51 and last.—Harry, very slow to the call of time, came up unsteady and tottering; he made a blow at Paddock, but missed, and Tom let fly a vicious right-hander at the side of his nut—it missed its destination and alighted on Harry’s chest, where it left a tremendous bruise. It was a settler, however; it floored the gallant Harry, who, on time being called, got up, but instantly sank exhausted on his second’s knee, and Tass Parker, seeing that it was all over, threw up the sponge, Paddock being proclaimed the winner, after a bustling affair of one hour and three minutes. An attempt was made by some few outsiders to bring the affair to a wrangle. They declared the sponge had not been thrown up by Tass Parker, and that Paddock, who had left the ring immediately after that act, had forfeited by so doing before a decision had been come to. This attempt was, of course, scouted by all the respectable spectators, and was especially discountenanced by Harry Broome himself, who owned that he had been fairly vanquished, and that Tom Paddock was now at any rate a better man than himself. The proceedings over, the company at once betook themselves to a station, about a mile distant, whither the special had been removed, and whither they were followed by Tom Paddock, who, with the exception of a few very trifling bruises, appeared unscathed. Harry Broome was too much exhausted to walk the distance, and, therefore, in company with Nat Langham, Jem Burn, and a few others, awaited the arrival of the train at the field of battle. These invalids were quickly embarked, and nothing now prevented the expedition from returning with all speed to the Metropolis. The word was therefore given, and good way being made, Shoreditch was gained by half-past six. Here the excitement was infinitely greater than it had been in the morning, and there was a general rush of the crowd to ascertain the result of the tournay. The news of the easy victory of Tom Paddock was received with universal astonishment; and though the general feeling appeared to be one of pleasure, still, even the largest winners could not help expressing their pity for the downfall of Harry Broome. Harry arrived at home about seven, and was at once put to bed. He did not appear to suffer so much from bodily pain as from mental affliction. His defeat was as unexpected as it was easy, and, of course, convinced Broome that his day had gone by for figuring in the P.R. Tom Paddock proceeded in triumph to the house of his kind friend, Alec Keene, “Three Tuns,” Moor Street, Soho, where he was received with enthusiasm, and where he remained until far into the small hours, receiving the hearty congratulations of his backers and friends.
Remarks.—Our readers, doubtless, have, ere this, drawn their own conclusions as to the conduct and issue of this eventful battle, and it is at the risk of being thought tedious that we venture to offer our own comments thereupon. Harry Broome is no longer the man he was, and this remark applies not merely to his inability to train, but also to his falling off in that quickness and judgment for which heretofore he had distinguished himself. He admits that he cannot train, that he feels his own weakness, and that on Monday all his fighting qualities appeared to have left him directly he held up his hands. It certainly did seem extraordinary to see a well-known good general at the very outset rattle in and lead off at the body, throwing open his head to the attack of his adversary; and when it was seen afterwards that he could neither stop nor hit with anything like vigour, there was a general exclamation of astonishment. Some persons said he did not intend fighting; but any one with half an eye could see that this was not the case, and that all his mistakes were the result of physical incapability. Even his wrestling powers appeared to have left him; but then, it must be remembered that the way in which all his attempts for the fall were met by Paddock, viz., by fibbing at his nut until he loosed his hold, was well calculated to distract even a more powerful man. The only thing that reminded us of the Harry Broome of old appeared to be the gift of occasionally delivering a straight hit with his left; but even this power was taken from him by the accident to that hand early in the fight, which entirely deprived him of its use, as might be seen by his continually hitting open-handed. The want of vigour in his right hand was sufficiently obvious from the almost entire immunity from punishment of the winner. Harry still resorted occasionally to his old trick of turning round and running from his opponent—a plan of fighting which, in our opinion, is neither commendable as a method of escaping punishment, or judicious as a means of drawing an adversary off his guard. Of game and determination Harry displayed no lack, and it was not until perfectly exhausted and incapable of renewing hostilities that he consented to be taken away. Of Tom Paddock we do not feel that we are called upon to say much, but the little we do must be all in the highest terms. At first he was evidently cautious, and a little thrown off his guard by the extraordinary tactics of Broome, thinking, as he did, that the latter was merely “kidding him,” in order to induce him to throw away a chance. Tom however, was steady, and bided his time. He was now and then a little wild, and lost his precision; but this cannot be wondered at, seeing the pace at which they fought—not one round lasting above a minute. He took what little punishment he received, as he always does, without a murmur; and