On another account it was fortunate that the fixture remained unchanged, for on Monday the rain came down in an almost ceaseless downpour from morning till night, and the Corinthians and professionals who assembled at Caunt’s and Alec Keene’s in the evening, to obtain their tickets for the excursion, and the straight tip as to the time and place of departure, prognosticated somewhat gloomily as to the weather possibilities of the morrow.
Fortunately, these prophecies were falsified by the event, and shortly before eight o’clock, as hansom after hansom dashed up to the Eastern Counties Railway Station, in Shoreditch—the directors had not yet become sufficiently aristocratic to call it the Great Eastern Station, Bishopsgate, nor had they attained their grand terminus at Liverpool Street—their occupants shook hands heartily with the first acquaintance they encountered, and congratulated themselves on the bright October sun, which was making even the dingy East End look moderately cheerful. At half-past eight the train started, and after a pleasant journey of about three hours, past Cambridge, Ely, and Mildenhall, pulled up at Lakenheath, in Suffolk, and the living cargo, which numbered not less than four hundred, among whom were most of the Corinthian supporters of the Ring, who had come down under the special care of Jem Burn, invaded and overran the little station.
For the benefit of those who slumbered too long to refresh the inner man satisfactorily before leaving, a copious breakfast had been provided by Mr. Moore, of the “Old Rum Puncheon,” Moorfields, who, we are happy to say, still survives in this year of grace, 1881, the hale and hearty host of the “Royal Standard” at Walthamstow. Ample justice being done to this repast, we found that Tom Oliver, assisted by Tom Callas, had decided on the spot for the ring, in a field about two hundred yards from the stopping-place. While the stakes and ropes were being placed in situ, Dan Dismore attended to the sale of inner ring tickets; and the character of the gathering may be inferred from the fact that about one in five of the travellers elected to become purchasers of “privilege” cards. The men having made their toilets, Sayers, just at half-past twelve, shied his castor into the ring, following it himself, with his seconds, Alec Keene and Bob Fuller. Tom received a loud and hearty greeting from his partisans; and this had hardly died away when the cheers were renewed as Nat Langham entered, attended by the accomplished Jemmy Welsh and Jerry Noon, who was equally clever as a second when—as upon this occasion he did—he could refrain from those eccentric performances for which he was notorious, and which, however amusing they might be to the spectators, were anything but useful to his principal. On this particular day Jerry was on his good behaviour, and did not once attempt to raise a laugh until the fight was over. Immediately on entering the ring Tom and Nat, who were “old pals,” shook hands with great cordiality, evoking the cheers of the onlookers, who were delighted at this proof that the combatants were actuated only by the desire to win fame and reputation, and, in fact, realised the description of the prizefighter by the poet:—
Who are sworn friends to one another,
And first shake hands before they box;
Then give each other plaguy knocks,
With all the love and kindness of a brother.
This episode completed, the referee and umpires having taken their places, the seconds retired to their corners, and all was attention as the men approached each other and began
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—On toeing the scratch the knowing ones eagerly scanned the appearance and condition of the men, in order, if possible, to gain thus some indication of the possible issue of the combat, and a few bets were made at 6 to 4 on Langham. There was a wide contrast between the men, both in appearance and condition; Langham was long and lathy; his frame was evidently that of a man who had seen severe work, and—to all appearance—not likely to last through the wear and tear of long-continued exertion. There was a smile of good-humoured confidence on his mug, however, that showed how little he feared the result of the coming combat, while his condition was simply perfect, and reflected the highest credit on his trainer. Sayers, on the other hand, although he looked—as of old—broad, strong, and burly, was clearly overburdened with flesh—the 5lb. he scaled above his accustomed 10st. 7lb. being palpably all to the bad. The breaking out on his chin and face, already alluded to, certainly did not give one the idea of his being in a perfect state of health, and it may well be that to the fact of his not being in his best form may be attributed an anxious look about his eyes, so different to the gay, laughing confidence he exhibited in his other fights. Both men, on taking up position, stood with their legs too wide apart; their guards were neither easy nor graceful, nor was there anything strikingly artistic in their attitudes. They began with a good deal of sparring, and, at length, Langham let go his left, but did not get quite home. Caution was again the order of the day, until Langham once more got within distance, and tried his left a second time, just reaching Tom’s chest. Sayers now tried to draw his man, but Langham was not to be had. Sayers, therefore, approached him, when Langham popped in his left on the cheek, and then the same hand on the nose, and got away. Sayers soon followed him up, and Nat, as he retreated, again sent out his left on the cheek. More sparring now took place, and, at length, counter-hits were exchanged, Nat catching Tom on the chin and drawing first blood from a pimple below his mouth. Sayers now bored in, and caught Nat a nasty one on the forehead, from the effects of which Langham went to grass. (First knock-down blow for Sayers.) Little merit, however, could be attached to it, as the ground was in such a state from the previous day’s rain as to render it difficult for Nat to keep his legs, and the hit rather helped him to grass than fairly sent him there. Having now had an opportunity of judging and comparing the men, the betting settled down to 5 to 4 on Nat, the odds being principally due to Tom’s obviously bad condition, and to the fact that, having lost the toss for choice of corners, he had to fight with the sun in his eyes.