tipton; the day being fixed for the 16th of June, 1857. So soon as articles were signed, the Slasher, who was then keeping a public-house in Spon Lane, Tipton, gave up his business and betook himself to training at Boxmoor, where he got off some superfluous flesh acquired in his calling as a Boniface; indeed when we saw him one evening at Owen Swift’s he appeared to have been carefully prepared. He was certainly not so hard and thin as we had seen him some years before; but his complexion was fresh and his muscles well developed, and he told us he “drew the balance at 14st.” He expressed entire confidence, and grinned good humouredly at the bare mention of defeat by so small an opponent. The Tipton left London overnight to avoid interruption, and was picked up on the downward voyage at Tilbury.

The stakeholder (the Editor of Bell’s Life) having to name the place of fighting, proposed to charter two steamers; one to convey the men, their seconds and friends, the other a select party of Corinthians; and for this tickets were issued. At the last moment, however, the scheme miscarried, a special boat being unobtainable. A gentleman, however, offered a vessel to start from Southend, with 250 passengers as a maximum number, on the Tuesday morning, to convey the “excursionists” wherever they might wish to go. This offer was gratefully accepted. The number was, subsequently, limited to 200, including ring-keepers, men, and seconds. On arriving at Southend, it was blowing a gale from the S.E., and there was a heavy sea on. The boat could not come alongside the pier, and it was with great difficulty that the passengers were able to get on board. It was upwards of an hour before Tom Oliver and the ropes and stakes were got in.

When all were on board, the vessel steamed out to sea, and rounded the Nore Light. The passage was anything but enjoyable to bad sailors, and many offered their contributions to Neptune in the most liberal manner. The passengers in the fore-part of the vessel were drenched with salt water, but they bore the infliction with stoical good humour. The men entered the ring between two and three, but just as all was arranged, the company seated, and the dressing commenced, a bevy of blues was seen swiftly approaching the ring. Sauve qui peut was the order of the day, and all rushed off to the steamboats, many, in their anxiety, making for the wrong vessel, and many mistakes consequently occurring. All, however, got on board one or the other by three o’clock, and a move was made some miles farther on to an island, where a second debarkation speedily took place. Another ring was pitched, and round it were quickly ranged some 3,00 persons. The movements of the steamer had put all the frequenters of the river on the qui vive, and the water was studded with boats and sailing vessels of various sizes conveying their numerous freights to the scene of action. The ground selected was excellent for milling purposes, and the inner and outer rings were formed with as much expedition as possible, for fear of further interruption. A good business was transacted in the sale of inner-ring tickets, the amount realised by which was £47 2s. 6d. The number of Corinthian sportsmen was the largest we remember at the ring-side, and the spectators most orderly. At half-past four the men entered the ring ready for business; Sayers attended by Nat Langham and Bill Hayes, and the Slasher under the superintendence of Tass Parker and Jack Macdonald, perhaps the best pair of seconds that could be found. No time was cut to waste in preliminaries; the colours were tied to the stakes—​blue and white spot for Sayers, and the old blue birdseye for the Slasher—​and at twelve minutes to five they were delivered at the scratch, the betting being 6 to 5 on the old one.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​On toeing the scratch the contrast between the men was, as may be imagined, most extraordinary. The ould Tipton topped his adversary at least four inches, and it looked, to the uninitiated, “a horse to a hen.” His immense frame and ponderous, muscular arms and legs seemed calculated to bear him to victory against four such men as Sayers. He looked all full of confidence, and evidently considered he had a very easy little job before him. He was thinner than we expected to see him, and his condition generally was very fair, but there were the usual indications of age upon certain points where the fulness and roundness of youth had disappeared from his form. He looked all his age (thirty-eight); indeed, by many he was thought to be far on the shady side of forty. His attitude was ungainly, but still he was rough and ready, and the question that suggested itself was “how was Sayers to get at him?” Tom Sayers, as he advanced to meet his antagonist, was the perfection of manly strength and athletic development. His fine broad shoulders, small loins, and powerful arms and legs were all turned in one of Nature’s best lathes, and there was not a fault to find, unless it was found that he had two or three pounds more flesh than was necessary about his back and ribs. His attitude for attack or defence was admirable, and however confident the Slasher was, it was perfectly obvious that Sayers was not one whit behind him in that respect. The Slasher had evidently made up his mind to set to work at once and cut his man down in a jiffey. He lumbered in like a huge bear, let go both hands with more vigour than judgment, but did not get home, and Sayers, in stepping back, fell, but at once jumped up to renew the round. The Slasher went at him, put in a little one on the skull, and Tom again fell.

2.—​The Slasher came up evidently with greater confidence than ever, and lunged out his right, which reached Tom’s ribs with great force, and Tom countered him sharply on the mouth, drawing “first blood.” The Slasher looked astonished, stopped to consider a moment, and again went in, swinging his great arms like the sails of a windmill. Sayers danced lightly out of harm’s way, and then, stepping in, popped a tidy smack on the spectacle-beam, and got away laughing. After dancing round his man, and easily avoiding several more lunges, Tom again got home on the snuffer-tray, removing a piece of the japan, and drawing a fresh supply of the ruby. The Tipton, annoyed, rushed in, missed his right, and also a terrific upper-cut with his left, and Sayers again dropped in upon the nose. After this, slight exchanges took place, the Slasher too slow to be effective. He now chased Sayers all over the ring, the latter dancing round him like a wild Indian, or fleeing like a deer, to draw him after him. The vicious blows aimed by the Slasher all fell upon the air, and his exertions to catch his nimble antagonist caused him to blow off steam to an indefinite extent. Had one of the intended compliments alighted upon Tom, it looked as if it would have been all over with him. After Sayers had completed his dance he went to his man, cleverly avoided a good right-hander, and delivered another very hot one on the proboscis (more “Lafitte” of the premier crû). The Tipton tried his heavy punches again three times and missed; a fourth attempt was prettily stopped, after which both hit short. The Tipton next got on Tom’s right cheek with his left, but not heavily, and some very pretty stopping followed on both sides, after which the Tipton made another rush like a bull at a gate, and found himself once more battling with vacancy, Tom having slipped under his arm, and danced off laughing. The Slasher looked with astonishment, and shook his nut. Sayers again approached, and after one or two feints a good exchange took place, Sayers getting on to the left eye, and the Slasher on the ribs. Sharp counter-hits followed, Slasher on the mouth and Tom on the cheek. Tom now led off with his double, but the Slasher stopped him prettily twice in succession, when he missed his return. The Slasher again pounded away, principally with his right, but without effect, as Sayers jumped back or stopped every effort. Sayers now planted a stinger with his left on the mark and stopped the return. The next minute he got sharply home on the nasal organ, and jumped quickly away from a well-intended upper-cut, which looked like a finisher. The Slasher now stopped one or two pretty leads, but his return came so slowly that Sayers was far out of harm’s way. This occurred several times, the Slasher rushing about like a baited bull, Sayers skipping and nimbly getting away from every rush. After a little of this entertainment Sayers went in, let go his left, and was stopped neatly, and he, in turn, stopped two very round hits on the part of Perry. Sayers next feinted, and got home a slashing left-hander on the right cheek, which he cut severely, and drew a plenteous supply of ruby. Another hit fell on the same spot. The Slasher then got a little one on Tom’s body, and tried again, but Tom got away. The Slasher retired to his corner to get his mug wiped, and, on coming out again, Tom led him another dance all over the ring, the Old One, with more haste than speed, trying to catch him, and repeatedly expending his strength in empty space. At last Sayers, having given him a good turn at this game, stopped to see whether he was pumped, and some good exchanges followed, Sayers again on the damaged cheek, and the Slasher also reaching the cheek. Mutual stopping followed, and Sayers next got home heavily on the olfactory projection. The Slasher now stopped Tom, and returned, but not heavily, on the top of his nut, which led to exchanges, Tom on the left optic, and Bill on the ribs. After one or two more exchanges, another tremendous counter took place, Tom receiving on the mouth, and the Slasher on the nose, each drawing the carmine. The Slasher having next made several misses went in, and another sharp counter was exchanged, Tom receiving on the brain-pan, and the Slasher on the beak, from which more home-brewed escaped. Each now had a wipe of the sponge, and Tom treated his opponent to another game of follow-my-leader all over the ring, in the course of which the Slasher caught him a heavy right-hander on the back. He then stopped Tom’s left and heavy counters followed Tom on the nose, and Slasher on the os frontis, knocking him down (first “knock down” for Slasher). This round lasted nearly half an hour.

3.—​The Slasher came up laughing, but he was evidently bent on mischief. Sayers smiled, tried his left and was stopped, and the Slasher, as usual, missed two swinging right-handers. Tom dodged, popped his left on the mark, and then on the forehead, got a little one on the ribs, and exchanges followed, Tom getting home on the left ogle, and Tipton on the mouth. Some heavy give and take fighting followed, Tom getting more juice from the Slasher’s right cheek, and receiving one or two smart ones on the neck and side of his head. Mutual stopping, feinting and dodging until Tom got home on the mark, and the Slasher again followed him all over the ring, hitting out of distance, and with no manner of judgment. Finding he could do nothing, the Slasher put down his hands, and retired for another wipe from Jack Macdonald, and then renewed his exertions, when some pretty stopping took place on both sides, after which Sayers got home on the left side of the nob, but was stopped in another essay. The Slasher stopped two more well-intended ones, and then got home on the side of Tom’s cranium; Sayers returned now heavily on the proboscis, once more turning on the tap. Tom now dodged, and then got home heavily on the damaged cheek—​a tremendous hit, and again did the home-brewed appear. The Slasher retired to be cleaned, and came again viciously, but Sayers pinked him on the smeller, receiving a slight return on the top of the nob. More futile efforts on the part of the Slasher, whose friends called upon Sayers to stand still and be hit, but Tom wisely declined. He had orders to keep his man on his legs and fight him at long shots, and these orders he carried out most excellently. Again and again did the Slasher miss or get stopped. Occasionally he got home a very little one, which did not leave a mark, and now he rushed at Tom, dashed out his right, and very narrowly escaped smashing his fist against the stake—​it was within an inch. Sayers lifted up his arms with astonishment, and stood laughing until the Slasher wore round on another tack, and came at him again, when Tom got away, shaking his noddle and grinning. The Slasher followed, Tom nailed him on the nozzle, stopped his return, and then planted another on the cheek. Sharp exchanges followed, the Slasher getting on Tom’s right cheek and just drawing the juice, while Tom left a mark on the Slasher’s left eye. The Old’un, very slow, sparred apparently for wind, and was then stopped left and right, after which each hit over the shoulder. Tom afterwards stopped both hands, and got easily away from a third attempt. Slight exchanges followed, Tom on the nose, and Slasher on the top of the head. More dancing by Sayers, and exhausting efforts on the part of the Slasher, and then as the Slasher came, Tom caught him a severe straightener on the snuff-box, drawing lots of claret. The Slasher, savage, stood to consider, and then rushing in delivered a little one on the side of Tom’s head with his right, and Tom fell. (Time, 52 minutes.)

4.—​The Slasher came up grinning, but he was evidently somewhat fatigued by his exertions. He nevertheless adhered to his practice of forcing the fighting, again dashed at Tom, and contrived to plant a little one on the body with his right, but it was not within punishing distance. Slight exchanges followed on the side of the wig-block, after which the Slasher stopped Tom’s left. Heavy counter-hits next succeeded in favour of Sayers, who got home on the Slasher’s potato-trap, and napped a little one on the nob. After another dance round the ring, Tom stopped the Slasher’s right, and the latter then drove him into the corner, and, evidently thinking he had him safe, wound himself up to finish; but when he let go his left and right, he found that Tom had slipped under his arm, and was laughing at him in the middle of the ring. The K-legged giant, irate that his opponent would not stand to be hit, again lumbered after him, like an elephant in pumps, but it was no go. “No catchee, no havee,” was Tom’s maxim, and he kept to his active tactics. The Slasher persevered, and Sayers stopped his left and right, and then turned away laughing and shaking his noddle. The Tipton giant could not make it out, and turned to his second as if to inquire what he should do; another illustration of the classical adage—​capit consilium gladiator in arena. At last he went at it again and got home on the body, receiving in return on the kisser. Some sparring followed, until the Tipton again led off, and was short with both hands. Finding he could do nothing, he retired to his corner, where he stood leaning on the ropes, Tom waiting and beckoning him to the scratch. After a rest the Slasher came out, feinted at Tom, but was quickly nailed on the left cheek. He tried again, and got home heavily on the ribs, and Sayers fell. (Time, one hour and four minutes.)

5.—​Perry still adhered to his boring tactics, but Tom was far too quick on his pins, and easily avoided him. Another attempt was stopped, and from a third Sayers got easily away. A fourth was missed, and Tom returned on the left cheek, which led to heavy exchanges on the side of the head, and Tom fell, the Slasher falling over him.

6.—​The Slasher came up laughing, and let go his left, but out of distance; good exchanges followed, Sayers effecting another lodgment on the right cheek, and increasing the cut in that quarter, and the Slasher getting home on the cranium. The Slasher, after another ill-directed rush, again retired to his corner, had a drink and a wipe, and then came again, when Sayers stopped his deliveries with the greatest ease. The Slasher persevered, and Tom led him another morris-dance, but they afterwards got close, and slight exchanges ended in the Slasher falling.

7.—​The Tipton bored in stooping, head-foremost, like a bull of Salamanca. Tom, not being provided with a mantilla to throw over his head, jumped aside like a matador, and on went his assailant to the ropes. Perry swung round, just got on to Tom’s head, and each then missed a blow. The Slasher persevered, and Tom countered on the left side of his forehead with his right, after which Perry retired to his corner, whither Sayers followed him, and the Slasher at once lunged out at the cheek, but not effectually. He now made another of his wild onslaughts, but only to be disappointed, and he next stopped both Tom’s mauleys. Some sparring followed, both being slightly blown; the Slasher stopped Tom’s left, and returned with his right on the body. After a few more misses, they got close, and Tom delivered a heavy spank on the left eye, and fell from the force of his own blow. (One hour, fifteen minutes.)

8.—​Perry showed a bump under the left peeper, but he came up smiling, and let go his left and right, both of which were stopped. He then stood blowing, until Sayers went to the attack, and some mutual pretty stopping took place, followed by several misses on either side. The Slasher once more retired to rest in his corner, but was fetched out by Sayers, who then got home on the side of the nob, and neatly avoided a return. Both were now rather wild in their lunges, and the Slasher, who pursued his man most vigorously, repeatedly missed his blows. Tom at length caught him on the cutwater, drawing a fresh supply from the best bin, and the Slasher walked off to borrow Jack Macdonald’s wipe. Tom followed, and got home very heavily on the mark and then on the mouth, renewing “the cataract from the cavern.” Sharp exchanges in favour of Sayers followed, and in the end both fell.

9.—​The Slasher came up slowly. Notwithstanding his severe punishment, his seconds sent him up beautifully clean, and in fact their attention throughout was beyond all praise. He tried again and again to plant upon the agile Sayers, but in vain. Sayers stopped him at all points, and then delivered a heavy left-hander on the mark. Some sparring followed, and Sayers stopped several heavy lunges, the Tipton in return stopping his left. Tom, in another attempt, got on the damaged cheek, increasing the cut, and the Tipton walked to his corner, whither Tom followed him, but on the Slasher making his usual lunge Sayers jumped back. Perry followed, and some pretty taps and stops, without mischief, took place. The Slasher then hit out of distance several times in succession, but on getting close some neat exchanges followed, Tom on the mark, heavily, and Perry on the cheek, but not effectively. Perry once more bored in, and delivered his right, but it was a mere fly-blow. Tom missed his prop with the left, and the Slasher retired for a drink. Tom thought this an example worth following, and after the inner man was refreshed, they went to work again, and sharp exchanges, all in favour of Sayers, followed; he kept playing on the Slasher’s damaged nose and cheek, his double being very effective, while Perry’s blows appeared to leave no mark. Tom now stopped several well-intended blows, and returned heavily on the right cheek with his left. Perry, although getting slower every minute, gamely persevered, put in his right and left on the body, and then hit short with both hands. More mutual stopping ensued, until they got close, when the Slasher dashed his right at the body, but Tom met him with a very straight left-hander on the mouth, drawing more of the elixir of life, and with his right he planted severely on the nose. Another sharp one on the mouth caused the Slasher to stagger and fall, and Tom fell over him. The Slasher evidently was fast going; the last three blows, particularly the right-hander, were very heavy, and the game old fellow was almost abroad, and was very slow to time.

10 and last.—​The Slasher crawled very slowly to the scratch, and attempted to lead off. It was, however, only an attempt. Tom easily avoided it, and planted a tremendous hit on the mark, stopping the return with ease. He stopped two more attempts, and then as the Slasher lunged out a third time he caught him with the left on the damaged cheek and the right on the mouth, cutting his upper lip very severely, and the Slasher fell, Tom on him. The Slasher was carried to his corner, and, with some difficulty, was got round in time to go to the scratch for another round. His dial, however, was dreadfully punished, and his lip was so much cut that he presented a piteous appearance. It was evident that he had not the slightest chance; he was as weak as a kitten, and entirely at the mercy of his adversary, who was perfectly scatheless and apparently as active as when he began, and Owen Swift, the Slasher’s principal backer, seeing the state of things, stepped into the ring, and with praiseworthy humanity declared that he should fight no more. Perry was very unwilling to give up without one more shy, but Owen was imperative. He insisted upon the men shaking hands, and the sponge was thrown up, Tom Sayers being proclaimed the winner, and Champion of England, amid the cheers of his partisans, at the expiration of one hour and forty-two minutes.

No time was now lost in getting on board the vessels, the majority of the spectators making for the larger vessel, for which they had no tickets, and taking advantage of the absence of the authorities on shore to scramble on board before demands could be made upon them to show their credentials. The charterers of the “Widgeon” (the companion or rather opposition), did not display much consideration for their patrons, as they steamed off almost immediately on the conclusion of the mill, leaving the majority of their customers to their fate.

It was fortunate for Sayers that he finished his task at the time he did, for scarcely had the men left the ring when the same body of peelers who had before interfered arrived upon the ground, just in time to be too late to put their kind intentions into effect. It was only the difficulty in getting a boat that prevented their arrival at an earlier hour.

As soon as all were on board the regular boat a consultation was held as to the course that ought to be pursued, and the general opinion having been taken, it was resolved to make for Strood, instead of giving the navigators another turn round the Nore, and by eight o’clock a landing was effected at that town, and nearly all were enabled to reach town by eleven o’clock in the evening. On the voyage to Strood, Tom Sayers went round among the Corinthians and made a collection for his fallen but game opponent, which amounted to the sum of £22 5s.

Remarks.—​The account of this battle tells its own tale, and calls for scarcely any remarks. From first to last it was evident that the Tipton Slasher’s star had sunk, and that he was no longer “The Slasher.” He must have felt from the very first that, barring an accident, he had not the slightest chance. All his quickness and activity had left him, and we could not help thinking that his eyesight also must be failing, for times out of number did he lunge out and attempt to deliver upper-cuts when Tom Sayers was far beyond his reach, and these blows were of such tremendous force that they must have tended to take much of the steel out of him. It appeared to us that from the very beginning he adopted a wrong principle. For a heavy, lumbering man, like himself, to attempt to force the fighting, and pursue a lithe, active fellow such as Sayers, was perfectly ridiculous, as he evidently felt towards the conclusion of the battle; and we should imagine that he must many times since have regretted that he did not adhere to his original intention of awaiting the attack and depending upon his powers as a counter-hitter to bring him through. That he did his best to please his backers and to bring the fight off in his favour cannot for a moment be denied, and that he took his severe punishment without a murmur was self-evident. He always had the character of being a game man, and that character he carried with him into retirement. The Tipton said that early in the fight he injured his right hip in one of his sudden twists to catch his opponent, and this materially interfered with his powers. Tom Sayers fought strictly to orders throughout, and his coolness and judgment greatly enhanced his reputation among his friends. Some persons present commented upon his retreating tactics, and contended that this was not fair fighting, but as these remarks proceeded from the enemy’s camp they are worth but little. Of course it would have been infinitely more pleasing to them had Tom stood and slogged away against an adversary of so much heavier metal until he was disabled by a chance blow, but such a course would have been perfect madness on his part. How his jumping or running away could be called unfair, so long as he confined himself within the ring, we cannot conceive. The ring is always constructed of a certain size for the express purpose of restraining the combatants within certain bounds, and within those bounds a man has a perfect right to retreat and jump about as long as he likes, so that he does not decline to face his opponent; and that Tom Sayers for one moment declined to continue the battle cannot by any one be maintained. How far his jumping about and exertions upon his legs were advisable for his own sake is another question, and we are inclined to think that he might have kept out of harm’s way with far less exertion, and reserved much of his strength against any unlooked-for contingency, had he restrained his peristaltic energies within more reasonable bounds. If the Slasher had been younger and more active, it is not improbable that the gallant Tom would have found out to his cost, as the battle progressed, the benefit of such a mode of fighting. As it turned out, however, no harm was done, and as he achieved such an easy victory, none of his friends can for one moment complain. That his retreating arose from any want of confidence is a proposition not to be entertained for a moment. Never in his brilliant career has he shown the semblance of the white feather, and we feel assured that the only causes to which his method of fighting the Slasher can be set down are caution, a desire to please his friends, and an extraordinary exuberance of animal spirits. The ring throughout the fight was well kept, and, beyond the few vicissitudes connected with the voyage to the scene of action, we heard of nothing calculated to mar the pleasures of the day.

Tom’s defeat of the ponderous Tipton was not, however, to leave him in undisputed possession of the belt. Tom Paddock considered himself capable of taking the shine out of such a little one, and challenged Sayers accordingly; but ere a match could be arranged, the Redditch man was suddenly seized with a rheumatic fever, which completely floored him, and from which it was feared he would not recover. There was now apparently every chance that Sayers would walk over the course, but this did not suit Harry Broome, who, although unable to cope with Tom himself, “thought he knowed a cove wot could,” and made a match for an “Unknown,” to fight Tom for £200 a side on the 5th of January, 1858. The speculations as to who this unknown could be were extraordinary—​he was the bold Bendy, he was Ben Caunt, he was Ould Nat, he was Harry Orme—​in fact, he was everybody but himself; and great indeed was the public astonishment when it became known that he was not only actually an “Unknown,” but also a perfect novice, being, in fact, Bill Bainge, or Benjamin, a native of Northleach, 5ft. 10¾in. in height, weighing 12st., of whose prowess rumour had propagated extravagant accounts, while others maintained that as the Broomes were behind Benjamin, it was a “got-up” robbery, and that Sayers would “chuck it.” Poor Tom was sadly mortified at these insinuations, and indignantly assured the writer that if he should be beaten it should only be by a better man.

A steamboat conveyed the men and their backers down the river to the Isle of Grain, where, at about half-past twelve o’clock, the Champion made his appearance at the ring-side, and modestly dropped his castor within the ropes, following it at once himself, attended by Bill Hayes and Harry Brunton. He was hailed with loud cheers from all sides. Bill Benjamin was close upon his heels, and stepped into the ropes under the care of Harry Broome and Jemmy Massey. There was a smile upon the face of each man; but we fancied that of Sayers was the genuine smile of confidence, while that of his opponent had somewhat of a nervous twist about it. They shook hands good humouredly, tossed for corners, Sayers proving the winner, and then at once commenced peeling to the bitter frost and south-easterly breeze. The colours, a neat French grey for Sayers, and blue and white spots for Benjamin, were now tied to the stakes, the usual preliminaries were quickly settled, and at fourteen minutes to twelve “time” was called. The betting round the ring was very slight, 2 to 1 being freely offered, but takers were scarce at anything under 5 to 2.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​When the men appeared at the scratch, which they did in the midst of perfect silence, there was a visible contrast in their physical powers. The Novice stood well over Sayers, his muscles were larger and better developed, and altogether he looked, as he undoubtedly was, the heavier and more powerful man. His attitude at first was good, and led one to suppose he had studied under a good master. His condition was perfect, there not being a superfluous ounce about him. Tom looked rather fleshy about the chest and shoulders, but in such weather it was perhaps a fault on the right side. His attitude was the same as ever—​cool, calm, and collected. He eyed his adversary with steadiness, and there was the same unmistakable glance of confidence always to be seen on his mug. He had clearly made up his mind to let the Novice make the first move, and tried several dodges to draw him out. The Novice, although evidently nervous, sparred and feinted like an accomplished boxer for a brief period, and at length tried his left, but Tom stopped him with nonchalance, and returned quickly with the left on the nozzle, and then on the mark a sharp crack. The Novice stood his ground, and now succeeded in stopping Tom twice, and returning, but very slightly, on the cheek. Tom next delivered his left and right at close quarters, on the cheek and jaw, and the Novice dropped. He was conveyed to his corner, and the look of dismay upon his countenance as he glanced around was perfectly ludicrous. It was at once patent to all that he knew nothing of the business he had undertaken, and that the contest was virtually over, for directly his guard was broken through he appeared to have no resources. He could not use his legs, and his arms flew about like the sails of a windmill, so that Tom was able to put in both hands perfectly at his ease. The celerity with which he brought his right into play thus early in the fight was remarkable.

2.—​The Novice did not “smile as he was wont to smile,” but seemed to be on the look-out for a place of secure retreat. Tom walked quietly up, led off with his left and was stopped, but the Novice missed his return. Tom then popped his left very heavily on the mouth, knocking his opponent clean off his pins, and filling his potato trap with ruby. The Novice lay as if undecided for a second, and then, turning over, got gradually on his pins, and his seconds took him to his corner. He shook his head several times, and appeared extremely undesirous of encountering another of Tom’s heavy shots, but, on time being called, Harry y Broome pushed him forward, and he went reluctantly to the scratch, Massey, in disgust, having declined to have any more to do with him.

3.—​Sayers, evidently bent on making short work of it, quickly went to work left and right. Benjamin tried to rally with him, but beyond an accidental touch on the lip, did not reach him. Tom planted heavily on the mouth and jaw, drawing more ruby, and down went the Novice all abroad. He lay in the middle of the ring, and nothing could persuade him to come to “time.” Broome then threw up the sponge, and Tom Sayers was once again proclaimed the conqueror, and still champion, in six minutes and a half, the battle—​if battle it could be called where it was all one way—​being the most bloodless we ever witnessed. The Novice, on being asked to account for his cutting up so badly, said he was hit very hard in the mark in the first round, and not expecting to be hit there, it had made him very sick and incapable of exerting himself. Further than that he knew not. His easy defeat struck dismay into all his friends, and the look of surprise and contempt cast upon him by Jemmy Massey was a study for an artist. Both men at once left the field of action, and repaired on board the boat, where they lost no time in resuming their warm wraps, and taking other means to infuse a little of that caloric into their systems which had been subtracted therefrom during their brief exposure to the outward air.

Remarks.—​We question whether it is not an insult to the understanding of the reader to offer any remarks upon this singular exhibition of incapacity upon the part of the would-be champion. Of Tom Sayers we have nothing more to say than he did what he was called upon to do with the utmost nonchalance, and that he performed his task even easier than he had all along anticipated. The Novice did not exhibit a single point which would entitle him to be called even an “outsider.” From the time that he was foiled in his very first move he cannot be said to have even “tried.” All his senses seemed to have left him, and, as far as we were able to judge, the only predominant thought in his mind was how to escape from the dilemma in which he had been placed, with the least damage to himself. Doubtless he was hit very heavily, but still he had not received even half enough to justify him in crying “a go,” had he meant winning at all hazards. That he must eventually have been beaten by such a man as Sayers, barring an accident, is a positive certainty, and that he exercised a sound discretion in not submitting to further punishment is equally true; but that he has done more than heap ridicule upon himself and those who brought him out, by his miserable performance, is a proposition not to be disputed for a moment. How such a judge of fighting as Harry Broome could have made the mistake he did we cannot understand, but the task of bringing out a candidate for the Championship once undertaken by a man of his known “talent,” it is easy to understand how the public were induced to come forward and take the long odds offered on Sayers. Among the deceived was the renowned Jemmy Massey, who, liking the appearance of the man, and being led on by the reports of Harry Broome as to his man’s cleverness and gluttonous qualities, took the odds of 2 to 1 to a considerable amount. The whole affair was carried out from first to last in a quiet and orderly way, and there was no fault to find with the partisans of either man for either unseemly language or noisy demonstrations. All that was required to render it a model fight was a little more devil and resolution on the part of the loser. The battle money was handed to Tom Sayers at Owen Swift’s, “Horse Shoe” Tavern, Tichborne Street, on Wednesday evening, January 13th, when he was again adorned with the Champion’s belt, which, according to rule, was deposited with the stakeholder to abide the event of his next battle for the permanent possession of the trophy.

After this victory Tom appeared in a fair way to rest upon his laurels, but soon, to his astonishment, as well as every one else’s, it was announced that Tom Paddock had recovered, and did not intend to let the belt pass without a struggle. He issued a challenge to Sayers, in which he intimated that, it being dead low water in his exchequer, he was as poor as a church mouse, and that unless Tom would extend him the hand of charity, and meet him for £150 a side, instead of the stipulated £200, the darling wish of his heart could not be gratified. He thought he could win the belt, and hoped Tom would not let a paltry £50 stand between them and prevent a friendly mill. Sayers, like a “brick” of his own laying, promptly responded to the call, and intimated that the meeting would afford him the highest gratification. With such an old pal he could not allow the paltry “rag” to stand in the way. The match was at once made, and came off on the anniversary of Tom’s fight with the Slasher—​viz., on the 16th of June, 1858. After some narrow escapes from police pursuit and persecution, the two Toms met on a place selected as “maiden ground,” at Canvey Island.

And here the phrase, “the two Toms,” tempts us to a brief digression. The baptismal name of “Tom” has, indeed, furnished more than its calculable proportion of Champions of the fistic Ring; and hence we have pictured on a previous page the “three Toms” whose deeds made their names, in the first three-quarters of the present century, among admirers of pugilistic prowess, “familiar in men’s mouths as household words.” This curious pre-eminence of name may be further extended; for though the Christian name of John, the familiar Jack, and the royal one of George (during the reign of “the four Georges”) twice outnumbered the Toms, yet Tom Johnson, Tom Paddock, Tom Sayers, and Tom King—​the ultimus Romanorum—​make up the mystic number of Seven Champions bearing that designation, while Jack Broughton, John Jackson, and John Gully are the only three to be credited to the far more numerous family of “Johns.”

The first to shy his wide-awake into the ring was Tom Paddock, who was loudly cheered. He was attended by Jemmy Massey and that accomplished master of the art Jack Macdonald, and looked as red as beet-root, and as strong and healthy as though he had never in the course of his life assisted at the ceremony of turning off the gas. His demeanour was the same as ever, that of extreme confidence, and the smile on his mug was more that of one who had merely come out to enjoy a little gentle exercise than of a candidate for honours preparing to meet the Admirable Crichton of the P.R. There was, however, nothing of bravado about him; he merely took the affair as a matter of course, which would soon be over. He was not kept many minutes before he was joined by his opponent, who, attended by Bill Hayes and Harry Brunton, was also received with a complete ovation of applause. Tom, like his brother Tom, also looked in rude health, but his good-tempered mug struck us as if anything too fleshy, and in this we were confirmed when he stripped, for it was then apparent that he was some three or four pounds heavier than he should have been under such a tropical sun. The lads shook hands good-humouredly, and while they were completing their half-finished adornments, the betting round the ring was of the liveliest and heaviest description: £25 to £20, £50 to £40, and similar odds to smaller sums upon Sayers were offered and eagerly accepted in all quarters, and it was as much as the stakeholder could accomplish for some time to collect and enter the names and amounts of perhaps some of the heaviest investments for many years.

We feel it incumbent upon us here to perform an act of justice to Alec Keene, which speaks volumes for his kindness of heart, and without which our account would be incomplete. After the men had been fighting about twenty minutes, Alec, who had followed the belligerents in a tug from Gravesend, made his appearance on the ground, and, finding that things were not going altogether smoothly with Tom Paddock, at once betook himself to his corner, offered him the hand of fellowship, and throughout the remainder of the fight stood by him, to afford him the benefit of that experience and advice which he is so capable of imparting.

THE FIGHT

Round 1.—​Both came grinning to the scratch, and manœuvred for a brief space for an opening. Paddock looked, as usual, big and burly, but it was evident he was no longer the active, fresh man we had before seen. His mug was more marked with age, and there was a dulness about his eye we never remember in former days. His condition was good and he was in good health, but still he looked only Tom Paddock in name. Sayers was more fleshy than he should have been, but this was the only fault to be found with him. His eye was as bright and clear as a hawk’s, and the ease of his movements was a picture to behold. His attitude was, as usual, all readiness for a shoot or a jump. Paddock, instead of rushing, as had been expected, steadied himself, and felt with his left for an opening. It was not long before he attempted it, but Sayers stopped him easily. He made a second attempt, and Sayers stepped back, shaking his noddle and laughing. After a little sparring, Paddock tried again, and got on Tom’s brow, but not heavily. Again they dodged, and at length two counter-hits were exchanged, each getting on to the proboscis. After this Paddock again reached Tom’s nozzle rather sharply, but was stopped in another attempt. Another bit of cautious sparring eventually led to very heavy exchanges, in which Sayers left a mark on Paddock’s left cheek, and napped a warm one over the right peeper, slightly removing the bark, and giving Paddock the first event. Several rapid passes were now made on both sides, but they were evidently mere trials to find out what each intended. After a pause Sayers tried his favourite double, which he succeeded in landing on Paddock’s cheek, but not very heavily. More sharp exchanges followed, the advantage being with Sayers, until they both retreated and stood to cool themselves, the heat being intense. After a few seconds thus employed, they again approached one another smiling, and after a dodge or two they exchanged slight reminders on the side of the nut, broke away, and then got at it again, when heavy counter-hits were exchanged, but Sayers was first, and inflicted a cut on Paddock’s left brow, calling forth the juice in abundance. Paddock landed on the cheek, but not heavily. After this slight exchanges with the left took place, and they again stood, Sayers awaiting the onslaught, and Paddock puzzled. At last the latter dashed in, and was easily stopped twice in succession. He rushed after Sayers, who ducked under his arm, and, as Paddock turned round again, nailed him very heavily over the left peeper, renewed the supply of carmine, and then got out of harm’s way. Paddock, nothing daunted, dashed in, but Sayers stopped him most beautifully, and then, putting in his double, got well on the old spot. Paddock once more bored in, and was neatly stopped, but, persevering with his usual gameness, heavy exchanges ensued, all in favour of Sayers, who was as straight as a die, and got heavily on the left cheek and brow. Paddock, wild, rushed after him; Sayers ducked, and then planted his left on the left cheek, another hot one, and then on the snout, renewing the ruby. As Paddock bored in, he made a cannon off the cushion by putting his double heavily on the mark and nose without a return, and Paddock then rushing after him, bored him down. This round lasted fifteen minutes, and at its conclusion the backers of Sayers offered 2 to 1—​an offer not accepted by the Paddock party, who looked indigo. It was patent to all good judges even thus early that Paddock was only Paddock in name, and that all the steel was out of him; and he has since informed us that he felt tired and worn out, and that he had no chance from this time. His gameness, therefore, in persevering so long and so manfully against his own conviction is the more commendable.

2.—​Both came up grinning, but while Sayers was almost scatheless, Paddock’s mug showed that Sayers had been there. Paddock, nothing daunted, rattled in, and got on to the top of Tom’s nob. Sayers returned, but not heavily and sharp counter-hits followed, Sayers on the damaged ogle, and Paddock on the left cheek. After this, Sayers got home his dangerous right on the side of Paddock’s nob, and the latter fell.

3.—​Paddock seemed slow, while Sayers was as fresh as a daisy; Paddock attempted to lead, but was very short. He, however, stopped Tom’s return. Heavy exchanges followed, Sayers receiving on the left cheek, and getting heavily on Paddock’s damaged squinter. Paddock, nothing daunted, made several desperate efforts, but Sayers got away with the greatest ease, and at length, as Paddock persevered, he once more countered him on the old spot, drawing more of the red port, and stopped Paddock’s return. Twice again did Sayers repeat this visitation, and get away from Paddock’s kindly intentions. Sayers then tried to lead off, but was well stopped. He made another attempt, and lodged his favourite double on the mark and nose, and then stopped Paddock’s return. Paddock now endeavoured to force the fighting, but Sayers danced away under his arm, came again, and, as Paddock rushed in, delivered a tremendous left-hander on the cheek, by the side of the smeller, drawing more home-brewed from the fresh cut. Paddock, angry, made several desperate efforts, but was well-stopped. At length they got close, and in the heavy exchanges, Sayers got his right heavily on the side of the nut, and received on the mouth. Paddock now dashed in, and although Sayers pinked him on the nose and eye, he persevered until he forced Sayers down.

4.—​Paddock’s physog. seemed a good deal out of the line of beauty, while Sayers had scarcely a mark. Paddock still smiled, and attempted to lead, but the dash and vigour we remember of yore were all gone; his blows seemed but half-arm hits, and did not get near their destination. Almost every time Sayers stopped him with ease, and at last, as Paddock came boring in, he met him heavily on the cheek, producing another streak of cochineal. Still did Paddock persevere but only to be nailed again, and to have the Red Republican once more called forth. After this he got home on Tom’s chest, and then on the cheek, but the blows lacked vigour. Exchanges ensued, in which Paddock removed the bark from Tom’s sniffer, and turned on the main, but it was not a material damage. After a rest, in which both piped for wind, they again got at it, and a tremendous rally took place, in which Sayers was straightest and heaviest; he, however, got a hot’un on the mouth, which drew the Badminton. This was a tremendous give-and-take round, and Paddock caught it heavily on the left side of his nob, while Sayers received chiefly on the hardest parts of his cast-iron canister. In the end Paddock was down, amidst the vociferous cheers of the Sayers party.

5.—​Paddock made two ineffectual attempts to deliver, each being short, after which Sayers missed his favourite double. He then stopped Paddock’s one, two, and exchanges followed, in which Paddock reached Tom’s chin, and received with interest on the damaged cheek. Again did they deliver left and right, and Paddock drew more gravy from Tom’s sucker. Paddock rattled to it, but Sayers countered heavily on the snorer, again calling forth the ruby; he, however, napped one on the kisser, which must have shaken his false ivories. After this they piped for wind, the perspiration oozed from every pore, and they were evidently both tired. Paddock retired for a wipe, and after a pause Sayers went to him, and Paddock, seeing this, rushed in but Tom danced away, followed by Paddock, who eventually got a reminder on the cheek, and Sayers, in getting away from the return, fell.

6.—​Sayers feinted and dodged until Paddock came to him, when Tom got home a very hot one on the snuff-box, turning on the vermilion galore. Paddock, wild, dashed at him to deliver the right, but Sayers getting quickly out of mischief, the blow fell on the stake, and evidently caused the poor fellow intense pain. He was not cowed, however, but followed Sayers, who fell, and Paddock’s umpire appealing, the referee desired Sayers to be cautious.

7.—​Paddock slow, came up cautiously, and after a few dodges, led off, but was short, and received a reminder on the beak from Tom’s left. Sayers then got heavily on the mark with the left, and stopped the return. This led to heavy exchanges, in which Paddock received on the nose, and lost more juice, while Sayers only got it on the brow. Paddock tried again and again to lead off, but Sayers danced away, or ducked under his arm, and each time nailed him heavily on the nose or left cheek, and, finally, Paddock fell weak.

8.—​Paddock’s left peeper was now completely closed, and the left side of his knowledge-box much swollen. He was sent up very clean, however, and again tried to lead off, but Sayers was too quick for him, and got away. Still did the gallant Paddock persevere, but Sayers stopped him with ease, and returned on the damaged visual organ very heavily. Paddock again dashed in, but was short, his blows lacking vigour; and Sayers returned on the mark. Again and again did Paddock make an onslaught, but there was none of the vigour of the Paddock of former days; he was repeatedly stopped with ease, and Sayers caught him again and again on the mark and damaged chop. At last they got close together, and Paddock succeeded in knocking Sayers off his pins by a heavy right-hander on the whistler, which inflicted a severe cut, and drew the carmine (loud cheers for Paddock, who had thus won the two first events).

9.—​The blow in the last round had evidently shaken Sayers, who was slow to the call of time, and came up with a suspicious mark on his potato-trap. Paddock tried to follow up his advantage and incautiously went in, when Sayers met him with a beautiful left-hander on the snout, which sent him staggering, and put an end to his rushing for the time. This enabled Sayers to recover a little, and then, as Paddock afterwards came in, he made another call on the cheek, and got cleverly away from the return. Paddock followed him up, and heavy left-handed exchanges took place in favour of Sayers, who afterwards stopped Paddock’s right twice in succession. Good exchanges ensued to a close, and Paddock got down, just escaping Tom’s right.

10.—​After slight harmless exchanges, they stood piping, until Paddock took the initiative, but Sayers danced under his arm, and, as he turned round, pinked him on the blind goggle, and then, putting in his double, renewed the home-brewed from the cheek. Paddock tried a return, but was stopped twice in succession, and then got another little ’un on the out-water. After some neat stopping on both sides, Sayers made another call on the cheek, then on the chest, and after sharp exchanges, as Paddock rushed after him, he slipped and fell, but obviously from accident.

11.—​Paddock at once rushed to close quarters, but found Sayers nothing loth; they struggled for a brief period, and in the end both fell, it being obvious that Sayers was the stronger man.

12.—​Paddock, who was piping and evidently fatigued, tried to lead off, but was miserably short. After a slight exchange they again closed, and, after a short struggle, Sayers threw and fell on his man, amidst the cheers of his admirers. One hour and two minutes had now elapsed.

13.—​Paddock, whose mug was all shapes but the right, and whose remaining goggle glared most ferociously, rushed in and missed. Sayers, in getting back, fell, and there was a claim of foul; Massey and Macdonald, according to the custom of modern seconds, neglecting their man, and rushing to the referee. There was not the slightest ground for the claim, Sayers evidently having fallen from pure accident; but the usual complimentary remarks were offered by the card-sharpers and other blackguards, whose only interest was, perhaps, the value of a pot of beer depending on the result, and who were proportionately anxious to win, tie, or wrangle rather than lose their valuable (?) investments. After some time the ring-keepers succeeded in clearing these gentry away, and inducing Macdonald and Massey to return to their duty; and the referee having said “Fight on,” the battle proceeded.

14.—​Paddock, to whom the delay had afforded a short respite, dashed in, caught Sayers on the cheek, closed, and both fell.

15.—​Sayers feinted, and got on to Tom’s nozzle, drawing more claret, and, in getting away from a rush, crossed his legs near the stakes and fell.

16.—​Paddock, who was evidently fast getting worn out, at the instigation of his seconds dashed in, as if to make a final effort to turn the scale; he let go both hands, but was short, and Sayers once more pinked him on the swollen smeller. Paddock still persevered, and more exchanges, but not of a severe description, took place, followed by a breakaway and a pause. Again did they get at it, and some heavy counter-hitting took place; Sayers well on the mouth and nose, and Paddock on the brow and forehead. Paddock then rushed in and bored Sayers down at the ropes. (Another claim of foul disallowed.)

17.—​Paddock, desperate, rushed at once to work; and they pegged away with a will, but the punishment was all one way. At last they closed and rolled over, Sayers being top-sawyer. In the struggle and fall the spikes in Sayers’s boot in some way inflicted two severe wounds in Paddock’s leg, and Massey declared that the injury had been committed on purpose; but this every one who saw the fight was convinced was preposterous. Even supposing it was Sayers’s spikes, it was evidently accidental, but so clumsily did they roll over that it is not impossible that it was done by the spikes in the heel of Paddock’s other boot, which spikes were much longer and sharper than those of Sayers. The idea of Sayers doing such a thing deliberately when he actually had the battle in hand is too ridiculous to admit of a question.

18.—​Paddock rushed in and caught Sayers on the side of the head with his right, and they closed and pegged away at close quarters until Sayers got down.

19.—​The in-fighting in the last round had told a tale on Paddock’s nob, which was much swollen, and the left eye was now beginning to follow suit with the right. At last they got close, and both fell, Paddock under. Massey made another claim that Sayers fell with his knees on Paddock, but it was evidently an attempt to snatch a verdict.

20.—​Paddock tried to make an expiring effort, but was wofully short, and Sayers countered heavily with the left on the damaged cheek, then repeated the dose with great severity, staggering the burly Tom, who, however, soon collected himself, and once more led off, but out of distance. He then stood, until Sayers went to him, popped a heavy one on the nose, and the right on the cheek, then closed at the ropes, where he fibbed Paddock very heavily, and both fell, Paddock under.

21 and last.—​Paddock came very slowly to the scratch, evidently without the ghost of a shadow of a chance. He was groggy, and could scarcely see; the close quarters in the last round had done their work, and any odds might have been had on Sayers. Paddock tried a rush, but, of course, Sayers was nowhere near him, and as he came again Sayers met him full on the right cheek, a very heavy hit with his left. It staggered poor Tom, who was evidently all abroad, and all but fell. He put out his hands, as if to catch hold of Sayers to support himself, and the latter, who had drawn back his right hand to deliver the coup de grace, seeing how matters stood, at once restrained himself, and seizing Paddock’s outstretched hand, shook it warmly, and conducted him to his corner, where his seconds, seeing it was all over, at once threw up the sponge, and Sayers was proclaimed the victor in one hour and twenty minutes. Paddock was much exhausted, and it was some time before he was sufficiently himself to realise the fact that he had been defeated, when he shed bitter tears of mortification. That he had any cause for grief beyond the fact that he was defeated no one could say; indeed if ever man persevered against nature to make a turn it was he, for notwithstanding the constant severe props he got whenever he attempted to lead, he tried it on again and again, and, to his praise be it said, took his gruel with a good temper exceeding anything we have ever witnessed on his behalf during the whole of his career. As soon as possible after the event was over, the men were dressed and conveyed on board the vessel, where Paddock received every attention his state required; but it was long before he recovered from the mortification he felt at his unexpected defeat. Sayers in the meantime went round among the spectators, and made a collection for him amounting to £30.

