Remarks.—The reader of the foregoing account will cordially agree with us that Jones in this gallant battle completely wiped out any stain of cowardice which the result of his battle with Orme might have attached to his character. His own statement to us, that he did not refuse to meet Orme a third time from any dread of punishment, but simply upon the advice of his backers and friends, was fully borne out. His perseverance, after the disablement of his left shoulder in the 18th round, and the unflinching endurance with which he faced so determined a two-handed hitter as Paddock, for ever dispose of the imputation of a white feather in Aaron’s composition. The loser certainly left no stone unturned, no resource untried, to achieve victory, and if he failed to command success he did more—he deserved it. Paddock, as usual in his later fights, fought with coolness and good-humour, taking the roughest blows and falls without a murmur. His left cheek, eye, temple, and ear were fearfully swollen, while the right side presented a curious contrast by retaining its original shape and expression. His hands were more injured than in any of his previous battles, and this will account for the protracted nature of the contest after the tide had turned against Jones. The fairness of Paddock’s fighting, even, on several occasions, to the extent of forbearance, was the admiration of all who witnessed the contest. Paddock, too, was certainly weak towards the close, owing to the burning sun under which the battle was fought. For ourselves, the mere work of sitting in a somewhat constrained position, in the full blaze of its rays, attending to our duties as referee, occasionally holding a bet, and taking the note which form the “bones” of the foregoing account, so entirely beat us that we can speak feelingly of the labours of the men who were subjected to and went through such a trying ordeal. Their endurance speaks volumes for the wonderful results attainable by training and condition. In brief, we may say in conclusion, that a better or more courageous fight has not been seen since Paddock last met the game and persevering Poulson.
The battle-money (£200) was handed to Paddock on the ensuing Monday, at Alec Keene’s, “Three Tuns,” Moor Street, Soho, when a handsome collection was made as a golden salve for the wounds of the brave but unfortunate Aaron Jones.
That Aaron Jones fully removed by his last two battles every trace of suspicion as to want of game is certain, but that he will ever be able to take a first-rate position as a pugilist is extremely dubious; not from want of either courage or capabilities as a punisher, but from the simple fact that his constitution is not sufficiently strong to enable him to stand for any great length of time the fatigues of a contest with a determined lasting adversary like Paddock. He is a civil, well-conducted young fellow, and a great favourite among those who know him well. His defeat has not lost him a single friend, though it has gained him many. It is just possible that his constitutional defects may be removed as he grows older, and if they are, he will prove an awkward customer to any one who may fancy him; but unless he can improve his stamina, and that very materially, we would advise him to abstain in future from milling pursuits. Paddock fought steadier and with more generalship than we had given him credit for, and, to our surprise, his hands, which in all former battles had swelled so as almost to incapacitate him from inflicting punishment, stood firm and hard to the last. His hits were delivered with much judgment, and, although he was fearfully punished, he never flinched from his task. He says it was a much tougher job than he expected, and does not disguise the fact that he was glad when it was over; he also adds, that whoever fights Jones in future will find he must put up with a good deal more punching than will do him good. Many persons found fault with Paddock for dropping on several occasions after delivering his right on Jones’s most vulnerable point, the ribs, and certainly we agree that such a practice should have been avoided. It must be remembered, however, that Paddock was himself seriously injured, and fast growing blind, and that he could scarcely be expected to display that coolness which under more favourable circumstances would have been expected from him. These dropping manœuvres were also in a material degree counterbalanced by his manly conduct in the eleventh round, when he refrained from punishing Jones, when the latter was in a defenceless but perfectly fair position for being hit.
Our hero was allowed scant breathing-time after this tremendous encounter. At the giving up of the stakes at Mr. Jackson’s, King Street Mews, Park Lane, on the following Tuesday, the fearless Tom Sayers presented himself and proposed a battle for £200, catch-weight, but the details were postponed to a future meeting at Bill Hayes’s in the ensuing week. In the interval Tom’s friends had entered into what the politicians call pourparlers with some friends of Harry Poulson, and this proved “a red herring” that crossed the “line,” and so the match with Tom Sayers was for the present a lost “scent.”
