Each man proved himself thorough game, and possessed of undoubted stamina. Orme, in beating a man taller, longer in the reach, a shade heavier, and much the favourite in the betting, had done all expected of him, and his friends resolved on quietly biding their time, and—when that time did come—on playing for a good stake. Their confidence in their champion was shown by the character of the next antagonist selected for him being no other than Nat Langham, whose fame already stood high among the few who had an opportunity of judging of his merits.
Orme’s coup d’essai having proved eminently satisfactory, and Master Nat having been waiting in vain for a suitable customer from the day when he defeated Sparkes the Australian, as related in the previous chapter, a match was proposed for £50 a side, to be decided on the 6th day of May, 1851. A trip down the river being agreed on, “The Queen of the Thames” was the vessel engaged, and the oft-described voyage having been effected at two o’clock, the ring was pitched by Ould Tom Oliver, Tom Callas, and assistants. At three Orme tossed in his cap, and Langham followed his example. The usual ridiculous haggling with regard to a referee ensued, during which we adjourned to another part of the marsh, where a merry little mill between an Israelite and a son of Ishmael, in the person of a gipsy lad, which had been arranged for decision on this occasion, came off. The Hebrew was worsted after a stubborn resistance. This settled, we returned to the legitimate roped quadrangle called “the ring” because it is not round. Here, after positively refusing an arbitration which carries with its exercise nought but unpleasantness, a veteran Ring-goer (Old Tom Oliver), with the snows of sixty winters on his head, accepted the office. At fifteen minutes past four the men were escorted to the scratch. Orme was esquired by Jemmy Welsh and Jack Grant; Langham by D’Orsay Turner and Johnny Hannan. The men, at scale, were stated to be respectively 11st. 5lb. and 11st. 2lb.; but upon this point we have our doubts, Orme appearing upon every point far the heavier man. Orme had trained upon the Chatham hills, and was as tough-looking a dark grained bit of stuff as ever was selected by shipwright of that famed dockyard locality. Langham took his breathings on Newmarket Heath, and was as fine as any thoroughbred fresh from its gallops. The betting was now even, Langham for choice. After waiting a few minutes for a hailstorm, which, according to the precedent of this “merry month,” will have its way, at a quarter past four the men stood up for
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Orme stood firmly, with his elbows rather high, his fists level and almost square, and his heavy, thick, round arms in anything but an elegant position; yet he loomed big, massive, and formidable, and his deep chest, matted with coarse black hair, and complexion of the deepest gipsy brown, gave an impression of hardihood and enduring strength. Langham was fine and fair in skin, clean built, with handsome shoulders and biceps, good length of reach and active pins. His attitude was artistic; the left well up and forward, the right playing easily across the mark, covering the short ribs, and ready for stop or delivery. Orme seemed a little flurried and worked forward, Langham shifting and retreating before him, coolly and collectedly. Orme let go his left, which Langham stopped, and caught Orme sharply on the cheekbone; Langham followed Orme on the bustle, and reached him slightly with the right, when Orme ducked his head, turned clean round, and rose up outside the ropes (laughter). Langham beckoned Orme, who came inside, nodding his head and smiling. Langham, cautious and steady, would not lead off. Orme tried to make his left, but was stopped, and following it immediately with his right was out of distance; Langham hit Orme sharply with the left in a quick exchange, drawing “first blood” from his mouth and nose. The men got at it, and fighting was the order of the round, Orme giving Langham a heavy body hit, but catching pepper about the frontispiece. Both down, Langham first, but with the best of the hitting.
2.—Nat retreating, measuring Orme with his left, till the latter let fly; pretty counter-hits with the left, Orme home on Langham’s cheek, Langham on Orme’s nasal organ, from which more of the ruby distilled. Some exchanges of no great moment, Langham slipping down from his own hit.
3.—Orme stopped Langham’s left neatly (applause); counters with left, Langham’s straightest, but did not seem much to mark Orme’s cast-iron nob. Orme bored in, pegging away; Langham propped him, but dropped when forced to the ropes.
4.—Orme made several feints, Langham shifted and laughed; Langham tried to draw his man, but the latter, advised by Welsh, pointed to the scratch. Langham tried his left, but Orme was with him, and, after some heavy weaving work, Langham fell because it suited him.
5.—Sparring; Langham cautious but lively. Orme had found that he got pepper whenever he attempted to lead off, and he paused awhile. There was some little chaff about each man having something in his hands, and they were shown to be empty. The mill recommenced by Langham rattling in one, two, catching Orme on the nose and ribs; in the scramble Langham was down.
6.—Nat visited Orme’s left eye a stinger, raising a “mouse.” Orme rushed in and delivered with tremendous half-arm energy; Langham fought up and was bored down.
7.—Orme rolled in, letting go both hands; Nat nobbed him, but Orme forced the fun, and ran Langham to earth.