Remarks.—​Although the above battle tells its own tale, our account would not be complete unless we appended a few remarks, not only upon the contest itself, but also on the general management and other concomitants. From the very commencement it was obvious to us that the fight was out of Tom Paddock. All the devil and determination for which he had been so famous had completely left him, and he was almost as slow and ineffective as the old Tipton. True, he left no stone unturned, and never once flinched from the severity of the punishment administered to him. He took all that Sayers gave with apparent indifference, and although it was obvious his powers of delivering had departed, his extraordinary gifts as a receiver of punishment were fully equal to his olden reputation; and, as we have before remarked, his good temper exceeded anything we have ever witnessed on his part. It was supposed by many that had he not injured his right hand by the blow delivered upon the stake he would have done better; but, as he used that mauley afterwards so effectually as to floor the Champion, and as he admitted to us that he felt his cause to be hopeless previous to that accident, such speculations go for nought. That both his daddles eventually became much swollen and innocuous is true, but that he could have turned the tide in his favour had this not have been the case, we do not believe. It was not the mere hardness of the hammer that was wanting, but the steam for driving the hammer was absent. The principal cause of regret was that he should have been induced, after his severe illness, to try conclusions with one so much fresher, and, as it turned out, stronger than himself; but, however much his physical powers had declined, it was all along evident that his old spirit of daring everything was as strong in him as ever. From the first moment he entered the ring he did all, and more than all, that could be required of him to make a turn in his favour, but in vain. As may be gathered from our account, he once or twice seemed to gain a slight advantage, but it was very short lived. Enough, however, was done by him to convince us that had he been the Paddock of five years ago, the chance of Tom Sayers retaining his proud position would have been anything but “rosy.” The collection made for Paddock proved the estimation in which his gallantry was held by the spectators.

Sayers, throughout the contest, fought with that extraordinary judgment of time and distance which so much distinguished him during the last few years of his career; and from the first it was apparent that any diffidence he might have displayed in his mill with the Slasher had completely disappeared. He abstained, to a considerable extent, from the harlequinade which he displayed in that encounter, and often stood and fought with his ponderous opponent with steadiness and precision. He fell down, it is true, three times, but only on one of these occasions could it be fairly said that it was not accidental, and even then we do not believe that it was a wilful act, especially as it was clear that the tumbling system was farthest from his thoughts, and his great desire was to keep Paddock on his legs.

Tom had now reached the very pinnacle of his fame, for among the not very extensive range of big ones then in the field—​Harry Poulson, Aaron Jones, the Tipton Slasher, and Tom Paddock had fallen beneath his punishing arm, while Harry Broome, having struck his flag to Tom Paddock, and Harry Orme (who had also retired) surrendered to Harry Broome—​there was a clear title made for the Little Wonder, Tom Sayers, the first ten-stone Champion.

This state of things seemed likely to leave Tom to enjoy in otium cum dignitate the laurels of his many hard-fought days. The year 1858 grew old, when once more “an Unknown” was talked of, who would be backed to try conclusions for the £400 and belt against the redoubted Tom. Again these rumours came from the head-quarters of the erewhile Champion, Harry Broome, in the Haymarket; and to the astonishment of every one who recollected the “lame and impotent conclusion” which, sixteen months before, marked what was supposed to be the first and last appearance within any ring of Mr. Bill Bainge (Benjamin), that worthy was named as the man for the coming fight.

It was urged by himself and his friends that he did not have fair play in his training for his former battle; that he was very far from well on the day of fighting; that these drawbacks, coupled with his novelty of his position in entering the ring for the first time, and going through the ceremony of peeling, &c. before the assembled throng, had quite unnerved him, and rendered him almost oblivious as to what had actually taken place. The weather, too (it was January, and bitterly cold), had a great effect on him, his frame not being accustomed to the exposure in a “state of buff;” and besides all this, he himself asserted that the suddenness and severity of the punishment he received was something that had more paralysed than hurt him. He had felt ever since that a stigma attached to his name, which he felt conscious was not deserved. He believed himself at heart to be no coward, and, being anxious to vindicate himself, he had begged his backer to give him an opportunity of clearing his character, and that gentleman, believing his version of the case to be true, had kindly granted him a new trial. Of course, when Sayers heard of the challenge he was nothing loth, feeling, as he did, certain of victory, while further calculating that what he considered such an easy job would bring him six months nearer to the retention of the belt as his own private property, he threw not the slightest difficulty in the way of settling preliminaries, and articles were signed and delivered at once.

The men did not go into training immediately, as they had nearly six months before them, but Benjamin took every opportunity of gaining such knowledge as might assist him in his undertaking, and acting under the advice of an experienced ring-goer, he lost no time in securing the services of “ould Nat Langham,” whose judgment could not but prove of the greatest assistance. Liberal offers were made to Nat to go down to Shirenewton, where Benjamin was resident, to take the entire management of him, but Nat rightly judged that his own business was such as to require his presence; he, therefore, contented himself with an occasional run down for a couple of days, when he enforced upon his pupil some of his own peculiar style of practice in many a heavy bout with the mufflers. As he could not undertake the whole training, however, Nat recommended Bill’s backer to send a retaining fee to the bold Bendigo, whose country habits, sobriety, vigilance, and judgment he knew could be depended upon, and the appearance of his protégé on the day of battle proved that his confidence had not been misplaced, for his whole bearing was the very perfection of condition. Bendy, however, had a corporation of most Daniel Lambert-like proportions, no doubt much increased by good living, in which he had indulged while superintending his new pupil, and was therefore a curious choice for the trainer to a candidate for the championship.

As to the gallant Tom, he occupied the next four months after the articles were signed in starring it about the country, and exhibiting himself, his cups and his belts, to hosts of admiring friends. He took a benefit here, a benefit there, and a couple of benefits in one week somewhere else, and so on, and was everywhere so well received, that he must have returned to town, prior to his going into work, with a perfect sack full of “shiners.” He further announced at these gatherings his retirement from the Ring, which he had already fixed for June, 1860, when the belt would become his private property.

From the very first Tom held this match extremely light, and had expressed the most entire confidence, a confidence which at one time during the fight now under description we thought was very near proving his downfall, from the fact of his having split on the same rock which has proved fatal to many a good man and true under similar circumstances. We allude to neglect of training. The first portion of Tom’s exercise, which did not extend over more than seven weeks, was taken, as on former occasions, in the neighbourhood of Tunbridge Wells, but about a month later he removed to Rottingdean, another favourite locality of his, for the purpose of sea bathing, and it was during his stay at this place that his practices were anything but conducive to high condition. During his so-called training, Tom, instead of the usual walking, running, &c. was repeatedly seen on horseback in full career after the harriers which meet in the neighbourhood, and during these gallops his falls were anything but few and far between. Had the champion, by an unlucky purl, dislocated a limb or sprained an ankle or a wrist, what a pretty pickle his backers would have been in, and how he would have cursed his own folly! His backers’ money would have been thrown away, his belt would have been forfeited, and he would have had to recommence his career of three years as its holder, in addition to losing the confidence of those who were behind him. As it was, on entering the ring, the general remark was that he was too fleshy, and there were signs of a protuberance in the neighbourhood of his bread-basket which told an unmistakable tale. Many a brave fellow has suffered severely for this reckless despising of an adversary, and has thereby lost a position which he has never been able to regain.

The rumours and speculations anent this match were of the most extraordinary character. Tales of deep-laid conspiracies to rob the public—​such as it has never been our ill fortune to see put into practice during our career as chroniclers of this truly British sport—​were rife. The croakers and slanderers, who always look at the dark side of the picture, and by listening to the statements of those who attempt to decry the ring by blackening the characters of its members, are always ready to see “a barney” in every match, could not be persuaded to believe that Tom Sayers had far too high a notion of himself to listen to any suggestions on such a subject; and that, even admitting, for the sake of argument, that his principles might give way (which we were confident they would not), his pride and vanity were such as to forbid the supposition. While on the subject of “barneys” we may be permitted to remark, that such occurrences are much more common in the imaginations of some would-be knowing ones, who are literally know-nothings, than in the actual practice of the P.R.; and that we firmly believe, and we state it earnestly and seriously, that there is far less of this kind of thing in the doings of the members of the Prize Ring than in almost any other sport. Besides these rumours about “Mr. Barney,” there were whisperings that Benjamin was in reality an extraordinary good man, and that the winning of the former fight by Sayers was purely a piece of accidental good fortune. How these various “shaves” were received by the general public and by the cognoscenti may be best gathered from the fact that as the day approached no one would take less than 4 to 1 about Benjamin winning, and that many persons laid 5 to 2 that Sayers would win in a quarter of an hour. The betting on the whole, however, was small in amount, the cause no doubt being the preposterous odds demanded, which, as the backers of Sayers said, was actually buying money.

Shortly after eleven o’clock Tom Sayers modestly dropped his castor over the ropes, and then as modestly crept under them himself. He was attended by Jerry Noon and Harry Brunton, and was received with enthusiastic cheers. He had wisely donned his milling boots and drawers, and had therefore only to remove his outer shell. After an interval of five minutes he was followed by Benjamin, who made his entrée in an equally unpretending way. He also was well received. He was waited on by the Bold Bendigo and Jack Macdonald. At this time there were several offers to bet £20 to £5 on Sayers, but there were no takers. Despatch being the order of the day, no time was lost by the men in preparing for action. Benjamin, like Sayers, had taken the precaution to make ready beforehand, so that a very few minutes sufficed to strip and tie the colours in their appropriate places. Sayers sported a pink and white striped brocaded silk of the richest description, while Benjamin adhered to the old-fashioned blue and white spot. By twenty-three minutes past eleven o’clock, under a burning sun, the men were delivered at the scratch and stood ready for hostilities amidst the most profound silence. Benjamin appeared in perfect health and condition; he had a smile of confidence on his mug, and he stood well up in a fearless manner, presenting a wide contrast to his début on the former occasion. He stood well over Sayers, whose height is only 5 feet 8½ inches, and struck us as decidedly the more powerful man. Although Tom was evidently too fleshy, there was a dash and calm self-possession about him which denoted the more accustomed boxer. He moved about in a business-like way, and evidently had no fears for the result.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​Benjamin stood well on the defensive, and there was much in his position to remind us of his mentor, Nat Langham. He fixed his eye on Tom, and sparred for a short time to see what could be done. His whole bearing, indeed, was such as to call forth a general remark that he was a different man. Tom dodged in and out in his usual style, evidently trying for his favourite double, but Benjamin was ready. At length Tom dashed in, and delivered his left on the cheek, but was beautifully countered on the smelling bottle, and Benjamin had the honour of gaining “first blood” from that organ, a success which was hailed with much cheering from the Taffies. Sayers seemed pricked at this, and making his favourite dodge, he popped the left on the body and then on the left cheek, knocking Benjamin off his pins, thus gaining the second event, and equalizing matters.

2.—​Benjamin, nothing daunted, came steadily to the scratch, and, after a feint, let go his left, which was well stopped. He got away from the return, and after some sparring got home the left on the chest, and they got to close quarters, when the in-fighting was of a heavy description. Each got pepper on the nozzle and whistler, and Sayers also planted heavily on the side of Bill’s nob. In the close at the ropes Benjamin was forced down.

3.—​Both came up a good deal flushed, and each seemed blowing. Benjamin looked serious, and was rather cautious. Sayers, anxious to be at work, dashed in, and got home a very straight one on the proboscis, but Benjamin with great quickness countered him on the left cheek, just under the eye. This led to desperate exchanges, in which there appeared to be no best. At length Sayers caught his man round the neck, and holding him tight, pegged away with a will on his dial, and finally threw him heavily, his nob coming with some force against the stake.

4.—​Benjamin, desperate, at once rushed to work, and after some tremendous exchanges, each getting it on the left eye, Benjamin fell.

5.—​Sayers tried to lead off, but Benjy walked away, in obedience to his seconds. Sayers followed until they got close together, and a magnificent rally followed, in which Sayers drew the claret from Bill’s right brow, and also paid a heavy visit to the conk. Bill got on Tom’s left cheek, but his blows had not the precision and weight visible on the part of Sayers.

6.—​Benjamin was evidently shaken by the punishment he had received, which even at this early period was very severe. He sparred, and was evidently in no hurry. Sayers seeing this went to him, but was exceedingly wild in his deliveries. At last he got home on the bread-basket, but without effect, and Benjamin missed his return. Tom now feinted, and just reached Bill’s smeller, but it was a mere flyblow. He tried a body blow, and was well countered on the cheek and mouth. A close and in-fighting followed, in which both were very wild, but in which Tom again turned on the main from Benjamin’s nose. After a struggle both fell through the ropes.

7.—​Benjamin looked savage. He lost no time in dashing at his man, and a tremendous round followed. Sayers let go the left at the nose, but Benjy countered him straight and well with the same hand, opening a fresh bottle. Several tremendous counters with the left followed, Benjamin astonishing every one by his calmness, and by the precision with which he timed his hits. Each got pepper on the nose and eyes, and Sayers napped a nasty one on the middle of the forehead. Sayers now missed his left, and Bill returned well on the cheek. They broke away, and after surveying one another again went to it, and more heavy exchanges took place, in which Tom again turned on the main from Bill’s nasal fountain. Benjamin persevered, and again did they dispute the ground inch by inch. Both were blowing, and the confidence of Bill’s friends was looking up. It was plain both men meant to do all they knew in this bout, and that each felt that it was to be the turning point, one way or the other. Sayers now got heavily on the left eye, which began to close, while Bill caught him on the mouth. The fighting was tremendous, and the way Benjamin stood to his man was beyond all praise. Sayers now and then was extremely wild, and had Benjamin possessed more knowledge of the art the result might have been serious, for Tom was evidently tiring fast, but still the greater force of his hitting was evidently telling a tale. As hit succeeded hit Bill’s dial grew more slantindicular; but he was undaunted, and evidently had made up his mind to do or die. At length they got to close quarters, when some heavy fibbing took place, and both fell, Benjamin under.

8.—​Bill’s left eye was all but closed, the bump at the side telling of Tom’s powers of delivery. Sayers was much flushed, and puffing like a grampus; he lost no time, however, in going to work, evidently hoping to frighten his man. Benjamin was ready, and after some sharp exchanges in his favour, he retreated. Tom followed, and as Benjamin attempted to plant his left, Tom cross-countered him heavily with his right on the jaw, and knocked him off his pins. He was almost out of time, and it required all the exertions of his seconds to get him round.

9.—​Benjamin shook himself, and came up resolutely, but evidently much shaken. He sparred a little, and on Tom going in, he timed him neatly on the middle of the dial, but without much force. Again did Sayers try it with a like result, and Benjamin then dashed in, but was short. Sayers returned with great quickness on the bad eye, and poor Benjamin was again floored.

10.—​Benjamin struggled up gamely, although requested to give in; he held up his hands, and tried to counter with his man, but Tom with great neatness got well home on the good eye, avoiding the return, and Benjamin once more dropped. His seconds threw up the sponge, but the poor fellow broke from them, with an intimation that he was not licked, and wanted to prove he was no cur, and commenced.

11th and last.—​Benjamin tried to lead off, but it was evidently a mere flash in the pan; he missed and stumbled forward, when Tom gave him a slight tap on the nose, which sent him for the last time to grass. He was conveyed to his corner, and his seconds then declared he should fight no longer. Sayers went to him to shake hands, but Benjamin, who was all but blind, wished to commence another round. This, of course, could not be listened to, and the poor fellow was forced from the ring against his will, Sayers being proclaimed the winner in twenty-two minutes, amidst the enthusiastic cheers of his friends. Benjamin was much exhausted, and his punishment was as heavy as one generally sees in double the time. He took it, however, unflinchingly, never complaining from first to last; and on this occasion, although defeated, his most determined enemy (if he has one) cannot say he was dishonoured. Sayers also was much exhausted, but this arose not so much from his punishment, although in this respect he did not come off scatheless, as from his want of condition telling upon him in a battle which was disputed for some rounds with unwonted quickness and desperation.

Remarks.—​Having commented upon the want of condition of Tom Sayers, and having gone at some length into a description of this short but busy fight, it is unnecessary to trouble our readers with many remarks thereupon. That Benjamin succeeded in redeeming his character, and proving that he can receive punishment and struggle hard for victory when properly looked after, is not for a moment to be denied, but that he will ever make a star in the pugilistic horizon we do not for a moment believe. He is, at 34, too old to learn the rudiments of the business; at that age even the limbs of a practised boxer begin to get stiff, and it is therefore extremely improbable that those of a man trained to other pursuits can acquire that quickness and readiness so necessary to a finished pugilist. Had he begun some years ago, we think it not improbable, with such strength and activity as he possesses, he might have hoped to rank in the first division. The desperation with which he contested the seventh round—​which was one of the sharpest and severest we ever saw—​evidently showed what he might have done; but as it is we think, having fulfilled his mission and proved to his friends that he is composed of more sterling metal than they gave him credit for, the best advice we can give him is to shun for the future the attractions of the P.R., and devote himself to the duties of his station in his own country. We are glad for his own credit sake that he determined to undergo this second ordeal, and equally glad that he came out of it so successfully. It also gives us pleasure to know that he has good and staunch friends at his back, who having witnessed his performance on Tuesday, are perfectly satisfied with him. Of Tom Sayers we have only to say that he did not fight so well on this as on former occasions; and, as we think this was entirely owing to want of condition, we feel we are only doing him a favour in impressing upon him the necessity in future of leaving no stone unturned to retain that confidence which has been hitherto so implicitly placed in him.

Thus ended the second attempt of the Broomes (Harry and Frederick) to wrest the belt from the great little Champion, but there were other “Richmonds” now in the field. Bob Brettle, of Birmingham, could not persuade himself that he was unable to interpose a check to the victorious career of the hardy Tom. Bob had his own reasons, too, for believing in his chance. He had tried conclusions with the Champion with the gloves, and felt assured he had the best of it; and in this, perhaps, he was not far wrong, for it was pretty generally known that Tom was much more at home with his digits in nature’s habiliments, and in a four-and-twenty-feet ring, than when they were muffled in horsehair in the sparring-school. The backers of Tom at first laughed at Bob’s propositions, but he declared he was in earnest, and went so far as to say they would wish they had let him alone before they had done with him. After much palaver Sayers offered to stake £400 to £200, but Brettle then required the belt to be thrown in. This, of course, was rejected, Tom considering that as holder of that trophy he was only bound to defend it on even terms. Brettle was extremely loth to give up his chance for the belt, but still he did not think it equivalent to the extra £200 which Sayers had offered to stake, and eventually he waived all pretensions to the “ornamental,” and closed the bargain on the chance of obtaining the “useful,” which would have sufficed to purchase a belt of double the mere intrinsic value.

At the meeting at Owen Swift’s, where the articles were finally ratified, a friend of the Champion’s treated the match with such ridicule that he ventured to suggest the probability of Bob being licked in ten minutes, whereupon Brettle, in the heat of the moment, offered to bet £100 to £10 against such a contingency. “Make it £200 to £20,” said Tom’s friend, “and it’s a bet.” “Done,” said Bob, and the money was staked in the hands of Alec Keene. All these preliminaries were adjusted before the second fight for the Championship in April between Tom Sayers and Bill Benjamin, it being stipulated that Tom should name a day after that event was decided.

At Tattersall’s, on the previous Monday, September 18th, the event seemed to attract as much attention as the speculations on either of the great handicaps, and in the yard a regular ring was formed, where betting, or offers to bet, went on very briskly. The backers of Tom commenced by offering 5 to 2, at which some few investments were made, but the Brums soon opened their mouths for longer odds, and would take no less than 3 to 1, and at this price again money was laid until the Sayersites in their turn held back, and speculation left off at offers of 5 to 2. In the evening, at the sporting houses, 3 to 1 might have been got in some few instances, and a sanguine admirer of Tom’s actually laid 4 to 1, but we believe he was a solitary specimen.

For at least a month, Mr. John Gideon, one of the most earnest backers of Sayers, had been on the look-out for a scene of action which might be reached with ease and comfort, and which, at the same time, should be so situated as to be beyond the reach of the rough and ready attendants at boxing matches, whose presence is anything but desirable, and also tolerably safe from the too-prying eyes of the powers that be, who do not love a mill, and who will in the most unaccountable manner interfere with the pleasures of the Fancy, on the ground that a friendly boxing-match is a breach of the peace. A few consultations with other managers of excursions, and a considerable expenditure of time and trouble, ended in the perfect success of Mr. Gideon’s arrangements, and not only did he carry the expedition to a triumphant dénouement, but ensured the utmost comfort to all the travellers. Of course the profits of the expedition were equally divided between the backers of both men, and the figure being tolerably high, and the company unusually numerous, there is no doubt each realised a handsome sum. Owing to the distance to be travelled, a very early start was found absolutely necessary, and seven o’clock being the hour named, the “lads wot loves a mill” had to be early afoot; and many there were who having, as usual, devoted the first two or three hours of the morning of the 20th of September to “seeing life,” found some difficulty in opening their eyes in their very first sleep to enable them to get to the starting-post in time. Many a one started breakfastless, and many were the wistful glances cast at the victualling department under the able charge of Mr. Dan Pinkstone, an old and well-known caterer, long before the end of the journey was attained; but as the train could not be stopped there was of course no chance of an issue of stores from the commissariat until the goal was reached—​a field near Ashford, in Kent, being the champ clos for combat.

The train comprised thirty-six carriages, every one of which had at least its full complement of travellers, and many were over-full. The start was effected by a quarter before eight, and with the aid of two powerful engines a rapid and pleasant journey was effected to the scene of action, on entirely maiden ground, some sixty miles from the Metropolis, which was reached shortly after ten o’clock. The vast multitude lost no time in clearing out from the carriages, and a pioneer, who had gone on ahead the previous evening, placing himself at the head of the army, proceeded, closely followed by the veteran Commissary and his posse comitatus, to the proposed scene of action. No time was cut to waste in preparing the lists, which were in readiness before eleven o’clock. While these preliminaries were being arranged, a brisk business was carried on in the sale of inner ring tickets, and our readers may judge of the class of spectators and their number when we tell them that the sale realised a sum of £54 10s. for the benefit of the P.B.A. This done, Billy Duncan and his constables proceeded to clear out the ring, and experienced the usual difficulty in persuading the company to seat themselves at a sufficient distance from the enclosure. All were naturally anxious to be as close as possible, and accordingly had seated themselves in compact rows, those in front close to the ropes. The consequence was, that all were crowded together, and many were scarcely able to get a glimpse of the ring. And now as we have brought the men en face, we will say a few words concerning Tom’s antagonist, as we do not purpose to devote space to him in a separate Memoir.

Bob Brettle was born at Portobello, near Edinburgh, in January, 1832, and was therefore, six years younger than Tom Sayers. On the present occasion he just turned the scale at 10st. 4lb., and did not appear in any way too fleshy. By calling he was a glassblower, and it was while he was engaged in one of the larger establishments in the hardware districts that he first became connected with the P.R. His first essay of which we have any record was with Malpas, of Birmingham, whom he fought for £50 a side, on the 14th of February, 1854. There were 80 rounds, principally in favour of Bob, but eventually there was a claim of foul on his part. A wrangle took place; the referee gave two decisions, and ultimately the stakes were drawn. Brettle’s next encounter was with old Jack Jones of Portsmouth, for £100 a side, on the 21st of November, 1854. Jack had only been out of the hospital a few weeks, and was in anything but condition; but still he had the best of the mill, Brettle resorting to the dropping system. Forty-nine rounds were fought in 105 minutes, when darkness came on, and as neither man was much punished, the referee ordered them to fight again on the following Saturday. On that day Jones was at the appointed place, but Brettle did not show, and it being discovered subsequently that he had been apprehended, either through the kind offices of his friends or by his own negligence, the stakes were awarded to Jones. After this Bob was idle until the 20th of November, 1855, when he defeated Roger Coyne, of Birmingham, for £25 a side, in 49 rounds and 48 minutes. Then came his match with Sam Simmonds, for £200 a side, which took place near Didcot, June 3rd, 1856, and was won by Bob very easily in 13 rounds and 16 minutes.

Another year, or rather more, elapsed before Bob made another essay, his next opponent being Job Cobley, dubbed by his patron Baron (Renton) Nicholson, “the Enthusiastic Potboy,” whom he fought for £100 a side, August 4th, 1857. Here Bob’s greater weight and superior strength enabled him to take a decided lead, and Job, finding it too hot to be pleasant, resorted to dropping, and finally lost the battle by falling without a blow in the 47th round, at the expiration of 90 minutes.

On the 25th of January following, Brettle met Bob Travers for £100 a side at Appledore, when, after fighting 42 rounds in 65 minutes, the police interfered. An adjournment took place to the following day, when they met again at Shell Haven, and after fighting 100 rounds in 2 hours and 5 minutes, Bob Travers, who had, like “the Enthusiastic Potboy,” found the earth the safest place, was decided to have lost the battle by falling without a blow.

Bob’s only subsequent encounter was with Jem Mace of Norwich, who, as may be seen in our next chapter, met him, for £100 a side, on the 21st of September, 1858, and at the end of two rounds and three minutes, although with none the worst of it, hid his diminished head, and declined to have any more. This was Bob’s last appearance prior to the present, and it was imagined by most people that he would retire from the Ring, but the temptation of a turn at the Champion was too great for him, and induced him to try a flight at the top of the tree. It is difficult to understand whence he got the confidence to match himself against Sayers, unless it was from his supposed superiority with the gloves—​in the case of Tom Sayers an unusually delusive test. This brings us to the eventful 20th of September, 1858, and the ring at Ashford.

So soon as all were seated a cap was seen to fly over the heads of the dense mass, and in a second Bob Brettle, aided by his seconds, Alec Keene and Jem Hodgkiss, of Birmingham, was seen elbowing his way through the crowd. He was vociferously cheered on all hands, and his good-humoured mug brightened up with a broad grin of delight at the hearty welcome. Tom Sayers was not long behind him, and as he entered on the scene, attended by Jack Macdonald and Harry Brunton, he too was greeted with a tremendous ovation, which he acknowledged in a becoming manner, and then shook hands good-humouredly with his opponent. The spectators now began to make their final investments, and several bets of 3 to 1 were made and staked to considerable amounts. The last, however, that we heard was £25 to £10 on Sayers. After the lads had completed their toilettes Brettle came forward and offered to take £150 to £50 from Tom, but the Champion declined, as his money was all on. Bob then held up the note and offered to take the same odds from any spectator, but silence was the only reply, and he had to return the flimsy to his “cly.” Tom’s colour was a very handsome blue and white stripe, with blue border; and Bob’s a dark blue, with a white star. Brettle’s boots having been examined by Tom’s seconds, it was found that the spikes were beyond the regulation length, and had to be filed, but this was so inefficiently done that they were still far too sharp and long for the purpose for which they were intended. Had Sayers’s seconds done their duty resolutely they would have shown them to the referee, who doubtless would have ordered a still further curtailment, but Tom personally requested them to make no bother about it, as, in his own words, he “could give all that in.”

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​On throwing off their blankets there was a great disparity in the appearance of the men, much greater, indeed, than would have been expected from the slight difference in weight. Tom, whose condition was superb, was broad-shouldered, thick-loined, and muscular, the weight being just where it ought to be; while Brettle looked narrow and round on the shoulders, and had not the upright, firm bearing of the Champion. In height, too, there appeared more than the actual difference of a bare inch. Tom’s mug, of the two, was fleshier than his opponent’s, but it looked hard as nails. In point of age it was evident there was a considerable difference in favour of the Brum, whose fresh, fair skin and healthful country appearance contrasted strongly with the Champion’s bronzed but somewhat stale complexion. The wear and tear of fifteen contests, and the gay life he had led, had evidently left their mark. Each had a pleasant, good-humoured smile on his phiz, but the Champion seemed to be more at home than his adversary. Bob looked cunning and shifty, walking round his man with a kind of crab-like, sideway movement, and leering out of the corner of his eye, evidently on the look-out to catch the Champion tripping, and make a dash at him with his right. Tom was awake, however, and though not moving far from the scratch, stepped with his adversary, and contrived to keep continually facing him. At length Bob, finding his man so “fly” to his “little game,” dashed straight at him, and let go the left, which caught Tom very slightly on the nose. Tom nodded and smiled as much as to say, “Wait a minute;” and Bob renewed his journey round his man, who remained in the middle of the ring. At length Brettle again dashed in, and exchanges took place, in which Tom left his mark on Bob’s forehead, the bump being of considerable size. Brettle retreated, came again, and lunging out his left was prettily countered on the mouth, from which “first blood” was instantly visible, the blow being a hot ’un. Some neat exchanges followed on the side of the head; they then broke away, and, as Sayers followed his man, Bob ducked his head, but Sayers caught him a sharp spank on the proboscis, which led to counter-hitting, when Tom got well on the forehead, and Bob fell. A claim of first knock-down for Tom was made but disallowed, as Bob was evidently getting down when the blow reached him.

2.—​Bob’s nose and mouth showed that Tom had been there; he, however, dashed in, and heavy exchanges took place, Tom getting on to the left peeper and Brettle the body. Brettle now broke away, and resorted to his cunning peripatetic dodge, but Tom only grinned, turned as he moved, and waited for him. At length Bob dashed in, and got on the chest very slightly, Sayers returning well on the kisser. Brettle, after another pedestrian excursion, came again and let go the left, which was stopped, and he again “walked round and showed his muscle.” Tom stepped with him, and each tried to draw the other, until Brettle at last let go his left, and sharp exchanges followed on the cheek with the left, and Sayers fell. A claim of knockdown for Brettle not allowed, Tom being on the hop, and partially slipping down.

3.—​Sayers, on owning up, had a slight mark on the left cheek, which caused the Brums to cheer vociferously. Brettle, seeing it, made a dash to force the fighting, but Tom stopped him by a straight one on the whistler, and then closed. This led to some sharp but very wild in-fighting in Tom’s corner, and at last Brettle was down on his knees with all the worst of it.

4.—​The Brum came up blinking with his left eye, which had evidently got pepper in the last wild rally, and seemed as if about to close. It was now discovered that the ten minutes had just expired, and that his bet of £200 was saved. He lost no time in getting to work, but giving one or two sideway steps he dashed in, planted his right on the ribs, and then one or two sharp counter-hits were exchanged. While dodging and stepping in and out, Brettle’s spikes came into dangerous collision with Tom’s shin, and inflicted a serious wound; Tom pointed to the injured spot and shook his head, whereupon Bob apologised, assured him that it was unintentional, and promised to be more careful for the future. The wound was excessively deep, and only shows the extreme danger of using such absurd spikes, which are utterly useless to a man who intends really to keep on his legs. Tom, after a little dodging, got heavily on the nose, and counter-hits were exchanged, Tom getting very heavily on the left peeper, and receiving a hot one on the jaw, which knocked him clean off his legs. (“First knock down” for Brettle, who was enthusiastically cheered as he went to his corner.)

5.—​On coming up there was no mark of Bob’s visitation on Tom’s jaw, but the effect of Tom’s blows on Brettle’s mouth and eye was very visible. His nose and left eye were swollen, and the claret was still visible from his mouth. (The backers of Tom offered 4 to 1, but in only one instance was it taken—​viz., by Bob Travers, who invested “a tenner” on the Brummagem pet.) Brettle, after a little queer manœuvring, rushed in left and right, and got the latter on the body, but not heavily. He looked serious, and walked round and round, but finding Tom ready he tried a dash, succeeding in landing the right on the body. Tom got heavily on the forehead, and then, counter-hits being exchanged, Brettle got slightly on the neck, and Tom, with his right, caught Brettle very heavily on the left shoulder, and Bob went down in Tom’s corner. Sayers ran after Brettle as he was being carried to his corner, with a curious look of anxiety and alarm on his countenance, evidently thinking that he had inflicted some dangerous injury. Finding, however, that the blow had not had the serious effect he feared, he walked smiling to his corner.

6.—​Brettle came up looking very serious, and several times led off left and right, but quite out of distance. Tom then stepped in and tried his left, which Brettle cleverly avoided, and then returned on the chest. They quickly got to close quarters, and after a sharp exchange on the neck, Brettle fell forward on his hands in Sayers’s corner, Tom missing a terrific upper-cut with his right as he fell.

7th and last.—​Brettle missed several well-intended lunges with the right, and then walked round the ring; he came again, and tried the left with a similar result. He kept hitting out of distance, as if afraid of Tom’s right, which had already missed him so narrowly. Again and again did he step in and out, and as Sayers tried to catch him on the hop he would point and grin; at last he got slightly on the chest, receiving a little one on the cheek. Brettle retreated, and then hit out with his left most furiously, but missed, and Tom countered him heavily on the shoulder; Brettle immediately put his right hand to his shoulder as if in pain; he, however, shook himself together, and tried to stand and prop his man with his right, but from the expression of his countenance something evidently was amiss, and on Tom’s approaching him he got down in his own corner, apparently suffering considerable pain. Solid Coates, his umpire, at once went to his corner, and on inquiry found that he had dislocated his shoulder, either by the force of his own blow, or from the effect of Tom’s heavy counter; and this being the case, of course he had no option but to resign the victory to Tom Sayers, who was hailed the conqueror in fifteen minutes. Tom at once went to shake hands with his fallen foe, and then resuming his clothes, quickly reappeared among his friends without a mark to show that he had been fighting. A medical friend who was on the ground quickly attended upon poor Brettle, and lost no time in restoring his arm to its position, and the poor fellow, more injured in mind than body, was soon sufficiently recovered to enter freely into conversation with his friends, many of whom believed, and still believe, that he had to the full as good a chance as Tom Sayers at the time so disastrous a termination to the battle occurred. That this was so is, of course, but a matter of opinion; our ideas on the subject will be found in the remarks appended. That Bob’s own opinion did not coincide with that of his friends may be gathered from the fact that he subsequently called upon us to state his intention of retiring from the ring. He says he knows of no man of his weight who is likely to try conclusions with him; that he has no intention of again overmatching himself as on the present occasion, and as he has a good business in Birmingham, he thinks he can well afford to leave fighting alone, at any rate as an active professor of the art. In this resolve we think he is perfectly right, and as he is a thoroughly honest, upright young fellow, and of an excellent temper, we do not doubt of his success.

Before closing this part of our account we should not be rendering justice where it is due did we not mention that Jack Macdonald, one of Tom Sayers’s seconds, on finding the nature of Bob’s injuries, rushed to his corner, and rendered very material assistance to the surgeon in attendance in restoring the dislocated arm to its socket.

Remarks.—​Where the battle was of such short duration, it is, of course, difficult to find much to say in the shape of remarks. To every judge of milling who was on the ground, not excluding some of Brettle’s own friends, it was obvious from the very first round that, bar an accident, the victory must lie with the favourite. In fact, in our own hearing, at the conclusion of the first round, where Tom drew the crimson from Brettle’s mouth, and set his sign manual on his forehead, one of the backers of the latter said, “It’s all over; we shan’t win.” It had been anticipated that the Champion, in his anxiety to win the bet of £200 to £20, would at once take the initiative, and that thereby he would throw himself open to the dangerous right-handed counters of Bob; but those who knew Tom Sayers were too well acquainted with his judgment and tact to believe any such thing; hence their confidence and the great odds they so freely laid. From the very commencement it was obvious Tom saw the game he had to play, and the calm way in which he shifted his position so as always to present a square front to the enemy delighted every one. He was, of course, taken by surprise at Bob’s getting home first, but this only rendered him steadier, and convinced him that he must act in a cautious manner. We do not believe he for a moment contemplated going for the bet, although we feel convinced that had one vicious upper-cut got home he must have won it to the greatest certainty. In all his recent fights he has been the one that has fought in the jump-about, dancing-master style, but here he was the steady old stager, quietly biding his time and seldom throwing away a hit. The knock-down blow in the fourth round was indubitably a fair knock-down, but it must not be forgotten that although matters thereby looked favourable for Brettle, the real fact was that Tom in his counter got home much heavier than his opponent, and that had he been stepping in instead of back at the moment he would not have been floored. The proof of the effectiveness of the blow was seen on the men again appearing at the scratch, when Tom showed no mark, while the evidence of his visitation to Bob’s eye was unmistakable. That the battle terminated as it did we cannot help feeling was fortunate for Brettle. Tom’s dangerous right—​never brought into play until he has his man “safe,” as he says—​was already busy; true, he missed once or twice, but he is not the man to do this often, and had it got home effectively there is no telling what injury he might have inflicted. The actual cause of Bob’s accident it is impossible to fathom. Some aver that it was partly caused by the heavy blow in the fifth round, others that the shoulder was injured by the fall on his hands, but, as he was able to use it so vigorously in the last round, we believe both these suppositions to be wrong. Possibly they may have rendered the muscles weaker than usual, and predisposed the arm for such a contretemps, but our own idea is that Bob, swinging his arm out so very viciously at a distance from his man, and receiving a tap on the collar-bone at the same moment, the joint was jerked out entirely in that manner. That his arm was dislocated there was not the slightest doubt, for we have the evidence not only of the surgeon himself, but also of Jack Macdonald, as to the dislocation being reduced: and even if we had not, the expression of poor Brettle’s countenance and his contortions when in his corner were far too natural to have been put on for the occasion. We should not have thought it necessary to make these observations had we not heard it whispered that a set of idiots, who think everything connected with the ring is “a barney,” or something tantamount to it, have been going about saying that there was no accident at all, and that the statement as to Brettle’s accident was all moonshine. The gentry who make these remarks should look at home, and before throwing mud at persons in a different walk of life, should consider whether in the event of a similar compliment being paid to themselves, there would not be a much larger portion of the sticking part attached to them, and whether they could be as easily whitewashed as their humbler, though perhaps, honester, brethren of the P.R. Of Brettle’s performances we need say but little. He evidently found himself out-generalled from the first; and this being the case, all that remained for him to do was to make the best of a bad bargain, and this we are bound to say he did to the utmost of his ability. Our own opinion was, before the battle, that he had not the ghost of a chance, and that opinion was borne out by the result. We are sorry that he was disappointed in his expectations, which were entirely raised by his underrating his man; but as we do not believe he will be a loser by his defeat, he is, perhaps, not to be so much pitied as some of his less fortunate compeers. He has been always a general favourite, and so long as he perseveres in his present straightforward course he must retain the good wishes of all parties. As we have stated above, we think he has taken a wise resolution in retiring from the Ring, and we hope that no vain flattery on the part of any interested admirers will induce him to change his resolution.

These excellent remarks of the writer, on the readiness of silly persons to impute dishonesty to the losing pugilist, are as laudable as they are just and honest. We shall elsewhere have occasion to remark upon a recent work devoted to the resuscitation and reassertion of these defunct, discreditable, and often dishonest “shaves.”

With this very easy defeat of the Birmingham Pet, Tom Sayers, as was generally supposed, had disposed of the last of his competitors for the belt; but it was not to be so. A breeze, whispering of war, was heard from across the broad Atlantic. Aaron Jones, not long after his defeat by Sayers, had emigrated to the land of the stars and stripes, and being a fine-looking young fellow, of good address, and of quiet and civil deportment, had found much favour as a teacher of the art pugilistic among our Yankee cousins. His anecdotes of British boxers and exemplifications of the English method became fashionable among the young bloods of New York, and the subject of pugilism grew to be the talk of the town. John Heenan had been selected by a party to “whip” John Morrissey, who for some reason had become obnoxious to some of them, and Heenan’s friends made choice of Aaron Jones as trainer and ring adviser of “The Benicia Boy.” Heenan, however, being attacked by illness, was stopped in his work, and thus forced to go into the ring with a stone of superabundant flesh, and suffered defeat at the hands of Morrissey. About the close of the year 1858, distance lending enchantment to the view, the Transatlantic papers told us that Aaron did not think Tom Sayers such a very formidable customer after all, and “Had a mind to return and have a second (third?) shy for the belt.” Rumour added that, failing Aaron, Uncle Sam was about to send over one of his champions, to see what he could do towards humbling the pride of the little Englishman. Early in 1849 rumour ripened into certainty, and a letter reached Bell’s Life office from Mr. Wilkes, inquiring on what terms Heenan could be placed on the rota to have his turn against Sayers. A good deal of astonishment was created at the time by the fact that the defeated man, and not the winner of the American fight for the championship, had been selected; but when it came to be remembered that Morrissey, the winner, was an Irishman by birth, and not a native American, the wonderment ceased, and Heenan was recognised as the proper representative of America. The Editor of Bell’s Life replied to Mr. Wilkes’s letter, intimating that immediately on the receipt of a deposit from Heenan he could be placed on the list. He further stated, however, that, in the event of his winning, he would not be permitted to take the belt back to America, without leaving its equivalent in value or remaining here three years to contest its possession against all comers on the usual terms. By the next mail, after Mr. Wilkes’s first letter, came a second, dated New York, March 29, 1859, which was as follows:—

“Office Wilkes’s Spirit of the Times, New York.

“March 29, 1859.

“Dear Sir,—​Enclosed please find a draft for £200 sterling, drawn in your favour on the Bank of Liverpool, which I have been requested to forward to you, on the part of Aaron Jones, in order that you may deposit for him the necessary sum for a meeting with the Champion of England within six months of the date of the battle of the 5th April, between Sayers and Benjamin; and in case the winner of that fight do not accept, you will please hold the money subject to my order. The language with which Jones accompanies this draft is as follows:—​‘I, Aaron Jones, hereby challenge the winner of the coming fight for the championship, to fight me in six months from that time for two hundred pounds and the Champion’s belt. The fight to take place near London, and to be governed by the rules of the London Prize Ring.’ Jones also requests me to say to you for him that ‘he would prefer having the forfeit or first deposit to be as much as fifty pounds, as he does not wish to be at the trouble of crossing the Atlantic for nothing, though he is willing to pay his own expenses over and back to get the fight.’ He also hopes that Sayers will, for old acquaintance’ sake, give him the first chance; but this is a consideration which I have no right to press, after having previously consented to lay before you the wishes or the claims of Heenan. Your sense of propriety will find a law for the matter, and will, I hope, likewise permit me to remain, yours, very truly at command,

“GEO. WILKES.

“P.S.—​I am also desired by the backers of Jones to say that the stakes will be increased to five hundred pounds a side, if the Champion wishes it.

“G. W.”

To this letter Sayers at once replied, closing with the proposition of Jones, and thus placing that hero first on the list of candidates after his second battle with Benjamin. Hardly had the missive of the gallant Tom been despatched when another letter arrived from Mr. Wilkes—​who throughout acted as the adviser and amanuensis of both Jones and Heenan—​enclosing a sum of £50, which he had been directed by his friends to stake on the part of Heenan. In that letter he requested the stakeholder, if not contrary to rule, to give Heenan’s claim the preference, as that aspiring youth had been the first to challenge Sayers, and was fearful that if he was not at once placed on the list of candidates, his chance of encountering Sayers might be entirely lost by some unforeseen accident. Inasmuch, however, as Jones, with prudent foresight, had been the first to post the coal, the stakeholder felt bound, according to practice, to give him the priority, and Heenan was compelled reluctantly to moderate his impatience; Heenan, like Jones, offered, if Sayers wished, to increase the stakes to £500 a side.

Shortly after the second defeat of Bill Benjamin, Tom Sayers was called upon to meet Jack Macdonald, who had been delegated by Aaron Jones to act the part of plenipotentiary on his behalf. Another conference was held, and after many pros and cons., articles were signed, sealed, and delivered, under which Jones was bound to fight the Champion early in the current year, a margin of one month being allowed on either side as to the actual day of battle. For this match £50 a side was deposited. It was not long after this that a further communication was received from Mr. Wilkes, requesting the stakeholder to return him £50 out of the £200 he had sent for Jones, to pay the passage of Aaron to Europe, and to transfer the remaining £100 to the account of the match between Heenan and Sayers. He added, that if Jones intended to go on with his match he would have to find the remainder of his money himself, his American friends having some reason to be dissatisfied with him, and being desirous of transferring all their interest to the Benicia Boy. By the very next mail came another letter intimating that Jones would be able to find all his money himself, and therefore the match was still to be considered “on,” and so for several months the matter rested.

In the following October the public were startled at reading the following letter from Mr. Wilkes to the Editor of Bell’s Life in London:—

“Office, Wilkes’s Spirit of the Times, New York, Oct. 7, 1859.

“My dear Sir,—​I take pleasure of informing you that Aaron Jones, conceding to the common desire on this side of the Atlantic to see Heenan have the first chance at Sayers for the Championship (after the Unknown), has desired me to have forfeited the £50 which now remain staked for him in your hands against Sayers. Enclosed I send you Jones’s letter authorising me to take this course; and as I represent the money of his backers, your authority for declaring the match “off” will, I suppose, be considered complete. I forget, as I write, whether Sayers has already covered a deposit of Heenan’s for the Championship; if not, please let the same deposit be made and covered in his case (£50) as was made and covered in the case of Aaron Jones. I am very solicitous about this point as, for special reasons, I want Heenan regularly upon the record at as early a moment as possible. I send with this a note to Sayers, directed to your care, in which I apprise him of Jones’s forfeit. Please preserve the note of Jones to me, and believe me to be yours, ever truly, at command,

“GEO. WILKES, Editor Wilkes’s Spirit of the Times.”

This communication was of course made known to Sayers without loss of time, and having now no business on hand, the way was clear for the Benicia Boy, and Tom’s backers being anxious that he should finish his career as quickly as possible, and get into business, at once covered the £50 of Heenan, and signed articles for Tom to fight him on or about the day originally fixed for the fight with Jones, supposing it was the wish of Heenan to step into Jones’s shoes. In this, however, the English managers of the affair had mistaken the meaning of Mr. Wilkes’s letter, for on their writing to him, with details of what had been done, the following reply was forwarded:—

“Office, Wilkes’s Spirit, New York, Nov. 23, 1859.