In the papers of August 27, we read as follows:—
“The gallant Tom Paddock having waited for some time for a reply to the question we put to the Tipton Slasher, as to whether he intends to maintain his claim to the Championship, and having seen no answer, declares that if Perry has retired—as he is at a loss to know which of these worthies is actual Champion—he will fight Harry Broome for £200 or £300 a side.” [We may state, for Paddock’s information, that Broome, when he forfeited some time back to the Slasher, declared his intention of retiring from the Ring, and leaving the title to the Tipton.] “Paddock adds that if neither Perry nor Broome takes up the gauntlet, he shall consider himself Champion, as prepared to meet all comers.”
In the following week’s issue, the Editor announces that Johnny Broome has called on him, and left a deposit to “find a man” who will fight Paddock for £200, or any larger sum.
As the day of the battle approached, the interest in the expected encounter increased, and the eighteenth deposit, carrying the stakes up to £160, being duly posted at Alec Keene’s, “Three Tuns,” Moor Street, Soho, all seemed going fairly. On the following Tuesday, however, an alarming intelligence reached Air Street, that Harry had been apprehended at his training quarters at Patcham, and taken before the Brighton magistrates, by whom he had been bound over to keep the peace for three months, thus putting an end to hostilities for that period at least. We shall not here encumber our pages by any detail of the angry “’fending and proving” which followed this very mysterious arrest, of which each sought to cast the blame on his opponent’s party. On this occasion the Editor of Bell’s Life, who was the stakeholder, declared it to be his duty, from documents laid before him, to hand over to Paddock the £180 deposited, which was done on the 20th of February, 1855. Hereupon Broome deposited £10 for a fresh match, to come off on May 7th, after the expiry of Harry’s recognisances, which Paddock covered, and once again received forfeit from his wrangling opponent on the 12th of March. Hereupon the “highest authority” declared, “in answer to numerous correspondents,” that “Tom Paddock is now Champion of England, until the position is wrested from him by the Tipton Slasher or Aaron Jones, or confirmed to him by their defeat.” And here we may note that “old K-legs” was still “pegging away on the same line;” but the ruddy hero of Redditch fancied Aaron Jones to be an easier job, so he postponed his old friend’s invitation, and joined issue with Jones by signing articles on April 3rd, at Bill Hayes’s, the “Crown,” in Cranbourne Passage, to fight on the 26th of June, 1855, for £100 a side, within 70 and over 50 miles from London. As we were present on the previous Thursday, at Dan Dismore’s, and ourselves registered the “ring-constables” for preservation of order on the occasion, it may be interesting to print our note. Those who gave in their names were: Nat Langham, Edward Hoiles (the Spider), Tom Sayers, Jack Grant, Jemmy Welsh, Young Sambo (Welsh), Jemmy Massey, Billy Duncan, Charley Mallett, John Hicks, Alf. Walker, Tom Adams, and Ned More; Ned Adams, Inspector. All these were provided with armlets and a number, and were empowered to prevent any person intruding within the outer roped circle, unless provided with an inner-ring ticket, purchased of them individually or of the appointed distributors. Each of these constables was compensated by an “honorarium” in proportion to the receipts for “privilege” tickets, which was subject to deduction or fines for proved remissness or breach of duty. These arrangements fell into confusion and almost into oblivion when the master-hand which framed them retired from the conduct of the affairs of the Ring, of which he had been, through good report or evil report, through sunshine as through storm, “the guide, philosopher, and friend”—nay, more, the disinterested and zealous champion and advocate. We allude to Vincent Dowling, Esq., who for more than thirty years edited Bell’s Life in London, and to whom the hand which writes these lines is proud to own that that teacher was the Gamaliel at whose feet he sat to learn the now forgotten and self-degraded principles of honour, courage, forbearance, and fair play embodied in and inculcated by the Art of Self-Defence. On this occasion the law survived the law-giver, and the most