28.—Great anxiety now prevailed among the partisans of Donnelly. Some hits passed to the advantage of Oliver, when Donnelly went down. (The odds were now upon Oliver all round the ring; but Donnelly’s staunchest friends, having no reason to doubt his pluck, took them in numerous instances.)
29.—The men were both upon their mettle, and this round was a good one. The combatants closed, but broke away. Oliver made a hit on Donnelly’s face, laughed, and jumped back. The Irish champion, however, got a turn, and with his left hand planted a rum one on Oliver’s mouth that sent him staggering away. Donnelly, however, received a teazer; sharp exchanges till Donnelly fell, with Oliver upon him.
30.—One hour had expired, and all bets upon that score were lost. Oliver again bodied his opponent, but received a staggering hit on his mug in return. Some exchanges took place till Oliver went down.
31.—The eye of Donnelly began to resume its former fire; his wind appeared improved, and he rather took the lead in this round. Donnelly hit Oliver down, but also fell from a slip; in fact from the force of his own blow.
32.—The Irish champion had evidently got second wind, and, upon Oliver’s receiving a hit on the mouth that sent him some yards from his position, Randall offered to back Donnelly for a level £200. After an exchange of hits, Shelton said, “It was no more use for Donnelly to hit Oliver than a tree, for that Oliver was as hard as iron.” “Nabocleish,” cried a Patlander; “it’s all right. Now, Dan, show your opponent some play.” Some sharp hitting till both resorted to sparring. The men fought into a close, and broke away. The hitting was now so sharp that Oliver turned round to avoid the heavy punishment with which he was assailed, and fell, and Donnelly also slipped down. (“Bravo!” from all parts of the ring. “Well done, Oliver!” “Go along, Donnelly!”)
33.—“Have you got a right hand?” said Tom Belcher to Donnelly; “we must win it, Dan.” The Irish champion hit Oliver a terrible facer that sent him away. “It’s all your own,” said Randall; “do it again.” Donnelly did so with great force. “That’s the way, my boy, echoed Belcher; “another!” Donnelly followed the advice of these excellent tacticians, and he gave a third facer in succession without receiving a return. After some exchanges passed, Oliver was getting rather feeble, from the struggle in bringing Donnelly down, and fell upon him with his knee on his throat. (“Do you call that fair?” said Belcher. “If that circumstance had happened on our side, you would have roared ‘foul’ for an hour.”)
34 and last.—Oliver hit Donnelly on the body. The latter set-to very spiritedly, and nobbed his man. Sharp exchanges ensued, when, in closing, Donnelly put in a dreadful hit under Oliver’s ear, and also cross-buttocked him. Oliver, when picked up and put on his second’s knee, was insensible, and his head hung upon his shoulders. “Time, time,” was called, but the brave, the game, the unfortunate Oliver heard not the sound, and victory was declared in favour of Donnelly. Time, one hour and ten minutes. The latter walked out of the ring amidst shouts of applause, arm-in-arm with Belcher and Randall, to an adjoining farm house, where he was put to bed for a short period, and bled. Oliver did not recover his sensibility for some minutes, when he was also brought to the same house, bled, and put to bed in the next room to Donnelly. The latter expressed great feeling and uneasiness for fear anything serious should happen to Oliver; but when he was informed it was all right, he was as cheerful as if he had not been fighting at all. The Irish champion dressed himself immediately, and, strange to say, Oliver, in the course of half an hour, also recovered, and put his clothes on, lamenting that he had lost the battle under such an unfortunate circumstance, as he was then able to fight an hour. Oliver and Donnelly then shook hands, and drank each other’s health, and the latter then went into a wagon to see the fight between Lashbrook and Dowd. He afterwards left the ground in a barouche and four, to sleep at Riddlesdown, the place where he trained, and arrived at Mr. Dignam’s, the Red Lion, Houghton Street, Clare Market. Oliver also arrived in town the same day.
Remarks.—Donnelly had now shown his capabilities to the admirers of scientific pugilism in England, and the judgment pronounced upon his merits was briefly this:—The Irish champion has not turned out so good a fighter as was anticipated. To be more precise, he is not that decisive, tremendous hitter with his right which was calculated upon. In fact, he did not use his right hand at all; if he had, he might in all probability have decided the battle full half an hour sooner than it terminated. In game and coolness he is not wanting, and for obtaining “a throw or a fall,” he will prove a dangerous customer for any man on the list. Donnelly might have felt that sort of embarrassment which hangs about a provincial actor who first treads the London boards; and to use his own words upon the merits of the battle, he said it was a bad fight, that he had acted like “a wooden man,” and could not account for it. His next essay, he thought, might prove altogether different from his defeat of Oliver. Donnelly’s right hand was frequently open when he hit. His face appeared, on leaving the ring, exempt from punishment, except some scratches upon his lips. His right ear, however, was strongly marked; but the principal punishment he sustained was upon the body. Oliver was heavily hit about the throat and ears, and also on the body. The latter by no means punished Donnelly as he did Neat; but the heavy falls that Oliver received proved him thoroughly good in nature, a game man, and one that would contend for victory while a spark of animation was left. He never did, nor never will, say “No!” It would be a violation of truth, if the above battle, under all the circumstances, was not pronounced a bad fight, as regarded scientific movements on both sides. The seconds on both sides were on the alert to bring their men through the piece; and every person was astonished to see the activity displayed by Tom Belcher in picking up so heavy a man as Donnelly, and the industry used by Randall. The conduct of the Champion of England was cool and manly in the extreme; and Shelton never lost sight of a point that could assist Oliver.
Dan was, like most of his countrymen, a bit of a humourist. On the day previous to the mill a noble lord called upon Donnelly, at Riddlesdown, about one o’clock, and rather slightingly observed, “That about that time to-morrow he might expect a pretty head from the fist of Oliver.” Donnelly (at all times facetious), looking the lordling full in the face, replied, with an ironical expression, “That he was not born in a wood, to be scared an owl!” The laugh went round against the noble amateur, and by way of softening the thing, he betted Donnelly £15 to £10 upon Oliver, which the Irish champion immediately accepted.
One trait of Donnelly is worthy of notice: on quitting his room to enter the apartment of Oliver, he would not publicly wear the coloured handkerchief of his fallen opponent, but concealed it by way of pad, in the green handkerchief which he wore round his neck.