“My dear Sir,—​Your letter of 3rd inst., enclosing copy of articles for a fight between Heenan and Sayers, and signed by the latter, for our acceptance, reached me yesterday, and have been communicated to Heenan. We are all, however, taken by surprise at the proposal that the fight should come off in February next, instead of at the expiration of the regular six months, as was stipulated in the original proposition, and I am requested on Heenan’s part to say, that he expects the usual preparatory term will be granted to him. By reference to his cartel you will find he challenged Sayers to fight him near London for £200 and the Champion’s belt, in six months from the date of his (Sayers) reception of that challenge, or the date of the first deposit under it. This challenge having reached England during the pendency of the engagement between Sayers and the Unknown, was kept in abeyance in your hands, and having been further kept back by the next succeeding engagement of Sayers with Jones, was not recognised or received by Sayers until after he had accepted forfeit from Aaron Jones. Being thus left free of all engagements, he responded to the challenge of Heenan, and on the 26th October (I believe) covered the £50 deposit which you had, for months, held in Heenan’s name. The articles for this new match, however, were not signed by Sayers until the 3rd Nov. inst., and consequently Heenan claims that he is entitled to six months’ preliminary time from either one or the other of those dates. He, however, desires me to say that if there be anything in the rules of the P. R. Benevolent Association which entitles the Champion to reduce the term for meeting on his acceptance of a regular six months’ challenge, he will conform to those rules, and fight Sayers at the indicated time, even though it will leave him deficient of the due preparation; but he utterly repudiates the idea (which the selection of February by Sayers perhaps infers) that his match with Sayers is a continuation of the match with Jones. With this explanation he desires to state that he will be ready to put up his second deposit of £50 at Owen Swift’s in London, on the 15th December next, and if he be not represented at that time by any agent from this country, he begs you will continue your past kindness and again put up the money for him. Waiving no right, but conceding to all rules, he remains your obedient servant, though very respectfully yours,

“GEORGE WILKES.”

At first it was feared this would occasion a hitch in the match, but it was not the case. Tom was nothing loth to let the affair take its course. He had promised to give Heenan a chance, and would not disappoint him. He proposed, therefore, to extend the time to the end of March, and a missive with this proposition was despatched across the Atlantic, together with a proposition from Tom that the stakes should be £500 a side, or as much more as Heenan could get. Before, however, it could reach its destination, a Mr. Falkland had left that country as the representative and forerunner of Heenan, prepared, immediately on his arrival, to do the needful on his behalf. Early in December, Mr. Falkland presented himself at the stakeholder’s, where he was met by some of the friends of Sayers, but as Tom was not present it was agreed that the evening of December 15, which was set apart for staking a further sum of £50 a side at Owen Swift’s, should be selected for coming to terms. At Owen’s, on the night in question, Tom made his appearance, and quickly fraternising with the ambassador of his foe, found not the slightest difficulty in arranging everything on that satisfactory footing upon which the match afterwards stood. Mr. Falkland had instructions not to make the match for more than £200, as Heenan could lay out the remainder of his money to more advantage in bets, the odds being against him. The following day articles were drawn in the approved form, and information was forthwith despatched to Heenan that his presence in the Old Country was at once required.

In the meantime, on the other side of the Atlantic, things had well nigh tended to prevent the consummation of the wishes of the Fancy. John Heenan and his quondam opponent Morrissey had got to loggerheads, and Heenan proposed to fight Morrissey a second time before fighting Sayers. Through the timely diplomacy of Mr. Wilkes, however, the difficulty was solved, by Morrissey promising to give Heenan another chance, in either England or America, for his own sum, should he prove fortunate enough to defeat our Champion. With this promise the “Boy” was forced to be content, and after innumerable hair-breadth escapes from warrants out against him for an alleged breach of the peace, he succeeded (again thanks to the good management of Mr. Wilkes) in getting on board the “Asia,” which brought him to this country, landing at Liverpool on the 16th of January, 1860.

Thenceforward all went serenely and smoothly; the whole of the deposits were made good, and the 17th of April, 1860, was waited for with feverish expectation.

Though it was made known to those who invested their gold in the ticket for “there and back,” that the start must be made as early as four o’clock, this had no effect in diminishing the number of those who resolved to be “thar,” as our Yankee visitors expressed it.

The scene at Owen Swift’s and Harry Brunton’s, where tickets were obtainable, beggars description, the rush was terrific, and many were entirely unsuccessful in getting tickets at all. Nat Langham’s, Alec Keene’s, and other sporting houses were also crammed, but there was not the same difficulty in carrying on the business of the landlord as at the first houses named, where at one time trade was at a standstill. Many of the frequenters of the sporting hostelries evidently determined to make a night of it in order to make a certainty of being up betimes in the morning, and that they carried their intentions fully into effect was plainly visible in their countenances on their emerging into daylight. The more prudent ring-goers, however, took time by the forelock, and early ensconced themselves in their beds until the summons to be up and doing should arouse them.

The scene at London Bridge Station was one of continual bustle for at least an hour before the time appointed for the start, and, judging from the early arrivals, all seemed impressed with the necessity of taking time by the forelock. The precincts of the station reminded us of the crush on the Derby Day, but the effect was far more striking from the circumstance of its being a “midnight flitting.” The company’s arrangements, however, were such as to meet the pressing requirements, and the travellers by the late trains from the provinces, and those who had postponed the purchase of their tickets until the last moment were enabled to provide themselves with the necessary passport at the last moment. Two monster trains were prepared, and as early as half-past three the first, which consisted of thirty-three carriages, was so full that the non-arrival of the men, both of whom were accommodated at private lodgings close by, alone delayed its departure. The Champion arrived first, and his fresh, brisk, and natty appearance indicated a good night’s rest, and especial pains with his toilette. He was soon followed by Heenan, who seemed to wish to avoid recognition, and instantly proceeded to a compartment reserved for him and his seconds. The tickets were then collected, and at twenty minutes past four they started on their journey. By this time night had cast off her sable mantle, and day dawned with that peculiar tint which foretold the brilliant sunny weather with which the expedition was favoured. Throughout the whole of the metropolitan district, which extends for fifteen miles from London, the police, both mounted and on foot, and all armed with cutlasses, were on the look out on each side of the line even at this early hour, but the speed at which the train proceeded at once satisfied those watchful guardians that the mill was never intended to take place within their bailiwick, after leaving which scarcely a soul was to be seen beyond husbandmen proceeding to their daily avocations.

Great preparations were made to “stop the mill” further down, both on the Dover and Brighton lines; but they were unnecessary, as the travellers turned off at Reigate Junction on to the Guildford line, along which the train rattled at a good pace—​we may say, “in peaceful serenity”—​until within a short distance of the latter old-fashioned country town, where the first stoppage was made for water. In due course the journey was resumed, and in a short time the travellers entered the wild district where the military town of Aldershott is situated, the deserted appearance of which satisfied all that the “pilot” to whom the selection of the locale had been entrusted had made a “happy choice.” It was near seven o’clock when the first train discharged its living burthen at Farnborough station, after a most pleasant journey through one of the prettiest counties in England, which, illumined by a glorious sun, and shooting forth in vernal beauty, must have inspired all with feelings of intense gratification; whilst the Benicia Boy and the numerous Americans present must have been struck with the highly favourable contrast to the miserable pilgrimage which from all accounts preceded their representative’s last appearance in the Ring, when he fought Morrissey in America.

No time was lost in choosing the spot for the ring, which was quickly and well formed by the veteran Tom Oliver and his son, in a meadow adjoining the railway, situate on the borders of Hampshire and Surrey, and within half-a-mile of the Farnborough Station on the South Western line. By this time the second train had reached its destination, and the crowd could not have numbered fewer than twelve hundred persons, both of high and low degree, though compared with former mills the present “congregation” must unhesitatingly be pronounced the most aristocratic ever assembled at the ring side. It included the bearers of names highly distinguished in the pages of Burke and Debrett; officers of the army and navy, members of Parliament, justices of the peace, and even brethren of the cloth; whilst the muster of literati on behalf of the leading metropolitan journals, and the most popular periodicals and miscellanies—​to say nothing of the editorial and pictorial staffs of our American contemporaries, Wilkes’s Spirit of the Times and Frank Leslie’s Illustrated News—​gave quite a new feature to the gathering, and evinced at the same time the overwhelming interest and excitement this national rivalry had created throughout both hemispheres. The sale of inner-ring tickets (raised to 10s. each on this occasion) produced a large revenue to the Pugilistic Benevolent Association, and Billy Duncan’s speculation in chairs must have been a most successful one, judging from the demand for those conveniences, by means of which the spectators were enabled to “see the fight” with comparative comfort.[29]

JOHN CAMEL HEENAN.

Appearance of the Men.—​All being in readiness, and the immense crowd disposed in tolerable order by the exertions of those of the ring-keepers who chose to do their duty, Tom Sayers appeared at the ring-side, and having deposited his hat within the ropes, quickly followed it himself, attended by his old pal, Harry Brunton, and the accomplished Jemmy Welsh, as seconds. The Benicia Boy was not long in following his example, attended by Jack Macdonald and his trainer, Cusick. Tom looked as dapper and well set up as ever, and was full of smiles. “The Boy” (aged 26), whose attire was not quite so fashionable, was also all on the broad grin. They eyed one another curiously for a few seconds, this being, it must be recollected, their first meeting, and then advancing, shook hands most cordially together, each regarding the other with evident friendly feeling. The warmth of the greeting appeared to give great satisfaction to the surrounding multitude, who cheered vociferously. The men conversed for a few minutes, but of course the subject of their interview did not transpire. Umpires and a referee having now been appointed, the signal was given to prepare for the combat. The first ceremony, that of tying the colours to the stakes, was then proceeded with, and no time was cut to waste in doffing their upper toggery. Each had taken the precaution to put on his boots and drawers previous to entering the ring, so that the usual tedious process of lacing the men’s boots was dispensed with. In Heenan’s case, however, there would have been no necessity for this, as his boots were of fashionable make, with elastic sides. He was the first to appear in buff, and a single glance was sufficient to show that his condition was all that could be desired by the most fastidious. Tom’s mahogany bust was quickly after bared to the gaze of the multitude, and here, too, was evidence of strict attention to his work. They had a last rub from their seconds, and now advanced to give the final friendly shake. This was the time to get a fair idea of their respective proportions, and in size it really looked a horse to a hen. Heenan stood full four inches and a half over Tom, and had an immense advantage in length. Every muscle on his broad back, his shoulders, and arms, was well developed, and gave evidence of enormous power. His legs were rather light, but still there was no lack here of wire and activity. His skin was exceedingly fair and transparent, and shone like that of a thorough-bred. His mug was hard, and looked older than we expected, his cheek-bones being very prominent, and now that they had been denuded of much that was superfluous, his tout ensemble was far more like that of his brother professional than on his first interview with us. Tom looked brown and hard as nails: his well-knit frame seemed fitter that we have seen it for years. He looked visibly older even than when he fought Brettle, but, considering what he has gone through, this is not to be wondered at. The only points in which there appeared any advantage on his side were in his loins and his legs, which were cast in a decidedly stronger mould than those of his towering opponent. The contrast between them was far greater than between Tom and the Tipton Slasher, and taking into consideration the fact that the advantage in age on this occasion was t’other way, Tom’s work seemed indeed cut out. That he had the remotest doubt as to the result we do not for an instant believe. He smiled confidently, and had evidently made up his mind to do or die. Heenan seemed to have an equally decided opinion as to the termination of the battle, and, to use an expression of his own countrymen, he was “all thar.” He won the toss for corners, and, of course, placed himself with his back to the sun; and, in addition to this, he had the advantage of being on slightly rising ground, so that Tom had all the way through to fight up hill. The usual ceremony was now gone through by the seconds and men. Time was called at twenty-nine minutes past seven, and they commenced

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​Heenan at once threw himself into very fair position, his left well balanced ready for a shoot, and the right across the body. Tom’s position was the same as ever, lightly but firmly planted on his pins. He smiled and nodded, and on Heenan trying to lead off his left got well back. Heenan tried again, his reach being tremendous, but again did Tom get well away. Tom now essayed a draw, but “the Boy” was awake. Each feinted and dodged to find out a weak point, but for a short time each fortress was too well guarded. At last Tom let go his left and right, but out of distance. Heenan shook his nob and grinned, then again tried a lead, but was short. They got gradually to Heenan’s corner, who appeared disposed to fight on the defensive, and the sun being in Tom’s eyes seemed to bother him not a little. At length they came together, and sharp left-handers were exchanged, Tom getting on “the Boy’s” nose, drawing first blood, and Heenan leaving his sign manual on Tom’s frontispiece. Heavy counter-hits followed, Tom again getting on the nose, and receiving on the nob. More sparring ensued to a close, when Heenan seized Tom round the neck, but Tom pegged away at the back of his head until he made him leave that, and Tom fell laughing.

2.—​Heenan showed marks of Tom’s handiwork on the back of his neck, and Tom’s forehead was flushed. Heenan kept to his corner, whither Tom went to draw him out; when he thought Tom was near enough, “the Boy” lunged out his left, but Tom stopped him and got back. Heenan tried again, and just reached Tom’s nose. After one or two feints a pretty counter took place, Tom getting on the nose, and receiving a sharp one over the right eye. Heenan then closed, got well hold of him, and threw the Champion, falling heavily on him. Offers to take 2 to 1.

3.—​After a little lively fiddling, Tom got too near to the big’un, who instantly slung out his left straight and full on the bridge of Tom’s beak, knocking him clean off his pins. (“First knock-down” for Heenan.)

4.—​Tom, on coming up, looked rather astonished, and his eyes blinked in the sun like a dissipated owl. Heenan went at once to him at the scratch, dodged him, and once more planted a heavy spank with his left, this time on the jaw, and down went Tom again, amidst the shouts of the Yankees, who now offered 6 to 4 on Heenan. The Sayers party looked excessively blue.

5.—​Tom’s mug showed visible marks of “the Boy’s” powers of hitting. He was cautious, and kept away from his man; Jack followed, and letting go his left on the mouth was well countered by Tom on the proboscis. Heenan now bored in, and after dodging Tom, got again heavily on the sneezer, and Tom fell.

6.—​Tom’s countenance, though not swelled, was much flushed, while the Boy was almost scatheless. He was somewhat wild, and tried both hands, but missed. Counter-hits ensued, in which Tom received the full weight of Heenan’s ponderous fist on his right arm, which was driven back against his face. Tom reached Heenan’s left cheek, leaving his mark. Heenan retaliated on the right brow, and Tom fell.

7.—​Tom’s right peeper displayed marks of pepper, and it was perceptible that he had sustained severe injury to his right arm, which was beginning to swell, and which he now kept close to his body, as if to support it. Still he went to Heenan in his corner, and that hero delivered his left, but not effectively, on the chest. Tom danced away, and as he turned round napped a little one from the right on his back. He was quickly out of harm’s way, and, coming again, dodged his man until he let fly, when Tom countered him heavily on the right cheek, drawing the claret and raising a considerable bump. The blow staggered Heenan, who stood all of a heap for a moment. Soon did he collect himself, and as Tom came again, lodged a little one on the nose, but was once more countered very heavily on the right cheek, the cut being increased and the bump enlarged. Slight exchanges followed, in which Tom received on the right eye and Heenan on the right cheek, whereupon Heenan went to his corner for a sponge. He seemed in no hurry to come away, and Tom stood in the middle of the ring until Heenan went slowly to him, and tried his left, but it was no go. He tried again, but only just reached Tom’s brow. Tom now feinted and got home on the right peeper, Heenan missing an upper-cut. Tom danced away, came again on another tack, and bang went his left on the sore spot, a heavy spank, and he was instantly out of danger, laughing; Heenan rushed after him, but was well stopped, thrice in succession. Again and again Tom went to him, and baulked his efforts to effect a lodgment, and then Heenan napped another slashing crack on the right cheek, which had the effect of at once closing his dexter goggle. He retreated for a wipe, and was followed by Tom, and some mutual cautious dodging and feinting took place. At last Heenan got on the top of Tom’s smeller, but not heavily, and Tom then avoided another attempt. Once more did Heenan retire to Jack Macdonald for consolation and advice; Tom walking round and eying him in an inquisitive manner, as if admiring his handiwork. Tom, after satisfying his curiosity, went close, and slight exchanges followed, without mischief. Heenan tried his left and was stopped. Both very cautious, and neither disposed to go within gunshot. Heenan now led off and got slightly on the mouth with his left, Tom retaliating on the closed peeper. Mutual taps and stops, and then Tom got his left heavily on the old spot another cracker, whereupon Heenan once more retired into the privacy of his corner, amidst cries of 2 to 1 on Sayers. Tom, after a few turns and a touch of the sponge, went to him, but Heenan shook his nob and seemed disinclined for work. Tom finding he could not draw him, retreated, whereupon “the Boy” came out, and let go his left viciously, which was beautifully stopped. He then feinted, and got well on the bridge of Tom’s snorer as he was retreating, and again knocked him off his pins. Tom rolled over, laughing, and was carried to his corner. This round lasted 13 minutes, and was a fine specimen of stratagem and skill, especially on the part of Tom. His right arm now was much swollen, and so painful that he could make little or no use of it.

8.—​Tom slowest to the call of time, but directly he was at the scratch “the Boy” retired to his corner, whither Tom had to follow him. Heenan at once let go his left, but Tom laughed and jumped back. A slight exchange followed, and Tom napped a straight one on the sniffer. Heenan now missed a couple of well-meant shots, and Tom jumped away from a third, and as he turned his back upon Heenan got a right-hander on the back of the neck. Heenan followed him up, but Tom grinned and jumped nimbly away. His activity on his pins was as remarkable as ever. Heenan pursued him, and at last lodged his left slightly on the nozzle, and once more turned on the tap. Tom, however, countered him on the damaged cheek, which caused “the Boy” to retire for the kind offices of Jack Macdonald. On Tom’s going to him he let go his left on the kisser, drawing the carmine, and this led to pretty exchanges at long shots on the cheek. Heenan at this time appeared weak, and the hopes of the Sayers party were greatly in the ascendant. Heenan preferred his corner to the scratch, and Tom had some difficulty in persuading him to leave. This he at last accomplished, and some beautiful stops were made on both sides. Another break away ensued, after which they countered effectively, but Tom was heaviest on the right cheek, which was now swelled as big as two. Heenan’s blow alighted on Tom’s oration trap, and drew more of the ruby. On his trying to repeat this lodgment, Tom stopped him cleverly. Capital exchanges followed, in which Tom was again at home on the cheek very heavily. Heenan rushed at him, but Tom was away, and after once or twice being baulked Heenan again retired to his corner. After Tom had scrutinized him carefully, he rubbed his hands and went to him, whereupon Heenan let fly his left, but Tom got well away laughing; Heenan shook his head and also laughed good-humouredly. Tom now crept in, and pop went his left on the plague-spot, and off went the Champion laughing. More dodging and stopping on both sides, until Tom was once more on the cheek a slogger. Heenan retaliated sharply on the bridge of the snout, but was stopped in a second attempt, and Tom nailed him on the right cheek very heavily and got away. Heenan tried to take the lead, but Tom jumped back. “The Boy,” persevering, got well on the forehead, but was unsuccessful in a second essay. The first was sufficient to leave a bump on the gallant Tom. More sparring until a severe counter-exchange took place, in which Tom got a hot’un on the whistler, which shook his ivories, and turned on a fresh tap. It was a staggerer, but Tom recovered and went to his man, when more severe counters were interchanged, Heenan getting another rum one on the cheek, and dropping his left with effect on Tom’s sneezer. Both now indulged in a wipe, and washed their mouths out. They came again, now like giants refreshed, and each in turn tried a lead, but each was well stopped. Tom’s right arm, from the continual stopping such a heavy cannonade as Heenan’s, was now much discoloured and swollen, and utterly useless for all purposes of hitting, and he was thus deprived of his principal weapon. After a good deal of this another heavy exchange followed, in which Tom was at home on the old spot, and Heenan on the jaw heavily, knocking Tom once more off his pins. This round lasted 20 minutes, and was a splendid specimen of milling on both sides. Tom’s nose and mouth were bleeding, but both his eyes were well open. His arm was his chief drawback. Heenan’s right eye had been long closed, his cheek was fearfully swollen, and his mouth was also somewhat out of straight.

9.—​Heenan came up as if he intended to force the fighting. He led off viciously, but Tom got well away. “The Boy” followed him closely, and at last got on Tom’s mouth, drawing more of the juice. He followed suit on the snuffer-tray with a like result, and counter-hits ensued, in which each did mischief. Heenan continued to bore in, and at last Tom, after getting a little one on the back, dropped laughing.

10.—​Tom was very slow to the call of time, and appeared to want nursing. It was evidently heavy work struggling against such superior mettle. He stood in the middle of the ring until Heenan went to him, when slight counter-hits were exchanged; after which they closed. Heenan lifted Tom from the ground and threw him heavily with the greatest ease.

11.—​Tom, again very much behindhand in coming to time, and the friends of Heenan did not appear in much hurry. When they did come up Tom had to go into Heenan’s corner. After a dodge or two Tom got his right on the good eye rather heavily, but it was not such a right-hander as of yore, and evidently gave him pain. Heenan returned on the chest, and Tom fell.

12.—​“Time, Time!” neither too ready. On Sayers at last facing his man, Heenan caught him, but not very heavily, on the jaw, and dropped on the saving suit.

13.—​Heenan, first to leave his second’s knee, now went to Tom, and after a dodge or two popped the left very straight on Tom’s nose, once more knocking him clean off his legs. He turned round on returning to his corner, and looking to Mr. Falkland, his umpire, exclaimed, “That’s one for you, Fred!” Offers were now made to lay 5 to 4 on Heenan, but the takers seemed scarce.

14.—​Tom, very weak, came up cautiously and slowly, his nose being large enough for two. Heenan, seeing Tom’s state, tried to force the fighting, but Tom got cleverly out of the difficulty. Heenan followed him up, and popped a rattler on the throat, without a return. He paused, and then sent a little one on the scent-bottle, but Tom countered him well and straight on the nose, drawing the crimson in profusion. Heenan, nothing daunted, let go his left, and was stopped. He then swung round his right heavily on the jaw. They got to close quarters and some heavy in-fighting took place, in which Tom was very busy. At length both were down heavily, Heenan under.

15.—​Neither seemed in a hurry to leave his second’s knee, but Tom was slowest in answering the call. Heenan at once went to him, got the left well on the proboscis and his right on the jaw, and down again fell the Champion in a heap.

16.—​Tom shook himself together, but was very cautious. He sparred as if requiring rest, until Heenan came in, when slight exchanges took place, Tom getting it on the nose, and Heenan on the whistler, but neither very heavily. Heenan then made a sudden dart, and planting heavily on Tom’s mouth, once more knocked him off his legs. (Loud cheers for Heenan.)

17.—​Tom did not display many marks from his repeated knock-down blows, but came up smiling, although somewhat tired. Heenan’s mug was decidedly the most disfigured, being so much swelled. Heenan took the lead, but did not get heavily on. He tried again with his right, but the blow passed over Tom’s nob. Counter hits followed on the nose, in which Tom’s delivery was most effective, but Tom was down.

18.—​Very slight exchanges, followed by a heavy counter, in which Heenan’s mouth came in for pepper, and Tom got it slightly on the nose, and fell.

19.—​Tom slow to time; Heenan not in a hurry. At last, on facing one another, Heenan went in to a close, and, throwing Tom, fell on him.

20.—​Heenan followed Sayers, who was on the retreat, and after one or two dodges, caught him on the jaw heavily with his right. He tried again, but Tom jumped back. Still he persevered, and heavy exchanges followed at close quarters, and both were in the end down at the ropes.

21.—​Sayers very slow, which Heenan seeing, dashed at him, slung out the left on the nose, and again floored the Champion.

22.—​Tom seemed none the worse for this floorer; it rather seemed to do him good, for he came fresher, which Heenan seeing, he retired to his corner. Tom followed and tried to deliver, but missed, and the Benicia Boy dropped him with another straight one on the jaw. Heenan’s left hand was now much puffed, and did not seem to leave such impressions as formerly.

23.—​The time was very badly kept on both sides, and there were now complaints that the Benicia Boy was allowed a stool in the ring. An appeal was made to the referee, who at once ordered its removal, as contrary to the laws. Heenan rushed at Tom, who retreated and got one on the back. Tom then turned round and missed his right. They closed, and Tom pegged away merrily on the nose and left cheek, and in the end both down, Tom under. One hour and eleven minutes had now elapsed.

24.—​The Benicia Boy, first up, tried his left by a sudden dart, but was stopped. An attempt with the right just landed on the side of Tom’s nut, and he fell. (5 to 4 on Heenan still offered.)

25.—​Tom, weak, came up slow, but cheerful. He waited the attack, which was not long in coming, and after getting a little one on the side of his head, Tom popped his left very heavily on the snout, drawing more home-brewed. Heenan, wild, rushed in and bored Tom down.

26.—​Tom, fresher, came up gaily, and tried to lead off with his left, but the Boy stopped him prettily. Another effort landed on Heenan’s good eye. Heenan in return planted a rattler on Tom’s jaw with his right, which staggered him, and was all but a knock down. Tom soon shook himself together, whereupon Heenan let fly his left, but Tom was well away. Following up, “the Boy” got on Tom’s chest, but not heavily. Exchanges; Heenan on the ’tato-trap, and Tom on the nose, a smasher, each drawing the cork. Heavy counters followed with the left, and they broke away. Heenan came again, and got on Tom’s snorer heavily with his left, once more staggering him. Twice after this did Tom stop Heenan’s right and they closed. After some slight fibbing Tom fell, Heenan hitting him when down. An appeal of foul was overruled, the blow being obviously accidental.

27.—​“The Boy” came up determined and led off, but Tom was away. A second attempt was equally unsuccessful, and as Tom turned his back to dash away, the Boy caught him on the neck, but not heavily. Sharp exchanges followed, Tom on the left cheek and nose, and “the Boy” on the mouth. Heenan then went in and tried his left, but was short, whereupon he retired to his corner, had a wipe, and wetted his whistle, and then went to the middle of the ring. Tom joined issue at once, and some heavy exchanges took place, each on the nose, and Heenan now tried to close, reaching after Tom to catch him round the neck. Tom kept out of harm’s way, but at length “the Boy” bored him down at the ropes.

28.—​Both much fatigued, wanted all the time they could get. After some sparring, Heenan ran at Tom, who darted away. The Boy rapidly pursued, and they got together, and in the fibbing Tom was busy on Heenan’s good cheek, while he caught it on the mouth. In the end Tom was down.

29.—​Tom still slow to time. The Boy at once went to him, and got heavily on the top of his nut. Tom countered with effect with his right on the left cheek, and then popped his left on the proboscis. Heavy exchanges followed in Tom’s favour, who met “the Boy” very straight and effectively on the nozzle, opening a fresh bin. A break away, followed by slight exchanges, led to a harmless close, and Tom slipped down.

30.—​Heenan’s other eye was now quickly closing, and he had evidently no time to lose. He was strongest on his legs, but his punishment was far more visible than Tom’s. He tried to lead off, but Tom met him neatly on the nose, turning on the red port. “The Boy” rushed at Tom, and literally ran over and fell on him.

31.—​After standing some time in his corner, Heenan was fetched out by Tom, who had now recovered a little. A short spar was followed by another retreat, after which Tom went in and got a little ’un on the left cheek, but it lacked steam. More sparring, and Heenan again retired. Tom stood and examined him with the eye of a connoisseur until he came out, when good exchanges took place, Tom getting heavily on the mouth, and Heenan on the nose. A break away; more sparring for wind; Heenan again to his corner. On Tom going at him he slung out his left heavily on the nose, and prone once more fell the brave Champion.

32.—​Tom all alive, dodged, and caught “the Boy” on the chin. He turned to retreat, and “the Boy” nailed him on the body, but not heavily. Heenan then tried repeatedly to draw Tom, but the latter would not go into Heenan’s corner. “The Boy,” therefore, had to go out, and some rapid hits and stops followed, without any apparent damage; each, however, got a small tap on the mouth. Heenan having taken another rest in his corner, came out, and got a hot one on the left cheek for his pains, which all but shut up the other eye. This brought on exchanges, each on the mazzard, and then Heenan reached Tom’s nose. Heavy determined counter-deliveries on the note ensued, after which Heenan floored Tom by a right-hander on the cheek. The betting was now even, Sayers for choice. It was obvious that, strong as Heenan was, unless he could make a decided change, he must in a very few minutes be blind.

33.—​The Benicia Boy, feeling he had no time to lose, rushed in, but only just reached Tom’s chest. Both seemed fagged, and they stood a few seconds, and then went to close quarters, where Tom, as usual, was busy on “the Boy’s” frontispiece, until he let him slip through his arms on to the ground.

34.—​Heenan again tried to force the fighting, but Tom got away. They then stood and sparred until Heenan let fly his left, which did not reach its destination. He retired for counsel, and then came at Tom and tried his right at the body, but without success. Steady exchanges led to close and rapid in-fighting, and both fell, Tom under. Heenan’s eye all but closed up.

35.—​The Benicia Boy dashed viciously in, and caught Tom on the snout, but the blow was without powder. Tom retreated from the vigorous onslaught; Heenan followed and got home on the jaw with the right, still with no effect. Tom now turned and ran, Heenan after him, when, on turning round, Tom napped one on the nose. He, however, landed another little pop on the good eye. Sharp exchanges at close quarters ended in the downfall of Tom. Two hours had now elapsed.

36.—​The Benicia Boy’s face was a spectacle to behold, while Tom was very weak. The Boy rushed to a close, and caught Tom round the neck, dragging him to the ropes. At this time, the police, who had been gradually making their way to the ring, began a violent struggle to get close and put a stop to hostilities. “The Boy” tried to hold Tom, but the latter slipped through his arms and fell.

37.—​Tom was first up, and seemed the better man; he made his left twice on Heenan’s eye, and the latter at length caught him round the neck at the ropes and there held him. Tom’s efforts to extricate himself were vain, but he administered severe punishment to Heenan’s face. The police at this time got closer, there was a rush to the ropes from all sides, and we, in company with others, including the referee, were completely shut out from the view. We are informed that the round ended in both going to grass at the expiration of two hours and six minutes. We had hoped that the men would now have been withdrawn, as the referee had been forced from his post, and the police were close by. The battle, so far as it may be called a battle, was for the time over, and the men should have been taken away. However, although the referee sent orders for a cessation of hostilities, five more so-called rounds were fought, with pretty equal advantage. Heenan’s right eye was fast closing, his left being in complete darkness. The ring was half full of people, however, and neither man had a fair chance. Much do we regret the unpleasant duty that now is imposed upon us, of finding fault with the Benicia Boy for conduct which was not only unmanly, but quite against the rules of the Ring, and had the Referee been present, would inevitably have lost him the battle. We can ourselves declare, as an impartial eye witness of the mêlée, that in the fourth of these supplementary rounds, while Sayers was on his second’s knee, Heenan rushed at him in a very excited state, let fly left and right at Tom’s seconds, floored them, and kicked at them when on the ground in desperate style, after which he closed with Sayers, and after a wild rally, they fell together. The final round was merely a wild scramble, in which both fell. The referee by this time was able to get near again, and ordered the men to desist from fighting. Immediately after this Heenan rushed away from the ring, and ran some distance with the activity of a deer, proving that as far as strength was concerned, he was as fit as ever; but he had not been away from the ring many minutes before he was totally blind. Tom Sayers, although a little tired, and suffering from his arm and the desperate hug in the 37th round, was also strong on his pins, and could have fought some time longer. The blues being now in force, there was, of course, no chance of the men again meeting, and an adjournment was necessary. It was found that the authorities were up in arms in all directions, so that it would be mere waste of time to go elsewhere. Backward home was therefore the word, and the men and their friends returned to the Metropolis shortly after three o’clock. The whole time occupied, up to the men’s leaving the ring, was two hours and twenty minutes.

Remarks.—​Up to the unfortunate departure of the referee, this was decidedly the very best Championship fight we ever witnessed. It was to the time aforesaid fought out with a manliness, a fairness, and a determination on both sides worthy of the highest commendation. Without any attempt at shifting, each scorned to take a mean advantage, and loudly and repeatedly was each of them cheered. The game displayed on both sides was remarkable. The gluttony and bottom of Tom Sayers are too proverbial to need further comment at our hand; but as certain rumours had been flying about to the effect that Heenan was destitute of those qualities, we deem it right to express our belief that a gamer, more determined fellow, never pulled off a shirt. His punishment was terrible, and yet he took it round after round without flinching, and almost invariably with a smile on his face. We are bound to own that in this, as in his talent, he very agreeably disappointed us; and had we not known his career, we certainly should never have set him down for a novice. He has an excellent delivery with his left, which was as straight as a dart, and early in the fight was very heavy. It appears to us, however, that his hands are not strong, for before half the battle was got through his left hand was so much swelled as to be almost useless; and this, doubtless, was fortunate for Tom, who with his right arm gone, could have made but a poor stand against such a weapon had it retained its original hardness. Of his right Heenan makes but little use. Of his conduct at the conclusion of the battle we cannot speak in too strong terms. We trust it was occasioned by the state of excitement in which he was owing to the ring being broken, and by the fact that, being almost blind, he took the unoffending seconds of his opponent for some other persons. The state of Heenan’s eyesight was shown by the fact that he hit out with both hands at Jemmy Welsh, who wore a red and black striped woollen shirt, mistaking him for his antagonist. Of Tom Sayers we need not say more than that he fought the battle throughout with consummate tact and judgment, and, considering that his right arm (his principal weapon) was rendered almost useless from the commencement, too much praise cannot be awarded to him for his courage and coolness. We are of opinion, even without that arm, that he would eventually have pulled through, had the fight been finished on the day. But it is useless speculating on possibilities or probabilities. On the question of nationality, the only point that has been decided, and the only point in our opinion requiring decision, is that both England and America possess brave sons, and each country had reason to be proud of the Champion she had selected. Both were, doubtless, anxious to have it settled; but for ourselves, were we asked, we should say each is so good that he is deserving a belt, and we would call on our countrymen to subscribe for such a trophy as a reward for Heenan’s enterprise and boldness in coming, as he has done, to face the British Champion on his own ground.

The writer of these lines, having been one of the less than half-dozen sporting writers and reporters who remained among the driving crowd which swayed hither and thither in the broken ring after the departure of the referee, and as several of these, notably The Times reporter, wrote their published accounts from hearsay, feels himself freely entitled to express his unbiassed opinion on the probable result of the battle, and to describe “the occurrents of the fight,” in its last struggles, from the avouchment of his own eyesight.

The fight, which began at twenty-four minutes past seven, was over at a quarter to ten, lasting two hours and twenty minutes.

When the ring was broken in, in the thirty-seventh round, and the referee shut out from view, Heenan, who was fast becoming blind, hugged Sayers on the ropes. The ropes were lowered by Tom’s friends, doubtless, but were not cut. Had the referee been there, he would unquestionably have ordered the round to have been closed. Rule 28 of the Ring Code was as follows, before the Farnborough fight. It has since been enlarged in its scope to prevent similar dangerous practices more effectually:—​“28. Where a man shall have his antagonist across the ropes in such a position as to be helpless, and to endanger his life by strangulation or apoplexy, it shall be in the power of the referee to direct the seconds to take their man away, and thus conclude the round; and that the man or his seconds refusing to obey the direction of the referee shall be deemed the loser.” Of this the Yankee scribes chose to be utterly oblivious, though the articles specified the battle to be under the New Rules of the Ring—​i.e., those of 1853. The referee, however, so say the American party, sent an order for the cessation of hostilities. This, though since confirmed, was not believed by Sayers’ friends, who, seeing victory within his grasp, thought it a mere ruse to obtain a drawn battle.

Five rounds were thereafter fought, Heenan’s sight being so defective that, in the fourth of these, the forty-first, Heenan rushed from his corner while Sayers was on his second’s knee, and, letting fly at Jemmy Welsh, knocked him nearly over, and kicked at Harry Brunton, if he did not strike him, of which we are not certain. He then hugged Sayers, and they both fell; Tom hitting up sharply in Heenan’s battered frontispiece. A cry was raised that the referee had declared the fight over, whereon Heenan rushed from the ring with great activity, followed by his clamorous friends. We stayed, and found Sayers strong, with his sight good, and in all respects but his injured dexter arm—​of little use since the fourth round—​able, as he said, “to fight an hour.”

Leaving Tom, we hurried to the carriages, the train standing on the Farnborough embankment, where we saw Heenan, already blind as a bat, lifted into his compartment. Arrived at the Bricklayers’ Arm Station, we accompanied the gallant Champion to the hostelrie of his old friend, Ned Elgee, “The Swan,” Old Kent Road. Here no sooner was the hero seated, for he refused to go to bed, than he inquired after his opponent. His friend and backer (Mr. John Gideon) suggested that the heroes should meet and shake hands, and the writer of this hastened across the road to invite the Benicia Boy and his friends to an interview. He was in a close cab wrapped in blankets—​blind, unpresentable, and seemingly unconscious. Tom was soon cheerful, and over a little tea regretted that the doctor’s veto prevented his partaking of the champagne creaming around him to his health and success, amid plaudits to his bravery.

Sayers was next morning at Norfolk Street, at the stakeholder and referee’s office, and a photograph has fixed beyond dispute his condition, which, save his right arm already spoken of, was nothing beyond a tumefied mouth and a few bumps on his hard forehead. Heenan, on the contrary, despite the absurd declarations of his American letter-writer, was not in a condition to see or be seen. For fully forty-eight hours he was in “darkness,” in bed in an upper-room at Osborne’s Hotel in the Adelphi, and for more than that time in a critical condition, as we know from unimpugnable proof. The friends of Heenan pretended to base their great grievance on the fact that, as the contest was not finished on the day, it ought to have been resumed during the week. The answer to this is, first, that this was mere bounce, as Heenan was in no condition to resume hostilities; secondly, that in the condition of Sayers’s right arm he was entitled, by Ring precedents (the fight having been once interrupted) to a reasonable period to recover its use; thirdly, that it would have been contrary to all dictates of humanity—​and fairness, which includes humanity, is a prized attribute of British boxing; fourthly, that public opinion was opposed in the strongest manner to the two brave fellows who had so heroically contended, and had been baulked of a result by no fault or shortcoming of either, after such punishment as they had undergone, renewing their interrupted struggle. For these and other cogent reasons, it was proposed by the referee and stakeholder, and—​after the subsidence of the American mortification to a better state of feeling—​agreed to by both men, that two similar belts should be made, one to be presented to each champion.

We shall not record the ceremonial of this presentation—​which was performed on the part of England by Frank Dowling, Esq., editor of Bell’s Life, and on that of America by G. Wilkes, Esq., editor of the New York Spirit of the Times—​as the whole affair, speeches and all, savour too strongly of the circus style of bunkum and bombast. The modest paragraph in the Times of May 30th, 1860, though written as an avant courrier, is more to our taste:—

“The Championship Belts.—​America and England shake hands cordially to-day. What our greatest diplomatists and engineers have failed to achieve has been accomplished by the Benicia Boy and Tom Sayers, whose fame will descend to future generations, and whose posterity will each be enabled to show a fac-simile of that much desired ‘belt,’ so boldly challenged, so manfully defended. The Atlantic cable has not linked the two nations together, but the good feeling which has been shown by the two gladiators, who on this day receive at the Alhambra their respective ‘belts,’ will be responded to by the two nations on either side of the Atlantic. We have been favoured with a view of the old belt, ‘the belt’ still open to competition, and of the two other belts to be presented to the ‘two Champions of England,’ for such is the inscription upon the case of each. Both are precisely similar in every respect, and the somewhat clumsy workmanship, in frosted silver, carefully copied from the original, is by Mr. C. F. Hancock, of Bruton Street.”

How British admiration of true courage expressed itself in the substantial form of a public subscription, and how Members of Parliament, the Stock Exchange, Lloyd’s, and Mark Lane, clubbed their gold pieces to enable the Champion to pass in peace and competence the remainder of his days, guarded from the stings and sorrows of poverty, have been told in the columns of the contemporary sporting press.

After Mace’s victories over Sam Hurst and Tom King, there was some talk of Sayers coming out from his retirement and having a turn with the Norwich man, but it ended in smoke. As Tom, from the universal interest excited by his heroic display, was an object of interest to the multitude, he received liberal offers from some Yankee circus proprietors, and by the aid of the “rhino” thus earned became first a shareholder, and then proprietor of Howes and Cushing’s Circus, under the management of Jem Myers. The speculation, we suspect, carried Tom out of his depth, and the horses, mules, carriages, &c. were sold off some twelve months after their purchase. Tom’s free living degenerated into excess during this loose and excited life of a travelling showman and exhibitor; for poor Tom, in his simple faith, was by no means an Artemus Ward, and no match for Yankee smartness. There is little doubt that Tom at this time laid the seeds of the inflammatory disease which shortened his days, and cut him off at the early age of thirty-nine.

The kind friends who uncompromisingly stipulated, when Tom’s capital was invested, that he should “fight no more,” did not place any restriction on his re-appearance in the roped arena. When King and Heenan fought, on December 10, 1863, Sayers conformed to the etiquette of his profession, and seconded “the American.” Heenan’s party evidently believed that Tom’s prestige would scatter dismay in the ranks of King’s followers, and help to overwhelm the “jolly young waterman” at the outset. Poor Sayers’ descent had, however, commenced, and when he stepped into the ring, in Heenan’s corner, it was plain he was there more for dramatic effect than anything else. Attired in a fur cap, a yellow flannel jacket, and jack-boots, he was vociferously applauded when he commenced his duties in attending to Heenan’s toilette. Even then people said, “How are the mighty fallen,” for poor Tom was no more equal to his onerous task than a child. During the fight at Wadhurst he looked in strange bewilderment at King and Heenan, and when the “Benicia Boy” required assistance, his second was perfectly helpless. Still the gladiator quitted the scene in a graceful and generous manner, in having stood esquire to the opponent who was instrumental in bringing out that steel, courage, and pluck of which the first of English pugilists was composed.

As it no doubt will prove interesting to all those who have admired the wonderful pluck and endurance of the greatest gladiator of modern times to know something of the progress of that insidious disease which gradually but surely did its work, we append a few particulars. Since the memorable battle of Farnborough—​when Sayers appeared in the ring the picture of health, and the result proved that his physique could not have been improved upon—​he now and again showed symptoms of the hectic flush which is the precursor of an affection of the lungs. This was brought on by the course of life he subsequently chose, or rather by the force of circumstances under which he was placed. Unable to fall back upon the pleasures of a cultivated mind from want of education, Tom became the idol of his fellows; he cast off all those restraints which had secured for him health and victory, and plunged into excesses of living—​late hours and dissipation. Nature’s laws are not to be broken with impunity, and in the beginning of 1866 he fell into a very low condition, and betrayed symptoms of consumption, aggravated with diabetes, for which Mr. Adams, F.R.C.S., attended him on February 20, at his sister’s, Mrs. King’s, 16, Claremont Square, Pentonville. His robust and healthy frame exhibited a great change for the worse, and the doctor then feared, from his having wasted away so much, coughing frequently, and losing strength fast, that he was sinking into a decline. He was ready to acknowledge his physical weakness, but when told of the serious nature of the disease then apprehended, he became as docile as a child, and obeyed the injunctions of his medical adviser, who, we may remark in passing, expressed to us the melancholy pleasure which he experienced whilst Tom was under his care. However, the dreaded enemy was stalled-off by careful watching and nursing, and he recovered sufficiently to take a trip to Brighton about the middle of April. When there, he appeared strong and robust, and like his former self. This, however, was not to last long, for at the end of August he returned to his sister’s, in Claremont Square, and in a consultation held there between Dr. Adams and Mr. Brown, they came to the conclusion that actual and absolute disease of the lungs had set in, and that he could not survive many weeks. He took a fancy to go to his old friend’s, Mr. Mensley, High Street, Camden Town, on October 16, and there he stayed until he died. For the satisfaction of Dr. Adams himself, that gentleman called in Dr. Gull to consult, but they both agreed that nothing more could be done to save him. A reaction took place in his condition after being a fortnight at Mr. Mensley’s; he seemed to get fresher and stronger, and for a week remained in a doubtful state, giving hopes to his friends that he would survive the illness. A relapse came on, and with it unconsciousness, and for the last few days he had only a few intervals of consciousness. Mr. Litten, assistant chaplain of St. Pancras, attended by desire of Sayers, and administered the consolations of religion. He passed away at six o’clock on Wednesday evening, November 7th, in the presence of his father, with his two children at hand. For upwards of four-and-twenty hours before his death he was in a state of semi-insensibility, and could only recognise his friends on being aroused and appealed to. But the great change came with comparative peace at last, and when nature compelled him to “throw up the sponge,” he left the world, let us hope, without that pain which no man feared less when he stood up in defence of his reputation as the Emperor of British boxers. Many were the inquiries made for the health of poor Tom, and it is satisfactory to know that he was visited by some who had taken a part against him in the battle-field, and that he bid them, each and all, a peaceful farewell.

The amount of money subscribed for Sayers by his personal admirers and the public was £3,000, which sum was invested in the names of trustees, Tom to receive the interest during his life, providing he never fought again; and, in the event of his fighting again or dying, the interest was to go to the children until of age, when it was to be divided between them. Tom left only two children—​young Tom, then at boarding-school, and fourteen years old, and Sarah, in her seventeenth year. Independent of the interest in this sum, Sayers left a considerable amount of property in plate and other valuables. Some of his backers have treasured up souvenirs of him. Mr. John Gideon, Tom’s earliest “guide, philosopher, and friend,” has the boots in which Sayers fought Heenan, with the Farnborough grass and earth attaching to the spikes, just as the great gladiator left them.