perfect order was maintained. On the former occasion Jones’s friends declared that their man lost the use of his left hand from an injury to his collar-bone in the tenth round, and moreover, that he was suffering from a disablement brought on by undue exertion, for which the application of leeches had been considered necessary only a day or two before the fight. If, they argued, Jones could under these drawbacks, prolong the fight for two hours and twenty-four minutes, to the 121st round, the chances were now in his favour. Besides, Jones, on a recent occasion (at Jem Ward’s benefit) had so unmistakably “bested” Master Tom, flooring him in masterly style, that his friends were “legion” for this second trial. For some time after the signature of articles both men remained in town, but at length Aaron betook himself to Shrewsbury, where he remained until a fortnight before the fight, when he came up to London, and took up his quarters at Sutton, in Surrey, under the surveillance of Bob Fuller, who, “it goes without saying,” did all that could be done to bring him “fit to the post.” Paddock went to the neighbourhood of Leatherhead, where, by strong exercise on the breezy downs, he did all that could be done to bring his “pipes” and muscle into the primest order. We saw him both at the Epsom and Ascot meetings, to each of which he came on “Shanks’s mare” and certainly looked in “wind and limb,” eye, skin, and general complexion, up to anything. On the Monday previous both men showed at the Rotunda, Blackfriars Road, at the gathering for the benefit of the Pugilistic Benevolent Association, and of course received the congratulations of the crowd.
The “special” was chartered on this occasion by Dan Dismore, Hayes, Mr. Jackson, and Paddock’s backer. On our arrival at the terminus we met an immense assemblage of curious folks, who unable to be present at the fight were anxious to get a peep at the men. On the platform was a goodly concourse, noblemen and soldiers, Corinthians and clergy (at any rate, we noticed the “Bishop of Bond Street,” carefully superintending the safe deposit of sundry Fortnum-and-Mason-looking baskets and hampers in the guard’s van), sporting pubs, country-cousins, pugilists, and many well-breeched plebeians. At a few minutes past eight o’clock, both men with their immediate attendants were comfortably seated, and at half-past eight the whistle sounded and away we steamed. The well-known stations on the Eastern Counties were quickly passed, and, with the exception of one stoppage for a “drink” for the iron horse, we had covered nearly eighty miles from Shoreditch before we put on the brakes, and pulled up near Mildenhall, in the county of Suffolk. Here an excellent piece of ground had been selected, and a first-rate inner-and-outer-ring were quickly marked out by Tom Oliver, Tom Callas, and assistants. A brisk trade in tickets for the outer enclosure showed a receipt of £33 10s., a very fair contribution to the funds of the P.B.A. The heat, as the men stripped for the encounter, was intense, and by an amicable agreement the usual toss for corners was dispensed with, and the men “placed across the sun;” thus neither had the disadvantage of advancing to the scratch with the rays of that dazzling luminary in his face. At half-past twelve o’clock, the number of spectators numbering a little over a thousand, Jones threw in his cap, attended by Bob Fuller and Bill Hayes, the latter, who was in ill-health, resigning his position soon afterwards to Jerry Noon. Paddock soon followed, Alec Keene and Jemmy Massey acting as his assistants. Paddock, after shaking hands, offered £25 in crisp bank notes to Aaron, on condition of a deposit of £20 on the part of the latter, but Jones declined the wager. The odds round the ring were now at this figure—5 to 4 on Paddock. Jemmy Massey, however, offering “3 to 2, rather than not get on,” had his £15 taken against £10, and the market-price went back again.
As the men stood up Paddock looked red, hard, and, contrary to former exhibitions, sinewy and comparatively lean, with a look of wear and tear about him that spoke well for his attention to training. Jones was fine, symmetrical, and a model for a statuary; but though he smiled and looked healthy and confident, we could not bring ourselves to think he could last out a day’s work with the Redditch man. At six minutes to one the seconds retired and business began.