we must do him the justice to say, that he fought throughout with great good temper. In point of science and coolness, we consider that he has improved every time we have seen him enter the P.R., and on this, his last appearance, his advance in the noble art was more than ever perceptible. He hit straight and heavily with each hand. When at close quarters, he fought as one possessing a clear head, and a just appreciation of what was best to be done, and occasionally displayed a presence of mind which was most astonishing, being quite unexpected from his reputed “hasty” character. The performance of changing Broome over from one hand to the other, and giving him a dose from each pepper-box, described above, was one of the best instances of this presence of mind. Tom is now within one of the goal of his wishes, and we doubt not will find plenty of friends to back him against the veteran Tipton Slasher, who, although he vanquished our hero five or six years ago, will, in the event of their again meeting, find that he has cut out for himself a task the satisfactory completion of which will be easier imagined than completed. Tom has now the ball at his foot; every one wishes him well, and by steadiness and good conduct he has every chance of obtaining a position which will render him comfortable for the remainder of his days. We cannot conclude these remarks without paying a compliment to the seconds for the careful manner in which they nursed their men. Alec Keene’s excellent judgment no doubt proved of considerable utility to Tom Paddock, and the herculean strength of the “stunted Lifeguardsman,” as he bore his charge in his single arms to his corner, elicited the applause, and, we may say, the astonishment, of the surrounding throng. Tom Sayers and Tass Parker did their duty most ably by Harry Broome, and by their careful nursing enabled him to prolong the encounter quite as long as was consistent with humanity or prudence.
The battle money, £400, was paid over to Paddock, at Alec Keene’s, on the Friday of the following week. After some deserved complimentary remarks on the conduct of the winner, the Stakeholder expressed his condolence with the defeated man, to which Paddock immediately responded, amidst some applause, by placing a £10 note in our hands towards the collection already made for the losing man; to this two gentlemen present added the like amount, and the collection for the losing man was announced to be £62 14s., a sum subsequently increased. Broome, in a neat speech, expressed his grateful sense of the support he had met with from friends, and the kindness of those who had opposed him. He further declared his intention to “stick to business,” and never again tempt fortune in the Prize Ring, for which he felt his day was past. The evening thereafter passed in harmony and good fellowship.
The Tipton Slasher, whose match with Aaron Jones had gone off in the interval preceding the event just narrated, now came again to the front, and, Harry Broome having retired from the “the tented field,” made proposals to Paddock. Tom was now certainly another man from the time when he was knocking about two or three years previously. Meeting on Worcester Race-course, at the July races, Paddock being now in a sort of partnership with his late opponent, Harry Broome, as booth-keepers and purveyors, the “Old Tipton” being also in the same line, the “two-of-a-trade” proverb was verified, and a couple of “fivers” were popped down for the old opponents to face each other for £200 a side, and meet at Alec Keene’s in the next week, and settle particulars. Great was the muster on Tuesday, July 15th, at the “Three Tuns,” when the articles were drawn, and another £20, in addition to the first £10, provisionally placed in the hands of Alec, and the remainder of the deposits dated and settled. Not a little surprise, however, was occasioned by the fact that Harry Broome appeared as the backer, friend, and adviser of the Slasher, and declared himself responsible for his training expenses, colours, &c.; the date fixed being November 15th. At the second deposit, however, which was appointed for the succeeding Tuesday, at the Slasher’s own house, “The Champion” Inn, Spon Lane, Tipton, “a scare” was occasioned; neither Paddock nor any representative was present, and the Tipton claimed forfeit. Inquiry proved that the seldom-failing post office was the innocent cause of the non-delivery; Paddock’s £10 having been duly forwarded from Brighton two days before, but returned to the post office, marked “Address not known;” “Spon Lane,” being written thereon, but the important word “Tipton” accidentally omitted. All which was explained, and the envelope produced, at the next deposit, at Jem Burn’s, “Rising Sun,” in Air Street. From this time things went on regularly until £80 were down, when, to the general disappointment of all parties, Tom presented himself at the appointed place—Jem Ward’s “Champion Stores,” Oxford Street—and quietly stated that, owing to “want of friends,” and his own losses “at racing,” he “must submit to a forfeit.” Hereupon Broome declared that Slasher should fight for £50, rather than there should be “no fight;” to which there was no response, and the whole of the money was handed over in due time to the lucky Tipton Slasher, at a “Champion’s” dinner, at “The Coal-hole,” presided over by the facetious Chief Baron Nicholson. How this short-lived Championship was “done for,” in 10 rounds, by little Tom Sayers, on the 16th of June, 1857, at the Isle of Grain, must be read in the Life of Tom Sayers, hereafter.