Those who remember the personal appearance of the departed Champion will have his bronzed, square, and good-humoured, lion-like phiz in their mind’s eye; those who did not see him in the flesh must imagine a round, broad, but not particularly thick-set man, standing 5 feet 8½ inches in his stocking-feet, with finely turned hips, and small but powerful and flat loins, remarkably round ribs and girth, and square shoulders. His arms were of medium length, and so round as not to show prominently the biceps, or even the outer muscles of the fore-arm, to the extent often seen in men of far inferior powers of hitting and general strength. Indeed, the bulk of Sayers was so compactly packed that you did not realise his true size and weight at a cursory glance, and it was this close and neat packing of his trunk—​excuse the pun—​that doubtless was an important ingredient in many a “long day” in which Tom’s lasting powers were the admiration of every spectator. Tom’s head was certainly of the “bullet” shape, and it was supported by a neck of the sort known as “bull,” conveying the idea of enduring strength and determination to back it. We have no phrenological examination of Tom’s “bumps” before us, but we doubt not those of combativeness and amativeness were fully developed. Tom’s fighting weight began at 10st. 6lb.; in his later battles it was 10st. 10lb. to 10st. 12lb. The photographs which figure in the print-shop windows do not convey a fair idea of Tom’s good-tempered and often merry expression: he seems to have been taken when filled with the contemplation of the seriousness of the position of having one’s “counterfeit presentment” multiplied and sent forth to the world. From the hips downward Tom was not a “model man.” Though round in the calf, his thighs were decidedly deficient in muscular development; yet no man made better use of his pins in getting in and out again, as witness his up-hill performances with the six-foot Slasher, and the ponderous and more active Benicia Boy. It was to Tom’s excellent judgment of time and distance that the severity of his hitting was due, and to his mighty heart—​a bigger never found place in man’s bosom—​that his triumphant finish of many a well-fought day is to be attributed. No man ever fought more faithfully to his friends or bravely with his foes in “the battle of life;” and therefore is the tribute of a record of his deeds due to Tom Sayers.

His remains were consigned to their parent earth, on Wednesday, November 15th, 1866, at the Highgate Cemetery, attended by an immense concourse of the sympathising and curious. A committee of friends, the admirers of true British courage, raised a monument over the spot where—

“After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well.”

Of this monument we present a faithful delineation.

It would be an unpardonable omission were we to conclude the biography of Tom Sayers without appending the remarkable poem, attributed to the pen of William Makepeace Thackeray, which appeared in Punch, April 28th, 1860. We need hardly say that it is a paraphrase rather than a parody of Lord Macaulay’s legend of “Horatius” in the “Lays of Ancient Rome.”

THE COMBAT OF SAYERIUS AND HEENANUS.

A LAY OF ANCIENT LONDON.

(Supposed to be recounted to his Great-grandchildren, April 17th, A.D. 1920, by an Ancient Gladiator.)

Close round my chair, my children,

And gather at my knee,

The while your mother poureth

The Old Tom in my tea;

What while your father quaffeth

His meagre Bordeaux wine—

’Twas not on such potations

Were reared these thews o’ mine.

Such drinks came in the very year—

Methinks I mind it well—

That the great fight of Heenanus

With Sayerius befell.[30]

These knuckles then were iron,

This biceps like a cord,

This fist shot from the shoulder

A bullock would have floored.

Crawleius his Novice,

They used to call me then

In the Domus Savilliana[31]

Among the sporting men.

There, on benefit occasions,

The gloves I oft put on,

Walking round to show my muscle

When the set-to was done;

While ringing in the arena

The showered denarii fell,

That told Crawleius’ Novice

Had used his mauleys well.

’Tis but some sixty years since

The times of which I speak,

And yet the words I’m using

Will sound to you like Greek.

What know ye, race of milksops,

Untaught of the P.R.,

What stopping, lunging, countering,

Fibbing, or rallying are?

What boots to use the lingo,

When you have lost the thing?

How paint to you the glories

Of Belcher, Cribb, or Spring—​

To you, whose sire turns up his eyes

At mention of the Ring?

Yet, in despite of all the jaw

And gammon of this time,

That brands the art of self-defence—

Old England’s art—​as crime,

From off mine ancient memories

The rust of time I’ll shake.

Your youthful bloods to quicken

And your British pluck to wake;

I know it only slumbers,

Let cant do what it will,

The British bull-dog will be

The British bull-dog still.

Then gather to your grandsire’s knee,

The while his tale is told

How Sayerius and Heenanus

Milled in those days of old.

Y Fyghte.

The Beaks and Blues were watching

Agog to atop the mill,

As we gathered to the station

In the April morning chill;

By twos and threes, by fours and tens,

To London Bridge we drew;

For we had had “the office”

That were good men and true;

And saving such, the place of fight

Was ne’er a man that knew.

From East, from West, from North and South,

The London Fancy poured,

Down to the sporting cabman,

Up to the sporting lord;

From the “Horseshoe” in Tichbourne Street

Sharp Owen Swift was there;

Jem Burn had left the “Rising Sun,”

All in the Street of Air;

Langham had out the “Cambrian,”

With tough old Alec Reid,

And towering high above the crowd

Shone Ben Caunt’s fragrant weed;

Not only fighting covies,

But sporting swells besides—

Dukes, Lords, M.P’s., and Guardsmen,

With county Beaks for guides;

And tongues that sway our Senators,

And hands the pen that wield,

Were cheering on the Champions

Upon that morning’s field.

And hark! the bell is ringing,

The engine puffs amain,

And through the dark towards Brighton

On shrieks the tearing train;

But turning off where Reigate

Unites the clustering lines,

By poultry-haunted Dorking

A devious course it twines,

By Wootton, Shier, and Guildford,

Across the winding Wey,

Till by heath-girded Farnborough

Our doubling course we stay,

Where Aldershot lay snoring

All in the morning gray,

Nor dreamed “the Camp” what combat

Should be fought here to-day.

The stakes are pitched, the ropes are rove,

The men have ta’en their stand;

Heenanus wins the toss for place,

And takes the eastward hand;

Cussiccius and Macdonaldus[32]

Upon “the Boy” attend;

Sayerius owns Bruntonius

With Jim Welshius for friend.[33]

And each upon the other now

A curious eye may throw,

And from the seconds’ final rub

In buff at length they show,

And from their corners to the scratch

Move stalwartly and slow.

Then each his hand stretched forth to grasp

His foeman’s fives in friendly clasp;

Each felt his balance trim and true—

Each up to square his mauleys threw—

Each tried his best to draw his man—

The feint, the dodge, the opening plan,

Till right and left Sayerius tried—

Heenanus’ grin proclaimed him “wide;”

Then shook his nut—​a “lead” essayed,

Nor reached Sayerius’ watchful head.

At length each left is sudden flung,

We heard the ponderous thud,

And from each tongue the news was rung,

Sayerius hath “first blood!”

Adown Heenanus’ Roman nose

Freely the tell-tale claret flows,

While stern Sayerius’ forehead shows

That in the interchange of blows

Heenanus’ aim was good!

Again each iron mauley swung,

And loud the counter-hitting rung,

Till breathless both, and wild with blows,

Fiercely they grappled for a close;

One moment in close hug they swing,

Hither and thither round the ring,

Then from Heenanus’ clinch of brass,

Sayerius, smiling, slips to grass!

I trow mine ancient breath would fail

To follow through the fight

Each gallant round’s still changing tale,

Each feat of left and right.

How through two well-fought hours and more

Through bruise, and blow, and blood,

Like sturdy bull-dogs, as they were,

Those well-matched heroes stood.

How nine times in that desperate mill

Heenanus, in his strength,

Knocked stout Sayerius off his pins,

And laid him all at length;

But how in each succeeding round

Sayerius smiling came,

With head as cool, and wind as sound,

As his first moment on the ground,

Still confident and game.

How from Heenanus’ sledge-like fist,

Striving a smasher to resist,

Sayerius’ stout right arm gave way,

Yet the maimed hero still made play,

And when “in-fighting” threatened ill,

Was nimble in “out-fighting,” still—

Still did his own maintain—

In mourning put Heenanus’ glims,

Till blinded eyes and helpless limbs,

The chances squared again.

How blind Heenanus, in despite

Of bleeding face and waning sight,

So gallantly kept up the fight,

That not a man could say

Which of the two ’twere wise to back,

Or on which side some random crack

Might not decide the day;

And leave us—​whoso won the prize—

Victor and vanquished, in all eyes,

An equal meed to pay.

Two hours and more the fight had sped,

Near unto ten it drew,

But still opposed—​one-armed to blind—

They stood, those dauntless two.

Ah, me! that I have lived to hear

Such men as ruffians scorned,

Such deeds of valour “brutal” called,

Canted, preached-down, and mourned!

Ah! that these old eyes ne’er again,

A gallant mill shall see!

No more behold the ropes and stakes,

With colours flying free!

*   *   *   *   *

But I forget the combat—

How shall I tell the close?

That left the Champion’s belt in doubt

Between those well-matched foes?

Fain would I shroud the tale in night—

The meddling Blues that thrust in sight—

The ring-keepers o’erthrown;

The broken ropes—​th’ encumbered fight—

Heenanus’ sudden blinded flight—

Sayerius pausing, as he might,

Just when ten minutes, used aright

Had made the day his own!

Alas! e’en in those brighter days

We still had Beaks and Blues—

Still canting rogues, their mud to fling,

On self-defence, and on the Ring,

And fistic art abuse!

And ’twas such varmint had the power

The Champions’ fight to stay,

And leave unsettled to this hour

The honours of that day!

But had those honours rested—

Divided as was due,

Sayerius and Heenanus

Had cut the Belt in two.

And now my fists are feeble,

And my blood is thin and cold,

But ’tis better than Old Tom to me

To recall those days of old.

And may you, my great-grandchildren,

That gather round my knee,

Ne’er see worse men, nor iller times

Than I and mine might be,

Though England then had prize-fighters—

Even reprobates like me.

---

[29] There were numerous pictorial representations of the battle both in England and America; some of them amusingly imaginative. The large, coloured engraving, published by Newbold, and its smaller American piracy, are faithful as to the men and the field of action. The object in view in these pictures—​that of giving recognisable portraits of most of the pugilistic, and many of the sporting, and a few of the literary notabilities of the day, of course destroys all truthfulness or reality of grouping, as in so many works professing to represent great battles, festivals, or public commemorations. Our frontispiece, from a contemporary sketch, is less pretentious, and therefore more realistic and truthful.

[30] An allusion to “Gladstone claret;” cheap, thin French wines being admitted first at low duty in 1860.—​Ed.

[31] Domus Savilliana—​Saville House, on the north side of Leicester Square, where sparring exhibitions and bouts with the gloves were frequent in those days. See also Pugilistica, vol. i., page 19, for a notice of Saville House.—​Ed.

[32] Cusick, Heenan’s trainer, and Jack Macdonald (still living, 1881).

[33] Harry Brunton, now host of the “Nag’s Head,” at Wood Green. Jemmy Welsh, late of the “Griffin,” Boro’.—​Ed.

CHAPTER II.

JEM MACE, OF NORWICH (CHAMPION).
1855–1864.

None who have witnessed the public appearances of this accomplished boxer will dispute that he was one of the cleverest, smartest, and most skilful pugilists that have sported buff in the 24-foot. Indeed, had Jem appeared at an earlier and better period than the latter days of the failing and moribund P.R.; and (another if) had he chosen honestly and manfully to exert his powers, the fame that accompanies the championships of the two elder Jems—​Jem Belcher and Jem Ward—​might have shone on the career of Jem Mace. As we have already more than once said, such as the patrons of the Ring (or, indeed, of the turf and any other sport) are, such will the character of its professors or exponents be. If horse owners are mere mercenary speculators, can we expect jockeys to go straight? When the patronage of the P.R. had fallen from noblemen, gentlemen, and the admirers of courage and fair-play into the hands of the keepers of night houses, “hells,” and even resorts yet more detestable, whose sole object was to fleece the dissipated and unwary by the sale of high-priced railway passes for “special excursions,” and bring customers and victims to their dens of debauchery and robbery, could it be expected that boxers would remain honest and brave? The encouragement of bravery and skill being as nothing to these debased speculators. This, we regret to say, was the degradation into which the Ring had fallen, or was fast falling, when Jem Mace first became known as a boxer, and to these influences some of the “shady” incidents of his career are easily traceable.

JEM MACE, of Norwich (Champion) 1855–1864.

Jem, who was born at Beeston, near Swaffham, in Norfolk, made his first appearance on the stage of life in May, 1831, and, like St. Patrick, “came of dacent people.” His “forebears,” as transpired incidentally in evidence at the Commission de lunatico inquirendo known as “The great Windham scandal,” which was tried at Gray’s Inn, in 1861, seem to have been tenants on the Windham estates for more than a hundred years. We have mentioned this fact, as a general impression prevailed, from Jem’s nomadic antecedents and propensities, that he was a born Bohemian; indeed, we more than once read in newspapers that he was of gipsy extraction. Of Jem’s youth we know nothing, except that he “growed,” like Topsy, and we should say rather wild; for when we first heard of him he was proprietor of a travelling booth, wherein, at fairs, races, and public gatherings he not only played the violin—​on which he is a tolerable performer—​and supplied refreshments, but was acknowledged as a skilful professor of the art of self-defence. Indeed, he had not long been in this line of business before Jem Mace’s booth was the resort of numerous admirers of glove-practice, and Jem himself was famed for his readiness and success in polishing off any aspiring yokel who might desire to try a bout with the mittens. As Jem’s youthful weight did not quite balance ten stone he was of course often “overweighted,” though never overmatched in these encounters, and as he was always ready “to accommodate” without regard to size or avoirdupois, Jem’s early career taught him how to deal with “big ones,” as his after-fights with Tom King and the gigantic Sam Hurst bear witness.

Jem was not a precocious pugilist, having attained his twenty-fourth year before engaging himself to strip with a local boxer, bearing the formidable name of Slack, in October, 1855. Of this “illustrious obscure” we need only say that Fistiana has but one line chronicling his defeat by one Jack Baston (fighting as Mace’s Novice) in September, 1857, when Slack broke his arm. Mace’s fight with Slack, which took place at Mildenhall, October 2, 1855, was a one-sided affair, Jem snuffing out his adversary’s pretensions in nineteen minutes, which included the 9th and last round, and leaving off without a mark of punishment. From this time, for more than a year, Jem pursued the even tenor of his way, increasing his fame as a fistic practitioner and professor, when the rumour of his “gift” of hitting reached the great metropolis, and with it came an announcement that Mace would be happy, upon finding a suitable customer, to exhibit his talents in the London Ring with any 10 stone practitioner, and give a few pounds.

Bill Thorpe, a fine made and well-proportioned 10 stone man, standing about 5 feet 9 inches in his stocking-feet, had crept into favour with some “over-the-water” sporting circles by his defeat of a man named Bromley, in the same ring in which Dan Collins (Sayers’s early opponent) beat Patsy Daly, on September 28, 1856. Thorpe, being on the look-out for a job, was considered a fit match for Jem Mace, and his friends placing him in the hands of Dan Dismore, the articles were drawn and signed to fight on the 17th February, 1857, for £50, neither man to exceed 10 stone. This limitation of weight suggests a rather curious reflection as to the remarkable manner in which some modern pugilists may be said to have increased in weight by “leaps and bounds.” Jemmy Massey, who fought at 8st. 10lbs., could not latterly scale under 10 stone. Sayers increased from 9st. to 10st. 12lbs., yet he was twenty-four years old when he fought Dan Collins; Harry Broome in two years grew from 10st. to 12st.; he, however, began unusually young, while Jem Mace, who was twenty-six when he first appeared in the London ring, increased from 9st. 10lbs. to 11st. 4lbs. just as Tom Sayers did. The affair came off, after a shift from the Kentish marshes, on Canvey Island, and although the men were termed novices, there was a better muster than usual of the patrons of the ring, owing to the popularity of Dan Dismore and Keene, who severally backed the men. The weather was genial and more like a May day than February, and a pleasant voyage was followed by an easy debarkation, and well-kept ring. Thorpe first threw in his hat, esquired by Jemmy Welsh and Tom Sayers—​the appearance of the latter bearing testimony to the wonderful strength of his constitution, one week only having elapsed since his renewed and tremendous battle with Aaron Jones! Mace was not long in following Thorpe’s example, being accompanied by the accomplished Bill Hayes and a Norwich amateur. At three o’clock, all being in apple-pie order, the men and seconds crossed hands, and the former were left face to face to begin

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​As Mace threw himself into attitude there was a general expression of admiration among the best qualified judges at the style of “the countryman,” and the easy grace with which he moved in and out, as if measuring his opponent, without the least hurry or nervousness. Thorpe, who, as we have already said, is a fine straight young fellow, stood with his right leg foremost à la Bendigo, and by his steady coolness showed he too was a practitioner in the sparring school, and not easily to be got at. Mace, however, filled the eye as a longer and altogether bigger man, though there was but three pounds difference in their weight. Thorpe, as his opponent tried to draw him, declined the temptation and retreated, closely and warily followed by Mace, who, at length seeing an opening, instantly planted a right-hander on Thorpe’s nob with a swiftness that completely astonished the Londoners. Thorpe did not shrink, but tried to cross-counter Mace’s left, when dash went in Jem’s mauley such a spank on Thorpe’s proboscis, that the Londoner was hit clean off his legs, a fair and indisputable “knockdown,” thus scoring the first event. On being carried to his corner, Thorpe was seen to be distilling the crimson from his olfactory organ, and “first blood” was also awarded to the member for Norwich. Thus early the odds were offered on Mace, but no response was made even to an offer of 6 to 4, followed by 2 to 1 from a Norwich speculator.

2.—​Mace lost no time in getting to work; he lashed out his left before he was well within distance. Thorpe retreated, but Mace did not get near enough for a prop, and Thorpe appeared to be confused at the manner in which his antagonist had planted on him in the opening bout, and was by no means desirous to have a second dose. In his tactics, however, he did not display science, for he neither hit with precision nor judgment. In his former battle with a 12st. opponent Thorpe fought with steady resolution, but the quickness and cleverness of Mace seemed to unnerve and puzzle him, and he hurriedly missed both hands, while after a little manœuvring, Mace let fly left and right in rapid succession on the head, and then got cleverly away. Thorpe, after following his man up, dashed out wildly with the right, and just missed getting home a stinger. Mace, in returning the compliment, again delivered a rattling spank on the nose, when Thorpe went down.

3.—​Thorpe, acting under the instruction of his seconds, led off, but was neatly stopped. Determined not to be denied—​Jemmy Welsh seeing that out-fighting would never do, urged his man to go in, and go in he did in an impetuous manner, just reaching Master Jem on the top part of the cranium. In the counter-hitting, Mace had all the best of it, and after a scrambling kind of rally, they closed at the ropes, when both went down, Mace rolling over his opponent.

4.—​The countryman administered a pretty one-two on the front of his opponent’s nob, who did not appear to have the least idea of how to stop these telling visitations. In returning the compliment, Thorpe hit out wildly, and succeeded in getting slightly on Jem’s brain canister. This brought the combatants to a close, when Mace threw his man and fell on him; the London division looked blue at this proof of superiority at close quarters, and the “Norwich novice” was pronounced a “stunner,” by more than one good judge.

5.—​The Londoner led with the left and right, but without precision. Mace, in the countering, planted the left on the cheek, and in a bustling rally fought his man to the ropes, when Thorpe succeeded in getting home a heavy spank with the right on the top of the knowledge-box, and Mace slipped and went down.

6.—​Bill, in opening the ball, tried the right, but again missed. The London party vociferously encouraged their man, declaring the countryman was “half-licked.” Mace retreated as his antagonist came dashing in; but Thorpe was not to be denied, though, in the exchanges that ensued, he had all the worst of it, for Mace delivered the left and right full on the os frontis, when Thorpe went down in the middle of the ring, bleeding profusely.

7.—​On coming up, Thorpe displayed considerable marks of punishment, having a cut over the left peeper, and one under the right, a proof that his antagonist was a hard hitter, as well as a quick and rapid fighter. Bill again tried to take the lead, and to put in a hot ’un on the nob with the right, but the intended compliment was not within the mark. Mace, as Thorpe dashed to him for in-fighting, sent both mauleys full in the middle of the Londoner’s dial, but, in stepping back, slipped, and partly went down on his knees. On the instant, however, he recovered his equilibrium, and, after some spirited exchanges, in favour of the countryman, they closed, when Thorpe went down against his will.

8.—​Thorpe was unsteady on coming up; Mace had no sooner been met by his antagonist than he delivered the left with telling force right on the mark, following it up with a one-two on the nob, and then, to avoid his opponent’s rush, being near the ropes, went down cunning.

9.—​The supposed success of Thorpe in fighting down his man in the last round led to encouraging cheers from his partisans, who declared the countryman was “cutting it.” Thorpe, after leading off with little or no effect, closed, and got home a heavy thwack on the side of the head with the right, when, after a little fibbing, Mace broke ground, and went down.

10.—​Mace came from his corner with a smiling countenance. Thorpe had all the will to be dangerous, but lacked the judgment, for, in commencing the attack, he was again out of distance. Mace, when he had worked his way well to his man, administered the left and right once more on Master Bill’s damaged pimple, and then, as Thorpe rushed in for the close, went down easy.

11.—​After two or three ineffectual attempts, Bill went in resolutely and got home with both mauleys on the side of the nob; Mace, after returning the compliment, with a slight addition by way of interest, closed with his opponent, and both went to grass, Thorpe under.

12.—​Thorpe with the left got home slightly on the head, but in trying to improve upon this he was well stopped. In a wild rally the Londoner fought his man to the ropes, when the countryman with both the left and right gave him an additional dose of punishment on the nob, drawing another supply of claret. After these exchanges the men closed and fell.

13.—​Thorpe, after leading off, napped a stinger on the side of the nob, when he immediately closed with his opponent. Some half-arm fighting ensued, all in favour of Mace, and both were down.

14.—​Bill, in a wild impetuous manner, went dashing in at his man, but in the counters did little or no execution. Mace, after steadily planting both mauleys on the head, retreated, and in breaking ground slipped and fell.

15.—​The Londoner made an attempt with the right, but was well stopped. As Mace broke ground, Thorpe followed him up with much gameness and resolution, and in the exchanges delivered a tidy spank with the left on the side of the head, when Mace went down to avoid the close, with more prudence than pluck.

16.—​Mace, who had been allowing his opponent to do all the work, now saw he had him in hand; with great quickness and precision he let fly with both hands at the head, and repeated the dose without a return. Thorpe rushed at his man for the close, when Mace went down laughing.

17.—​Thorpe met his antagonist with much resolution, and with the right planted a stinger on the side of the head. Mace, in retreating, slipped and went down, but on the instant he was again on his pins, and renewed the battle. In the counter-hitting he got home with telling effect, and in retreating from his man he again slipped and went on his knees, but instantly jumped up and faced his opponent. Bill, though, as usual, receiving all the punishment, stood his ground manfully, until they closed, when, after some little fibbing, Mace went down.

18 and last.—​Mace in this bout gave his antagonist the coup de grace in the most off-hand and masterly manner. Thorpe came up desperate, and Jem, after stopping the opening shots of his opponent, delivered his left and right with stinging force on the middle of Master Bill’s nob, the last hit with his right being full on his nasal prominence. This immediately sent Thorpe to grass, and when “time” was called, it was found that he was in no condition to renew the contest. Hereupon Jemmy Welsh throw the sponge up in token of defeat, the battle having lasted twenty-seven minutes.

Remarks.—​There was but one opinion among the cognoscenti as to the winner—​namely, that he was one of the best boxers that we have seen for many a day. He is a quick and rapid fighter, and hits with judgment, precision, and remarkable force, as the condition of poor Thorpe’s head strikingly manifested. The Londoners knew by repute that he was considered to be a good general; but we are confident that they never for a moment imagined that he was anything like the man he turned out. As will be seen by our description of the rounds, he fights remarkably well, and when in danger has the ability to get out of it in clever style. From first to last he had the battle entirely in his own hands, Thorpe never having the remotest chance of winning, for he was out-fought and out-manœuvred in every round. Mace at the weight is a strong-made, powerful man, and if his pluck and bottom are in any way equal to his other qualifications, we can only say that it will require an opponent of first-rate ability to beat him. This tournament, however, is by no means a fair criterion of those qualities, for he had the fortune and skill to get in no way punished, absolutely winning the contest without so much as a black eye. Thorpe, the unfortunate loser, is, there can be no doubt, a very game man, but he will never be able to obtain a front position in the P.R. It must, however, be borne in mind that, as a game and determined fellow, he did his best, and it is to be hoped that he will not be forgotten either by his friends or by the winners. All being over, the company returned to the metropolis, which was reached before seven o’clock in the evening.

The money was given to Mace, at Mr. G. Smith’s, King Street, Norwich, on the following Thursday, when several matches were talked of, but nothing came of them. After a sparring tour, we find our hero in London, making Nat Langham’s his headquarters, and offering to do battle either with Mike Madden or Bob Brettle, of Birmingham, at 10st. 3lbs., for £100 a side. He was also “nibbled at” by Job Cobley (nicknamed by Baron Nicholson “the Elastic Potboy”) whose victories over Webb, Bob Travers (the black), and George Crockett, had brought him into the front rank of middle-weights; Cobley’s engagement with Mace going off, owing to the former being matched against Bob Brettle. Some pourparlers with Jack Grant also ended in talk, until, early in the month of September, Mace having left a deposit in the hands of the Editor of Bell’s Life, Mike Madden covered the same, and articles were signed for a fight for £50, to come off in the Home Circuit, on the 20th of October, 1857.

Mace was now in business as a publican, keeping the Swan Inn, Swan Lane, Norwich; and at the final deposit at Nat Langham’s on the previous Thursday we heard an ominous whisper to the effect that there would be “no fight;” while, per contra, we were assured by both parties that each meant fighting and nothing else. On the Friday Mr. Lockwood, of Drury Lane, on the part of Madden, and Langham, on the part of Mace, attended at the Editor’s Office, and were there informed, as that gentleman could not be present, he should exercise the power vested in the stakeholder by the articles of naming the referee, and further that he should appoint Dan Dismore to that office, to which neither of the parties made the slightest objection. On the Monday the men went to scale at Mr. Lockwood’s, and here there were loud complaints on the part of Mace’s friends about Madden’s style of weighing, they stating him to be overweight, also that he jumped off the scale before the balance was fairly ascertained, and, putting on his clothes, refused to return. On the other hand Madden and Co. averred that Mace never meant fighting, that after the weighing he went out of the house in his shirt sleeves, and did all in his power to attract the attention of the police; and that in the evening he went to Gravesend, where he ostentatiously paraded himself, and even proclaimed the whereabouts of the coming mill.

On the Tuesday morning, on reaching the ground, we found an excellent ring, which was quickly surrounded by a large number of Corinthians and other Ring patrons, prepared to witness what many expected—​a real good battle. To their disappointment and surprise, however, when all other preliminaries were arranged, Mace and his friends stepped forward, and formally objected to Dan Dismore as referee, on the ground that he had money on the fight. Dan instantly replied that he had not a shilling on the result, and that he should not have been present had he not received the letter appointing him referee. Mace’s party persisted in their objection, and various propositions were made, among others one by Mike Madden himself, who said he was willing to fight with two umpires and without any referee; but to this Mace objected, as “contrary to the articles.” Several gentlemen were proposed for the onerous and thankless office, who either declined or were objected to; so at last what was to have been the second fight (between Clamp and Gibbs) was got off amidst disgraceful confusion, Clamp proving himself the best man in one hour and thirty minutes. Both Madden and Mace remained in or at the side of the ring while the men were fighting, and after some more discussion of the vexed question of a referee, all returned to London. On the Wednesday, after a patient hearing of both sides, the stakeholder declared that Mace having refused to go to the scratch, when called upon by the duly-appointed referee, had thereby deliberately violated the articles and forfeited the stake, £100, which in due course was handed over to Madden. An unusual amount of irrelevant correspondence, statements as to shares of stake-money, training expenses, unpaid bets, promises and defalcations, from Mace, Madden, and Messrs. Lockwood, Hayes, Dismore, Keene, &c. followed. Finally, after six months’ quibbling, a new match was agreed on, and the 10th of March, 1858, named as the day of battle.

Well do we remember the early muster on that spring morning at the Eastern Counties Railway terminus at Shoreditch. There was “old Mike,” whose deafness, solidity, and stolid look had already earned him the prefix of “old,” though he numbered but thirty summers; he was buttoned up to the chin, in an old-fashioned drab box-coat, with a deep-red neckerchief, and a sealskin cap, the ears of which completely covered his ears and cheeks. He was anxiously inquiring of the group around for his “friend the enemy,” as the time for starting was near. We entered the station. Could it be true? We had the word of the traffic station-master for it. After a brief conversation on the platform, in which some “d—​d kind friend” inopportunely alluded to the lamentable result of “ould Mike’s” last battle—​that with Jack Jones, of Portsmouth—​Jem, with a nod of the head and a cheerful expression, left his friends, and seating himself in an Ipswich carriage just about to steam out of the station, coolly waved a “good-bye” to the astonished group! Another account states, that after Madden and Co. had gone down by the appointed train, Mace was found in a neighbouring coffee-house, whither he had taken refuge from an impending arrest by the police! It is not of much consequence which is the correct version, as the claim of Madden to forfeit from the absence of his opponent was made and fully admitted.

That the pugilistic qualifications and cleverness of Mace were still believed in by some of the best judges of boxing is shown by the fact that “George Brown’s novice,” as Jem was now called, was thought good enough to back against Bob Brettle of Birmingham, whose conquests of Roger Coyne, Sam Simmonds, and Bob Travers were then fresh in the memory of Ring-goers. George Brown, Billy Richardson, and Jack Macdonald were sponsors, and these knowing ones declared that the 21st September, 1858, would show “the coming champion.” Nevertheless, serious misgivings haunted the public mind, not only when the last deposit of the £200 stakes was “tabled,” but even on the short railway journey which preceded the voyage per steamer to Shell Haven, odds being taken that there would be “no fight that day.” Great, therefore, was the satisfaction when it was found that Mace was on board the boat, not only well but cheerful, and apparently confident. After a pleasant run down the river, a fitting spot was selected on the banks of the Medway, where Tom Oliver and his assistants pitched an excellent ring on a lovely piece of greensward.

The Champion of the Midlands was first to cast his beaver into the ropes, amidst hearty cheering, Alec. Keene and Jem Hodgkiss attending as his esquires. Mace soon after showed, advised by Jack Macdonald and Jemmy Massey. It wanted ten minutes to twelve when the men shook hands, the seconds retired to their corners, and the men threw themselves into position for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​There was very little time lost in manœuvring, both men surprising their friends by an almost nervous eagerness to get at it. Mace at once made play, and let go both hands in the style that had so disconcerted Thorpe; Brettle, however, making a good stop or two, and returning wildly, getting two or three severe cracks, one on the ear so specially heavy that the blood appeared from his auricular organ, and the first event was scored to Mace. After a short rally Brettle closed; Mace hit up sharply, but Bob got the crook and fell over him. The friends of Mace thought their man meant fighting, and the odds which had been offered—​5 and 6 to 4 on Brettle—​subsided to evens.

2.—​The men threw themselves into good form; Brettle tried to lead off with the left, but was stopped neatly, and after another offer and a shift, Jem landed his right smartly on Brettle’s left ear. Again there was a stop or two, and Mace got home slightly; Brettle retreated, and measuring his man as he came in, let go his right on the left side of Mace’s head, on the temple; down went the Norwich man, and the round was over. Alec Keene claimed “first knock-down” for Brettle, and the referee awarded it. Mace was picked up by his attentive seconds, when a strange commotion was seen in his corner; he glared round for a few seconds, then suddenly swooned in Jack Macdonald’s arms. Mac and Massey shook him, and the latter bringing a stool into the ring, tried to seat him thereon. In vain: his legs fell about like Mr. Punch’s, or the nether limbs of a fantocchino, and his toes determinedly found their way under the ropes. The syncope was so determined that the Brums began to roar and jeer, and the Eastenders to swear; when the enraged Mac administered such a vice-like pinch to his man’s ear, that he roared lustily, but the next moment was as insensible as ever to all outward things. “Time” was now called, and “Time!” was repeated by the referee. Jem was set up in a perpendicular position, but those recalcitrant legs sent up their heels, and Jem would have assumed a devotional attitude, but that the “stunted lifeguardsman” held him up by main strength, while his head fell sideways on Macdonald’s shoulder. “Time!” the eight seconds’ “grace” were counted. “There are none so deaf as those that won’t hear,” was once more verified, and Bob Brettle was declared the conqueror, the actual fight having lasted three minutes. On the boat it was observed that Brettle’s last hit had raised a very blue mouse on Jem’s cheek-bone, but that it had knocked him out of time—​credat Judæus Apella—​indeed we are sure no Sheeny from Houndsditch would believe it.

The elation of Brettle’s friends at this victory led them into a mistake. They matched their man against Tom Sayers, and on September 20th, 1859, in a short quarter of an hour, seven rounds disposed of the Brum’s pretensions, as may be fully read in our last chapter.

Mace’s next match remains a yet-unexplained riddle. He was backed on this occasion by Bob Brettle—​the man who had defeated him with such apparent ease—​against one of his own townsmen, Posh Price, at 10st. 10lbs., for £50 a side. Price was a boxer of proved game and no mean capabilities. The deposits were posted by Brettle in the name and on the behalf of a man called in the articles “Brettle’s Novice,” and it was not until the last deposit that it was declared that Jem Mace was the “Novice” thus described.

On the 25th of January, 1859, after the gallant battle between Dan Thomas (the Welshman) and Charles Lynch (the American), in which the former was victorious, a special train having conveyed the spectators and combatants from London Bridge to Aldershot Common, the ring was cleared and re-formed by Fred Oliver and his assistants. No sooner, however, had the ropes been tightened, and the stakes driven firm, than, to the chagrin of the expectant assemblage, a detachment of the rural constabulary made their appearance, and a move into the adjacent county of Surrey became imperative. The transit was quickly and safely effected, and no sooner was the ring adjusted, than “Brettle’s Novice,” attended by his backers, tossed his cap into the ropes in token of defiance, and stood revealed to all as Jem Mace of Norwich. His condition and bearing not even the most prejudiced could find fault with. The men went to scale on the previous day at George Brown’s, “The Bell,” Red Lion Market, both being well within the 10st. 10lbs. Posh Price, who was born in 1832, and won his first victory in the Ring at eighteen years of age, was as yet unbeaten. He had successively defeated Mush, Boucher, Leighton, Benson, Holland, Liddy, and lastly the once renowned Ben Terry, who fought a draw with Harry Broome. In all these battles he had borne himself bravely, and showed no mean amount of skill. It was not, therefore, to be wondered at that Price was favourite in the betting at 5 and 6 to 4. The Birmingham man was seconded by Sam Simmonds and Joe Wareham, while Mace had behind him Jem Hodgkiss and Brettle. Price, whose age was twenty-seven—​Mace being one year older—​was all his friends could desire in point of condition, and his hardy, good-natured mug wore a smile of confidence in the result of

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​On the retirement of their seconds the belligerents at once threw themselves into attitude, the superior freedom of Mace’s style being quite evident to the initiated. He played round his man, watching him keenly; Price looking somewhat puzzled how to begin. Presently Posh broke ground, and retreated, keeping a good guard; Mace followed his man closely, and, getting well within distance, popped in his left on Price’s mazzard, but was countered by Price’s left on the forehead. Mace stuck to his work, and caught Price right and left in the head. Posh fought determinedly in the exchanges, but Mace drove him back, planting the left on Price’s right eye with such severity that the ruby streamed down his cheek. (First blood for Mace.) After a break and a little wincing they again got within striking distance, when some heavy exchanges ended in Price being on the grass.

2.—​The men went at once to work, and some slashing exchanges followed, in which Mace, partly from a hit, and partly from a slip, was down. In an instant he was on his feet again, and as the Brum, somewhat surprised, retreated before him, followed him close. Near the ropes Posh made a stand, and hit out with both hands. After some fine two-handed fighting in favour of Mace, Price was on the ground, Mace walking smilingly to his corner.

3.—​Mace forced the fighting. He led off with astonishing rapidity, doing terrible damage to the Brum’s dial and cranium. Posh stood to his guns like a man, but Mace’s metal was too heavy for him. Nevertheless, in the exchanges, Price got in a hot ’un on Mace’s jaw, and another on his neck, that made Master Jem look serious, and although the odds had changed, the Brums took heart from the general opinion of Mace’s deficiency of game. In the close both were down at the ropes.

4.—​Mace led off rather short, and as he got nearer Price planted his left in the middle of his opponent’s nob. (Tremendous cheering from the Brums). Mace drew himself together, and fighting rapidly, got heavily on Posh’s eye and mouth. The gallant Brum paused a moment, then dashed in, and after a magnificent rally, in which Mace astonished the spectators by the straightness and rapidity of his hitting, Price went down against his will.

5.—​Jem lunged out his left, delivering an enlivener on his adversary’s brain pan, and getting cleverly away from the Brum’s returns. After a little sparring, Mace got again within distance, and in some clipping left-handed exchanges got with tell-tale force on the Brum’s dial. Posh, scorning to retreat, stood his ground, and fought up. In the fall both were down, Price undermost.

6.—​Mace opened the ball with a shot from the left, when the Brum retreated. Jem followed, and again got in the left with telling effect. They closed at the ropes, when Posh, who was catching pepper, got down.

7.—​Heavy counters, each doing execution on the head. As Price retreated, Mace followed, and as the Brum turned on nearing the ropes, Mace caught him a terrific right-hander on the head, just behind the ear, opening a cut from which the carmine ran copiously; Posh, who appeared dazed by the effect of this rasper, went down on his knees in the middle of the ring.

8.—​Price came up slowly but steadily; in an instant Mace dashed in with electric rapidity, right and left, in his opponent’s damaged frontispiece; Price was, however, by no means idle, and stuck to Mace in the counter-hitting. In a rally Posh was down.

9.—​Mace came with alacrity from his corner; he was almost unmarked, while poor Posh’s countenance was out of shape in every feature. Still he kept his form—​such as it was—​and tried to stop his man, too often ineffectually. Mace drove him to the ropes, and would have screwed him up for fibbing, but Posh slipped down through his hands.

10.—​Posh made a desperate attempt to lead off, but Mace stopped him artistically, and caught him a smasher on the proboscis for his temerity; Posh in turn retreated, when Mace followed him. Price, to avoid a heavy right-hander, ducked his head, and in doing so caught his foot in the grass and fell.

11th and last.—​The combatants came up readily. The Brum seemed determined upon a last effort to stem the tide, and the Norwich man at once accepted the attack. The exchanges were effective and sharp, and while the men were thus fighting, Mace hit his man a terrific blow on the left arm, which caused Price to drop his hand, and stagger to his corner. A swelling on the fore arm was instantly visible, and it was stated that the small bone of the limb was fractured. Sam Simmonds stepped forward and declared that his man was disabled, and he would not permit the game fellow (who had risen to his feet to renew the contest) to fight any longer. The sponge was accordingly thrown up, and Mace hailed the winner, the battle having lasted exactly 17 minutes.

Remarks.—​We do not remember to have seen such severe and cutting punishment administered in so short a time in any battle of modern times. Mace, in this contest, not only justified the high opinion of his scientific quality which we always entertained, but displayed a steady resolution for which none had given him credit. True, he was never in danger of losing the fight, and as round succeeded round his superiority became more manifest. He fought throughout with wonderful quickness; and that his hitting was as hard as it was precise poor Posh’s battered mug and bruised carcase fully testified. Of the gallant Brum, we can only say he was out-classed, out-generalled, stopped, foiled, and punished at all points; and, as he did all that became a man, he deserves the respect of all who admire pluck and resolution; and it should not be forgotten that at last his defeat was due to an unfortunate and disabling accident, not to a surrender. The £100 was given over to Mace on the Tuesday following, at Bob Brettle’s “White Lion,” Digbeth.

Mace was now a publican, hanging out his sign at the Swan Inn, Swan Lane, Norwich, and exhibiting his talents almost nightly at the “Baronial Hall,” West End, Norwich. In the early months of 1859 we read, “Jem Mace, wishing to try his hand once again in the London P.R., will fight any man at 10st. 7lbs., in four months from the first deposit, for £100.” This was answered by Job Cobley; but for a time the friends of the “Elastic Potboy” hung back, and George Crockett offered himself at 10st. This weight was simply preposterous as a limit for Mace. Dan Collins, too, Sayers’s first opponent, proposed; but, doubtless fortunately for himself and friends, the match went off upon a question of amount of stakes.

At length in November, 1859, Bob Travers (then known as “Langham’s Black”) responded to Mace’s cartel, and articles were drawn to fight on the 21st of February, 1860, for £100 a side.

The character and antecedents of Travers left no doubt in the minds of the patrons of pugilism that Massa Bob would fully test the stuff of which Jem Mace was really composed. With the exception of a solitary defeat by Job Cobley, Travers’s reputation had been well won. In his first battle, October 29th, 1855, he beat Geo. Baker, in two rings (after an adjournment from October 19th) in twenty-three minutes, for £25 a side, at Tilbury. In February, 1856, he conquered Jesse Hatton, at Combe Bottom, in 76 minutes, during which 39 hard rounds were fought. George Crockett succumbed to his arm at Egham, in 37 rounds, occupying 114 minutes, on May 13 in the same year, in which also (he was fighting too often) he suffered his first defeat by Job Cobley, after a tremendous battle of 3 hours and 27 minutes, in which 110 rounds were fought. In January, 1857, he beat Cleghorn for £100 a side, on the Medway, in 36 rounds, 87 minutes, and in May 13th of the same year defeated the accomplished Bill Hayes, in 3¾ hours (!), the stakes being £100 a side. Beaten by Bob Brettle (Travers fell without a blow), January 27, 1858, he received a forfeit of £90 from Johnny Walker, who did not show, on the 25th May, 1858; and in April, 1859, beat the game and unflinching Mike Madden in 45 rounds, 97 minutes, at Ashford, Kent; and this brings us to his present engagement.

With such a deed-roll Travers’s chance was booked as a certainty by the circle at the “Cambrian,” where Massa Ebony was a “bright, particular star,” especially as many persisted in asserting the visible “white feather” in Mace’s plumage.

The men injudiciously delayed their departure from town until nine o’clock, and after a long journey by rail much time was lost before the excursionists got on board the “City of Rochester” steamer. John Heenan, the Benicia Boy, was among the voyagers, attended by Jack Macdonald, and was, as may be imagined, “the observed of all observers.” After a long water trip a debarkation was attempted in Essex, on an oft-visited spot, and there the ring was pitched, and all in readiness, when the police came in sight, and all were compelled to go on board again. After another steam trip of five miles a landing was effected in Kent. Travers, who won the toss for choice of corners, had for seconds Jerry Noon, and, to the mystification of many, Jem’s whilom patron Bob Brettle, with whom a feud had arisen. Bos Tyler and Jack Hicks attended upon Mace. Travers at the opening was an immense favourite, 2 to 1 being offered on him. It was five minutes to five o’clock when the men’s toilettes were completed and they stood up for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​As they faced each other there could be no doubt that the condition of the combatants was faultless. Travers’s skin shone with an unmistakable lustre, resembling a dark piece of fine old Spanish mahogany. His massive and deep chest and broad lines displayed a grand development of muscularity, denoting the possession of exceptional strength. The only circumstance that detracted from his general appearance was his legs, and the looseness with which, like most niggers, he was put together. He looked all over smiles and grins, and as if perfectly confident he must be the winner. Mace, possessing the superiority in height and reach, with his keen eye, symmetrical frame, and graceful freedom of attitude, looked from head to foot an athlete to whom, if the heart were there, anything might be possible. His friends declared that he had “screwed his courage to the sticking place, and could not fail,” and the event proved their trust to be well grounded. Travers, after a little manœuvring round the ring, tried to lead off with the left, but was short. Mace was awake, and as Bob jumped back, Mace followed him, and Bob again hitting out, Mace nailed him with the left on the cheek, and then with the right on the left peeper. In the close, after a smart dose of fibbing, they struggled for the fall, when Mace threw Bob, but not cleverly. There was an attempt to claim first blood for Mace, but it was not admitted.

2.—​The ice being fairly broken, the men were no sooner up than at it. Bob again led off, out of distance, with the left, then retreated with rapidity; Mace followed him up, and some sharp exchanges followed; the Black getting home on Jem’s mouth, while Mace was home with both hands on the Woolly-one’s nob. In shifting position, Travers got with his back on the ropes and rolled down.

3.—​Both men came eagerly from their corners, and at once sparred for an opening. The Black, who was as lively as a young kangaroo, hopped about the ring; Mace kept to him, so at last, after hitting out without effect, Travers got down. (Disapprobation.)

4.—​The combatants came up smiling. As yet there had been little harm done Travers, as usual, opened the ball, planting the right on the body; in return, Mace timed his man with fine precision, landing both left and right effectively, the latter on the point of the chin, when the Black went down on his hands and knees.

5.—​After manœuvring and breaking ground, the men got to the ropes in Travers’s corner; the Black, after slight exchanges, getting down cunning. (There was an appeal of “foul,” which the referee disallowed, saying “Go on.”)

6.—​As the Darkey, in somewhat ungainly fashion, was dancing about the ring, Mace went to him, and at the ropes planted both mauleys on the head with rattling precision. In the close Travers had his back on the ropes, when Mace tried to put on the hug; Travers got down.

There was here a general cry of “Police!” and a posse of these unwelcome intruders came to the ropes, when Bob, in his anxiety to “make tracks,” nearly ran into the arms of the Philistines. Jerry Noon had also a narrow squeak for it, and had he not jumped into the river and swum to a boat, he would certainly have been nailed, as the Bobby who had singled him out did not give up the chase until up to his middle in water. The escape so pleased several of the lookers-on who had reached the steamer in boats safely, that a subscription was made to “dry Jerry’s clothes,” and liberally presented to him when on board. The battle thus interrupted had lasted 21 minutes, and as darkness would soon come on, the steamer’s prow was directed homewards, and the referee ordered a meeting for the next day.

At an early hour on Wednesday morning, the men and their backers were on board, and at a few minutes after nine Fred Oliver announced all to be in readiness. Mace was first to throw his castor in the ring, which action was immediately followed by Travers, who entered with the same grin of nonchalance as on the preceding day. Mace had scarcely a visible mark, while the black’s ebony complexion concealed all but a cut over the left eyebrow. A rumour was spread that Mace’s left arm was partially disabled; but this proved a canard, no doubt flown to influence the betting, the Black still being backed at 2 to 1. The seconds were the same as on the first day.

THE RENEWED FIGHT.

