36 to 40.—Nat nailed Orme dexterously, swelling his lips till he resembled the portrait of the elder Molyneaux. In the 40th round he got him to a standstill for a few seconds. (“Where’s your 2 to 1 now?”) Langham fought cunningly, and got through the ropes, down.
41.—Orme’s eye closed; he rushed at Langham, who dropped, and Orme was again charged with trying to “knee” him.
42.—Exchanges; Langham made his left prettily, but Orme gave him such a sneezer that he dropped.
43.—Langham game and clever, but weak. (80 minutes had elapsed.) In the struggle at the close Langham was undermost; a nasty back fall.
44.—Some sharp work, the men falling from their own hits, reaching the ground at the same time.
45 to 60.—It was wonderful to see how, round after round, such fighting could be kept up, Langham still holding the palm for generalship, straight hitting, and precision, but wanting strength from repeated falls. In the 60th round he fell weak. In the 64th, both men were again down in the hitting. From the 65th to the 100th round, time after time, did the men come up with fluctuating chances, the changes every three or four rounds being truly surprising. First Langham got so shaky that every round seemed his last; then Orme got such straight props from the shoulder, in return for his attempts to “go in and finish,” that it seemed a pity both could not win; several times he stood still, puzzled, but scorned to go down, while Langham could not get up steam enough to seize the advantage and secure victory. Orme was twice appealed against, on the ground that he lifted his foot when Langham was down. We do not think he either knew or intended to do what he did. Langham, too, was appealed against for going down, but the veteran referee would not have the battle snatched from such good men by a quibble. In the 100th round, 2 hours and 34 minutes having expired, Orme, on being carried to his corner, communicated to his seconds that he would fight no more; when the practised eye of Welsh perceiving that Langham’s head had dropped on Turner’s shoulder, he revived his man by the information that his opponent had “cut it.” Orme went up, but was not allowed to have it for asking. Langham showed, and pecked away like a game cock, though there was no power in his blows.
102 to 108.—Short rounds, as they well might be. Langham got a turn in his favour, for he hit Orme in the last-mentioned round, and his head dropped when picked up.
109.—Orme recovered quicker than could be expected, and again perceived that his opponent’s plight was no better than his own: he staggered in, punched away, and Langham fell.
110 to 113.—Orme very much abroad, but still the stronger. Langham fell in the 113th round on the ropes, and Orme upon him.
114, 115.—Both game as pebbles; Orme quite foggy in the optics; Langham staggering, and instinctively putting out his left for a pushing hit. (“Take them both away,” said a bystander. Orme shook his head, and Langham tried to muster the ghost of a smile.) The seconds went close to their men. “It’s all right,” said poor Langham to Jem Turner. If he thought so no one else did. After a slight pop with his left, Orme pushed Langham down, and fell over him.