In the month of February in the following year, after Sayers’ second defeat of the unlucky Aaron Jones, we could not help remarking that the little Champion had mentioned to us privately, though certainly not under the seal of secrecy, that he thought his next venture would be either Tom Paddock or the Tipton. It proved to be the latter. Tom, chafing at the delay, called on the Editor of Bell’s Life, on the 17th of June, the day after the battle between Sayers and “The Tipton,” and on the 21st we read:—
“Tom Paddock again in the Field.—Paddock is by no means satisfied that Tom Sayers should wear the Champion’s belt undisputed. He has, therefore, called upon us to state that he can be backed against Sayers for any sum from £100 up to £500. To fight within five or six months at Sayers’ option. He will be at Alec Keene’s, Moor Street, Soho, on Wednesday next.”
A comical episode intervened. “Big Ben” actually left £10 with “the Editor” to make a match with Sayers, who, thereupon, promptly covered it, informing Paddock that if his “engagement” with Ben went off he should have the preference. The “little game” of the Big One was next week displayed most transparently. Caunt declared it “to be understood that the articles were to be drawn up, and further deposits made, at his house;” and “he should expect Sayers to attend there,” &c., &c.; adding, that “of course the date must be beyond my affair with Langham,” (nearly two months later!) Tom was not “drawn” by or to the “Coach and Horses,” and the negotiations were suspended. In the same paper we find the subjoined letter from Alec Keene, relating to Sayers’ reply to Paddock:—
“Three Tuns, Moor Street, Soho, July 9, 1857.
“Mr. Editor,—I have very strictly observed the results of Tom Sayers’ recent career, and certainly did expect (taking into consideration the many warm interviews between Sayers and Paddock on former occasions), that the first-named gentleman would have been only too glad to accommodate Paddock with a ‘merry meeting.’ I cannot understand why Sayers does not accept Paddock’s offer, for should Sayers be permitted, there is just a possibility of abortive matches being continually made, forfeits taken, ultimately the prescribed time for legitimate possession or the belt elapse, and then Sayers becomes its lawful possessor. Let it be distinctly understood, sir, that I do not say such will be the case; but matches like Caunt’s (that personage being preoccupied with Langham) must necessarily occupy needless time; and gentlemen connected with the P.R. have lately become so learned that it behoves me (as Paddock’s deputy) to regard every move in the camp of the enemy with jealous watchfulness. I see no other person really capable to fight Paddock, therefore it will be useless for the opposite party to dissemble; we must meet, and I hope Sayers will think with me, that the sooner we conclude terms the more satisfactory to the public, as it is but just that Tom should be accepted after being so long ‘an expectant.’ I nearly omitted to mention that Sayers never meets Paddock without distributing a quantity of that chaff for which he is famous. We do not want this, we wish business; and I conclude by earnestly hoping your kind insertion of this will assist us.
“Yours, &c., “ALEC KEENE.”