Round 1.—​Just before the commencement of hostilities, Travers proposed to back himself to any amount at evens, and produced a roll of notes about as thick as the steamer’s shore-rope for that purpose; but Mace politely declined, regretting that his exchequer was not so flourishing as to permit him to indulge in such speculation. Travers, in taking the initiative, broke ground with more haste than judgment. Jem again followed him, got home with both hands, and, after a close at the ropes, the Black slipped down anyhow.

2.—​After a little sparring Mace got home beautifully on Bob’s black-letter title-page, when Travers retreated, hitting out wildly. Mace counter-manœuvred and followed, when Bob paused a moment, then rushed in hand-over-hand, but did not get home. Mace planted his left with fine judgment, following it with a job from the right; there was a little fibbing in the close, and both down by the ropes.

3.—​Travers again led with the left, the blow alighting on Mace’s breast, when Mace caught him on the side of the head. Bob retreated, and went down to avoid. (Bos Tyler here appealed to the referee, who declined to notice the get down. “Go on.”)

4.—​The Black, all activity, was all over the ring, Mace watching his gyrations keenly and following him close up. After a little fiddling, Mace got near enough, and planted his left sharply, but Travers, ducking his head at the instant, caught the blow on the top of his impenetrable skull. The Black tried to take a lead, but did not get home; Mace, getting to distance, planted a sharp left-hander in Bob’s face, who fell immediately in the middle of the ring. (Loud cries from Mace’s partisans of “Stand up! remember the 13th rule!”)

5.—​Both men went eagerly to work, Mace got on a stinger over the left eyebrow; after some wild exchanges, in which Jem peppered the nigger handsomely, both were down, Travers first to earth.

6.—​Travers dashed to in-fighting, when Mace again propped him beautifully, and after a scramble in the close, Bob got down anyhow.

7.—​Travers, leading with the left, again reached Mace’s breast, when Mace stepped back and recovered guard. As Bob now broke in turn Mace followed as usual, and taking exact measure, popped in his left on the Darkey’s thick lips; Bob again sidled and skipped about the ring and as Jem was letting go a straight one the Black fell, as a bystander observed, “with the wind of the blow.”

8 to 14.—​Similar in character, and an appeal by Hicks to the referee followed by a “caution” to Travers from that functionary. From the 15th to the 30th round Travers pursued the same dropping tactics, getting home with little effect at the opening of each round, but unable to prevent Mace’s stinging deliveries, from which his left eye was now fast closing, besides other serious disfigurements. Loud disapprobation was expressed at the Black’s shifty tactics, and in the 32nd round the referee got into the ring and went to Travers’s corner to warn him of the danger he was incurring. Bob assured him his fall was accidental, from the state of his shoes and the ground.

33.—​Travers fought his man foot to foot in a fine rally, the hitting all in favour of Mace, and both down.

34.—​Bob tried to lead once more, but Jem countered him beautifully, and the Black in getting away fell.

35 to 40.—​Travers at the old game again, leading off, getting home slightly, and then scrambling or slipping down to avoid the consequences of standing up to his man. That Mace was winning as fast as his opponent’s shiftiness would allow was manifest. In the 57th and last round, after hitting out, the Black shifted his position, and as Mace was delivering his blow deliberately threw himself down. The referee now decided the battle against him, and Mace was hailed the victor at the end of one hour and thirty-one minutes. A scene of disgraceful confusion followed; Travers’s friends assailing the referee with the foulest abuse, and refusing to accept his decision. Travers shed tears, and declared he was ready to fight on, refusing to shake hands with his opponent. Travers was severely punished; Mace’s bruises were unimportant.

After some acrimonious disputation and letter-writing, the referee’s decision was properly upheld by the stakeholder, and the money handed over to Mace at Mr. Smithers, “Golden Cross,” Charing Cross, Norwich, on the ensuing Friday week.

We have already noted the fact of the disruption of friendly relations between Mace and his quondam conqueror and subsequent friend and patron Bob Brettle. In the early months of 1859 this ill-feeling took the form of a challenge from Mace to Brettle, and some haggling between the disputants on minor details and conditions. Mace’s last two exhibitions had so far restored the much-shaken confidence of his admirers as to satisfy them, however otherwise inexplicable his “in and out running” might be, that, at his weight, none could “live with him,” when he really meant “to stay.” So they listened to his solicitation to give him a second trial “with the only man who had ever beaten him, and that by a fluke”(?). In reply to Jem’s challenge for £100 Brettle replied that being now a “bung” in a good way of business it would not pay him to train under £200. Holywell Lane and Club Row, and a “voice from Norwich” preferred a bigger stake, so the prelims. were soon settled. The 19th September, 1860, was named as the day, and Oxfordshire, as (half-way between London and Birmingham) the locus in quo. Accordingly, the London division took their departure from Euston Square, meeting Brettle and Co. at Wallingford Road; there all alighted, and, under the pilotage of a local amateur, a charming spot was selected. Many of the older Ring-goers, however, expressed doubts as to the judiciousness of the selection, and foreboded an interruption, which came all too soon. No time, therefore, was lost, and at a few minutes before noon the men shook hands, and began.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​As the men toed the scratch it was clear to all that they were both all that could be wished in point of condition. Mace had three or four pounds’ advantage in weight, and also a trifle in height and length. Brettle, who looked rounder, bore a smile of self-satisfaction on his good-natured mug, and as he swung his arms in careless fashion, and raised his hands, he nodded to a friend or two, as if quite assured of the result. Brettle tried to lead off, but Mace stopped him coolly, and tried a return, which was prettily warded off by Brettle, who shifted ground. Bob offered again, but was stopped, and Jem popped in a nose-ender in return which drew Bob’s cork, and established a claim of “first blood for Mace.” Bob shook his head as if annoyed, and in he went ding-dong; the exchanges all in favour of Mace, who hit straightest, hardest, and oftenest. Brettle closed, and Mace was under in the fall.

2.—​Brettle exhibited some red marks indicative of Mace’s handiwork, while Mace showed a mouse under the left eye. Bob again opened the ball, but he was baffled, and as he persevered Jem popped him prettily on the nose, and then on the mouth, Brettle, nevertheless, giving him a rib-bender with the right, and on Mace retorting on his kissing organ Bob got down.

3.—​Brettle’s countenance bore increasing marks of Mace’s skill as a face-painter, but he lost no time in going to work; Mace stood to him, and sharp counter-hits were exchanged; Mace on Brettle’s left eye, Brettle on Mace’s jaw. Exchanges and a close; the men separated, and Mace, in getting away, fell.

4.—​Brettle was more cautious. He waited, and tried to draw his man. After a little manœuvring Brettle, amidst the cheers of the Brums, dropped on Mace’s conk a rattler, producing the ruby. Jem looked rather serious, and the Brums were uproariously cheerful. Bob tried it again, but failed, for Mace was first with him with a smasher on the mouth. Brettle bored in, but Mace threw him cleverly, and fell on him.

5.—​Brettle slow, being shaken by the blows and fall in the last round. Mace waited for him, delivering right and left straight as an arrow, and getting away cleverly from the return. Bob followed him wildly, getting more pepper; and in the end Brettle was down in the hitting.

6.—​Brettle’s left daylight was nearly obscured, and the right showed a distinct mouse. His mouth too, was out of symmetry, and his nose, naturally of the Roman order, resembled a “flat-fish.” Notwithstanding, he went in, and got it on the nose and mouth, returning in a wild and ineffective fashion, until a hot left-hander brought him to his knees in anything but a cheerful condition. At this point a cry of “Police,” was followed by the appearance of a posse of “blues,” headed by a magistrate from Didcot. Hostilities were immediately suspended, and all returned to the train. On a council being held, the “manager” who had deprecated this landing, declared that there was now no hope of pulling up at any part of the line; so there was nothing for it but to order the men to meet the referee on the following morning. “Book agen” was the mot d’ordre, which was doubly vexatious for the Birmingham division, who nolens volens had to journey to London, with very doubtful prospects of getting back their money at the next meeting.

After some discussion, all parties agreed to a renewal of the combat on the 20th of the month. The day proving exceptionally fine, the men and their friends started at an early hour from Fenchurch Street, concluding the rail part of the journey at Southend, where a couple of steam-tugs were in waiting, and a voyage to ground on the sea-coast of Essex, never before visited by the Fancy, was chosen. The odds on Mace were not taken, Brettle’s friends being few, and lacking confidence. At five minutes to one, all being in order, the men stood up.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​Brettle had not entirely got rid of the marks of the previous week’s encounter; besides a cut under the left eye, the right optic was “deeply, darkly,” but not “beautifully blue,” and his face looked somewhat puffy. Mace had no more than a skin-deep scratch or two. No sooner had Brettle toed the scratch, than instead of forcing the fighting he stepped back, as if to try whether an alteration in tactics might change the fortune of war. Mace appeared fora few seconds doubtful, then drawing himself together, he slowly followed his man. Getting closer, Brettle let fly his right, and got home on Mace’s head, too round to be effective, while Jem’s counterhit caught him flush on the dial. Brettle broke ground, Mace after him; Bob got home on Mace’s body, but fell at the ropes in retreating.

2.—​Mace came up smiling, and was met cheerfully by the Brum. Mace was no sooner within distance than he made his one two on the nose and eye, Brettle’s returns being short and ineffective. As Bob shifted position he slipped down on one knee, but instantly rising renewed the battle. In the struggle at the ropes, Mace was under, and a “foul” was claimed, on the allegation that Brettle had tried to “gouge” his man. The referee said “Go on.”

3.—​Mace came up with a slight trickle of claret from his proboscis. Brettle’s face looked as if Mace “had been all over it.” Brettle fought on the retreat, but Mace was too clever at long shots for him to take anything by that manœuvre. As Bob broke ground, Mace nobbed him so severely that his head nodded like a mandarin, and on a second visit down went Bob, staggering from something very like a knock-down.

4.—​The Brum came up bothered; yet he faced his man boldly—​it was observed that he hit with the right hand open. Mace timed him with a straight prop and retreated. The Brum bored in; the men got across the ropes, when Brettle, lest Mace should fib him, slipped down, as quickly as he could.

5th and last.—​Brettle came up quickly, but Jem, perceiving he had got his man, stood to him, and delivered both hands with marvellous rapidity. Bob hit away desperately, fighting his opponent to the ropes, where Jem delivered two more punishers, and Bob was down “all of a heap.” His seconds carried him to his corner. “Time” was called, when Mace sprang rapidly from Johnny Walker’s knee. Brettle’s seconds were still busy at their man, until, the given eight seconds having expired, Jem Hodgkiss threw up the sponge, and Mace was hailed the conqueror; the second fight having lasted seven minutes, the first twelve—​nineteen minutes in all.

Remarks.—​These shall be as brief as the battles. From first to last Brettle was out-classed, over-matched, and out-fought, Mace fully proving that once on a winning track, at a winning pace, he was not to be beaten.

In the summer of 1860, a gigantic Lancashire wrestler, 6ft. 2½in. in stature, and balancing 15 stone, put forth a claim to the Championship, and to do battle with this Goliath no better man was found than the once-hardy Tom Paddock, now on his last legs. They met on November 5th, 1860, when poor Tom was knocked out of time by the clumsy Colossus in the 5th round (see ante [p. 307]). With Sam Hurst—​having formed a very low opinion of his boxing capabilities—​Jem was most anxious to try conclusions, rightly estimating that a triumph over such a “man mountain” would dissipate any lingering doubts in the public mind of his personal pluck and prowess.

Accordingly, articles were drawn for a fight for £200 a side, Waterloo Day, the 18th of June, 1861, appointed for this interesting combat, and a trip down the river agreed to by both parties. It was determined that, to avoid interruption, an early start should be effected, and so well was this arrangement carried out that at a quarter before nine o’clock the queerly-matched pair stood facing each other in a marshy field on the river-shore, in the centre of a well-surrounded ring; Bos Tyler and Woody being entrusted with the care of Mace, Jem Hodgkiss and Jerry Noon nursing the North Country “Infant.”

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​The old comparison of “a horse to a hen,” was not so fully verified as might be supposed, there being five stone difference in their relative weights, though the discrepancy in size was certainly remarkable. There was another point of contrast which, to the eye of the initiated, was fully worth consideration in any calculation of the chances of victory, and that was, the condition of the men. The Norwich champion’s compact symmetrical figure, well set-on head, bright keen eye, and finely-developed biceps, with tendons showing like knotted whipcord, muscle-clothed shoulders, square bust, flat loins and rounded hips, the whole supported by a pair of well-turned springy-looking pedestals, looked a model gladiator. Hurst, on the other hand, loomed big, heavy, clumsy, while a slight lop-sided lameness, the result of a broken leg, which accident had befallen him since his battle with Tom Paddock, did not improve the naturally ponderous slowness of his movements. His skin, though clear, seemed loose in parts, and the flesh looked flabby on his back and sides. There was an ungainliness in every movement, too, which suggested a second edition of the Tipton Slasher, considerably enlarged. His face, however, was tolerably hard, and he had a look of determination which augured well for his own opinion of success. His friends depended much upon the effect of any single blow he might get in in the course of the mill, feeling a kind of confidence that any damage he might incur from Mace he would put up with without a murmur, and that he certainly possessed an amount of game which, had it been backed by an ordinary share of the other attributes of a pugilist, must have rendered him invincible. On taking position Hurst at first stood well, with his left rather low, and, if anything, his elbow a little too close to his side; his general attitude, however, was good, and all fancied he had improved since his appearance with Paddock. This, however, lasted for a very brief period. Mace appeared steady, serious, and cautious, and fully aware of the difficulties he would have to face. He sparred round his man, in and out, feinting with all the skill of a perfect master of the art, but for some time did not venture near the gigantic arms of Hurst which swung like the sails of a windmill. At last he crept up, and after a quick feint led off on Sam’s left eye, but not heavily. Hurst made a chop in return, but out of distance. Jem again crept near, feinted then hit Sam heavily, left and right, on the cheek and nose, without a return. Hurst, not liking this, lumbered after his man, and a sharp exchange followed, Mace on the cheek and Hurst on the ribs. Mace retreated, looking serious, walked round his man, jobbed him swiftly on the nose, and got away laughing. Hurst tried another rush, and made one or two chopping hits which Mace easily avoided and then planted a straight right-hander on the nose, gaining “first blood,” amidst the uproarious cheers of his friends. Hurst still bored in, but only to receive another smack on the left eye; he just succeeded in reaching Jem’s lips, and the latter fell, laughing.

2.—​Sam came up with the claret trickling from his nose, and his left eye swollen and discoloured; he commenced business at once by rushing at his man, slinging out his arms with no sort of precision. He caught Mace on the ribs and back, close to the shoulder, rather heavily with his right, which made the latter look very solemn, and caused him to retreat awhile, stopping right and left, and avoiding close quarters. At length he shook himself together, and again playing round, put in a heavy hit on the left cheek, and then got home with great force on the nose, drawing more blood; this he followed with a straight job in the mouth, drawing the ruby from the giant’s lips. The spectators were astonished at Sam’s inertness. Hurst let go both hands, when Mace with ease stepped between his arms, and delivered both hands with the quickness of lightning, and with tremendous force, upon the nose and eye. Again and again did he do this, and then step away, inflicting fearful punishment, and laughing defiance at Hurst’s ungainly attempts at retaliation. Hunt, who was clearly a mere chopping block to Mace, seemed bewildered by the severity of the hitting, but still persevered, only, however, to be jobbed heavily on the mouth, nose, and left eye, which latter was quickly shut completely up. Still the game fellow persevered, until it seemed perfectly cruel to let him go on. Mace did exactly as he liked without a return, and at length in a close both were down. It was a dog fall (side by side), but it proved that Hurst’s supposed superiority of power was destroyed, probably by the weakness of his leg. Mace was almost scatheless at the end of the round, while Hurst, as may be imagined, was fearfully punished.

3.—​Hurst, notwithstanding his injuries, was first to the scratch, his left eye closed, and the whole of the left side of his cheek bruised and cut; his nose too was swollen and bleeding. Mace, with the exception of a slight scratch on his mouth, was little the worse for wear. Hurst, in desperation, immediately rushed at his man, but Jem met him with a stinger from his right on the nose, drawing a fresh stream, and jumped back, covering his head completely. Sam, furious, persevered, but the more he swung out his arms the more did he lay himself open to an attack. He hit round, he sawed the air, he chopped, and, in fact, did everything that a perfect novice would do, but it was only to expose him to more attacks from his artistic foe. At length he succeeded in planting a heavy blow on the jaw, which almost knocked Mace down, but Jem steadied himself, and returned desperately on Goliath’s mouth. Mace got away, stepped quickly in again, and hit Hurst severely in the face, left and right, without a return. Hurst, thoroughly confused, tried another rush, but Mace retreated all round the ring, repeatedly jobbing him with impunity as he lumbered after him. At length Jem caught his foot against a stake, and fell, but was up in an instant, and after a feint or two got home on Sam’s good eye twice in succession. Hurst’s returns were ridiculously short; in fact they were not like blows at all, and never seemed to come from the shoulder. At length he got a little right-hander on the body, but received two heavy left-handed hits in quick succession on the cheek. Sam, in rushing in, here stepped on to Mace’s toe, the spike in his boot entering the flesh, and inflicting a severe wound. Jem drew back his foot in pain, and pointed to it, but Hurst shook his head, as if to say it was unintentional. After Mace had inflicted a little more punishment he slipped down; poor Hurst, who was completely blown by his exertions, panting like an overdriven dray-horse, stood in the middle of the ring. Some influential friends of Hurst’s wished him here to give in, but his principal backer would not bear of it.

4.—​Jem merely showed a slight bruise under the left arm, while Hurst was awfully punished about the face, but was still strong. He rushed at his man at once, who laughed, got away, and then, after leading him a dance, turned, and delivered another tremendous hit on the blind eye. Again and again did Hurst follow him, and as repeatedly did Mace hit him with stinging effect in every direction. Mace at last seemed tired of his exertions, and stood for a short time with his arms down. Hurst also rested a little from sheer exhaustion; at length he made another rush, and Jem, in getting away, slipped down. Hunt pointed at him, as much as to say it was deliberate, but Jem was up at once, and offered to resume the round, but Hurst’s seconds took him away. Thirty minutes had now elapsed.

5.—​Sam, whose face was coloured all over, made another rush and got slightly home on the body, when Jem again slipped down. Once more he jumped up to renew the round, but Sam walked away to his corner at the call of his seconds.

6.—​Jem made the fighting, and planted heavily on the cheek and nose, getting quickly and easily away. Again did he do this, and then again, hitting Hurst with stunning force in the middle of the head with both hands, until the poor fellow turned away completely bewildered. Nevertheless, he quickly rallied, and again tried his rush, but only to get into more difficulties, until everybody round the ring cried “Take him away!” (Hodgkiss here appealed to his backers to be allowed to throw up the sponge; they refused, indeed, it was evident that Sam himself would not yet consent to own that he was licked.) Sam made another rush, and after slight exchanges, closed; a brief struggle took place, when both fell, Hurst undermost. It was claimed by Mace’s friends as a cross-buttock, but it scarcely amounted to that, although Jem certainly had the advantage in the fall.

7.—​Bob Brettle now appealed to Sam’s backers to give in, but in vain. Bob tried to get into the ring, and did throw up his hat, but was forced away by Sam’s backers. Mace offered to shake hands, and seemed unwilling to inflict more punishment, feeling that it was useless cruelty. Sam would not hear of surrender, but made his rush, and succeeded in getting home his right on the body, when Jem fell.

8th and last.—​Hurst came up staggering, his face much disfigured; Mace also seemed rather tired. Sam made a final effort, letting go both hands, but was short, and received two more very straight hits on the cheek and nose, drawing claret in fresh profusion. Sam blundered in almost blind, and Mace pushed, rather than hit him, several times in the head, looking at him steadily and stepping back after each delivery. The “big ’un” was evidently powerless, and Jem was commendably forbearing. Another attempt was made by Brettle to throw up the sponge, and the referee stepped into the ring to remonstrate with Sam’s principal backer, but neither he nor Hurst would listen to reason. The consequence was that Jem was reluctantly compelled to hit him again, which he did with perfect impunity; and finally Jem Hodgkiss, finding it useless to reason with either Sam or his backer, took the responsibility upon himself, and threw up the sponge, forcing the unwilling giant to his corner, where Mace went up to him, and shook hands, although sorely against Hurst’s will, who could not even now reconcile to himself his defeat by one upon whom he looked with contempt. Mace was then proclaimed the victor, after fighting for fifty minutes. He bore his honours modestly, and as soon as possible went round with the hat, and collected the sum of £35 for his unsuccessful antagonist.

Scarcely was this done, when the police made their appearance, fortunately too late to prevent a satisfactory conclusion.

Remarks.—​Volumes could not prove more demonstratively the value of skill in the art of boxing as turning the scale against mere weight and strength, than this one-sided contest of Mace and Hurst. Poor Hurst, who had been trained by Turkish Baths, instead of hard work, ought not to have fought this battle. Apart from his want of condition, however, it was quite manifest he was not cut out for a fighting man. He had little knowledge of the art of self-defence, could not hit straight from the shoulder, and it was obvious that a man of his build and gait—​even when endowed with the uncommon powers he displayed as a receiver—​cannot hope to contend with success against extraordinary cleverness and activity, even though possessed by a man of far lighter calibre than himself. The unfortunate Sam was, however, a remarkably straightforward fellow, and from the first it was clear he had the interests of his friends more at heart than his own, and the greatest credit is due to him for his manly perseverance. No credit, however, is due to those who allowed him to go up after every possible chance of success had vanished.

As to Mace, his fighting was faultless; he was not called upon to display any great amount of gameness, though the mere facing such a giant and exchanging shots at close quarters involves a confidence and coolness that shows no small amount of personal courage. As to Mace’s attack and defence, they were in every respect indicative of the master. It redounds to his praise that he abstained from making a more rapid finish, as he certainly might have done, unless restrained by a desire to spare his almost helpless antagonist. This battle elevated to the Championship of England one of the most finished boxers who had ever gained the title.

Jem Mace was now on the pinnacle of success, and as—

“Envy doth merit as its shade pursue,

And by the shadow prove the substance true,”

so the newly fledged Champion was carped at, criticised, challenged, and unfavourably compared with all sorts and sizes of preceding and even contemporary heroes of the Ring. As to the unconquered little Champion, who had, after his great battle with John Heenan, in April, 1860, finally bid farewell to the fistic stage, he had left no immediate successor; so “the world seemed left” for Jem Mace “to bustle in,” and the question of the cynical Cassius was for a time unanswered—

“When went there by an age since the great flood,

But we were famed with more than with one man?

When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome,

That her wide walks encompassed but one man?”

“Time and the hour,” however, never fail to bring “the man,” and in these latter days of the Ring he came, in the person of Tom King, whose first appearance in November, 1860, and subsequent career, will form the subject of the concluding chapter of our history.

The form displayed by King in his first two battles, although neither of his opponents stood high in the pugilistic roll, was thought to give promise that the belt might again revert to a Champion of the traditional 12-stone calibre and stature.

There can be no dispute that after the retirement of Tom Sayers, the public sympathy with the Ring and favour with its professors had completely faded away, just as, in the preceding century (in 1760), after the defeat of Slack by Stevens “the Nailer,” the title of Champion was dragged through the dirt by a set of unworthy “knights of the dirty cross,” until its restoration by the brave Tom Johnson. At a later period came its reestablishment in more than its former renown by John Jackson,[34] George Humphries, Mendoza, John Gully, the Belchers, Tom Cribb, and Tom Spring, and their successors, who live only in these pages which record its “decline and fall.”

To return from digression, we may state that the challenge of Tom King, and the signing of articles for £200 a side, for a meeting on the 28th of January, 1862, excited but faint interest even in those circles where a struggle for the Championship was wont to set all upon the qui vive. Indeed, those who were anxious that a change for the better should take place, and a removal of the disgraceful disorder which had driven from the ring-side those on whom both pugilism and pugilists depended for their existence, were fain to confess that pugilism was dead—​dead by the hands of its own pretended friends, and the misconduct of prizefighters themselves. Still a few of “the old guard” rallied round the colours; and the good character of Tom King, with the now well-earned reputation of Mace, gave them hopes of a revival of honesty, manliness, skill, and “a fair field and no favour” for both men.

The morning of the 28th of January, 1862, dawned—​if such dim light as struggled through the dense masses of dark clouds deserved the name of dawn—​wet, cold, cheerless and miserable, and to add to this unpromising look-out, there were added unpleasant rumours that the “authorities” of half a dozen home counties had taken sweet counsel together how to frustrate the fight; that the magnates of the railway boards had been notified and communicated with on the subject of sinful “specials,” and the complicity of conveying company to the field of blood; that every police inspector and superintendent had been put on his mettle by the solemn warnings of “My Grandmother,” the Record, Watchman, and a host of “unco guid” newspapers and puritanical preachers, of “the awful responsibility to God and man” they incurred in not “stamping out” this “national sin.” We quote from a Sheffield print and preacher, who thus charitably described a fair and manly contest for the belt—​the symbol of skill and courage in the exercise of the most humane mode of often unavoidable encounter between man and man, especially among the lower orders. We name Sheffield, because it was not long after infamous for the “organised assassination” council of Messrs. Broadhead and Co.; whilst its “public instructors” were denouncing and suppressing an art which certainly does not include ginger-beer bottles charged with blasting-powder placed under the beds of the wives and children of obnoxious parents; cylinders of dynamite thrown through the fanlights or windows of humble dwellings; the use of loaded bludgeons and fire-arms from street corners or behind dead walls; the splitting of grindstones; or the cutting of driving-bands, as modes of settling personal or popular disputes. Yet from all these murderous and treacherous cruelties the anti-fistic teachings of the Reverend Mr. Lilyliver failed to wean and guard his “lambs.” We return from this digression to our own “muttons,” whom, we opine, even in their last and worst days, were as unlike “lost sheep,” and perhaps less like “goats,” than their saintly slanderers.

Thus pleasantly forewarned by the croaker pessimists, the “managers” prudently declined to give any hint of the “whereabouts” until the Monday night previous to the encounter (January 28th), when tickets were purchasable at Jem Mace’s house (Jem was now landlord of the “Old King John,” Holywell Lane, Shoreditch), and at Nat Langham’s new house, the “Mitre,” St. Martin’s Lane, merely conveying the facts that the rendezvous was at London Bridge, and at the unusually early hour of six o’clock. The difficult point of choosing a referee was also judiciously arranged for. Arrived at the terminus of the South Eastern, we found a more numerous gathering of the “right sort” than we had anticipated; a proof that “still in their ashes lurked their former fires,” and that a well-conducted mill had yet attractions for the legitimate patrons of the sport. The last two championship battles (those between Tom Paddock and the Staleybridge Infant, Hurst, and Jem Mace and the same clumsy giant) were not, viewed as battles, anything but exposures of the lamentable lack of good men; while the disgraceful confusion, and double interruption of the police, of the yet more recent fight between Bob Brettle and Rooke, almost extinguished the last hope of the survival of the Provincial Ring.

It was nearly seven when the bell rang for departure, and the train steamed away on its journey. Owing to the excellent arrangements of Nat Langham, who acted for King, and Mr. Moss Phillips, who attended to the interests of Mace, all parties were duly deposited at their destination at a little after eight o’clock, Mace attended by Jack Hicks and Bob Travers the Black, his late opponent, and King by Bos Tyler and Jerry Noon. King, who had trained at Mr. Packwood’s, at Hammersmith, was in first-rate fettle; nor was Mace, who had taken his breathings near Norwich, and latterly near Newmarket, one whit behind him in respect of condition; each was “fit to fight for a man’s life.” “It is a long lane that has no turning,” and as we looked at the orderly array of the inner and outer ring, and the attentiveness of the ring-constables, armed with their brass-bound whips and their badges, we flattered ourselves for a time that the turning-point had been reached, and that “a fair fight and no favour, and may the best man win,” might once again be a phrase with a meaning. Thus dreaming, as “hope told a flattering tale,” we addressed ourselves to the duty of observing the fight we here chronicle.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​Having gone through the customary friendly salutation at the scratch, each man drew back and threw himself into position. There was at this moment a silence that might be felt, and the eager glances directed by all toward the combatants evinced the interest with which every movement was being watched by those surrounding the ring. There was undoubtedly much to rivet the attention of the patrons of the art; for though both were unquestionably fine fellows, yet there was that disparity between them which could not fail to impress itself even on the uninitiated. Mark the towering height of King, standing a clear 6 feet 2 inches in his stockings, and, as he faces his opponent with attentive watchfulness, but without a sign of nervousness or anxiety, how immense and preponderating appear the advantages in his favour. Tom, we were informed by Langham, when he last scaled, pulled down 12st. 8lbs., and taken for all in all must be declared a model man, although some judges of athletes declared his loins too slender for a man of his height Tom, like Mace, has a bright, keen eye, but he lacks the square-out jaw bone and hard angular contour which some judges of “points” declare to be always found in the “thoroughbred” boxer. Be that as it may, King’s length of reach, firm, round muscle, skin ruddy with the glow of health, and cheerful, courageous aspect gave promise of a formidable opponent, even to the scientific Champion, Jem Mace. As to the Champion, who pulled down 11st. 4lbs. on the preceding Monday, he was “all there,” and as he himself said, felt “fit as a fiddle.” After keeping on guard a few seconds, during which Mace was keenly scrutinising him, Tom dropped his hands, resting his left upon his left thigh; Jem, being out of range, and seeing that Tom had lowered his daddles, followed suit, and the position of the pair at this moment caused some astonishment. Tom rubbed his left forearm with his right hand, and Jem, who also felt the chilly effects of the morning air on coming out of his flannels, rubbed his breast with his right palm. Tom, in shifting, had got nearer his own corner, when Jem advanced, and, from the manner he gathered himself together, evidently intended mischief; his left was admirably poised, while his right played with firm elasticity, ready as a guard, or, if occasion presented itself, a shoot. Tom, however, was on the alert, and Mace, after putting out a feeler or two, sprung back to tempt Tom to follow. King, who at first seemed a little puzzled, smiled and retreated, cool as a cucumber in an ice-well. There was more than one repetition of the movement we have here described, the men shifting, changing position, and manœuvring all over the ring without coming to business. King had heard so much of the ability of Mace that he felt he was standing before the best tactician of the day, and would not lead off. Mace, on the other hand, with the perception of a practised general, found that he had before him a dangerous and determined antagonist; one whom it would not do to treat in the style he had made an example of big Sam Hurst. At length, after a display of almost every sort of drawing and defensive tactic, Mace got well in, delivering a neat nobber with the left, stopping the return, and getting away. King dashed at him, his height enabling him to hit over Jem’s guard, and Tom got one in on Mace’s head with the right; the men closed and fibbed, then getting on to the ropes, both went down. The seconds were instant in their attendance, Bos Tylor claiming “first blood” for King, which was admitted, as the cochineal was trickling from a cut on the Champion’s shin. King’s partizans were in ecstasies, and “Who’ll lay 2 to 1 now?” met no response.

2.—​The cold rain now came down in earnest, and did not much abate throughout the rest of the mill. With ready alacrity each man came from his corner and scratched simultaneously with his opponent. Mace, who was still bleeding, looked flushed. After a little sparring, Mace popped in his left. His second hit was prettily countered, but notwithstanding King’s length, Jem’s blow seemed hardest, reaching home a “thought” before his adversary’s poke. Another exchange, Tom getting on the side of Mace’s head, but not severely, and Jem’s smack in return sounding all round the ring. In the close both were down.

3.—​The ball had now been fairly opened, and each bout improved the spirit of the performance, on which even the pitiless rain could not throw a damper. Jem, on coming from his corner, was still distilling the elixir vitæ from the old spot, which as yet seemed the only mark made. King went dashing in to force the fighting, and the hot haste of the onslaught marred the pretty position of Jem. Tom, who seemed to hit from the forearm rather than the shoulder, got home his left on the jaw, and then, with the right, reached Jem’s head; his superiority of length of reach being fully demonstrated. Jem, however, quite balanced accounts by two severe props in the nob; King closed, and Mace got down easy.

4.—​The rapidity of King’s fighting seemed somewhat to surprise Mace, and he moved right and left in front of his man, his point well covered. Tom dashed in left and right, and went to work, his counsel advising the forcing principle; King, in hitting out, had his left hand partially open; Mace cross-countered with the left a smasher, but a second attempt passed over King’s shoulder. Jem broke away, and in retreating got to the centre stake. Tom, following, dashed out his right, when Mace ducked his head and slipped down, thereby escaping a rasper.

5.—​Mace first to scratch, King promptly facing him. As Tom tried to lead off with the left, Mace showed how well he was fortified by his left-hand guard, and then retaliating with the right. King, in turn, retreated. Tom, in shifting, got to the ropes, when Jem weaved in, getting both hands on head and body. Tom lashed out both hands defensively, but could not keep Jem off until he chose to retire to his own corner, where he got cleverly out of difficulty and was down.

6.—​King had evidently got home at the close of the last round, for Jem came up with his proboscis tinted with the carmine. Tom dashed at his man with more determination than judgment, hit from the forearm without doing execution; Jem, hitting up as he made the backward break, gave Master Tom a straightener, who, persevering, got his man down at the ropes; no harm done.

7.—​Jem advanced to the scratch with a firm step and determined bearing, as if the difficulties of his position had only produced a concentration of the resolute “I will.” The men stood eyeing each other in the pelting rain; Jem rubbed his chest, which had a large red mark as though a warm plaster had recently been removed. After manœuvring round the ring, Mace got to range, delivering a well-aimed shot on King’s cranium. As Jem broke ground he nearly lost his equilibrium from the slipperiness of the grass, but quickly steadied himself. After a feint or two, they got well together and countered splendidly, Mace sending home his left on Tom’s right cheek, King getting his right on the Champion’s left peeper, raising a small bump, and causing him to blink like an owl in sunshine. The men, with mutual action, broke away, and manœuvred all over the ring. At last Jem, measuring his man accurately, gave him such a left-hander on the snuff-box that claret du premier crû was copiously uncorked. As Mace retreated after this smack Tom went in rather wildly, and closing, got his left leg between Mace’s and threw him. (Cheers for King.)

8.—​Tom no sooner faced his man than he made play, and got his right arm round Mace; he then tried to lift him by main strength for a throw, but the Champion put on the head-stop, with his hand on Tom’s face, and King had to let him go down an easy fall.

9.—​King, by the advice of his seconds, again forced the fighting, slung out both hands, and closed, when Mace cleverly put on the back heel, and down went Tom undermost.

10 to 14.—​The ropes had now got slack, and Puggy White busied himself in driving the stakes deeper, and tightening them. In this and the following four rounds, King still led off, and though his hits did not seem severe, he had got as often on Jem’s eye and nose, that his friends were confident of his pulling through.

15.—​The odds seemed melting away like butter in the sun, and the backers of the Champion were just becoming “knights of the rueful countenance;” while Tom’s partisans were as merry and chirpy as crickets; Jerry Noon, especially, dispensing an unusual and unseemly store of chaff among the despondent patrons of Mace. King once again went at his man, and both were down at the ropes. King’s seconds claimed the battle for a “foul,” alleging that Mace had tried to force his fingers into King’s eye in the struggle at the ropes; the referee crossed the ring to caution Mace, who indignantly denied any intention of so unmanly an action.

16.—​King seemed determined to lose no time. He rattled in, and Mace, nothing loth, stood up and hit with him, certainly straightest and swiftest. In the close both were down at the ropes.

17.—​In sparring, the combatants changed positions, and paused in the centre of the ring. King had been fighting very fast, and wanted a breathing time. On resuming, he went in, and after some exchanges Mace got down easy at the ropes.

18.—​Sharp exchanges, left and right, on the cheek, mouth, and jaw, when Jem, in shifting, dipped down. His seconds ran to him, but he motioned them away, resumed his perpendicular, and beckoned Tom with a smile to renew the bout. The challenge was cheerfully accepted, and fighting into a close both were down.

19.—​The men were admirably seconded in both corners, and both came up clean and smiling, though each had the contour of his countenance seriously altered by his opponent’s handiwork. In a close both fibbed away merrily and both were down.

20.—​There was an objection by Jerry Noon that Mace had some “foreign substance” in his left hand, King opened his hands before the referee, and Mace, following his example, merely showed a small piece of paper in his palm, which, however, he threw away. Mace’s left hand seemed somewhat puffed, and Tom’s leading counsel, observing this, told King that his adversary’s “left was gone,” which it was not, for Mace, this time, took the initiative, and landed the left sharply on Tom’s cheek. As Mace broke ground Tom followed, and when near the stake he landed a round hit from the right on Jem’s left jaw that sent him to grass—​a clean knock-down blow.

21.—​Tom, eager to be at work, went in, but he did not take much by his motion; after several exchanges, Jem retreated. Mace slipped and got between King’s legs in a defenceless position, holding himself up by the handkerchief round Tom’s waist. King gallantly withheld his hand, threw up his arms and smiled, walking to his corner amidst general cheering.

22.—​King was now the favourite, odds being offered on him of 6 to 4, but no takers. King, as before, began the business, and Mace was down to close the round.

23.—​This was a harmless bout. King bored in; Mace missed as he retreated, backed on to the ropes, and got down.

24.—​Both men came up with alacrity, despite the pelting rain which streamed down their faces and limbs. King was evidently slower, and Mace tried a lead. He did not, however, get quite near enough, and Tom pursued him round the ring until both were down, Mace undermost.

25.—​A curious round. Tom dashed at Mace, who stopped him, then twisted round and got away. Tom followed, and Mace propped him; at the ropes, when down, both men patted each other in a good tempered manner.

26.—​Mace came up determinedly, but exhibited ugly punishment off the left eye and mouth. Still he was steady, and met Tom’s onslaught cleverly. King closed and tried to hold up Mace, but he slipped through his hands.

27.—​Tom administered a right hander on the jaw, and down went Mace against his will for the second time.

28.—​Mace recovered from the effects of his floorer in an amazing manner. Tom had now a serious bump on his right eye the size of a walnut, and had otherwise lost his facial symmetry. His friends were, however, more than sanguine, and urged him to keep his man at it. Tom tried to do so, but got nothing at it, and in the fall hit the stake.

29.—​King got a round right-hander on Mace’s back of his head, and both were down—​a side fall.

30.—​Mace seemed wonderfully steady, and in good form. King, as before, made play; the ground was so soddened, cut up, and pasty, that a good foothold was impossible. Tom sent in his right, and Jem, with well-judged precision, returned with both mauleys, when King embraced him, but Mace put on the back-heel, and threw Tom cleverly on his back; as Mace rose first from the ground he patted King in a good-tempered manner, amidst cries of “Bravo, Mace!”

31.—​King, as he sat on his second’s knee, seemed much distressed. His sides heaved like a forge-bellows; his seconds were most assiduous, and sent him up clean and fresh. Tom came slowly from his corner; not so Jem, who advanced quickly to the scratch, and then tried to entice his man to lead off. At last he did so, and gave King as good as he sent, when Tom forced Mace to the ropes. The latter turned himself round, reversing their positions, and, after a short wrestle, threw Tom with the back-heel a fair fall.

32.—​Exchanges; King on the body, Mace on the head, and both down.

33.—​King still forcing the fighting; Mace as lively as a grasshopper. After some pretty exchanges, Mace got home the left on his opponent’s right cheek—​a cutter—​a close, some fibbing, and both down, King over the lower rope, and partly out of the ring.

34.—​Mace first from his corner, but had not long to wait for his opponent. Tom hit out with better intention than judgment, and failed to do execution. A close, Mace again got King with the back-heel, and threw him heavily.

35.—​The sun of success was brightening in the East, though the clouds were pouring heavily. King was suffering from his protracted exertions, and “bellows to mend” was the case in his corner. His heart was good, and he fought gallantly into a close, catching pepper; Mace, after delivering a flush hit, falling in the middle of the ring.

36.—​After a little manœuvring, the men got on the ropes, when King slipped down by a pure accident. As King’s friends had objected to Mace’s style of getting down, there were derisive counter-cheers and cries of “foul!” followed by enthusiastic cheers for both men.

37.—​Tom’s seconds found that their plan of forcing the fighting had miscarried, and now gave opposite advice. King waited for Mace, who manœuvred and feinted, until Tom let go his left, and was countered artistically. Mace then stepped in and delivered his left full in King’s dial and in an exchange both were down in the middle of the ring.

38–40.—​King, finding Mace his master at out-fighting, resumed his plan of going to work just as he was getting second wind. The rounds again were of the old pattern; King got the larger and heavier share of the hitting, and both were down, Mace choosing his own time to end the round. In the 40th round, King complained of Mace using him unfairly, but the referee saw nothing calling for his notice.

41, 42, 43 and last.—​King was visibly distressed in the first two of these three final rounds. In the last of these bouts the combatants closed in the middle of the ring, when Mace, who had delivered a heavy thwack on King’s neck, struggled with him for the fall. In going down, King, who was undermost, struck the front of his head with great force on the ground. Tom’s seconds had him in his corner in an instant, as the position was critical. The die was however, cast. “Time!” was called in vain. Mace, who was eagerly watching his opponent’s corner, advanced to the scratch. The referee entered the ring, watch in hand. The eight seconds were counted; but King was still deaf to the call of “Time!” and Mace was hailed the winner, after one hour and eight minutes of rapid fighting on both sides. Scarcely had the fiat gone forth when a posse of police made their appearance, who, to do them justice, seemed glad that the affair was over before their arrival.

Remarks.—​The principal point to be noted is the admirable manner in which both the loser and winner fought out this gallant contest. The superiority of Mace as a scientific pugilist alone enabled him to contend with and finally defeat his brave, powerful, and in size and physique formidable antagonist; while to Tom King, the loser, the credit must be awarded of doing all that man could do towards victory, and yielding only to absolute physical incapability to continue the contest. Although, however, the majority were satisfied that the best man won, there was one who entertained the opposite opinion, and that was Tom King himself, as we shall presently see.

In April, 1862, some curiosity was awakened in fistic circles by the return of John Heenan to England, preceded by an annonce in the American newspapers that he had “gone over to fetch the old belt, and to fight Mace, the so-called Champion.” Hereupon Messrs. Moss Phillips and John Gideon waited upon Heenan, on Mace’s behalf, offering to find £500 or £1,000, if needful, to make a match. Heenan repudiated the newspaper buncombe, saying that he had come over with the sole object of fulfilling an engagement with Messrs. Howe and Cushing’s Circus Troupe, and that he had “cut pugilism,” at least for the present. Jem, who was now a London “pub.,” and host of the “King John,” in Holywell Lane, was also on tour with Ginnett’s Circus, while in Bell’s Life he declared his readiness to “meet any man for £1,000, barring neither country, colour, nor weight.” In reply to this, Bob Brettle, still sore from defeat, and, as he declared, “the ungrateful conduct of Mace,” undertook to back “an Unknown” for £200 and the belt against the Champion, and this Mace accepted. Hereupon King came out with a statement that Mace had requested him not to challenge him “at present,” for reasons which he gave, but now, as he had accepted a challenge, he (King) claimed first turn. It may be proper here to remark that King had joined Mace, at his request, in a sparring tour early in 1862, which lends strength to King’s statement. Mace’s backer having offered Brettle’s “Unknown” £25 to indemnify him for his forfeit and expenses, articles were signed at Nat Langham’s, on June 18th, for a fight for £200 a side and the belt, to come off within six months, the precise day not to be divulged until the night before the battle, which was to take place in November or December. How Tom King reversed the former verdict in 21 rounds, occupying 38 minutes, on the 26th November, 1862, may be read in the Memoir of King in the ensuing Chapter.

King having publicly declared his retirement from the Ring, Mace resumed the style of “Champion,” with whatever honours might still attach to that tarnished title.

In December, 1862, Joe Goss, of Wolverhampton, an unbeaten pugilist, weighing 10st. 10lbs., boldly offered himself to the notice of Mace for “any sum from £200 to £500 a side;” and although the Wolverhampton man waived any claim to the belt as the result of the battle, it was said by his friends that they did not see why, if Mace alone barred the way, their man should not claim the trophy. The match, though made in December, 1862, had a most unbusiness-like aspect in some of its details. The time of meeting being named as “nine months after date”—​a most suspicious period of gestation for such an affair—​September 1st, 1863, was the day. Nor was the amount of stakes less calculated to tax belief, £1,000 being set down in the book; Mace to post £600 to Goss’s £400, of which the Norwich’s man’s backers were to table £330 to Goss’s £220 at the final deposit.

Match-making, at this time, appears to have got “considerably mixed.” In May and June, Bill Ryall, of Birmingham, a twelve-stone man, “seeing that Goss, though articled to fight Mace, did not pretend to the Championship,” offered himself for “the belt and £200 a side, to the notice of the Norwich hero,” after he had disposed of Goss. Mace assented, and articles were signed, but before the decision of the affair now under notice. Ryall’s friends appear to have repented of their rash engagement, and forfeited the £25 or £30 down, as the penalty of their indiscretion. The Brettle party’s choice of Ryall as the man to lower the pretensions of Mace will seem the more surprising when we state that Goss had beaten Ryall on September 24th, 1860, and had fought him to a stand-still in a drawn battle for £100, February 11th, 1862. We will now return from this brief digression to the first encounter of Mace and Gross.[35]

On the making good of the last deposit of £330 to £220, and the announcement that it was duly “banked” in the hands of the Editor of Bell’s Life, the almost dormant interest of many of the incredulous was awakened, and crowds of anxious West End inquirers thronged to the “Mitre” (Nat had shifted from the “Cambrian”), the “Three Tuns,” the “Horseshoe,” the “Rising Sun,” the “Queen’s Head,” and the “Blue Boar’s Head;” while the East Enders were as eager in their endeavours to obtain the “straight tip” by looking in at Harry Orme’s, Joe Rowe’s, Jemmy Welsh’s, Jem Cross’s, Jem Ward’s, Billy Richardson’s, and the Champion’s own crib in Holywell Lane, Whitechapel.

Mr. Tupper having won the toss for Goss, the men went to scale at his house, the “Greyhound,” Waterloo Road, when both were found within the stipulated 10 stone 10 lbs., and, as we can safely affirm, from ocular demonstration, in the perfection of condition.

In the face of a vigilant and hostile magistracy and police, the managers necessarily adopted unusual precautions to confine the knowledge of the time and place to none but “safe men.” Accordingly, not only was the day kept secret, but it was not until the overnight that even the line of rail and amount of fare were disclosed to intending “excursionists.” When the “office” was given to those who were prepared to invest £2 2s. in cardboard, the rendezvous was stated to be the Paddington terminus of the Great Western, and the time two o’clock a.m., on the morning of St. Partridge, September 1st, 1863; and thither, at that unreasonable and unseasonable hour, did the “sheep destined for the shearing” eagerly repair.

Unhappily for the fortunes, nay, the very existence of the P.R., it had become the practice of the floating fraternity of thieves, mobsmen, and “roughs”—​the latter too often combining the two former in the same ruffianly individual—​to stream to the railway station whenever they got scent of a Ring “excursion,” instinctively knowing that there plunder might be perpetrated. As where the carcase is, there will the birds of prey be gathered, so on this 1st of September in the darkness and gloom of a cloudy morning, a riot was got up outside the entrances to the noble building, and many persons hustled, robbed, and occasionally personally ill-treated, by a disorderly crowd which, we can of our own avouch declare, did not comprise in its whole body one single known pugilist. Yet more than one of our “best possible public instructors” informed the public that “a mob of prize-fighters and other ruffians robbed and maltreated the intending travellers with lawless impunity.” Passing the baseless imputation that “prize-fighters and other ruffians” were personally engaged in this nocturnal mêlée, we must declare that of all the scenes of riot and disorder we have witnessed, that at Paddington was the most disgraceful, and marked the lowest stage in the downward journey of the Ring, unless we accept the wrangles and rows of the partisans of the men at some minor fights as exemplifying the Miltonic paradox—

“Beneath the lowest deep a lower still.”

At the hour of four the train steamed out of the station, and it was currently stated that Wootton Bassett, in Wiltshire, about five miles below the great engine-works at Swindon, was our destination. On arriving at Didcot Junction it was perceived that the Oxfordshire constabulary were awake, like Johnny Cope, “Sae airly in the mornin’;” but their only exercise of their function on this occasion seemed to be to wave us a courteous farewell as we steamed off, with the addition of a few “’Varsity men” (in masquerade) who had become possessed of “the secret,” and joined our party. At Swindon we “watered” our iron horse, and about five miles farther the brakes were on, and all soon alighted. After some little refreshment of the inward man from the stores of a well-plenished hamper, the “meynie” getting what they could at a neighbouring public, we tramped a mile of a dirty lane, until it opened on a spot where the Commissary (Fred Oliver) and assistants had laid out an excellent ring. And now began the customary squabble between the “clever ones” on each side about the choice of a referee. The Editor of the chief sporting journal, for nearly forty years the consistent and able advocate and supporter of the Ring, had finally refused the now dangerous position, and had recently, in consequence of disorderly defiance of the representative of the paper, forbidden his reporter to officiate, unless in circumstances he might consider exceptional. Thus much valuable time was cut to waste. Finally, the reporter of a new sporting paper consented to act, was enthroned on the judge’s straw truss, and the men quickly made themselves ready. As they stood up Joe looked “as hard as nails,” while Mace’s elegant position, as he stood awaiting the anticipated onslaught of his opponent, was pronounced by more than one judge to be “beautiful.” To the surprise of all, however, after some not very graceful squaring of elbows and half-steps left and right, never venturing beyond the scratch, Joe retreated, and shaking his head with a grim smile invited his adversary to approach. Jem did not seem to perceive the advisability of this, so he smiled and nodded in return. Presently, after a shift or two right and left, Mace advanced, resolved to open the ball. Joe retreated, covering his points well, when from the outer ring rose a warning cry, and ere its cause could be asked, half a dozen “prime North Wiltshires”—​not cheeses, but policemen—​rolled into the ring. Mace darted under the ropes and skedaddled into a thicket, his retreat covered by his seconds, bearing his outward habiliments; while Joe had nearly rushed into the arms of one of the “rurals,” but luckily gave him the go-by, and “made tracks” in another direction. Meantime the “bobbies,” with the utmost good-humour, surveyed the flight, and, without interfering with the Commissary, left him to reload his light cart with the impedimenta of the ring, then, slowly following the discomfited company, saw them safely down the road on their return to the train, which soon returned at the appointed signal from a “siding” where it had been temporarily located. Once on board, though the day was yet young, the victims were politely informed that no more could be done that day, and that the “Company’s” obligation to the “train charterers” would be discharged by the delivery of the “excursionists” at their starting-point at Paddington. “But,” added the referee, in an immediate conference, “I shall order, as I am empowered by the Rules, the men to meet again this day, at Fenchurch Street Station, and go down to Purfleet. When there, we must be guided by circumstances; but we will have the fight off to-day if possible.” That this was “gall and wormwood” to sundry persons who looked to another “special” rather than a “result” might easily be seen. They did not, however, dare to do more than prophesy disaster and obstruction, and propose “a meeting at the stakeholder’s,” or anywhere else, to procure postponement, which was properly and peremptorily negatived.

Arrived at Paddington, the neighbouring cab-stands were quickly cleared of their yawning waiters, whose glee at this unexpected and profitable “call” was certainly heightened when they “twigged,” as one of the cabbies told us, that they were “a-helping some of the right sort out of a fix.” At Fenchurch Street conveyance to Purfleet was quickly arranged for, and at 3h. 30m. the men, materiel, and company were duly delivered at the riverside. Here it was resolved, and prudently, that a transit to Plumstead Marshes should be made, as suspicious movements of an “Essex calf” were observed. Long Reach cost many no less a sum than ten shillings for the ferry; but this did not stop those who could command the best and least crowded boats, and at five o’clock, in a well-formed and certainly select ring,

THE FIGHT

Began with Round 2; for we suppose we most pay the compliment to the four and a half minutes of “fiddling” at Wootton Bassett, as counting for Round 1. As before it was expected that the “terrific Joe” would force the fighting, and show that game and hard hitting must tell against mere skill, with a slight and apparently ineradicable suspicion among the provincials from the North Midlands that Mace had a “soft place” which Joe was the very man to find out. Nevertheless, the Londoners offered 6 and even 7 to 4 on Mace. Again Joe retreated, and as Jem followed got away again and again, though in anything but a graceful style. His intention to fight a crafty battle was apparent, and did not seem to please his country friends. At last the men came to a stand, Joe having his back to the ropes. Jem let go his left sharply, but was prettily parried. Mace drew back, when Joe, plunging at him, got home his left straight on the body, getting, as might be expected, a rattling smack on the mouth in return. Goss licked his lips, and dodged about; Mace got closer, and, swift as thought, planted a cutting left-hander on the left eyebrow. It was a caution, and the crimson instantly following, “first blood” was awarded to Mace. Joe in jumping away from Mace’s advance slipped and fell.

3.—​Long and tedious sparring and manœuvring prefaced this round. Goss, to the dissatisfaction of many, being determined to avoid close quarters, and Mace equally resolved not to give a chance away at long shots. When they got closer, Mace sent in his left, and then his right slap in the middle of Joe’s head, when a couple of slashing counter-hits followed, Mace again delivering with precision on the head, and Goss on Mace’s forehead and chest. More sparring, Joe looking quite vicious, and twice missing his shifty adversary, until the latter accepted a rally, and some extraordinary counter-hitting took place to the advantage of Mace, he reaching Joe’s head, while the latter got home on the chest or shoulder. Joe was driven back, and as Mace pressed on to him slipped down.

4.—​The men seemed warming to their work, and lost no time in the useless dodging which marked the previous rounds. Mace led off and jobbed his man severely through his guard, following his first smack with another, and then getting away. Goss, though quick in his returns, was hurried, and twice missed his right by Maces’s quickness in shifting. Mace worked round into the centre of the ring, when Joe bored in, in what his friends called his “own old style.” In the exchanges Joe dealt Mace a tremendous hit on the right eye, which instantly left its mark. Mace broke ground and retreated with his hands up in good form. (Vociferous shouting from the Gossites, “The Young’un wins! The Young’un wins!” and the excitement was immense at the Wolverhampton corner.) Mace steadied himself, and, after a short pause, Goss tried to get on to him again, when, after some two-handed fighting not remarkable for effectiveness, Mace caught his adversary such a well-distanced left-hander on the head that Joe went clean down against his will. (First knock-down for Mace, being the second event scored.)

5.—​On appearing at the scratch the swollen state of Mace’s right eye told how heavily he had been hit in the preceding round. Goss, urged by his seconds, dashed in left and right, but was beautifully stopped. Joe tried to play round his man, but Mace stepped in, gave him a heavy hit in the mouth, then, after a few quick exchanges, closed and threw him.

6.—​Both men were now much marked, showing how heavy the hitting had been. Goss moved all over the ring as before, leading off, but ineffectively, being either out of distance or easily stopped. Eventually they got close, and exchanged heavy left-handed hits. More chasséeing about the ring by Goss, till Jem got close, and brought on more counters, Jem planting swift and hard in the face with both hands. Goss returned left and right on the head, and went down on his knees at the ropes. Jem was about to deliver a stinger, but checked himself, laughed, and walked away.

7.—​Goss led off, but out of distance, as was often the case when he attempted out-fighting. A long series of movements with no great merit in them followed, till Mace got in with his left, and then fine counter-hits came, Goss certainly hitting straighter than he had done in some preceding rallies. A little more manœuvring, and then Joe went at his man, and brought on some stunning exchanges—​very heavy left-handed counters, Mace on the right cheek, Goss on the forehead. Goss, in getting away, fell.

8.—​Joe appeared at last to be tired of the scientific and waiting business, and went pluckily at Mace. He was certainly first in the hitting, planting heavily left and right on the head. Jem returned a couple of smashers on the front of the head, and in some severe exchanges his length and straightness of delivery gave him the pull. The men closed, and after a good wrestle, in which Goss displayed great muscular power, he got the best of the fall, Mace being under him. (Great applause for Goss, who was evidently fighting up hill.)

9.—​Once more Joe tried to lead off, but he was out of distance, and Mace could evidently make the fighting as he chose. At last they closed near the ropes, when they got a mutual hold, and some severe fibbing took place, both men getting it hot until they fell together.

10.—​Goss, instigated by his seconds, tried a rush. He was neatly stopped, and seemed perplexed as to his next move. Jem drew back and Joe followed, got home his right on the body slightly, and was away. Mace stepped on to him, dealt him a left-hander on the head, and Joe slipped down.

11.—​Mace now tried to make the fighting. He stepped in upon Goss, who retired and shifted round in the clear corner of the ring; at last Jem pinned him a stinger in the mouth, and then as he jumped sideways caught him a second crack with the same hand on the head; Goss rushed in, delivering both hands, and Mace slipped down amidst some hisses from Goss’s partisans.

12.—​Some tedious sparring. Mace, who now evidently meant fighting, tried to induce Goss to lead off, but he would not. At length, Joe being, as Mace thought, pushed in a corner, in he went, and a spirited rally ensued. Mace got home on Joe’s damaged left eyebrow, but Goss gave him a couple of rib-benders, and, closing, proved his strength by bringing down the Champion a sounder on the turf, and falling on him. (Deafening cheers—​“Joe’s waking him up!”)

13.—​It was fully expected that Goss would now go to work in the “finishing” style that had earned his fame; but no! He again resorted to that clumsy yokel craftiness which could never beat a man of Mace’s skill and resource. He dodged about until Mace, seeing he had got him, dealt him a sounding spank on the head with the left, and then as he shifted about gave him a straight punch in the mouth with the same hand. Joe, stung with these visitations, went in too late, for though he got in a round hit on the side of Mace’s head, the latter clinched him and threw him.

14.—​Goss, in performing his usual dancing steps around the ring, caught his heel against a stake and stumbled; Mace dashed at him, when Joe got down somehow. (A claim of “foul” was preferred by Mace’s seconds, but overruled)

15.—​Goss was urged to “rattle in,” but he declined the experiment, and moved round his man, then, lunging out heavily with both hands got the left well home on the side of the head. Mace got quickly close, hit Joe severely in the mouth, and Goss fell in hurriedly getting back.

16.—​Mace measured his man carefully as they stood sparring in the centre of the ring, and then swiftly sent in a stinging left-hander. Joe shifted again, and Mace, pressing him too closely, received a couple of good hits on the head. Goss away as before; Mace worked close to him, dealt him a crack on the head, and as he stepped in again Goss slipped down. (Disapprobation.)

17.—​Goss all over the ring, but Mace pressed after him more sharply than hitherto. He fixed him at last, and delivered both hands like lightning on the head. A slashing rally, the best in the fight; Mace planting with amazing quickness and force, left and right, going home with severity. Joe stuck to his work, and lashed out desperately in return; but though he certainly hit his man heavily, Mace must have felt he had the superiority for good and all in this rally. The men closed, exhausted by severe exertion, and after a short struggle fell together.

18.—​Goss came up bleeding freely from the left brow, nose, and mouth. His punishment was certainly severe; Mace was also marked. After some sparring Joe lashed out viciously with both hands, Mace slipped back, and Joe, overreaching himself, fell. No mischief done, but the Gossites looked blue.

19th and last.—​Both slow to time. Mace, cool as a cucumber, seemed to be taking stock of his adversary, as if beginning a fight. Goss worked about, stepping first to one side, then the other, as if nervously anxious to begin “business.” Mace worked him slowly backwards, till close on the ropes, then, as Joe was about to break away, he delivered a tremendous right-handed lunge, straight from the shoulder; the blow landed on the left side of Goss’s left jaw, and at once hit him clean out of time. Poor Goss fell forward insensible, and all efforts of his seconds to rouse him proving vain, Mace was proclaimed the victor. Time, 1 hour, 55 minutes, 30 seconds.

Remarks.—​Notwithstanding the heavy hitting which came at intervals, we must pronounce this a bad fight; indeed, it could hardly be otherwise. Goss was entirely over-matched in science, length, and weight, and evidently felt it early in the fight. His dodging and clumsy wiles to steal a march on so perfect a practitioner as Mace were often almost ludicrous. His game, indeed his only chance, was to have forced his man to desperate rallies, and have trusted to his own hardihood, courage and endurance—​though this, we do not believe, could have altered the final result. Mace, on the other hand, was, considering his manifold advantages, over-cautious. He not only would not risk a chance, but he continually gave a chance away by being too guarded. At the same time, we must admit that Mace’s mode of winning the battle on the line he had marked out exhibited consummate skill.

As a “side-light” may often elucidate a “dark corner,” we may remark, that within a few weeks of this £1,000 victory we learned in a disputation, that a neighbouring publican, and backer of Mace, declared that Jem’s was a “bogus” proprietorship, and that the Norwich “Champion” was heavily indebted to him.

At this period a wave of cant was passing over the country. The Morning Star, a London daily long since defunct, in which John Bright, the pugnacious Quaker, was largely interested, was furious in its denunciations of the authorities for what it called “their connivance in the brutalities of prize-fighters.” Contemporary with the scripturally named Morning Star, was a yet more straightlaced and puritan print, rejoicing in the title of the Dial, whose mission, as we learned from its prospectus, was to “purify the daily Press” by excluding from its columns not only racing reports and “so-called sporting news,” but even cases from the police-courts, divorce-courts, actions for slander or crim. con., and we know not what else of the doings of this naughty world. The Dial, after threatening to supersede the Times (and all other dailies), spent nearly all its capital in a very weakly issue, and finally threw the balance of some thousands of pounds into the coffers of the Morning Star, which therefore contracted a marriage, and added the words “and Dial” to its title. We need not observe that marriage in the newspaper world invariably means the death of the weaker vessel; and so the Morning Star and Dial, positively treated its readers, after a few flourishes of condemnation, with a full, true, and particular account of “this horrid prize-fight.” Surely hypocrisy and the eagerness of saints to “turn a penny” could not further go? On the other hand, the Saturday Review, a journal of manly independence, and a sworn enemy of cant, published in its impression of the succeeding week a life-like sketch from the pen of a scholar and a gentleman, of his adventures in going to and coming from the fight, with his impressions of what he saw thereat. Those who can refer to the number will thank us for the reminder: here we can only find room for the closing reflections.

“Looking dispassionately at this fight, and without admitting or denying the truthfulness of the descriptions of other fights that we have read, our conclusion is, that the epithets ‘brutal,’ ‘barbarous,’ ‘disgusting,’ and so forth, are quite uncalled for. There are people who don’t like fights, and there are people who view them as displays of skill and fortitude. Yet much that is objectionable in the acts of the supporters of the Ring and the practitioners of the art would disappear if respectable society, so called, dared to look less unkindly upon it and them. At any rate, we see no sufficient reason why magistrates and police should display such excessive zeal in hunting down a fight in such an out-of-the-way place as Plumstead Marshes, and are glad they did not finally succeed on Tuesday, September 1st, in disappointing the hundreds of people who had travelled 200 miles to see the battle between Mace and Goss.”

So far as the history of the Prize Ring is concerned we would here gladly close our record, leaving only the second combat of Tom King and John Heenan for its finale; but a page or two of the suicidal doings of its professors and destroying patrons must be added to complete its story.

In the first month of 1864 a challenge, as in 1860, came across the Atlantic. This time the cartel was in the name of one Joe Coburn, an Irish American, and was responded to by Mace, whose backers proposed a stake of £500 a side; and on May 27th, the challenger, accompanied by Cusick, known aforetime as the companion and trainer of John Heenan, and a Mr. Edwin James,[36] who described himself as Editor of the New York Clipper, arrived in London to settle the preliminaries.

The articles as finally drawn were to the effect that Mace’s party were to post £600, to £400 on the part of Coburn, and that at the last deposit £100 was to be handed to the latter as expenses; that a referee should be agreed on the day previous to the fight, which should take place in Ireland, over 20 and under 100 miles from Dublin; the money to be made good in ten fortnightly deposits.

On the occasions of these diplomatic protocollings, which were conducted with a Yankee ‘cuteness and cavilling that were suspiciously suggestive of knavery rather than straightforward honesty of purpose, we saw a good deal of Mr. Joe Coburn, and the more we saw of him the more assured were we that the astute “managers” of the affair must have had some other design in view than a fair fight for a thousand with such a man as Jem Mace. Joe Coburn, who stood about 5 ft. 8½ in., was a well-built fellow, something under 11 stone, and tolerably good-looking; his countenance was the reverse of pugilistic in formation or outline, his nose being decidedly of the Roman arch, and the bony contour of his face and nob rather of the “hatchet” than either the “snake” or the “bullet-headed” type. He told us that he was a native of Middletown, County Armagh; that he was in his 26th year, having been born July 20th, 1838; and that his parents took him to America at an early age. At first his “business matters” were entrusted to the care of the experienced Nat Langham, but “Ould Nat” was soon thrust aside by the loquacious Hiberno-American “agents,” “secretaries,” “friends and advisers” of Mr. Coburn, who, of himself, appeared quiescent, modest, and taciturn. And here a word on the wretched hands into which, in these latest days, the interests of the Ring and pugilists had fallen. In times of old, but yet within his memory, the writer has witnessed or been cognizant of conferences at Tom Spring’s “Castle,” at Jem Burn’s, at Limmer’s Hotel, at Tattersall’s, and especially in the editorial sanctum, the front parlour of No. 5, Norfolk Street, Strand, whereat Honourables, M.P.’s, and gallant Guardsmen—​such patrons of pugilism as the Marquises of Drumlanrig and Waterford, Lord Ongley, Lord Longford, Sir Edward Kent, Sir St. Vincent Cotton, Harvey Combe—​with squires, country gentlemen, and sportsmen, have taken part in discussing the interests of fair and honest pugilism and pugilists, and aiding them by purse and patronage. He may add that in those times Lord Althorp (afterwards Earl Spencer),[37] the present courtly diplomatist and Foreign Minister, Earl Granville (Lord Leveson-Gower), the greatest of the Sir Robert Peels, the Honourable Robert Grimston (brother to the Earl of Verulam), Lord Wenlock, Lord Palmerston, and the now venerable philanthropist, the Earl of Shaftesbury (then Lord Ashley),[38] with other “brave peers of England, pillars of the State,” did not disdain to sanction and approve, by example, speech, and pen, the practice and principles of boxing, and the peculiarly English and manly Art of Self-defence.

All these had already disappeared, or withdrawn in disgust, and left no successors. Their places were usurped by a clamorous crew of sharp practitioners, loud-mouthed disputants, and tricky match-makers—​the sweepings of society in the Old and New Worlds. Those on this side of the water were backed by the ill-gotten gains of the keepers of low gambling hells and night-houses, those on the other side by the proprietors of bar-rooms, drinking-saloons, and the large crowd of loungers, loafers, and rowdies who hang on the skirts of the Sporting World of the Great Republic and are its disgrace and bane. The cardinal principle of these worthies, like that of the “welshers” of our own race-courses, being “heads I win, tails you lose,” it was certainly a trial for an Englishman’s patience and gravity to hear and read it urged, as a reason for choosing Ireland as a battle-ground, that our Hiberno-American cousins (or cozens) were afraid their man “would not get fair play” in England. But we must proceed.

No sooner had the conditions been duly published to the world in the sporting papers than the “high contracting parties” set off upon their provincial tours, with the summer all before them. With Coburn’s progress his “secretary” kept the newspaper press au courant; we were told, from week to week, how he put on the mittens with Joe Goss, Bill Ryall, Jack Rooke, Reardon, and others, at Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool, Glasgow, and Dublin, and of course “bested” them. Those who knew how these things were arranged, took them with the needful “grain of salt,” and we coupled them with the significant fact that three of the pugilists named each separately expressed to us his envy at Mace’s good luck, and his regret that he was not in his place to “try conclusions” with the newly imported “champion.” Mace, too, was not behind in travelling the “circuits,” having for his “agent in advance” and “secretary,” Harry Montague, well known, even up to 1881, as secretary to “Myers’s Great American Hippodrome and Circus.”

We skip over the months until we come to September 24th, at which time, strange to say, not a single detail seemed to have been arranged by either party, and when, at the last deposit at Harry Brunton’s, Barbican, the £1,000 was declared to be made good, and the £100 cheque of the stakeholder thereafter handed over to Coburn and Co., we must confess we were much exercised in mind to know what would be the next move in the kriegspiel. We were soon enlightened. Coburn’s representatives having won the toss, communicated that the rendezvous would be Mr. Woodroffe’s, “Cambridge Arms,” Island Bridge, near Dublin, on Monday, October 4th. Accordingly, to “mak’ siccar,” we booked ourselves, on the previous Saturday, by the “Wild Irishman” for Holyhead, and thence by the swift mail-packet, the “Scotia,” landed early on Sunday morning at Kingstown, suffering some delay from a tremendous south-wester in the Channel. Here we found our Irish friends all alive, and as full of questions and eager inquiries for news as if they had been ancient instead of modern Greeks. More Hibernico, too, we soon found that they could tell us more than we knew about the matter; for by way of a secret we were informed in the street, before we had landed six hours, that “Joe” (Coburn) “shure was in Limerick, and that the foight ’ud come off nigh hand there, at Goold’s Crass,” which, if thus publicly known, made us sure that it would not. We stood on the pier watching the arrivals. By the Liverpool packet came a large accession to the English division; among them Jerry Noon, Bos Tyler, Welsh, Hicks, with Fred Oliver, the Commissary, and his henchman, Puggy White, and not a few familiar faces from London, Birmingham, Manchester, and the North.

In Dublin we found not a few “London particulars” of the Press: the editor of Bell’s Life (Frank Dowling), with young Holt as his aide-de-camp, the editor of the Era, ditto of two new penny Sportsmen, with half a dozen penmen of the London dailies and weeklies, all seeking pabulum for their “special correspondence” from the Irish capital. At “the Imperial” we met an American party, which included John Heenan, his “secretary (!)” Mr. Hamilton, Cusick, and the literary and artistic representatives of a New York “illustrated” journal. Here, too, we met our friend Shirley Brooks (the editor of Punch, in posse), looking fair, fresh, and pleasant, and more resembling a smart Meltonian fresh from “the shires” and following the brush across a grass country than a London Press-man just escaped from the consumption of the midnight gas. To him, as one of the “uninitiated,” we imparted our confidence, that he had better enjoy himself in the pleasant circles of Dublin society, than set out on any such “pig-shearing” expedition as the contemplated journey must in all probability prove.

Monday morning came, and we strolled down Dame Street. We were quickly hailed by a car-driver, “Would we like jist a dhrive to Monkstown? Shure an’ Mishter Mace is up there, at the Salt Hill hot-el, he is; an’ there’s lots o’ gintry as he’s a shtrippin’ an’ showin’ hisself to—​shure I seen him mysilf through an open windy, yesterday marnin’; an’ by the same token he a-runnin’ a quarter race like a shtag, an’ batin’ his man, a rig’lar paydesthrian too. Will I dhrive yer hanner?” Yes; but not to Monkstown. At this moment we were accosted by an old, very old acquaintance, none other than the erewhile host of the “Blue Boar’s Head,” Long Acre, a renowned English “paydesthrian,” Drinkwater, better known in sporting circles by his alias of “Temperance.”[39] This worthy relic of a better period and better men, had been for some years located in the Irish capital, in a confidential employment in an extensive commercial institution, and, as he was among the curious, we mounted the jolting jaunting-car, and away we went for Island Bridge.

The scene here was curious, and quite novel to an English eye. Groups of people, consisting of men with a large sprinkling of slatternly women and barefoot children, were thickly scattered on the roads and river-banks, while vehicles of every description, and some of no possible description, rattled through the crowds amid cheers, shouts, and now and then objurgations and cries from the assemblage. Hard by, to complete the oddity of the picture, stood a squad of active, good-looking, and apparently good-humoured constabulary, each carrying his handy rifle-carbine and sword-bayonet, and all seemingly on the best of terms with Paddy and Shelah, and the “gossoons” who formed the holiday gathering. Making our way into the house we there found, that though the much-talked-of Goold’s Cross was the appointed champ clos, that not only was there, up to this time, no train or other mode of conveyance thither even suggested, but that the “assembled chiefs” were only about to discuss the nomination of a referee, as provided by the articles. Had this matter been left to Harry Brunton on behalf of Mace, and “Ould Nat” as the representative of Coburn, no doubt that matter would have been quickly and amicably settled. That this did not suit the “managers” was quickly apparent. We found a meeting much resembling, on a smaller scale, a Yankee “caucus,” or an assembly of French communards at Belleville, gesticulating, shouting, swearing, and all talking at once, while in the midst our deaf friend, Harry Brunton, Old Nat, Mr. Edwin James, and half a dozen Hibernian amateur counsellors in vain tried to obtain a hearing. Finally, as nothing could be done here, an adjournment took place to a more private apartment. Here the squabble was renewed. For referee, after various names had been assented to by Brunton and rejected by the Coburn party, the latter declared, that they would fight under the refereeship of no man but a certain Mr. Bowler, of Limerick, a person utterly unknown to any one present, and of whom no one could certify that he had the slightest acquaintance with the rules of the Ring, or the duties of the office thus proposed to be thrust upon him. At this time, too, it was truly reported that a body of 100 constabulary were posted near Thurles, and that a man had been just arrested at Goold’s Cross on suspicion that he was Coburn, who, however, was stated to be safe at a place called Ballangella, twelve miles from Limerick. Brunton now put his foot down in refusing the mysterious Mr. Bowler, and as Messrs. James and Co. were equally obdurate, the dispute as to whether either party meant fighting went on until the clock struck three, when the match, according to the articles, was actually off. Hereupon Harry Brunton declared his intention of not trusting his man to the forbearance of the Irish police, and, unless a fair referee were agreed on, he would wash his hands of the whole affair and return to England. Harry then left the house, and embarked on board the Holyhead packet, Mace also leaving at nine o’clock. And now came the concluding scenes of this Irish comedy. The Coburn clique loudly proclaimed their intention of claiming the £900 in the hands of the stakeholder. They would go down to Goold’s Cross—​and they did so—​and then and there summon the “runaway” to meet their man. Resolved to see out the farce, we took tickets. On the platform were a hundred greencoats armed with carbines; and a ruddy-faced young rustic, whose name proved to be Ryan, as unlike Mace as could be, having been pointed out by some practical joker as Mace, was forthwith arrested as the redoubted English champion, but soon set at liberty. The ring, consisting of four posts and a rope, having been pitched at a place called Pierstown, Kilmana, and the police being assured that there being but one man there could be no fight, stood laughing by, while proclamation for the appearance of the English champion was made and the stakes duly claimed, and so the curtain fell.

The scene shifts to England, where the stakeholder, after innumerable criminations and recriminations, declared “a draw” of the battle-money by each party as the only possible verdict. Of course the Mace party, and Harry Brunton especially, were seriously out of pocket by the fiasco, in travelling, training, and other expenses, beyond the £100 disbursed to Coburn and Co. The editor of Bell’s Life thus sums up the case:—

“Looking at the matter calmly and dispassionately, we are led to think that Mace has been treated harshly. Of Coburn we have formed this opinion, that he never had the slightest intention of fighting; that he had not even trained; that he was a mere instrument in the hands of others, and believed the match would be turned to account by some trick of Yankee juggling, without the peril of exposing his cutwater countenance to the active props of Mace’s handy digits. Taking the affair as a whole, it has been one of the greatest and most fatal blows to pugilism within our memory, and will tend more to estrange and disgust true patrons of the Ring than any event of our time. We have not heard any more appropriate name bestowed upon any great disappointment than that invented by the sporting editor of the Morning Advertiser, when he described the no-result as ‘the collapse of a gigantic wind-bag.’”

While on the subject of the Press, we cannot refrain from a pleasant episode in relief of so much chicanery and knavery.

No one can deny the native humour of our Irish fellow-countrymen, and their keen sense of the ridiculous, hence some Irish wag turned this affair of Mace and Coburn to laughable account. A certain portion of the “unco’ guid” Puritan and eminently pious Catholic press of Dublin was loud in its outcries of horror, and its denunciations of the unhallowed incursion of “fighting men” into the peace-loving “island of saints.” It called loudly for the strong arm of the law to preserve intact the holy soil, miraculously cleared by St. Patrick, from a renewed invasion of foreign “vermin.” Some sly wag (the hoax was worthy of Theodore Hook himself) accordingly indited the following “pastoral” from the Cardinal Archbishop of Dublin, which, being forwarded to the leading Irish papers, found ready insertion and approving editorial comment:—

“Dublin, Feast of the Angel Guardians, 1864.

“Very Reverend Brethren,—​My attention has been called by some respectable gentlemen to a report now widely circulated, that this city, or its vicinity, is to be made the theatre of a signal combat between two foreign pugilists, who are about to expose their lives to imminent danger for a certain sum of money. This report must be the subject of great regret to every one who is imbued with the spirit of Christian charity, and who recognises in his fellow-man the image of his Creator. It is not necessary for me to call on you to use all your influence to preserve this Christian country from an exhibition so disgraceful, and so well calculated to degrade human nature. I shall merely request of you to publish, as soon as possible, from your altars, that such combats, in which human life is exposed to danger, are prohibited under the severest penalties by the Holy Catholic Church. Passing over the decrees of the Council of Trent, it will be sufficient to state that the learned Pontiff Benedict XIV. excommunicates the principal actors in such fights, their seconds, and all who encourage them, and all who designedly become spectators of such unworthy scenes. If you denounce these penalties from the altar I am confident that the faithful of this diocese, who are so devotedly attached to Holy Catholic Church, and so obedient to its laws, will listen with contempt to the invitation of those who would implicate them in the misdeeds of foreign gladiators, and will abstain from countenancing or encouraging anything condemned by our holy religion, and contrary to the dictates of the Gospel.

“PAUL CULLEN.”

The absurdity of the date of this “pastoral,” and the satirical retort on Lord Lyndhurst’s celebrated speech, in which he characterised the Irish as “aliens in blood, in language, and religion,” by describing Mace and Coburn as “foreign gladiators,” might have aroused suspicion. But no; with the godly, when they attack the wicked, on fait flêche de tout bois; so the Puritan and Methodist prints actually praised the anti-combatant zeal of the Cardinal, and the “pastoral” was reproduced with approbation in a paper containing two savage assaults—​in one of which a man’s nose was bitten off—​and four other outrages of the “foinest pisanthry” with weapons, in two of which the victims were left senseless and apparently dead!

That the English newspapers took the hoax au sérieux is hardly to be wondered at, but the two following specimens, one ridiculing, the other approving, the ingeniously fabricated “pastoral,” are really worth preserving as curiosities of newspaper literature.

(From the Manchester Guardian, October 5, 1864.)

“THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE PUGILISTS.

“To the Editor of the ‘Examiner’ and ‘Times.’

“Sir,—​I perceive from your journal of to-day that Archbishop Paul Cullen has issued a pastoral to his clergy against the great fight that was to have come off in Ireland, in which country it is well known that fighting is the very last thing the inhabitants ever resort to for the settlement of differences. As the men are not going to fight, there will be little difficulty in obeying the injunction of Cardinal Paul. Had it been otherwise, I am afraid a few of ‘the faithful’ would have been congregated in the outer ring, and perhaps some few (who of course could not read or had not read the Pastoral) might have got up some little independent shindies of their own, even as young buds surrounding the inner red roses, or noses. But are we quite sure the Archbishop really alludes to the same thing as we do? He describes the projected fight as between ‘two foreign pugilists.’ Now I understand Mr. Coburn is not an American, but an Irishman. Mr. Mace is undoubtedly from Norwich; and although, in a certain sense, that Quaker, crape-weaving city may be described as in partibus infidelium, yet letters from Limerick to Norwich are not yet forwarded viâ Ostend. I fancy what the Archbishop means is this, that in the case of real native Irishmen—​take the Belfast Catholics and Protestants, for example—​fighting could not possibly occur, and that he wishes to show that only individuals ‘not to the manner born’ could import so dangerous a custom or practice into that peaceful land. A ‘foreigner’ from London or from Oldham might possibly come to fisticuffs in the county of Wicklow, but they would receive no countenance or encouragement from the peace-loving natives, who, refusing to hold their hats or coats, or to mop off any casual claret, would avert their eyes, and, like the soldier in the song, ‘wipe away a tear.’ I have no interest in the two persons called ‘foreigners’ by the Archbishop, but I think in so designating them his Eminence has administered a severer punishment than the occasion required. I should not like to retort upon the Archbishop or call my Irish fellow-citizens ‘foreigners’—​writing a paragraph for your journal, for instance, to the following effect—​‘Two foreigners, named Dennis Blake and Patrick O’Rafferty, were brought before Mr. Fowler for fighting in Deansgate. O’Rafferty, who spoke with a strong foreign accent, said “Blake tould me, plaze yer hannar, he’d jist bate the soul out o’ me in a brace of shakes, an’ Oi——” Mr. Fowler, “I’ve evidence enough. You are ’aliens in blood, in language, and in religion”—​I am quoting an eminent jurist—​and you must pay a fine of —​, or go to prison.’

“It must, however, be a great consolation and relief to the minds of Mr. Mace and Mr. Bos Tyler that the Archbishop ‘passes over the decrees of the Council of Trent,’ and merely throws the ‘learned Pope Benedict XIV.’ at their heretic heads. It seems to me that one of the Pope ‘Bonifaces’ would be more appropriate in a case of ‘pubs,’ and prize-fighters, for a ‘stinger over the left.’

Faithfully yours,

“J. F. T.

“Manchester, October 5, 1864.”

An extract from that immaculate journal The English Churchman, culminates the joke:—

“THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE BOXERS.

“‘No good thing is without its attendant evil,’ is a platitude as old, at least, as the time of Lucretius. Old, however, as it is, and platitude as it has become, it is a truth, notwithstanding. The intercourse and intercommunion of nations is an undoubted good. It has, however, we are reminded, its repulsive as well as its attractive aspect. An international Congress may be useful. International Exhibitions, apart from the boastful self-sufficiency which attends them, may be good. International Copyright is what all authors sigh for, and we can even enjoy the noise and bustle of an International Dog Show. We have, however, advanced beyond this, and have within the last week only barely escaped the disgrace of another International Prize Fight. Amidst the dearth of political news; the stagnation of home scandals; and the absence of our chief notabilities from London, if not from England, Mr. Edwin James—​the same person, we presume, who so recently ‘left his country for his country’s good,’ has sought to manufacture telling paragraphs for newspaper editors by getting up an International Prize Fight in the sister island.[40] Happily for the character of Ireland, its police, jealous of all fighting save amongst the native element, and with the lawful and national weapon—​the shillelagh—​have prevented a repetition of these scandalous scenes and gatherings; and the English Champion has had to return to London re infecta. With the squabbles of the would-be combatants and their friends—​with the recriminations of Yankee sharpers and English blackguards, we have nothing to do. We leave the patrons of the Ring to settle the important question of the stakes among themselves. Nor are we about to try the patience of our readers with either a defence or an attack upon the immunities of the Prize Ring. What we desire to chronicle is the worthy attitude assumed by the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Dublin, who addressed the following letter to the clergy within his jurisdiction. [The letter will be found elsewhere.] This letter we gladly publish as worthy of the position of the writer. If successful, as but for an accident it might have been, it would have afforded an encouragement to the author, as it will be a valuable precedent to himself and to the rest of his brethren, and will, we have no doubt, lead them to ‘announce’ the same ‘penalties’ of excommunication against the midnight assassin, watching to take the life of his landlord; so that the pugilist and the hired murderer alike will before long both be sought for in vain in the peaceful ‘Isle of the Saints.’ With the fact of the publication of such a document we are too gratified to attempt to cavil at its language. The emphasis laid on the circumstance that Mace and Coburn were two ‘foreign pugilists,’ and that they were two ‘foreign gladiators,’ seams at first sight a covert way of claiming the monopoly of fighting for the faithful and non-alien portion of the community, and is hardly consistent with the fact that one of the would-be combatants was born in the county of Armagh, which is usually considered a part of Ireland. We have, however, no doubt that these words, though not literally correct, were judiciously thrown in by the Archbishop, in order to enlist the patriotism and national feeling of those to whom this letter was addressed, and with the hope that those Irishmen who might be indifferent to the wishes and orders of ‘Paul Cullen,’ would readily follow the directions of the writer when they were fortified by the belief that the two invaders of the peace—​the two gladiators—​were, after all, only ‘foreigners,’ and hence undeserving of the honour of an Irish audience.”

At the “settlement” of accounts—​Messrs. James and Co., receiving a cheque of £400—​a funny little incident of modern practice oozed out. Harry Brunton, among other liabilities, had made himself responsible to a silk-mercer for Mace’s “colours,” and now asked to be reimbursed. In olden times, when a pugilist distributed his colours, it was with the honourable understanding, on the part of the recipient, that in the event of victory the man should receive a guinea (subsequently a “sov.”), and nothing if he lost. This was the understanding; not as a sale, but, as the newspapers say of correspondence, “as a guarantee of good faith.” In modern times, however, as Molière’s Quack Doctor assures Géronte, “Nous avons changé tout cela,” and the gallant and generous dispenser insists on the prepayment of a guinea—​we suppose “as a guarantee of good faith”—​on the part of his patron. Indeed, we do not see how he could safely do otherwise, as the looms of Spitalfields and Coventry would hardly suffice to supply the demands of silk kerchiefs on “a promise to pay,” while the deposit of a sovereign each (not returnable), for a few dozen of handkerchiefs, invoice price 5s. 6d., most have a certain consolation in case of a draw or a lose.

Accounts being squared, Mace, as he said “to clear his character,” offered to fight Coburn anywhere in England for £100 or “on his own terms.” Bill Ryall, Joe Goss, Jack Rooke, also, were all “ready to meet Coburn.” The latter responded that he was ready to fight Mace, in “any part of Her Majesty’s dominions in America, for £1,000, but not in England with a mob at his back.” Brunton published a list of Mace’s backers, “to whom their money had been returned;” a similar document of the deposits made on behalf of Coburn might have proved a curiosity. Our sole apology for treating at such length these later doings is, that we look upon them as the concluding chapter in the downfall of the Ring, and as the elucidation of a question often put to us, “Do we consider its revival possible?” to which our reply has uniformly been, “Not only not possible, but not even desirable; ‘other times, other manners:’ its revival would be an anachronism.” Yet did the old bull-dog spirit die hard, and several good battles were contested in the years 1863–70. In November, 1864, a new big one, Joe Wormald, claimed the Championship, when he was answered by another big ’un, hight Andrew Marsden. Mace sent forth a challenge to meet the winner, who proved to be Wormald, who received the belt. The day of battle was named for November 1, 1865, for £200 and the Championship; but a severe accident disabling Wormald, Mace received the sum of £120 forfeit.

The year 1866, opened with another “train-swindle.” A second match “for £200 and the belt” had been got up with Joe Goss, and Tuesday, May 24th, appointed for its decision. About four hundred tickets having been disposed of by industrious touting, at two guineas first class, and £1 10s. 6d. second, the company started at half-past five on the appointed morning, on “an excursion there and back,” as the card-board expressed it. At 6h. 13m. we passed Farningham Road, and at 6h. 35m. slackened speed and disembarked at Longfield Court, near Meopham, Kent, where a ring was formed, and after the customary ceremonies, Jem Mace and Joe Goss—​after much waiting for the police, who came not—​stood up face to face, at a respectful distance, for the first and only round of the

NO FIGHT.

Round 1.—​Mace would not lead off, but nodded and beckoned to Joe, who, however, declined his invitation and nodded and grinned in return, squaring his elbows and stepping first to right and then to left, in an ungainly manner, but never trusting himself within what Mr. Gladstone calls “a measurable distance” of a knock; Mace, also, politely preserving an interspace in all his manœuvres. As minute after minute dragged on, and it was clear neither man meant to fight, the referee stepped into the ring, and warned the men, unless blows were struck he would declare “a draw.” The announcement was received with the utmost indifference by both the principal performers, who walked about during the discussion, chafing their arms and breasts with their hands, and exchanging recognitions with acquaintances and friends. Again the men faced each other, and again alternately advanced and retreated; fifty minutes, one hour elapsed, and not a blow was struck. Again and again did the referee remonstrate. He might as well have “whistled jigs to a milestone.” At the end of 74 minutes he leaped into the ring for the last time, and amidst the laughter and hisses of the spectators, declared it “a drawn battle;” whereupon the unscathed gladiators shook hands, grinned, and put on their clothes, Mace coolly informing us, that he had “sprained his ankle severely a few days before,” and that “he was not fit to fight;” though how that ensured Goss’s forbearance was left unexplained. So all returned to town—​the sheep and their shearers.

“Hope springs eternal in the human breast,”

and so, in the hope of witnessing a fight at last, Mace signed articles once again for £200, and to ensure that the men should get closer together this time, a ring of 16 feet was agreed upon. In this, on August 6th, 1866, Jem Mace displayed indisputable superiority by giving Master Joe an exemplary beating in 21 rounds, occupying one minute over the half-hour.

The bubble of 1866–7 was the appearance of a new “Irish giant,” standing 6 ft. 4½ in., first dubbed O’Baldwin, and afterwards Ned Baldwin—​a name familiar to Ring history. Having beaten one George Iles, O’Baldwin claimed the belt, and Mace (who had retired) backed “an Unknown” against him. This “Unknown” Mace afterwards declared to be Joe Goss; but Mace having got into trouble over a battle between Holden and Peter Moore, at Derby, and Joe injuring his shoulder in his Bristol fight with Allen, Mace was allowed (for a consideration) to name Joe Wormald in his stead, and to postpone the fight for a fortnight, and yet farther to Saturday, 23rd April, 1867, so as not to clash with the Two Thousand Guineas Stakes. Will it be believed that 300 persons travelled that morning by the South Eastern Railway to find that “the Giant” had somehow mistaken the terminus, and by a misdirection was sitting in a four-wheeler, doubled up like a pocket-knife, under a dry arch in Tooley Street, while the special steamed off without him, and so Joe Wormald received the £200 forfeit?

To console the confiding public, Mace now offered himself to the notice of O’Baldwin on the usual terms, to meet on October 15th, 1867. The £400 was made good, and Jem was ordered from Newmarket, where he was training, to Woodford, Essex, when it was communicated that the officers were after him, and he crossed over into Surrey. Here, at Herne Hill, he was arrested by Sergeant Silverton, of the Metropolitan Police, together with Pooley Mace, his cousin, brought before Sir Thomas Henry, at Bow Street, and duly bound over to keep the peace in sureties of £300. At the examination, Inspector Hannan stated that the tickets were, to his knowledge, sold at two, three, and four guineas. So each man, as we were told next week, “drew his stake,” on the ground of “magisterial interference.” Again Mace had retired, and Joe Wormald being disabled by illness, O’Baldwin was left, like the Giant Blunderbore, “King of the Castle.” The reader has already, in this Memoir, had the opportunity of forming an opinion of the pugilistic pretensions of Sam Hurst, “the Stalybridge Infant.” Yet Sam Hurst was dragged from his obscurity, and it was thought a good thing might be made of the gobemouches by a Championship fight between the giants! This was, however, too utterly preposterous, and it broke down. In December, 1867, Joe Goss and Wormald were matched, which ended in a forfeit, and Wormald, O’Baldwin, and Co. were announced as departing for America!

Here, in 1868, as we learn from the Transatlantic journals, Joe Wormald and the prodigious O’Baldwin were matched “for 2,500 dollars and the Championship of the World.” They met at Lynnfield, Massachusetts, when, after a scramble of ten minutes in a single round, the “sheriff and his merrie men” interfered and stopped further proceedings. Thereafter, we are told, the “stakeholder having ordered Wormald to renew the fight,” and he not complying, that functionary handed the money to “the Irish champion,” a proceeding which, in the words of Lord Dundreary, “no fellah can understand.” After returning for awhile to England, Mace sailed for the Antipodes, and by the latest accounts was a prosperous publican in Melbourne.

Our tale is well-nigh told. In 1870, Jem Mace, being in America, met Tom Allen for 2,500 dollars a side. They fought near New Orleans, on May 10th, when Jem polished off the Birmingham bruiser in style in 10 rounds, 44 minutes.

As the design of “Pugilistica” is to supply a reliable and honest history of the British Prize Ring and the deeds of its worthies, we shall here drop the story of New World rowdyism. The Ring had finished its career—​had died in the country of its birth; its last expiring flicker had sputtered out, and exit in fumo, exiled for its misdeeds to a land where its true merits and principles never had an existence. Having thus traced it to its ignominious end, we return, for a single chapter, to the doings of Tom King, whom we have already styled “Ultimus Romanorum.”

---

[34] See Pugilistica, vol. i., p. 33, et seq.]

[35] The career of Joe Goss shows that even in the last days of its degeneracy the P.R. had brave men who would have gone straight, had they not been warped from the direct course of honesty by knaves who sought only to make the pugilist the instrument of their own nefarious ends. Goss’s birthplace was the file-making town of Wolverhampton, on the 16th of August, 1838; and he made his début at the age of twenty-one, in a battle with Jack Rooke, of Birmingham, for £25 a side, on the 20th September, 1859. His defeat of Rooke in 1 hour and 40 minutes, after 64 sharp rounds, was a promising first appearance, seeing that that boxer had recently beaten Tom Lane—​brother to the renowned “Hammer” of that ilk. His next match was with Price, of Bilston, a 12 stone man, who has been often confounded with Posh Price, of Birmingham—​also, at a subsequent period (1862) beaten by Goss. This battle ended in a forfeit by Goss, he being arrested at the instance of his father when going to scale, November 9th, 1859. Joe was determined not to be baulked, and at a meeting between himself and Price, the latter offering to fight him for £10, as a solace for his disappointment, the money was posted, and the men met on the 10th of February, 1860, near Wolverhampton. Joe’s activity, power of hitting, and fearless style soon brought his opponent down to his own weight; and in the short space of 25 minutes, in which 15 rounds were fought, Price was consummately thrashed. Bodger Crutchley, who was in high esteem for his victories over George Lane, Sam Millard, Bos Tyler, Smith (of Manchester), and who had last fought Posh Price a drawn battle (interrupted by the police), was Joe’s next opponent. They met near Oxford, July 17th, 1860, for £100 a side, when, after a gallant struggle of 120 rounds, lasting 3 hours and 20 minutes, Goss was hailed the victor. On September 24th, 1861, Joe met and defeated Bill Ryall, for £50 a side, in 2 hours 50 minutes, during which 37 tedious and shifty rounds were fought; and on the 11th of February, 1862, Joe a second time faced Bill Ryall for £100 a side (on the Home Circuit), for three hours and eighteen minutes, when, as neither man could or would finish, the referee declared “a draw.” This brings us to his battle with Mace for £1,000, detailed above. On December 16th, 1863, Goss entered the ring with Ike Baker for £100, whose pretensions Joe disposed of in 27 rounds, lasting 80 minutes, the punishment being all on one side. Joe’s next two matches were defeats by Mace. On March 6th, 1867, Goss was matched for £100 a side with Bill Allen, of Birmingham. This was a remarkable muddle; after fighting 34 rounds in three different rings, time inclusive 1 hour and 54 minutes, darkness came on, and “a draw” was declared. Soon after Allen sailed for America, landing at New York, July 21st. Joe, who considered he had been treated unfairly, and robbed of the fair reward of his milling superiority, followed him, and, notwithstanding his voyage, issued his challenge to Allen on the 8th of April, six days after his arrival. This was promptly accepted, and the match made for 5,000 dollars (£1,000), to be fought for on the 7th of September. We need hardly remind the reader that the Irish newspaper Press of the United States is in the hands of expatriated Irishmen, whose buncombe and bombast is only exceeded by their prejudice and ignorance. These worthies magnified the contest into a battle for “the Championship,” but as Goss had been two and a half times beaten by Mace, and Allen had done nothing in England beyond drawing the stakes in a forfeit with Posh Price, and failed to do the same in his draw with Joe Goss, it would puzzle “a Philadelphia lawyer” to know how this could be a “fight for the Championship of the World,” except of Irish America, to which title they are both welcome. The “Cincinnati Fight” ended by a “foul” blow, Tom Allen hitting Goss when on the ground! Sic transit, &c.]

[36] We need not say that this gentleman was not the ex-recorder of Brighton, ex-member for Marylebone, and ex-Q.C., who about this period had left this country for the New World.—​Ed.

[37] See Vol. I., Preface, pp. viii. and ix.

[38] No doubt many of the weak-kneed brethren, the disciples of a flabby, invertebrate pseudo-humanitarianism, will feel surprised, if not scandalised, at this claim of Lord Shaftesbury as a patron of pugilistic practice. His lordship’s Christianity, however, has always been practical, and of the order called “muscular.” Witness his gallant successful efforts to emancipate the poor little white slaves in our factories by his glorious Ten Hours Bill, and other humane legislation—​legislation, let it never be forgotten, opposed by John Bright and the Gradgrind social reformers of the doctrinaire and politico-economical kidney. The friend and benefactor of the Street Arab, the Shoe Black, and the founder of Ragged Schools bore outspoken testimony of his admiration of boxing only a few weeks since in a speech at Exeter Hall, at the Young Men’s Christian Association, wherein he recommended sparring with the gloves as a gymnastic exercise of high value, and recalled, at eighty years, the days when he was himself accounted no mean antagonist, and “reckoned a good boxer among those who were judges of the art.” His style was worthy of a Homeric hero—​a Nestor of the Ring.

[39] Some who remember “old times” and “the Kentish Town match,” may like to hear that on his annual visit to England, in December last, we smoked a pipe and recalled faded scenes and memories over a cheerful glass with “Temperance” Drinkwater; his activity, mental and bodily, being phenomenal for a man in his 77th year.—​Ed.

[40] The clerical Editor’s “presumption” is equal to his gullability. We have already pointed out that these gentlemen are “two Dromios.”—​Ed.

CHAPTER III.

TOM KING (CHAMPION).
1860–1862.

The brief history of the last legitimate champion of the British P.R. is, in many respects, a consoling contrast and relief to the chicanery, trickery, and moral or physical cowardice which marked the “latter-day” professors of pugilism, and their yet more disreputable and despicable patrons. If Tom King fell short in scientific attainments and the intuitive fighting gifts which were so conspicuous in Tom Sayers, Tom Spring, Jem Belcher, Dan Mendoza, John Jackson, and Tom Johnson, he nevertheless exemplified through his brief but bright pugilistic career the boldness, honesty, and fairness which are the accompaniments of true courage; and, whether winner or loser, won or lost upon his merits.

TOM KING (Champion), 1863.

From a Photograph.

Tom King first saw the light on the 14th of August, 1835, in Silver Street, in the “maritime district” of Stebonheath, or Stepney; an East London parish in which, by an ancient popular tradition, all children born on the high seas have their “settlement.” Among the amphibious population of this region of docks, wharfs, stairs, and jetties, Tom’s earlier days were passed, and here, with “a brother Tham,” he grew in due time to the stature of six feet two inches in his stockings, and the weight of twelve stone and some odd pounds; as active and straight and “pretty a piece of man’s flesh” as a recruiting sergeant ever cast eyes on, and tempted with the “Queen’s shilling” to become a bold dragoon or a stately grenadier. But Tom’s inclination by birth, parentage and education, was all towards “the sister service,” and at an early age he was a “sailor bold” on board of one of Her Majesty’s ships. In this capacity he made a voyage to the coast of Africa, and subsequently another in a trading vessel. On his return his good conduct and character obtained him a position as foreman of labourers at the Victoria Docks, and here, among a very rough class of fellows, Tom, though a giant in stature, and of the mild behaviour which so often accompanies size and strength, could not escape insult. In fact, our hero, instinctively brave, exemplified the wise precept of Laertes’ father:—

“——Beware

Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,

Bear it that th’opposed may beware of thee,”

and so soon found some of the long-shore men who presumed on Tom’s easy temper and mildness of manner. The mode in which, on one particular occasion, he disposed of a half-drunken bully, known in Wapping by the odd nickname of “Brighton Bill,” whose pugnacious propensities and violence had made him a sort of standing terror to his fellow-labourers, got quickly noised abroad, and coming to the ears of Jem Ward, who at this time kept the “George,” in his old quarter of Ratcliffe Highway, the ex-champion sought him out. The pair were quickly on friendly terms, and the scientific Jem, after a few trials of the youngster’s quality with the gloves, in which he quickly perceived the excellent material, in pluck and good temper, he had to work upon, introduced King to some staunch patrons of boxing. Hereupon a notification was published early in 1860, that “’Jem Ward’s big ’un,’ who had never fought in the P.R.,” could be matched for £50 a side against any comer “catch weight.” Of course this modest price was utterly beneath the notice of modern P.R. professors, who condescended to nothing less than five hundreds and thousands, or—​save the mark—​five thousands and ten thousands when they came to reckon in dollars. So nobody nibbled at the chance, save one Clamp, of Newgate Market, who had fought and won a battle in the London Ring, in October, 1857. A friend of Clamp’s, calling on Jem, posted a “fiver” on his man’s behalf; but, being of an inquisitive turn, Mr. Clamp presented himself at Ward’s sparring saloon, being personally unknown, and put on the gloves, as a casual customer, with the “young sailor.” The result being a “receipt in full” in a single round, the “fiver” was quickly forfeited, Mr. Clamp retired from the public gaze, and Tom was again adrift without an engagement.

As our hero’s fame was principally spread among long-shore men and “the Salts,” Tommy Truckle, of Portsmouth, found friends to back him for a trial with “Jem Ward’s big ’un.” Truckle’s local fame in disposing of dockyarders and fighting “blues” at the great naval port and arsenal was good, and the £50 a side was duly tabled, November 27th, 1860, being the day of battle. King on this occasion was placed by Mr. Richardson, who became his money-finder in the later deposits, under George Woody, the trainer, at Mr. Lyon’s, the “White Hart,” Romford. The “Young ’un” had certainly an alacrity in making flesh, for we were assured by Woody, that when he took him in hand, he drew all 14 stone; but that such was his docility and steady determination in training that he had him down in four weeks to 12st. 10lbs. with great improvement in stamina and activity. Tommy Truckle, a hardy fellow, seemed always in condition at about 12st. but fought at 11st. 6lbs., and his 5ft. lOin. of stature seemed long enough for anything. He trained at Portsmouth, under the watchful eye of George Baker. On this occasion Truckle started from Mr. Tupper’s “Greyhound,” Waterloo Road, and his colours, a black kerchief with puce and gold border, seemed to be pretty liberally taken by his friends. An early morning trip per rail conveyed the travellers to the water-side, below bridge, where a steam tug was in waiting, by which the principals and their friends were conveyed to the Kentish marshes, where a good ring was quickly formed by Fred Oliver and Co., a large accession of spectators arriving by another tug and numerous row boats.

On the men entering the ring, King being first to show, they were warmly greeted; King being attended by Jem Mace (then called the “coming Champion”) and William Richardson; while Truckle was waited on by Bob Travers (the Black) and Walker, of Stony Stratford. King, who had completed his toilette long before his opponent, whose boots seemed to give great trouble, loomed large as he walked about enveloped in a rug, until, the word being given, Truckle stood up, and King, throwing away his blanket and stripping off his under shirt, displayed a bust and general figure which surprised and delighted his partisans. Truckle, when stripped, looked small and somewhat stale, though hardy and resolute, as he confronted the youthful and symmetrical giant.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​As the men stood face to face King looked the pink of condition, and not only did he stand over Truckle, but his attitude was decidedly the more artistic and unconstrained. Truckle stood firmly, his left well out, and his right fore arm covering the mark, so that there was little of the novice in his position. Both men seemed anxious to begin work, and manœuvred in and out when after a few offers on each side, they mutually stepped back, looked earnestly at each other and rubbed their arms. King threw up his hands and advanced, when Truckle cleverly propped him with the left flush in the nose, and drew the carmine. (Cheers, and “first blood for Truckle.”) King again stepped in, and this time got home us right a sounder on Truckle’s ribs, when Truckle got away and down.

2.—​Each sparred for an opening. Truckle feinted and tried to draw the Young’un, but it was no go. King smiled and shook his head. Exchanges: Truckle on King’s neck, while, on getting near, King again visited Truckle’s ribs a sounder. Truckle, in trying to get back, slipped, but recovering himself, closed, when King, weaving away, fought Truckle clean through the ropes in his own corner.

3.—​As yet little mischief was done on either side, and on coming up each man eyed his opponent confidently. After sparring and manœuvring a bit, each trying to find a weak point in his adversary’s defence, Truckle broke ground and retreated, King boldly following him step by step, when Truckle sent in his left at King’s drinking fountain, which at once answered with a crimson spurt; King, without a check, delivered his right sharply on Truckle’s head, and down went the Portsmouth hero; a sort of staggering fall.

4.—​On coming to the call of “Time,” Truckle’s left daylight seemed to have a half shutter up. After some rather pretty sparring, Truckle tried his left, which was neatly stopped by King, amidst some applause; the next moment the Young’un let go both hands straight as a dart, visiting Truckle’s kissing and olfactory organs with a one, two, which tapped the homebrewed copiously. Again he invested on Truckle’s left ear with the right in a heavy exchange, and bored Truckle down in the hitting at the ropes.

5.—​Truckle came up bleeding from nose and mouth, and some sparring took place for position, the sun shining brightly in King’s face. They, however, soon got together, Truckle leading off, and getting his left on to King’s mouth, inflicting a cut on his lower lip, which compliment the Young’un returned by another crack on the left listener, which was also cut, and the Portsmouth man found his way to grass in a hurry. (7 to 4 on King.)

6.—​Truckle, first to the scratch, led off, but was short; King went in with both hands, and Truckle fell on both hands and one knee, looking up at King, laughingly; it was a bid for a “foul,” but “no go,” as King withheld his hand, nodded, and walked away to his corner, amidst applause.

7.—​A very short round. King, as soon as his man faced him, let go both hands, which alighted heavily on Tommy’s cheekbone and kissing-trap, and Truckle went down to escape a repetition of the dose. (2 to 1 on King.)

8.—​After a short spar the men rushed to a close, embraced, and Truckle tried to bring his man over. He did not succeed, for King shifted his hold and threw him.

9.—​Both up together, when King cleverly ducked his head aside, and avoided Truckle’s left, then rushed to a close, during which he administered some rib-roasters to his adversary’s corpus, and ended by throwing him cleverly, not, however, without getting some sharp half-arm punches about the head and body from the Portsmouth man’s busy right.

10.—​The fighting had up to this time been unusually fast for big ones, yet both were active and spry as ever. King went to his man resolutely, and after two or three exchanges with little attempt at stopping, Truckle went down, King standing over him.

11.—​King seemed determined to give his opponent scant breathing-time. No sooner was he at the scratch than he went across the ring, and let go both mauleys on his man’s os frontis, who slipped down at the ropes.

12.—​Truckle popped his left sharply on King’s peeper as he came on; King immediately closed, and tried to get on the lock, but Tommy slipped through his hands, and was on the grass. (18 minutes only to these 12 rounds.)

13.—​King’s left came in contact with the left side of Truckle’s knowledge-box. Tommy retorted on King’s mouth, but next moment went down with a flush hit on the forehead, falling partly by his own consent.

14.—​Tommy short with his left, when King measured him and dropped his right, a wax melter on his man’s left auricular, which was already badly swollen. In the close both were down side by side. This was the first time, as yet, that King had measured his six foot length on the ground.

15.—​King, who had certainly been making all the fighting, seemed a little blown, as they sparred for a few seconds, and Truckle feinted with the left; King once again got on a rattler on Tommy’s nob, and Truckle got down. (An appeal was made to the referee, that the Portsmouth man had fallen without a blow, but the fiat was “Fight on.”)

16.—​Good counter-hits. King on the side of the brain-pan with his right; Truckle on King’s forehead, raising a visible bump. The men closed, when King forced Truckle down. (Some confusion, and a cry of “Police.” It was a false alarm.)

17.—​King got home his left on Truckle’s mazzard. Truckle rushed to an embrace and seized King round the waist, but he could not throw him, and got down without harm on either side.

18.—​King first at the mark. Truckle sparring, tried his left, but, as usual, was short. King avoided Truckle’s second delivery by throwing his head aside, caught Tommy on the ribs, and the Portsmouth man got down somehow.

19.—​King with the left on the mark, and the right on the jaw, received two ineffective returns. Truckle slipped on his knees and hand, and looked up as if expecting a “foul,” but the blow was not delivered.

20–28.—​Similar in character, except that King twice threw Truckle.

29.—​King got twice on to Truckle’s head, whose returns were wild and ineffective. (Another appeal on Truckle’s style of getting down. “Fight on,” was the renewed order.)

30–40.—​Of similar character. More than one appeal from King’s umpire, but disallowed. Truckle receiver-general, and apparently getting more and more “abroad” in each succeeding round.

41.—​Truckle game as a pebble, but without a chance of turning the tide of battle; King hit Truckle so sharply on the ivories that he drew a fresh supply of Chateau Margaux, and Tommy fell as if shot.

42–47.—​King strong and fresh; Truckle sinking under repeated doses of punishment; in the last-named round King hit poor Tommy clean off his feet with the right hand. “Take him away;” but Tommy refused to strike his colours, and came up for Round

48.—​When the Young’un sent him to grass with a right-hander on the jaw. Still he would come again for Round

49, and last.—​As Tommy stood at the scratch, in a somewhat puzzled condition, King dropped into him left and right, which brought Truckle forward. His head came against King’s cranium with some force, and Truckle immediately saluted his mother earth. George Matthison, who was one of Truckle’s backers, here stepped into the ring and, by consent of Tommy’s seconds, threw up the sponge, as his man had not the remotest chance of winning. King was accordingly hailed the winner of this hard-fought battle after a bustling contest of one hour and two minutes.

Remarks.—​There was but one opinion on both sides, that, for novices, both men had acquitted themselves in a first-rate manner. King is undoubtedly the finest made young fellow it has been our lot to behold for many a long day. He is, in our opinion, far finer and more symmetrical in frame than Heenan, not being so clumsily legged as the Yankee Champion, and his weight (ordinarily 12st. 12lbs.) more proportionately distributed; and we cannot help thinking, if ever they should come together (and it is reported that Heenan challenges the belt) that our “novice” is just the sort of man to give a good account in a passage of arms with that redoubtable and over-boasted gentleman. King does not use his left in leading off, as more practised pugilists do, but that is a fault he has full time to amend, and as his pluck, endurance and presence of mind, seconded by undebauched wind and a fine constitution, were fully demonstrated in this trial, we do not know where to look for his master. Throughout the battle the Young’un behaved in the most manly manner, refusing to fall on his antagonist on several occasions, when he had clearly the right to do so, and resisting the temptation to deliver a blow, though sorely provoked by his opponent’s shifty getting down. Truckle has little pretensions to science; but is a rough and ready fighter. It must be admitted that, from the first round to the last, he tried his utmost to get a turn in his favour, but was overmatched and outfought at all points. His friends must have been satisfied that he only succumbed to a superior man in all respects, and then only when nature could do no more. A subscription for the beaten man was collected on the spot by the winner, which was added to at the giving up of the stakes. King exhibited on the following Monday night, at the Rotunda, Blackfriars Road, at Tom Paddock’s benefit (after the latter’s defeat by Sam Hurst), showing but trifling marks of his recent encounter.

Early in 1861, there was much tall talk of a match with Heenan, whose intention of returning to England and claiming the championship from Sam Hurst, the holder of the new belt, was loudly boasted, but all ended, as it had begun, in mere talk.

The tough and gallant Harry Poulson, of Nottingham, was proposed as a competitor, and articles were signed in February, to fight for £100 a side, May 23rd being fixed for the encounter, and £12 a side posted; but the backers of the veteran Harry took second thoughts, and at the second deposit (of £20) failed to put in an appearance, and King pocketed the forfeit.

After the defeat of Sam Hurst by Jem Mace, King lost no time in challenging the new champion, for the “regulation stake” of £200 and the belt, which trophy had been duly handed over by Hurst to the stakeholder. A match with Young Broome, however, intervened, and came off in October, the championship battle being fixed so far forward as January 31, 1862.

Of the way in which the Ring, even when the Championship itself was involved, was made subservient to the quackery of benefit gaggery, the puffery of the Circus, and the gobemoucherie of the gaping rustics and sightseekers, the following from a leading contemporary sporting paper will show:—

“The deposit this week of £15 a side, making £130 a side down, was duly posted yesterday, and another of like amount must be staked on Friday next. The big event for the belt does not excite much interest, from the fact of the Young Big’un (King) having a previous engagement with Wm. Broome (Young Evans), on the issue of which, we need hardly say, must rest his claim as a competitor for the belt and its contingent honours. Young King, we can say, is taking every care of himself for the approaching encounter. Jem Mace is still starring it in the provinces with Pablo Fanque’s circus, but on Monday week he will re-appear in one of his superior qualifications at Birmingham, he having matched himself to run ten miles within the hour for a bet of £100 to £50, on Monday week, Oct. 21st. The ex-champion, Tom Sayers, we are informed, has also entered into business on his own account as a circus proprietor, having bought (?) the three well-known circuses, including Messrs. Howe and Cushings’, and Jem Myers’s Great American Circus (!). Tom intends commencing his tour this day, &c., &c., &c.,” [We omit the rest of the “gag.”] “Mr. Edwin James (not the Q.C.), a New York gentleman, called at our office on Wednesday last, immediately after his landing, and informed us that, owing to the war, business is almost at a dead standstill in the United States; nevertheless, J. C. Heenan, the gallant competitor of Sayers, is driving a lucrative trade in his profession (?). Heenan repudiates the fulsome praises of himself and the absurd tirades against Sayers inserted in several of our Transatlantic contemporaries.”

To return to the “trial fight” between Young King and William Evans (known as Young Broome), which came off on Monday, October 21st, 1861, on a spot not far from where the International Contest was left undecided in 1860, we may say, in partial contradiction of our quotation, that there was a lively interest in pugilistic circles, whether “a line” could not be drawn from the event as to the capabilities of the “Novice” to wrest the laurel from the brow of the scientific Jem Mace. Immediately after the match was made King was placed under the fostering wing of Nat Langham, who took him out of town, and placed him at Tom Salter’s, “The Feathers,” at Wandsworth, where he had the combined advantages of the river and the road, and from time to time the preceptorship of “Ould Nat” in imparting “wrinkles” from his own practical experience. His walking and rowing exercises were carefully superintended by John Driver, and the condition of King was a credit alike to himself and his trainer.

We must here devote a paragraph to the boxer who was thought good enough to risk 50 sovs. and expenses upon, as a “trial horse” for Young King.

William Evans (whose Ring alias was “Young Broome”) was born in August, 1836, stood 5 feet 10 inches, and, on this occasion, weighed 11st. 2lb. He had fought twice before in the P.R.—​viz., with a gentleman of colour, called Kangaroo, whom he defeated, for £15 a side, 18 rounds, 30 minutes, down the river, on March 13, 1858. He next fought and beat Tom Roberts, for £25 a side, in 30 rounds, 50 minutes, down the river. He afterwards received £10 forfeit from Tyson, who could not get to weight; and £10 forfeit from Joe M’Gee; but, on the other hand, forfeited £10 to Joe Goss. Young Broome, having expressed a depreciatory opinion of King’s pugilistic capabilities, and finding some friends who shared his views, challenged the Young One to fight at catch-weight for £50, which was accepted, and Broome, after getting his patrons to rally round him, went to train at Mr. Packwood’s, the “Boileau Arms,” Hammersmith Bridge, at that time weighing about 13st., which bulk was reduced by hard work to 11st. 2lb. Dando, the well-known trainer of Tom Paddock, looked after Broome, and most certainly did his duty to his man. Alec Keene had the management of Broome, who showed the night previous to the fight at the “Three Tuns,” Moor Street, Soho, from which he took his departure in the morning.

There was but little betting on the event, only a few speculations being made at 2 to 1 on King. A very early hour was arranged for the departure, which was made from London Bridge with unusual quietness and absence of bustle; and, after a pleasant trip by rail over about sixty miles of ground, by no means in a direct line, a spot was found in the county of Surrey fit for the amusement. No time was lost in the ring being formed, by Fred Oliver and assistants, when Broome was the first to throw in his cap, attended by a well-known retired pugilist, and Bob Travers. King quickly followed suit, with Joe Phelps and Bos Tyler as his attendants. As both parties meant business, the referee was quickly chosen, and the colours tied to the stake, Broome sporting a salmon-coloured handkerchief, with a narrow magenta stripe and border, for his flag. King had for his standard a chocolate handkerchief, with white, blue, and yellow lozenge, and blue border. During the progress of the toilets of the men, a large number of the neighbouring farmers and gentry assembled on horseback, and, altogether, the gathering was of a superior order. The ring was well kept by Billy Duncan, the P.B.A. Inspector, assisted by Young Shaw, Tom Paddock, and Dan Collins. At length, all the preliminaries having been arranged, the men stood up at 9h. 44min. for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​King was, of course, the first to attract the eye of the cognoscenti, and his condition was immediately a moot point, many, who are by no means bad judges, stating that he was some pounds too heavy; while others thought that he was in very good trim, but no doubt without the polish which could have been shown had his finishing touch been given by a first-rate proficient. As King placed himself in attitude, his commanding height showed to great advantage, while the free play of his shoulders and arms indicated that, whatever artistic skill he might be deficient in, still there was propelling power sufficient to compete with a greater amount of talent than was generally credited to his opponent. The Young’un certainly exhibited a wide spread of shoulder, combined with great development of the muscles on the back; his chest well arched, showing that there is plenty of room for the play of his lungs when in work; his loins are rather narrow, while his legs are worthy the proportions of the upper part of his frame. His attitude was very erect, his right hand well across his chest, and the left well advanced, but low. Young Broome looked, in comparison, small, but, on scanning his proportions, a great amount of power could be discovered in the muscles, which stood out fairly developed, each as sharply defined as in an anatomical study. His attitude was rather stiff, with the left well in front, but with no forcible action, the position of the right rather showing a determination for mischief with that weapon. The way in which Broome stood as he sparred, prepared the spectators for an exhibition of “trotting,” of which they were most pleasingly disappointed. No time was lost in sparring, for, both being in the mind for serious business, hostilities were commenced at once, by King getting close to Broome and feinting with his left, but Broome was “wide oh,” and got out of danger. Broome, who was more than eager, dashed his left at the head, but, in consequence of his great hurry, he was short. King, who would be busy, got his left fairly on the front of Broome’s head, receiving on the chest. This led to good exchanges, in which both fought very last, until Broome went down.

2.—​On time being called Broome came up first, amidst the cheers of his friends, who were taken by surprise at his cleverness in avoiding punishment. King, who appeared determined to finish the affair off-hand, went straight to his opponent, who, nothing loth, met him, and they fought right and left with both hands, King getting well on the nose and forehead, Broome landing on the chest and neck, the “pepper-box” being freely handed from one to the other. This bout was finished by Broome getting to close quarters, when King picked him up in his arms, and by sheer strength threw him, after a good struggle, and fell upon him.

3.—​Both came up piping when time was called; nevertheless, they commenced as soon as they were within distance by right and left deliveries, Broome getting fairly on to King’s neck and forehead; King delivering his left on the nose and jaw; Broome getting his left on the neck heavily, grazing the skin and drawing the blood. King at the same time landing his left on Broome’s forehead, made the first event (first blood) equal. They then closed, and exchanges took place until Broome went to grass.

4.—​As Broome came up, the effects of the blow delivered by King upon his forehead were very apparent, there being a lump with a cut, while King had his right cheek and chest flushed. Broome, who evidently thought he had only to go in and win, fought very fast, which tactics met the ideas of the candidate for the championship, for they fought furiously with both hands, until Broome was knocked down by a right-hander on the jaw. The quick fighting that had taken place, and the eagerness of the combatants, can be well explained by stating that the time occupied in the four rounds was only four minutes.

5.—​Broome, who appeared to have had the worst of the previous round, came up smiling, and, in point of fact, forced the fighting by leading off with his left at the head, which was rendered ineffective by King getting home with his left on the nose. This brought on some heavy exchanges with both hands, King getting well on the forehead and nose, receiving on the chest and cheek until they got to the ropes, where the same tactics were pursued until they closed, when King proved himself much the stronger man, as he picked up Broome, and, after a short struggle, threw him, landing his right on the chest as Broome fell.

6.—​When time was called, both came up with a determination to settle the matter “off-hand,” which was evident from the manner in which rapid exchanges were delivered on both sides. King landed his mauleys on the nose, forehead, and right ear; Broome getting well on the cheek and chest twice, and falling from the force of his own blow at the finish.

7.—​Both were blowing as they left their seconds’ knees; nevertheless, the game was kept alive by their simultaneously delivering their left on the face and chest, King having the best of the exchanges. Broome missed a couple of well-intended right-handers, for which mistakes he was fought down, after a good rally.

8.—​The same tactics were pursued as in the previous rounds, the right and left exchanges being of the same character. Broome, after breaking away, got his right on King’s jaw twice, steadying the rush of the “big ’un,” who reached Broome’s forehead with his right. This forced a rather wild rally, in which King missed one or two well-intended shots with the left. Broome, who got on a right-hander on the forehead, fell from the force of his own blow.

9.—​Broome, who was first up, was blowing very freely, and had a cut on the left eyebrow. King had no prominent mark, with the exception of his right cheek being slightly swelled. No time was lost in sparring, for they commenced proceedings as soon as they met. Both being eager for work, they closed, and some fast and wild exchanges took place, Broome getting on the cheek and forehead, King on the nose and cheek; they then closed, and after a short struggle, were down side by side.

10.—​The equal fighting of the previous round had decidedly roused the energies of both, as they missed their first deliveries, being too eager to get on. On steadying themselves they countered neatly with the left, Broome getting upon the cheek, but King more effectively on the nose. Broome, who was determined to make the pace good, tried to land his right twice, but without avail, getting at the third attempt on King’s neck, who retaliated by sending his left on Broome’s nose; the latter hit out at a venture with his right, which reached the side of King’s head, and Broome went down rather suspiciously from the “wind” of King’s right hand.

11.—​No sooner were the opponents at the scratch than they commenced proceedings by countering with the left flush on the front of the head, after which King got his left on the cheek; Broome, in retaliation, sent his left on the jaw, and popped his right under the left eye. Exchanges followed, in which King proved himself the stronger by forcing Broome down in his own corner.

12.—​Broome was first up, and as King faced him, took the initiative by leading off with his left, which was rather short, landing on the chest. King, who was equally eager to try conclusions, rushed in, delivered a couple of heavy blows on the nose and shoulder, receiving a right-hander on the forehead, a left ditto on the cheek, which was followed by Broome delivering a fair smack with the right on the eye, which forced King backward against the ropes. (Offers to take 7 to 4 that Broome would prove the winner.)

13.—​Broome, when time was called, came up bleeding from the cut under the eye, administered in the previous bout, but, nothing loth, met King with great determination, and, both being equally bent upon mischief, the exchanges which took place were wildly delivered, until they closed, when Broome twisted King off his legs, who, nevertheless, was uppermost when they reached the ground.

14.—​Both again eager, were up on time being called; King showing with a lump on his cheek, which was open under the left eye; Broome had his nose sadly out of shape and his forehead swelled. No time was lost in sparring, each commencing by sending out his left, and each missing from over impetuosity. Broome, who tried his left and missed, got down cleverly.

15.—​This round was remarkable for the quickness of the exchanges, both getting it on the head and chest. When they closed, King held Broome by sheer strength, and got on his right three times, twice on the nose and forehead, and the third time on the shoulder. King stumbled against the stakes, and Broome went down.

16.—​This round was commenced by each sparring for wind, King putting his hands down and walking round the ring. Broome, who was advised by his seconds to force the fighting, went to work resolutely, got his left well on the mouth, catching it in return on the nose. He, nothing daunted, rushed in, and got his right on the cheek, then fell, apparently from the force of his own blow.

17.—​A cry that the police were coming was raised, and both men being confident and eager to settle the business, they commenced by delivering counters on the eye and nose, which led to exchanges at close quarters, Broome receiving on the nose, King having one on the same spot—​“a hot ’un.” This stirred the Young One up, and he sent his right straight on the mark, Broome planting in return on the cheek. They then closed, and some very heavy exchanges took place, Broome twice visiting King’s head, but not heavily, while King, who was very busy, planted his left between the eyes, cutting to the bone, then taking hold of Broome, he delivered three straight right-handers nearly on the same spot, and Broome was eventually fought down. Twenty minutes.

The alarm of the arrival of the police was now realised. Several of the county blues appeared at the ring side, but were waiting orders from their superiors, who had not kept pace with them. The men and seconds skedaddled from the ring, and the spectators moved off. They passed across the border of the county, and there the attentive escort left them. In twenty minutes after, as this invasion was unexpected, a ring was formed in a retired spot, and at half-past ten the men were in position for

THE RENEWED FIGHT.

Round 18.—​On the men again appearing, Broome had his nose strapped with a bit of adhesive plaster, his mouth was swelled, and his left eye discoloured. King had his jaw swelled, and a cut beneath his left eye; but seemed as strong as at the commencement. Broome, who still looked confident, commenced the proceedings by leading off with his left at the head, getting it on the nose in return. This led to exchanges, both delivering heavily on the head and chest, until Broome was fought down in his own corner.

19.—​King came up with alacrity, and commenced proceedings by planting his left on the sore spot, receiving on the forehead. Broome succeeded in planting his left on the cheek and neck, receiving some heavy returns on the nose and right ear, and was finally fought down at the ropes.

20.—​The battle from this time took a decided turn in favour of King, who, notwithstanding the pace at which they had been fighting, was as fresh as at the beginning of the battle. Broome, who was suffering from repeated visitations on the nose, tried all he could to turn the tables, but without avail, as, on his forcing the fighting, King hit him away; and notwithstanding all the left-hand visitations of Broome, succeeded in delivering severe right and left blows; the round was concluded by King knocking down Broome with a right-hander on the jaw.

21–30.—​The fighting in these rounds was of precisely the same character; notwithstanding all the game and determined efforts of Broome, who never at any time flinched, and in several instances surprised his backers and the spectators by the manner in which he struggled against the fate, which, though slowly, was surely declaring against him. In the last of these rounds Broome tried to get away from the repeated visitations of King, and cleverly slipped him; but King followed him closely, and finally knocked him down with the right. Time in the second ring, fourteen minutes.

31.—​Broome, as game as man could be, came up bleeding from the cut on the nose, and with his ears much swelled from the blows administered by King, who had few marks except some red patches on the ribs and shoulders, and the left eye nearly closed. Notwithstanding the punishment Broome had received, he persevered to turn the tables, and met the determined onslaught of King as well as he was able. It was evident at this time that his (Broome’s) left hand was going or gone, as he several times gave his head in an attempt to bring the battle off in his favour by a cross-counter with the right. King forced the fighting, and some good exchanges took place in favour of King, who, after a spirited rally, fought Broome down.

32–34.—​The same tactics were displayed by both opponents, King, now by far the stronger man, forcing the fighting as fast as he could, and the seconds of Broome sending him up to fight, knowing that it was only a matter of time, unless their man could land the victory by an accident This he most strenuously endeavoured to do by getting his right on the jaw; but King bored Broome down in each round until the 34th, when Broome landed his right on the temple, which staggered King, who fell on his knees.

35.—​Broome, who came up resolutely, but weak, met the rush of King with great determination, but was, as before, the chief recipient of the punishment. His left hand could not be administered with effect; nevertheless, he closed, and, after a good rally at the ropes, threw King, but not heavily.

36.—​The cheers and encouragement given to Broome, as he came up, had decidedly nettled King, for, the instant he had left his second’s knee, he rushed to close quarters, and, despite all the efforts of Broome, fought him down at the ropes.

37.—​Broome, who came up slowly, was bleeding from the cut between the eyes, which were fast closing, and, with his mouth, much swelled. Despite his weakness he was resolute, and did not flinch from the onslaught of his opponent, who sent his left on to the old spot. Broome sent in his right well upon the ribs, but King, not to be stalled off, bored in, and fought Broome down in the latter’s corner. Time in second ring, twenty minutes.

38.—​Broome came up this round apparently better than heretofore; he was quicker on his legs than in the last eight rounds. King rubbed his ribs as he came up, and, getting within reach, rushed to close quarters, when some very heavy hitting took place; King fighting at the head, and Broome at the body. On breaking away, Broome landed his left on King’s nose, for which he was fought down at the ropes, despite all his endeavours to “hold his own.”

39.—​Broome, in this round, slightly revived the failing hopes of his friends, as, on King missing his left, he planted his left neatly on Tom’s nose, and his right immediately afterwards on the jaw, King dropping on his knees.

40.—​It was but a transient gleam of hope. Despite the turn in his favour in the last round, it was apparent that Broome was fast falling weak from exertion and loss of blood. The seconds of King, seeing the state of the case, cried out to him “to go in and win,” and he fought Broome down in his own corner.

41–43, and last.—​In each of these rounds Broome only came up to be hit down. In the last but one he was knocked down as he came game, but staggering, to meet his opponent. In the last, King walked straight to Broome’s corner, as the latter retreated before him, and, delivering a spank on the head, Broome fell forward on his face. His seconds, finding it was useless to prolong the contest, threw up the sponge in token of his defeat, Young King being hailed the conqueror, after fighting forty-two minutes in the two rings.

Remarks.—​The resolute and unflinching manner in which this splendid contest was carried out from start to finish, invested the forthcoming encounter for the Championship with greater interest. The manner in which King put up with the right-handed deliveries of Broome (which were by no means light), raised him in the estimation of all who witnessed the fight, and already speculation on that event has commenced. King has improved in his fighting greatly since his encounter last autumn with Truckle, of Portsmouth, and no doubt he has learned a lesson or two in this encounter with Broome. He is too impetuous in his rushes, in one of which he got the cut under the left eye, as well as several right-hand props, which at all times are dangerous, a chance blow having, in many instances, brought off a battle when all chance was apparently gone. That he is thoroughly game there can now be no question, and his steadiness in training, &c. is a certain proof that he will in the eventful contest for the Championship be as fit as man can be possibly trained. Young Broome, although defeated, is by no means disgraced, and his friends, to a man, are satisfied with his performance, which has taken even his warmest admirers by surprise. Rumours had been flying about respecting Broome’s gameness, and he having heard of the same, stated his determination to be game on this occasion; that he most faithfully kept his word, a perusal of the above account must prove. After the sponge had been thrown up, Broome was carefully attended to by his seconds, but, notwithstanding all their attention, he soon became blind. On reaching the first convenient domicile, he was put to bed, when, despite the usual remedies, he was attacked with a severe fit of cold shivers, which could not be subdued for some time. At a late hour of the afternoon he was recovered sufficiently to take his departure for town, where, on his arrival, he met with a hearty reception. His friends expressed their intention to pay him for his colours the same as if they were winning ones, and a benefit was arranged for as a solace for his defeat. King left for town at an earlier period than his opponent, and passed the evening amidst his friends at the east end, but little the worse for the encounter.

Both Broome and King rapidly recovered from the effects of their battle, Broome being able to visit Aldershot, on the Thursday, with Alec Keene. He was also present at the deposit for the Championship, which took place on Thursday, when he received some substantial recompense for his gamely contested fight.

The stakes were given up to King on the ensuing Tuesday, at Joe Phelps’s, the “Blakeney’s Head,” High Street, Islington, when a few admirers of Tom King ventured to lay evens on their pet for the great event in perspective; though 5 and even 6 to 4 was the price in the east as in the west.

King trained for the great encounter at Hastings, Mace near Norwich; the latter coming to town to be present at the fight between Bob Brettle and Jack Rooke, on the 31st December, 1861, for £200 a side and a bet of £300 even,[41] the moderate sum of £1,000 being dependent on the issue.

“Time and tide speed on their course, and wait for no man,” and the month of January, 1862, had reached its 28th day, when, on as cheerless and miserable a winter’s morning as combined damp, drizzle, mizzle, snow, sleet, and marrow searching cold could mix up, our bold aspiring young sailor met the practised and scientific Norwich boxer. How his “greenness,” despite his gameness, fell before superior skill, tact, and experience, may be found fully set forth in the preceding chapter.

As we have already said, there was one person, and that one a most important factor in the question, who thought he was beaten by an accident—​his name was Tom King. Tom maintained, without any intention of disparaging for one moment the credit due to Mace for his skill and also his courage, that he felt convinced, if his friends would stand to him, he should be able to reverse the first verdict, or, at any rate, he would then acknowledge that Mace was the better man.

After the long and undecided battle between Joe Goss and Ryall, Goss was brought forward by his Wolverhampton backers, as a competitor with Mace for the belt. In April also, “the Benicia Boy” arrived from America, bringing with him a brother “Jem,” who was said by some Yankee paragraphists to have come “to pick up the belt.” We have already noted, in our life of Mace, that Heenan repudiated this newspaper bounce; and here, to avoid repetition, the reader is referred to the memoir of Mace for the circumstances under which the second match between King and Mace was brought about and carried to a conclusion.

Mace, at the time the articles were signed, was making hay after the manner of Tom Sayers, in travelling with an equestrian circus—​that being the only ring in which he appeared to have a chance of a job. This employment he kept up for some time after the match was made. King, too, for a few weeks was tempted to “do the mountebank” with a travelling company; but Tom did not take kindly to the business of “busking,” and threw it up, returning to his London patrons.

As the time drew on, each man found it expedient to mingle more decidedly in sporting circles, and thus create a greater interest than had heretofore been exhibited, and this wise discrimination gradually had the desired effect. The match began to be talked about in all quarters, flocks of admirers followed the rival champions on every race course, or at any place of public resort, and soon the discussion of their respective merits led to a comparison of their deeds and their appearances with those of the heroes of the old ring.

The nearer the time approached the mystery observed as to the actual “where” tended not a little to foster anxiety, many of the intending spectators being kept in a ferment of funk lest they should be thrown over at the last. It was known it must be either at the end of November or the beginning of December, and as the fights between Hicks and Gollagher and Dillon and Reardon, both for high stakes, were fixed for about the same time, the chance of being put on a wrong scent, and arriving at the wrong ring side, redoubled the fears of the fidgety. The men themselves even were not made acquainted with the actual day until within a week of the time, and so well was the secret kept, that, until the previous Monday, we believe the number of persons “fly” to the arrangements might be numbered upon the fingers of the two hands.

Both Mace and King being sober, steady fellows in their habits, and both being pretty well in their prime, and accustomed to hard work, there was no inconvenience felt by either in their training in consequence of the uncertainty as to the day of milling—​both being well up to the mark, and, indeed, almost fit to fight before they went into training, which they did some seven weeks before the eventful Wednesday; Mace at Newmarket, at the old training quarters of Tom Sayers, under the care of Howard, the Bradford jumper; and King at the “Baldfaced Stag,” near Woodford, Essex, under Harry Harris. It is creditable to the respective mentors of the men, that nothing was left undone which could ensure the respective champions being in a meet state for the arduous task they had set themselves.

Although there was so much excitement, and so much pleasurable anticipation of the mill, it cannot be concealed that mixed up with it was a taint of suspicion that all was not quite serene and square, arising from the fact that the respective backers of the men had changed sides since January, and that King, formerly an Eastern sage, and then an enlightened West Ender, had relapsed into his original form; while Mace had, after a fall from West to East, once more started Westward, and was backed from the Haymarket, with at any rate a side wind help from his former patrons. Some people imagined that nothing could be square under such circumstances as these. They shut their eyes to ascertained facts, and then, by a series of winks and knowing grins, strove to create a prejudice which spread, no one knows how, and finally gained for the Ring and its protégés that pleasing character they labour under among those who at all seasons, and on all possible occasions, do all they can to decry the old manly sports of their country.

The acting representatives of the men on this occasion were Mr. Richardson, of the “Blue Anchor,” Church Street, for King, and Mr. Coney, of Panton Street, for Jem Mace, who was partly backed by some old fanciers. To these diplomatic managers the stakeholder in due course communicated the actual day he had determined for the fray, but he declined to fix a scene for the performance, as he considered an arena could be better settled by the agents themselves, who could consult other parties likely to have a finger in the pie, and without whose aid there would certainly be no getting to the rendezvous, and without whose judgment that rendezvous could not be determined on without great risk. The plan turned out a wise one, and thanks to the energy and discrimination of those concerned, all was satisfactorily arranged without let or hindrance.

We have alluded already to the difficulties which beset the managers of Ring affairs at this period, and on the Monday morning Messrs. Richardson and Coney received the unwelcome information, that the officials of a certain railway company, with which they had made all pleasant for the “excursion,” had decided to cancel the arrangements, and that no special train would be provided. Here was a pretty fix for the executive. An alternative line was immediately decided on. All ticketholders would be conveyed by ordinary train to Thames Haven, where two commodious steamboats would be ready for the conveyance of the voyagers to a terra incognita. While these arrangements were perfecting on the Monday and Tuesday, the uncertainty added to the excitement, and telegrams flew over the wires from every point of the compass from “country cousins” seeking the “straight tip,” and town friends anxious to communicate the same. The sporting houses, East and West, were thronged, reminding some of the olden days when “Le Boxe,” as Alphonse calls it, was an “institution.”

As we have given an instance of “clerical” interest in Ring sports, on another occasion, in the sister island, we may here note that a high Anglican Church authority entered itself among the “tipsters” on this; the Record giving a prominent place to the following paragraph:—

“The fight between James Mace and Thomas King is to take place on Tuesday next in the neighbourhood of Aldershot.”

We hope the “tipster” who so egregiously sold the reverend editor, as to day and place, did not add dishonesty to his pious fraud. At any rate we fear, as we did not see him in his accustomed position, that our right reverend friend, “the Bishop of Bond Street,” may have been misled by ecclesiastical authority; we believe the police were—​of course we were not.

By four o’clock on Wednesday morning the approaches to Fenchurch Street were alive with intending excursionists, who on arriving at the station found the entrance crowded by a strong posse of roughs and thieves, always to be found at their posts on such occasions. These gentry had a good time of it, and so strong and daring were their forces, that the few ring keepers engaged to protect the public were completely overpowered, and, in many instances, eased of their own property. Bob Travers, among others, was attacked and forcibly deprived of all he had about him. Many lost their tickets, and many gentlemen were so intimidated that they declined facing the ordeal, and returned home. The scene was, on the whole, disgraceful. The managers of the undertaking were great sufferers, and were loud in their complaints that the conduct of these roughs prevented their reaping the harvest they had anticipated. Although the company commenced assembling at four o’clock, it was fully seven before there were any signs of a start, and the impatience of the early birds, although extreme, was fully justifiable. There was no help for it, however, as all was in the hands of the railway officials.

Fortunately the ring forces when concentrated were strong enough to exclude most of the undesirables from the platform; still some few managed to penetrate the ranks of the officials, and by their presence caused considerable annoyance, although the force of ring keepers was sufficiently strong to prevent their attempting any combined mischief. At length at seven o’clock the whistle sounded, and we were off for the appointed spot, where two vessels were found in waiting, and on board these the travellers, nearly 300 in number, at once repaired. It was now suggested that it would be well to try and get the fight off on the spot, instead of going further afield, where the Bobbies might be in force. This recommendation was accepted with promptitude, and while the Corinthians were luxuriating in a hot and comfortable breakfast on board, provided in admirable style by their old caterer, Dan Pinxton, the ring was pitched, and soon after eight all was in readiness. Through the exertions of Billy Duncan and his pals such admirable arrangements were made for the comfort of the inner ring ticket-holders that all were seated without difficulty, and, so far as we could perceive, the whole thing was carried out in a manner to reflect the highest credit on all concerned. As soon as the office was given by Fred Oliver the men approached the magic circle; Mace being the first to drop his castor within the ropes. He was attended by his old opponents Bob Brettle and Bob Travers, while King, who was somewhat behindhand, was waited on by Bos Tyler and Macdonald. Both men were welcomed with loud cheers from their partisans, which each acknowledged in a suitable manner. There was a good deal of lively betting at 6 and 7 to 4 on Mace, and his backers, we believe, would have gone on to any extent at that figure. A brisk business was done by the sale of inner ring tickets, but by no means to the extent we have known on former occasions. The sum received was nearly £37. Among the spectators were Tom Sayers, Heenan, and many other fistic celebrities, who eyed the tourney throughout with curiosity. And now the men stand up, approach each other and grasp hands, then separate; the seconds retire to their corners, and all eyes are fixed upon them as they upraise their daddles, and square their elbows for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​The moment so fraught with interest and excitement to the partisans of the belligerents had now arrived; the busy and careful work of the seconds was at last completed to their entire satisfaction, and the men were delivered at the scratch. While their toilettes were being arranged, the “making ready” had been eagerly watched by all with almost breathless silence. As Jem turned to face his opponent, he gave a momentary glance at the sky, whose dull, cheerless aspect was anything but calculated to enliven the combatants. Both advanced to the scratch with that firm, confident step which denotes the action of well-drilled practitioners. Perhaps the first thing that riveted the attention of the spectators, as the men stood front to front, was the striking difference in height that existed between them. It had been confidently stated Mace had never been in better condition; certainly as he stood thus confronting his antagonist there was nothing in his appearance that even the most fastidious could for a moment find fault with, and in all things he looked a far superior man to what he did at their former meeting. In weight Jem, when he last poised the beam, pulled down 11st. 4lb., and with inward confidence beaming in his every look, he stated it was impossible for a man to feel better, and this assurance there can be no doubt had great weight with his admirers, many of whom from over-caution had waited for this “opinion” from Mace himself before they had ventured to “put it on.” If condition of itself could alone endow a man with the requisite “resin” to tune the first fiddle in such a grand pugilistic overture, Tom might well put the thing down as a “certainty,” for it must be admitted he was all the most critical could desire, and spoke of the result with a confidence devoid of anything in the shape of braggadocia. The moment the men had been “set” by their seconds, there was perceptible that twitch and shrug of the shoulders which denote a disapproval of the morning air. Jem having put up the prop in proper order drew from range, and of his position it may be said the skill of the master was at a glance displayed, for he was well covered at all points. Tom also stood remarkably well, and although by some good judges he is stated to be a little too fine about the loins, and by no means deep set enough in the jaw and neck, yet we think it was conceded by all impartial persons that he looked a most formidable opponent. Mace, as he manœuvred, looked at his man with a sharp, penetrating glance, as though he was mentally summing up “the King’s affairs.” The result seemed satisfactory, for Jem gave one of his well-known jerks of his nob, as much as to say, “Tom, I intend to give you another dressing.” King smiled at his man, as to intimate, if he really imagined he was capable of dressing him again he would oblige by being quick about it, as there needed something in the shape of excitement to warm up the system. After a little sparring, Mace drew from range and dropped his mauleys, and then with his right rubbed his breast and arms. King imitated his action, as he felt numbed about the arms, and thought it necessary to do the burnishing to promote the circulation. Jem, with a cautions step, drew into range, and then by way of a feeler slightly let go the left, but Tom, who was decidedly quicker on his pins than we had found him in any of his preceding battles, got well away with the back step, thus showing that these efforts on the part of his opponent to draw out his guard were not likely to be successful. As Mace broke for the purpose of getting from distance, King dashed at him in a most impetuous manner, and missed administering a fine right-handed shot from the fore-arm. Mace, as Tom came on for the purpose of forcing the fighting, retreated, but just opposite the referee and umpire the men closed, when Jem, finding he was likely to get in an awkward position, ducked his head and went down, King looking at him. Both men were loudly cheered, and as there was just a shade of commotion among those who formed the uprights of the outer circle, Professor Duncan, attended by the “faculty,” promptly administered a mild dose of his efficacious remedy for disorder—​the “syrup of whips”—​and the cure was instantaneous.

2.—​At the call of “Time,” both men, with the eagerness of swimmers for the first plunge, rushed simultaneously from the knees of their seconds, and threw up their hands at the scratch. After toeing the mark each again drew back from range, and began rubbing himself, looking meanwhile at each other like two game-cocks. Mace then led with the left, but did not get it home, as King got well from range. Tom now dashed at his man, and delivered the left on the top of the head, and put in another from the fore-arm on the mouth, which had the effect of producing a slight show of the crimson. (“First blood,” as on the former occasion, for Tom.) Jem, after getting home slightly with the left and right on the face, closed with his man, when, finding he was likely to get into an awkward position, he slipped from him and got down, there being so far not much harm done on either side, King fighting with remarkable fairness; his opponent decidedly more crafty and shifty, though, as Jack Macdonald said, “We’ll give him all that in.”

3.—​Jem was the first from his corner, but no sooner did the busy seconds of King see that his antagonist was on the move than they gave the office, and with that impetuosity of action so characteristic of him, he at once advanced to the scratch. After shifting, changing position, and taking fresh ground, King went dashing at his man for the purpose of forcing the fighting, and, getting partly over Jem’s right cross-guard, planted the left on the right cheek, and with a wild, slinging round hit from the right also got home on the side of the knowledge box. Mace, in the counter-hitting, administered one with his stinging left on the jaw, when, as Tom was not to be kept out, they closed. In the struggle for the fall King got his right arm round his man, and they went down near the referee in a curious, awkward fall, Mace, who had his head bent down, hitting the top part of it against the ground. It was imagined by many at the moment that Jem might have received some severe harm, but they were soon convinced to the contrary, for when the men had become disentangled and Jem with his usual agility had righted, he looked up with a broad grin, as much as to say, “Don’t be uneasy, I’m all right.” There was in the excitement again a slight manifestation of pressure in “Court,” the “special jury” being the least bit inconvenienced, but Duncan, as head usher, brought up his efficient corps to point, and the weight of this legal element was on the instant sufficient to restore matters to their proper balance, and the business of this admirably kept ring went on as smoothly as ever.

4.—​While the combatants were in their corners every movement of their seconds was watched with the utmost minuteness, and it was a treat to observe in what fine order they sent them up to the mark. Tom was the first to present his towering height at the scratch, but was almost on the instant met by his opponent. Bos Tyler pointed at Mace, in a good-humoured manner, as much as to intimate Jem had had some of the burnishing powder. Mace feinted with the left, but, finding he could not get in with artistic effect, he did not let it go freely from the shoulder. Tom, for the purpose of taking better range, followed up and with the left got home on the right cheek, and also put in one from the right. As Mace broke to get away, Tom hit out with both mauleys, but did no execution, as Mace threw the left off well with the right guard. After slight sparring and manœuvring Tom led the left, but it was not sent sufficiently well in to be effective, nor did he meet with any better success in following up with a wild hit from the right, for Jem drew well out of range. On again coming to distance, King worked with his right arm backwards and forwards, as though he intended to let it go, but did not. As Jem shifted Tom followed, when Mace got home a fine left-handed hit on the jaw. The combatants in the most spirited manner fought across the ring, Mace administering some of the cayenne with both mauleys. In the close both struggled for the fall, when Tom got from his man and went to grass in his own corner.

5.—​Mace was the first to come from his corner, but he had not long to wait before Tom faced him. Both men were considerably pinked, and their physiognomies now possessed more touches of beauty than are to be found in their photographs in George Newbold’s collection of celebrities. Jem, as he came from his corner, bent his head forward, as though he was mentally debating in what new manner he should try to get well at his man, who by the rapid style in which he had been fighting, had given proof that he was a dangerous antagonist. King, the instant he had put up his hands, went dashing to force the fighting. With the left he administered a stinger on the right cheek, and followed up with a half round hit from the right. Mace, as his opponent rushed at him to close, drew out, but Tom, not to be denied, followed up, when, in a rally, Jem pegged away with both mauleys, left and right, with astonishing rapidity, doing a great deal of heavy execution. In the close they struggled for the fall, when Mace threw his man in clever style, near the ropes. (The friends of Mace were in ecstasies, and long odds were offered on their pet.)

6.—​Tom in the first two or three rounds had unquestionably had a shade the best of it, from the style in which he had gone dashing at his man, and the quickness he had displayed. Mace did not exhibit that steadiness in his practice he afterwards did. Now, however, that Jem had got the true measure of his man there was a total change in his tactics, and the manner in which he now fought proved that he was in all respects superior to the “big-’un” in science. Both, on presenting themselves at the mark, bore evidence of having been by no means idle, for Jem was swelled about the ivories in a very conspicuous manner, while King, from the appearance of his left peeper, gave unmistakable proof of having been warmed up; he was likewise slightly bleeding from the nose. Still there had been no serious damage done on the part of either. After some little manœuvring, the combatants changing and shifting position, King dashed at his antagonist in his usual style, getting home left and right on the head. Mace met his man as he came with the rush on the milling suit, and, in one of the finest rallies that could be witnessed, the combatants fought right across the ring; there was something delightful to the admirers of boxing in Jem’s style of fighting his man with both hands, left and right, at the nob. These blows were delivered with a rapidity that was quite electrifying, being sent ding dong, straight home, so that Jem was all over his man in an instant, the blows making an impression as though Tom had been stamped with a couple of dies. Tom was by no means idle, but also pegged away at his man with the left on the head and the right on the body in merry fashion. In the close they got on the ropes, when Jem for the moment touched the top cord with his right hand, but Tom having shifted his position, the men struggled for the fall, when Tom, as a termination to this well-fought round, was under.

7.—​As the battle progressed, so did it increase in interest, for there was a marked speciality about the manner in which it was being fought that could not possibly fail to enhance its importance among the admirers of bold and genuine boxing. There can be no disputing, both men had been from the commencement fighting remarkably well, and the battle, as will be seen, had already presented two striking and prominent features; for though, until Jem had thoroughly got the measure of his man, King had in the opening bout been considered to have a slight lead, yet the style in which Mace was now performing was sufficient to convince all that there had not been the slightest mistake made in his merits as regards milling excellence. The combatants came simultaneously from their corners. Tom, as he stood at the scratch, opened his mouth and rubbed his hands, and then, on again putting himself into position, drew out and retreated to his own corner, Mace following. Both, as they again drew to range, steadied themselves, and in a fine counter with the left got well home, Jem doing execution on the snout, Tom on the top part of the cranium. Mace, on breaking, got to the ropes, when, as Tom came boring in to close, he slipped from the embrace of the young giant and got down.

8.—​From the manner in which the tints had been rubbed in it was apparent the colours had been well worked up, though this was much more conspicuous on Tom’s dial than his opponent’s, for King’s left peeper had a small lump on the side of it, while the nose and mouth looked a good deal puffed. Tom, as usual, taking the initiative, lunged out the left, but did no execution, as he was not well to distance. Mace, after King had opened with this wild hit, took up fresh position, and in doing so, as he was followed by his antagonist, he hit the back part of his head against the stake. As Tom pressed in, Jem pulled himself together, and after some fine left-handed counter-hitting, in which Mace delivered very heavily on the middle of the head, they closed and went down, Mace through the ropes. The battle had now lasted 22 minutes, and it had been nothing but downright hard fighting and no mistake.

9.—​King made another dash at Jem, “on hostile thoughts intent,” and got home apparently a hot-’un on the right eye, but there was no sign of injury, evidently owing to Jem’s excellent condition. Jem instantly returned a severe prop on the dial with the left, and then countered a second effort on the part of King, who essayed his right. Tom, desperate, now dashed in with headstrong determination, and bored his man through the ropes, to the delight of the Kingites, who, however, declined to take 6 to 4, freely offered by the backers of Mace.

10.—​Mace, the instant the signal was given, came forth with the utmost alacrity to renew the struggle. King, as an opening to the attack, lunged out the left, and administered a telling spank on Jem’s right jaw; and then, as Tom came dashing on, the men fought in a fine two-handed rally right across the ring, when King got his man’s nob for an instant in the right arm lock, and pegged away in the fibbing beautifully. Jem, like a good tactician, extricated himself; and after some severe milling, in which Mace got in the most telling manner on his man’s mouth, cheek, and nose—​going, in fact, all over the dial with his clenched digits in a rapid and surprising manner—​the men closed at the ropes right opposite to the umpire and referee, when Jem got his man in position, and gave him a fair back-heel fall. Immense cheering for Mace.

11.—​King’s left eye looked worse than ever, while his good-looking mug was knocked out of all symmetry. Nevertheless he was again first to begin the attack, and in leading got home the left on the right cheek, following it in with one from the right on the side of the pimple. Jem, who timed his man beautifully, administered another tremendous left-hander on the mazzard, when Tom’s nob, from its effect, went waving back. On the instant, however, he pulled himself together and dashed in to renew the struggle, when Jem met him, and delivered a tremendous left-hander on the nose, which produced a copious flow of blood. As Mace took fresh ground Tom again dashed in, and they fought a regular ding-dong, slogging give-and-take to a close. Tom, with his usual style of bending his head slightly forward, went dashing at Jem, and got more than one straightening prop. They again fought in regular ding-dong to a close, when Tom, while receiving Jem’s props on the dial, made use of the right once or twice in a very efficient manner on the body, upon which Mace got from his man and went down. The referee here called the attention of Tom’s seconds to the fact that their man had struck Jem while he was down, which was true; but Mace was just on the go, and King could not help the hit, which was evidently unintentional, and no harm was done.

12.—​Another splendid rally in this round, Mace again in a telling manner doing execution with both mauleys, but evidently forced back by King’s irresistible advance. The men, who had fought right across the ring, closed in Mace’s corner, when Jem got down, Tom falling on him. During this round the referee had several times to caution the seconds, who, in a most reprehensible manner, followed their principals as closely as frequently to be in the way of the combatants.

13.—​The men again went to work in a spirited and determined manner. Jem, with his left, got well home on the front of his man’s dial, and jumped back; when Tom, with his right, administered some sounding spanks on the ribs. As Jem broke to get away, King followed him up, and Mace went down to end the round.

14.—​Mace commenced operations by getting well in range and delivering a pretty left-hander full on the nose, knocking Tom’s head round as though it had been shaken off its connections; nevertheless Tom again tried to force the fighting, when, after some merry exchanges, they closed, and in the fall went down together in the centre of the ring. King’s friends cheered him heartily, as he fully deserved.

15.—​Some sharp fighting, rather in favour of Mace, who, in the end, went down in the hitting, and King fell over him.

16.—​Tom dashed in viciously, and after a fine exchange of compliments, in which each did execution, they closed, and Jem, who had had the best of the exchanges, fell under.

17.—​Tom again forced the fighting, but though he delivered with his left, he was a little too round with his right to be effective. Mace, after countering with his antagonist, and getting well home with the left in the middle of the head, and following up at half measure with the right, got cleverly away from his man. As Jem took fresh position, Tom followed him up, and the men in a rally fought to the ropes. In the close both got under the top rope, and fell nearly out of the ring.

18.—​Such a certainty was the battle looked upon by some of Jem’s admirers that Johnny Gideon here offered £30 to £5 on him, but there were no takers. Indeed, Tom’s umpire, a good judge, said that, bar accident, Mace could not lose. After some more severe fighting, in which Mace again delivered in a telling manner on Tom’s dial with both mauleys, Tom made a slip in getting from his man, and fell on his knees. On the instant the game fellow recovered his perpendicular, and as Jem noticed this he beckoned him to renew the round. King was willing, but his well-skilled seconds, seeing the fast work he was doing, refused to allow him.

19.—​It now seemed “all over, but shouting,” to the partisans of Mace, who called out any odds, without response. As the men came up it was easy to see that Jem, thinking himself already victorious, was anxious to finish off the business, lest the appearance of the police, which had been rumoured, should rob him of his conquest at the last moment. He worked in with both hands in weaving style to get well to distance, and as he took up his position he got into a slight hollow of the ring. Jem, who had repeatedly tried to land a clipping cross-counter with his right, had just opened himself for the purpose of trying it on, when Tom, who stood firmly to his guns, met him with one of the most tremendous hits we ever saw. It was a cross-counter on the left cheek with his right hand—​a blow that seemed to go all over Jem’s face with crushing effect. Jem, bleeding from the mouth and nose, reeled and staggered from the effect of this visitation, and then, to the consternation of friends, fell in the middle of the ring all of a heap. So sudden a change in the aspect of affairs had hardly ever been witnessed in the memory of the oldest ring-goer, and Jem’s seconds were working with a zeal which told how serious was the position. Down came the odds. “The Champion’s licked,” said twenty voices in a sort of stage whisper, and all eyes were strained in the direction of the busy group in Mace’s corner.

20.—​King walked up to the scratch, watching the referee with ill-concealed anxiety to hear the call of “Time.” When, however, that functionary had twice repeated his summons, Mace, who had by no means recovered from the settler he had received, came unsteadily from his corner. Tom walked up to him, and Mace tried a wild delivery with his left, Tom retorted with a hot blow on the nose, and Mace, in getting away, went down close to the referee’s seat like a lump of lead. There was now the greatest commotion and excitement all round the ring. It was now as clearly King’s victory as it had previously been Mace’s. Brettle and Travers worked with a will, doing for their man everything possible, and he gallantly seconded their efforts, resolutely refusing to allow them to throw up the sponge.

21 and last.—​Before Mace left his corner Tom was waiting for his man, and no sooner did Mace come up than King went to him, and, with a slight push on the head, sent him down. Jem, who was weak and exhausted, and who had the right side of his phiz swelled in an extraordinary manner from the effects of King’s right-hander, was now clearly hors de combat, and his friends, seeing he had not the remotest chance of winning, threw up the sponge in spite of his protests. This token of defeat was hailed with loud shouts by Tom’s friends, who were, of course, doubly delighted at the bravery and good fortune of their man, and they crowded enthusiastically round King to hail him as the last addition to the roll of brave men who have borne the proud title of Champion of England. The battle lasted exactly thirty-eight minutes.

Remarks.—​There can be little question as to the fact that King’s decisive victory was more immediately due to the tremendous hit to which Mace laid himself open by his over-eagerness to plant what he considered a sort of coup de grace on his gallant adversary. His skill in administering, as well as avoiding punishment, had given him an apparent best, but he had not reduced the courage and confidence, nor exhausted the strength of his dangerous antagonist. The “hit” that King “had left in him,” was, as Jem found to his cost that day, worth the Championship of England. That this is no disparagement of King’s victory all must admit, and a more gallant display of skill and bravery could not have been witnessed in any day present or past. King’s fairness of style in the finish of several rounds, when the lead trembled in the balance, shone conspicuously, and was warmly acknowledged by the spectators.

At the giving up of the stakes, on the Thursday night week, King once again announced his intention of not contesting the Championship. This was generally understood as owing to obligations of another description in which a “ring” also had a part, and not a few of Young Tom’s intimates drank a toast to his matrimonial felicity, in the old formula of “The single married, and the married happy.”

A curious telegraphic contretemps, which may serve as a caution to the over-clever, occurred on this occasion. Mr. William Wright, of Fulwood’s Rents, who was at this period an immense authority, had arranged with his London clerks that, to prevent surreptitious use of the earliest intelligence, for which he had incurred a large outlay, his telegram would give the losing man as winner, and they were to read it and manifold it accordingly. Having therefore sent off, at the earliest possible moment, “Mace beat King,” with the number of rounds, &c. the telegraph clerk on the spot, thinking he knew to the contrary, innocently set the message right, and, out of kindness, sent over the wire, “King beat Mace;” whereon the clerks dutifully followed their instructions, and the wrong result was extensively circulated to clubs, subscribers, &c. and for some hours a bewildering uncertainty prevailed.

The Young Sailor, however, had excited too great an interest in the public mind to be allowed to sink quietly into oblivion. He had distinctly stated that he did not seek the distinction, if distinction it was, of the Championship, and he resigned the belt into the hands of the Editor of Bell’s Life. Heenan, however, having made some good friends among gentlemen of the turf by his civility, intelligence, and good conduct, intimated to several of these, that if there was any “big one” desirous to try conclusions with him, he was ready to make a “quiet match” for not less than £500, and he had friends who would make it £1000 if required. This was formally communicated to the Editor of Bell’s Life, with a wish that no bouncing or offensive challenge should be inserted. The Editor at once put these facts in circulation in proper quarters, and the proposition, like most American notions, “a big thing,” made some of Tom King’s friends prick up their ears. Mace was engaged “two deep,” and moreover was not “their man.” A conference was held at Owen Swift’s, to which Tom King was invited, and he, with ready gallantry, declared the opportunity was most inviting and welcome. Money was forthcoming on both sides, and as both sides meant business, the paper subjoined was soon formulated—

“Articles of Agreement entered into this 17th day of March, 1863, between John Camel Heenan and Thomas King. The said John Camel Heenan agrees to fight the said Thomas King a fair stand-up fight, according to the new rules of the ring, by which the said John Camel Heenan and the said Thomas King hereby agree to be bound. The said fight shall be for the sum of £1,000 a side, and shall take place on the 8th day of December, 1863, within 100 miles of London. In pursuance of this agreement, £100 a side are now deposited in the hands of Mr. John Coney, who shall transmit the same to the Editor of Bell’s Life, who shall be final stakeholder; the second deposit, of £50 a side, shall be made at Mr. W. Richardson’s, “Blue Anchor,” Shoreditch, on Thursday, March 26; the third, of £50 a side, to be made on April 9; the fourth, of £50 a side, on April 23; the fifth, of £50 a side, on May 7; the sixth, of £50 a side, on May 21; the seventh, of £50 a side, on June 4; the eighth, of £50 a side, on June 18; the ninth, of £50 a side, on July 2; the tenth, of £50 a side, on July 16; the eleventh, of £50 a side, on July 30; the twelfth, of £50 a side, on August 13; the thirteenth, of £50 a side, on August 27; the fourteenth, of £50 a side, on September 10; the fifteenth, of £50 a side, on September 24; the sixteenth, of £50 a side, on October 27; the seventeenth, of £50 a side, on November 5; and the final deposit, of £100 a side, on November 26, at Mr. W. Richardson’s, “Blue Anchor,” as above, when the men shall mutually agree to the place of fighting. The said deposits to be made between the hours of eight and ten p.m. on the days and at the houses named; either party failing, to forfeit the money down. The houses at which the deposits shall be made shall be named by each party alternately, and to be made in London. The place of the next deposit to be named as the staking of the previous one, Heenan having to name the place of the third deposit. The men to be in the ring between the hours of ten a.m. and one p.m. on the day named, or the man absent to forfeit the money. But, in the event of magisterial interference, the referee shall decide the next place and time of meeting, the same day, if possible. The expenses of the ropes and stakes shall be borne mutually. Mr. Dowling, the Editor of Bell’s Life in London, to be referee. Two umpires to be chosen on the ground; and, in case of dispute between them, the decision of the referee to be final.

“In pursuance of this agreement, we hereunto attach our names—

“John Camel Heenan.

“Charles Bush, for Thomas King.

“Witness: H. A. Reed.”

The match made, each man at once proceeded to make trading capital out of it by travelling the provinces, and this at first led to a belief that the match would never come to anything, but was merely got up for this purpose. On the other hand it was asserted, that the match was sure to come off, but the result had been cut and dried; that the backers of the men intended to make a trading speculation out of the “Special” which was to convey the belligerents to the scene of action. It was known that a sum of more than £1000 had been divided between Sayers and Heenan out of the profits of the train for their match, and the supposition was, perhaps, not unnatural that £500 would be very good interest upon £100 for a few months, setting aside the off chance of something else turning up into the bargain. As the day approached for the men to go into training fears as to the affair not being genuine quickly subsided, and in racing circles the match created much interest, numerous bets of 6 to 4 being laid on the Benicia Boy, whose appearance at Newmarket during the October Meetings fully justified the confidence reposed in him. Heenan took his breathings almost entirely at Newmarket in company with his own brother Jem, and Macdonald, but required very little, if any, looking after. His feats as a pedestrian during his work were something extraordinary, six miles and a “bittock” did he generally turn in ordinary walking, and many a spin and a tie up did he give to some of our crack jocks, among whom are to be found no mean specimens of fair toe-and-heel walkers. Jack’s spins at the top of his speed, too, not a little astonished the Browns, and we have been credibly informed he could on a pinch do his quarter in 56 seconds—​not bad for a 14 stone man, standing nearly 6 feet 2 inches. When stripped his frame was a model for a sculptor. Every muscle was developed to a gigantic size, every tendon and sinew was distinctly visible; and, taken altogether, we doubt whether such a specimen of a Hurculean frame has been witnessed in the British P. R. for very many years. That Heenan possessed every confidence in himself may be gathered from the fact that some three weeks previously he sent a message to the stakeholder, requesting him to state that if he did not lick King the public ought to stigmatise him as the greatest impostor who ever entered the Ring. The Editor tells us that he declined to insert this statement at the time, as not being fair to either party, and considering that should the result justify the observation it would be time enough to make it when the battle was over. Heenan, as may be recollected, was born in 1834, at Troy, United States, of Irish parents. His fighting weight on stripping on the present occasion was, as near as possible, 14 stone 2lb.

As the time of battle drew near the difficulties of a mode of transit to the ground increased. One after another refusals of accommodation were returned, the powers and authorities having experienced the disorders which seemed inseparable from the gathering of such a crowd as had now made it a custom to gather on such an occasion. During Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday, the offices of the sporting newspapers, to say nothing of the “houses of call” for sporting men, were besieged by questioners; but beyond the fact that tickets at three sovereigns a head were procurable, no definite tip was to be had.

Tuesday evening was a night of festivity at all sporting pubs. The public fully believing that on the following morning the mill would come off, and all being agog to get the necessary tip. It was not until well into the small hours that many would believe that Wednesday was not the day. The same scene was repeated on Wednesday, with the exception that delay had doubled the excitement, and the houses, which on Tuesday were crammed, were on the following night well nigh overwhelmed, and the ordinary business could scarcely be transacted. At Owen Swift’s much anxiety was expressed as to whether a bet of £600 to £400 appointed to be put down the night before the fight would really be forthcoming, certain half-sceptics pinning their faith on this ceremony as calculated to prove the genuine nature of the match. It was also expected it would materially affect the betting, many considering that the staking would show such confidence on the part of King’s backers as would justify his being backed for money.

On our arrival at London Bridge Station a few minutes before five in the morning, we found that the “rasping” division had dwindled away to an insignificant few. The fact is, the busy tongue of rumour had sent them so often to the various stations on a Will o’ the Wisp errand, that the detrimentals were completely tired out, and, after the lesson of Tuesday and Wednesday nights, without anything turning up, they denounced the whole affair as “a sell,” and stayed at home. Never was a secret of such a kind better kept, and the wide-awakes who “knew the exact spot to a yard,” found themselves neck deep in the mire, after a fashion they little calculated on; the cut-purse family wiping the frosty icicles from their noses in the west, when they should have been looking out for squalls in the South Eastern horizon. The delightful result was that the congregation of the fistic art passed through the thin dark line of worn and weary snapper-badgers. The arrangements of the legitimate “conveyancers” were most excellent; everybody was comfortably “taken in and done for,” whilst the presence of the ring-constable volunteers set the foot of authority down with a crash upon all attemps at “rigging the market.” In fact, one might have thought that he was going to see an early ploughing match, whilst the “Yahoo” business didn’t rise as high as the song of an old tea-kettle. Indeed, that ugly element was wise in the course it was constrained to adopt; had it done otherwise there was force enough present to have brought every atom of it to grief. Both the men reached the ground in good time, and both had their fair quantity of supporters, who would persist in blocking up each carriage door, so that the entrance of a breath of air was almost next to an impossibility.

The train consisted of thirty carriages, in each of which, to use a theatrical phrase, there was not standing room. We were “horsed” by two powerful engines, and, at about a quarter past six glided out of the station without the least confusion, and with the greatest regularity. The morning stars were just beginning to show signs of that glimmering faintness which indicates the approach of daybreak. Once the train got in motion, not a sound was to be heard save the outburst of some occasional hearty laugh at the jocularity going on inside. But even this was of the mildest possible character, and there was an entire absence of that reprehensible boisterous outpouring which has too often awoke the slumbering people along the route, filling their half-dreamy imaginations with the horror that the Philistines were upon them. We were more than half afraid that the new plan of paying at the doors would have been productive of the direst confusion, but our apprehensions were agreeably dispelled.

On casting a quiet running glance through the interior of each carriage, before we started, we found the genuine patrons of our national manly “trial by battle” in very strong force indeed. We heard one and all join in a universal chorus of satisfaction at the way in which we had been “got off.” On and on we rolled through the fair county of Kent, and as the grey dawn of morning rose eastward on our track the mild fresh breeze played upon our half-sleepy faces, waking us up to a sense of life and activity that was as agreeable as it was invigorating. The morning was beautiful and mild, and away now to our left the bright blue-tinged light of early day could be seen breaking gently and softly, widening and lengthening as it imperceptibly spread over the landscape in a manner that would have excited the admiration of a Gainsborough or a Creswick. Still on and onward we go through deep cuttings and over high embankment; anon the iron horses slacken their speed, and the next instant the reverberating sounds of our whirling wheels tell us that we are passing through the bowels of mother earth. On emerging from the tunnel into open country our ears were saluted with voices that unmistakably marked the owners as denizens of the aristocratic regions west of Regent Street. Speculation made itself heard, and 6 and 7 to 4 on the Benicia Boy seemed to be the chorus of the song. Just as we could distinguish houses and buildings sufficiently, the train glided noiselessly into Reigate Junction, where we were “regaled” by the sight of a strong covey of early “blue birds” belonging to the Surrey County Constabulary. It is needless to say that they were not there on our invitation. We considered them more free than welcome, and following the prudent and time-honoured example of those philosophic predecessors of theirs, Masters Dogberry and Verges of blessed memory, we stole ourselves out of their company with all possible alacrity and despatch. A thin white frosty veil of mist floated over the landscape as we again got in full swing, whilst the leaden coloured clouds as they lay heavy and motionless overhead gave us cause for grave anxiety, but, as our fears were rising to an uncomfortable grade on our nervous thermometer, in we rushed to another tunnel. When we issued forth we made a series of weatherwise surveys all round us, and were joyed to find the dark curtain lifting evenly and gradually up on our right, whilst on the opposite side bright broken patches encouraged our most earnest hopes, Another turn of the steam valve, and away we sped at over forty miles an hour; wood and dell, hamlet and village, cottage and mansion flew by like the magic of the kaleidoscope, and the question of our journey’s end took the place of other topics for the moment. A few miles further on and we shot by Tunbridge Wells. By this time we could see that the “bold peasantry” were discussing their breakfast, but as we rattled on at the rate of a mile a minute and a half, we did not take particular notice of what they ate. At length we drew up in a secluded and well-selected spot, where we got out, yawned, stretched ourselves, and gulped in the sharp morning air most voraciously. On account of the extreme softness of the ground it was some time before a decent place could be found. At this hour, about a quarter past nine o’clock, the sun was shining out as magnificently as on a fine May morning, and as we toiled some mile and a half up a steep clayey hill, the “stuff” was taken out of many. At length a chosen spot was taken possession of, and the ring pitched in a field at Wadhurst, near Frant, below Tunbridge Wells. King first dropped in his castor, amid loud cheers, accompanied by Jerry Noon and Bos Tyler, and was immediately followed by Heenan, who was similarly received, being esquired by Jack Macdonald, and, for the sake of theatrical effect, Tom Sayers. Colours were now unfolded on both sides, and the combatants began to dress. The choice of ground was won by Heenan, and then came the referee. Some wrangling here took place in respect to that functionary, during which the betting went on with offers at 40 to 20, &c. on Heenan, but there did not seem to be any takers. Confusion now became the ruling element, wasting away precious time on the top of a hill that could be seen for twenty miles around. There were the men and their seconds ready, while the referee was expected to come from the clouds. Three quarters of an hour was spent in this way before matters were finally closed, and the referee originally proposed was ultimately agreed to. The men then began the important duty of the toilet, and in the hands of their respective valets that operation was soon completed. The ring was then cleared, and the men showed themselves ready in battle array. Heenan was the first to exhibit, mid the loud cheers of his admirers, and was instantly followed by King, for whom another salvo rose up from the throats of his party. Exactly at ten o’clock the men were delivered at the scratch, shook hands, and prepared to commence

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​As the men advanced towards the centre of the ring the first glance seemed to show how great were the physical advantages of Heenan, who looked quite the stone heavier man he really was—​King being comparatively a fair-skinned stripling; but a closer inspection revealed a jaded appearance. He looked clumsier altogether than when he fought Sayers. King, on the contrary, was as well as ever he could be, and there was a bloom and healthfulness about him, which spoke not only of steady training, but of an unvitiated constitution. He had not altogether the cut of a professional pugilist, but would rather be described as a fine, fresh, good-looking young countryman. The men threw themselves into attitude, and opened the round with a little sparring, but there was a hurried, not to say nervous, manner about each of them, which indicated that the scientific display would not be very prolonged. Heenan led off once or twice, but was not close enough. King was equally out of distance in trying to return. At last they got nearer, and exchanged good counter-hits. A couple more heavy hits were given, and King was drawing back to take up fresh ground, when Heenan plunged desperately at him, and got his left arm round his neck; the impetus of his rush carrying them both to the ropes. Here Heenan sought to fix his man in the dangerous manner he had practised with Sayers, but King’s strength enabled him to wrench himself up, and, locked together, they wrestled back to the centre of the ring. Here Heenan hung upon his man, squeezing him tightly, and trying to force him down. King, whose arms were at liberty, hit him heavily about the body left and right, until he fell, dragging Heenan with him, but the Yankee was uppermost. (The referee here entered the ring and cautioned Heenan as to his “hugging” system, which was certainly an unsightly mode of attack.)

2.—​Both men were somewhat flushed about the head from the previous round, and King appeared a little distressed from the severe struggle. He was urged to be first with his man, and led off directly he came to the scratch. He got well home on Heenan’s head; the latter countered, but without much precision, and some wild but heavy exchanges took place with both hands, King dealing the Yankee a severe blow on the mouth. Tom was pressing his man, when Heenan made a dash at him, and showing great superiority in strength, after a few seconds of squeezing, threw him heavily, a very dangerous fall, coming with all his weight upon him. (First blood was here given to King; Heenan’s lips being cut and bleeding.)

3.—​King seemed anxious to keep away from his man spar; there was no doubt that he was already considerably shaken by the severe falls he had received. Heenan appeared more anxious to seize a favourable chance to grasp his man than to hit him. After a moment’s pause they got together, and lashed out heavily with the left, each getting home. This led to some more exchanges, desperately heavy, it is true, but made in a wild style, and not like two finished boxers. Heenan again plunged in, King meeting him heavily as he came, but he grappled Tom, and again brought him down with shattering force across the lower rope, which was pressed to the ground. Luckily the ground was not hard. (Unpleasant as was Heenan’s style of fighting, he was considered to be getting the best of the battle, as King evidently could not resist his rush and clinching throw.)

4.—​King’s left eye was marked with a mouse, but otherwise he did not show much signs of punishment. The rounds were all short ones, Heenan forcing his way in upon King, a few slashing exchanges; then King was once more caught in the hug, and thrown a desperate fall. (Great disapprobation of Heenan’s style of fighting—​if fighting it could be called. His hugging and squeezing was far worse than even in Sayers’s fight.)

5.—​King was as ready at the call of “time” as his antagonist, yet evidently felt the falls he was receiving, and sparred a bit for wind. Heenan was distressed also, and glad of a pause. They worked round a bit until they got near, when King, with the swiftness of lightning, dealt the Yankee a terrific hit in the middle of the head with his right, almost knocking him off his legs, and drawing streams of claret from a cut on his mouth. It was nearly a floorer, and on Heenan trying a return, King cross-countered very heavily on the side of the head. Heenan was for a moment at a standstill, and King led off again, but was out of distance, and the Yankee again “clinching”—​we must borrow an Americanism which expresses more than our word “closing”—​succeeded in once more putting on the “hug” and throwing King heavily; though he pitched over him so far as to strike the ground with his own head.

6.—​The fighting had been wild enough before, but in this round there was no attempt at precision or steadiness. The men punched—​or punched at—​one another wildly, King getting the best of what hitting did tell, till Heenan closed, and, getting his regular grip, flung King a burster.

7.—​The men went to work directly they faced each other, and in a slogging rally some really terrific hitting was given and taken. They broke away, but only for a few seconds, when they got together with more tremendous exchanges, yet still to the advantage of King, who allowed what little science was exhibited, and hit straightest. By a desperate snorter with his right, during this rally, he drew a fresh burst of crimson. Heenan closed in the hitting, hugged his man viciously, and then threw him one of the heaviest cross-buttocks seen for many a day. It was a crusher, and King lay for a few seconds until his seconds picked him up and bore him to his corner.

8.—​King, to the delight of his friends, came up promptly; although he was piping a little, he seemed marvellously little hurt by these continuous throws. Heenan was ready to fight to improve his supposed advantage, and the men exchanged stinging counters directly they faced each other, and heavy exchanges followed. Heenan dashed in as usual to seize his man, but on this occasion he was foiled, for King caught him in his arms; and, after a moment’s struggle, threw the Yankee heavily and fell on him. (This was a fair, unmistakable back fall and the cheering for King was tremendous.)

9.—​Heenan looked vexed as he came up; he had plainly made up his mind to recover his wrestling superiority, and tried for an opening. King was with him, and met him left and right; then, getting away again, planted on him with tremendous effect as he came in, catching his man well in the middle of the head; and now and then, in each of the rounds, giving a home hit on the body. Heenan at last got in, squeezed his man savagely, and again threw him a shattering fall.

10.—​The wildest and fastest of fighting still continued, in fact, the rally more resembled a “turn-up” of two angry navvies than the tactics of skilled boxers. The exchanges were of the severest description, although most of the blows seemed given at random. Heenan was wholly bent on throwing, and once more hugged King and threw him.

11.—​Heenan showed that the pace was telling on him, and it was doubtful whether he was not taking almost as much out of himself by his desperate struggles to throw King, as he was out of King by the falls. He persevered in his wrestling game, however, for hardly an attempt was made at a blow in this round before he grappled with King, and brought him over.

12.—​Tom was a little more on his guard this time, and led off; Heenan returned, and a few seconds of very hard fighting took place, both men being hit severely about the head till they closed, when King again succeeded in turning the tables, and threw Heenan heavily.

13.—​Although this round began with some countering which looked very heavy, yet Heenan’s blows did not, as a rule, tell very much; and when his seconds sent him up King looked clean, and comparatively free from punishment. Heenan again gave his man the hug, and threw him. After this round Heenan’s left hand became gradually of less service to him.

14.—​Heenan feinted with his left, and threw in a smasher on the head with his right. King stuck to him, but after some stinging exchanges, in which he had the best, he was thrown—​one of the most tremendous cross-buttocks ever seen—​and so stunned and shaken was King, that but for the tact and presence of mind of Jerry Noon, it is doubtful if he could have come to time.

15.—​In spite of the very heavy falls being nearly always in his favour, Heenan was now almost as much distressed as King, and the punishment given was certainly much against him. After a little sparring, heavy counters were exchanged, and then three or four smashing hits left and right, without a semblance of stopping or avoiding. Heenan drew back a little, and then lunging tremendously with his right, nailed King with such terrific force that he staggered and went down. (This was first knock-down blow in favour of Heenan, and was one at the few clean hits he delivered or even attempted to deliver during the fight.)

16.—​Although slower than before in answering the call of “time,” King came resolutely up, and did not seem greatly shaken by the knock-down blow. Indeed, Heenan appeared worse from the effects of the last round than did his opponent, as King had planted so heavily on his left eye that it was badly cut and nearly closed. In some more heavy punching—​pure slogging give-and-take, without any show of science—​Heenan’s eye was quite shut up, and he showed some decided signs of weakness. King dashed in, and, after an exhausting struggle, forced him down.

17.—​In this round Heenan again got the fall; but it was for the last time. He was evidently falling off; and when once his superiority in strength or wrestling power was gone he seemed useless and almost helpless as a boxer. King hit him tremendously about the side of the head and on the eyes, and it appeared as if Heenan would soon be blind. However, as just said, he clutched King desperately, and threw him one of the hardest falls in the fight. But it was his last effort, and while he became visibly weaker every minute, King, strange to say, seemed little the worse.

18.—​There was at first some fear that the ring would be broken in; for the intense excitement among the outer crowd had induced a rush, which broke through the lukewarm resistance of the constables, and brought the mass up to the ropes. Luckily, however, nothing came of it. Heenan, thinking he had shaken King more than was really the case, and probably feeling that he was growing exhausted himself, rushed furiously at his man to improve his advantage. King, however, who had quickly recovered himself, met him with a couple of hits left and right, stopping the Yankee’s rush, and while he was yet on the stagger King closed, and, giving him the crook, pitched him over, and tell on him with stunning force.

19.—​Heenan came up rather hurriedly when time was called, but it was at once seen that he was almost beaten, and was quite groggy. He tried his rush, but it was no longer dangerous, and King stepped back twice, measured his distance, planted on him without a return, and, by a second straight hit, sent him down. In the 20th round King managed to back-heel Heenan. The same description applies to the next two rounds, excepting that in each of them Heenan grew shakier and wilder, and King’s superiority more marked. At the commencement of the 23rd round it was proposed to throw up the sponge, but Heenan would not hear of it, and staggered at his man with the semblance of his former rush. He staggered after receiving a blow, and was thrown by King without a chance of resisting. His backers, seeing that it was hopeless, and that it was only exposing the sinking boxer to punishment, insisted on his surrender, and the sponge was thrown up in token of defeat, after a desperate, but slashing, hugging, and unscientific battle of thirty-five minutes, and twenty-four rounds.

Remarks.—​We may well spare any lengthened comment upon a contest the leading characteristics of which were “clinching,” rushing, squeezing, and attempts at strangulating hugs on the one side, and wild, desperate sledge-hammer defensive hitting on the other. Heenan proved beyond doubt or cavil that he did not deserve to rank in the first or even second rank of artistic boxers, and that sheer brute strength, seconded by weight, stature, and a certain amount of mere animal courage were his only qualifications. He seemed to have little idea of sparring for an opening, or as a means of defence; while the use of the skilful feints, well-timed delivery, or accurate measurement of distance, of getting close and then getting away, as practised by professional boxers, he ignored or despised. It was not the fault of Tom King that the fight was so bad. His form and style were far the better of the two, for he did not trust to mere wrestling and hauling his man about, and would have made a better show of tactics with a better man. Those flatterers who told Heenan that he could stand a comparison with King’s former opponent, Jem Mace, must have been grossly ignorant or wilfully deceived themselves. Few who saw this contest but felt, that it was solely the accident which so early in the battle disabled the gallant Tom Sayers’s right arm, had prevented the signal defeat of Heenan on the memorable day at Farnborough. King showed but few marks of severe hitting after the fight, nor was he so seriously exhausted by the falls as might have been expected, considering the weight and stature of both men. On the other hand, Heenan was seriously disfigured, indeed, utterly prostrate, and nearly blinded at the close of the encounter. Altogether, while an honest and game fight, it was an unsatisfactory one; the sole point settled being the entire absence, on the part of Heenan, of those scientific attainments and steady attributes indispensable to the successful practitioner in the Prize Ring. The immense stake, £2,000, so glaringly disproportionate to the merits of the battle, was duly paid over to King. For the circumstance of the appearance of the once formidable Tom Sayers at the ring-side, as second to his former antagonist, John Heenan, the reader is referred to pages 435 and 436 of the present volume.

Again, and for the last time, Tom King announced his retirement from professional pugilism; we shall not, therefore, follow him into private life farther than to say, that he has carried with him the respect he earned by his public career, and that the last we heard of him was that he had earned the peaceful distinction of a prizeman, as a successful cultivator of flowers at horticultural shows, held in the neighbourhood of his suburban dwelling. And here we legitimately close the task we voluntarily imposed on ourself, of committing to the press the history of One Hundred and Forty-four Years of British Boxing.

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[41] As an example of the way Ring affairs were managed, we may note that, after 21 rounds in one hour and a quarter, the police really did come; that the men met the next day, January 1, 1862, and the police, after three rounds in 17 minutes, again appeared, there being strong ground for suspicion that they were sent for by telegram. Brettle having sprained his ankle, a postponement was granted until March, and then they met (the bet of £300 being off), and after four rounds, occupying one hour and 40 minutes, the referee gave them 15 minutes to strike a blow; but as one wouldn’t and t’other didn’t, a “draw” was declared, March 11, 1862.