2.—Tom grinned, dodged his man, and, on the latter wildly sending out his left, countered him on the nozzle heavily. Sims immediately closed, and Tom, seizing him round the neck, pegged away with his right at the ribs and left eye until both fell.
3.—Sims led off, evidently without any settled plan; he caught Tom slightly on the mouth, and the latter again countered him heavily on the nose, deciding the first event in his favour by producing an excellent supply of the best crimson dye. Sims did not like this, and again closed, when Tom fibbed him heavily on the proboscis, drawing more of the ruby, and then on the left eye, and both again fell.
4th and last.—Sims on coming up looked much flushed; his left ogle winked again as if it saw so many bright stars as to be perfectly dazzled. He attempted to lead off, but was countered with the greatest ease by Tom on the left eye and mouth. He retreated as if bothered, and then went in again, when Tom let go both hands, the left on the smeller, and the right with terrific effect over the left brow, inflicting a deep cut, and drawing a copious supply of the best double-distilled. Sims was evidently stunned by the hit; for, as Sayers caught hold of him, he fell back and rolled over him. It was at once perceptible that it was all over; poor Sims lay perfectly insensible and motionless. His seconds did their best to stop the leak in his os frontis, but for some time without effect; and, as for rendering him capable of hearing the call of “Time,” that was quite out of the question, and Tom Sayers, to his own astonishment and the disappointment of those who had expected a rattling mill, was declared the conqueror, after a skirmish of exactly five minutes. Sayers was so bewildered that he could not make it out; he evidently did not know he had made so decided a hit, and displayed considerable anxiety to ascertain the fate of his less fortunate opponent. A medical gentleman was present, who soon did the needful for the poor fellow, and in about five minutes more he was himself again, and was able to walk about. He was quite dumbfounded as to the result, and expressed a strong wish to be thrown into the river; but, after some persuasion from his friends, became more calm, and thought it better “to live to fight another day.”
Remarks.—A few words are all that are called for in the shape of remarks on this mill. Sims was from the first overmatched. He is a civil, well-behaved, courageous fellow, ridiculously over estimated by his friends. Tom Sayers and his tactics are too well known to require comment. He did all that was required of him, and left the ring without a scratch. We never saw him in better fettle; and if he ever had a day on which he was better than he ever had been before, that day was Tuesday. An easier job never fell to man’s lot; and the best wish that his friends can express is, that he may never have a worse.
This brief episode left Sayers literally without a chance of continuing the main story of his battles, of which this could be hardly reckoned more than “un affaire,” as French militaires would call it. Tom looked round and round, he sparred, and challenged, and travelled, but he was not fancied as a customer by either Londoners or provincials. He was too good a horse, and handicapping him was not so easy. There was much “talkee, talkee” about a match between himself and Tom Paddock, then claiming the Championship, and a proposal for Paddock to stake £200 to Tom Sayers’s £100, Paddock weighing 12st. 8lbs. to Tom’s 10st. 1lbs., or thereabouts. It came to nothing, however; and Tom, in despair, announced his intention of going to Australia.
Harry Poulson, of Nottingham, whose three tremendous battles with Paddock, in the first of which he was victorious, though defeated in the second and third encounters, had raised his fame deservedly, was now talked of, and Tom was induced to match himself against him. Here, again, Sayers was giving away “lumps of weight;” for Poulson, though an inch shorter than Sayers (namely, 5ft 7½in.) was a perfect Hercules in the torso, weighing 12st. 7lbs. in hard condition. He had thrashed, in provincial battles, all comers, and was known as one of the coolest, most determined, and game fellows that ever pulled off a shirt. True, he had come into the London Ring rather late in life, having been born in 1817, but his endurance and strength were considered an overmatch for Sayers. So, too, thought Jem Burn, a staunch friend of Poulson, and he proposed to stake £50 on his behalf. Sayers accepted it, and Bendigo, who was Poulson’s friend and adviser, snapped at what he declared to be “a gift” for his townsman Harry.
Many of Tom’s friends were displeased with the match, which they considered presumptuous on his part, and declared that he was completely overmatched, as it was known Poulson could not fight under 12st., and Sayers to be well ought to be more than a stone under that amount. At first he had some difficulty in finding supporters, but that was happily got over by the influence of one of the staunchest Corinthian fanciers of modern times. After he was matched, Sayers remained longer in town than was prudent, and, as a natural consequence, was too much hurried in his preparations. He was not quite a month at country quarters, and on arriving in London looked fleshy, and had evidently done insufficient work. Had he been about five pounds lighter he would have been all the better. He was, nevertheless, extremely sanguine of success, and assured his backers that he would fully justify the confidence they had placed in him. We saw Tom at Nat Langham’s, the “Cambrian,” on the Monday evening. He was surrounded by an extensive circle of the upper-crust supporters of the P.R. His weight was about 10st. 12lbs. or 13lbs.
Poulson, after his last defeat by Paddock, had remained at Nottingham, where he followed his laborious occupation as a navvy until informed of the proposed match, in which, as already stated, he was taken in hand by Jem Burn. That facetious worthy, determined that no pains should be spared, summoned Bendigo to his assistance, and under the able tutelage of that eccentric but painstaking ex-champion did Harry get himself into very first-rate trim. Every muscle in his powerful frame was beautifully developed, and there did not seem to be an ounce of superfluous meat in any place. As the men were not tied to weight, no scaling took place at the last moment on which dependence could be placed. He was certainly not less than 12st., and might have been a pound or so more. His height 5ft. 7½in., and in figure and general appearance, although shorter and thicker set, marvellously like “the renowned” Bendigo. On the Monday before the battle Poulson took up his quarters under the hospitable roof of “My Nevvy,” at the “Rising Sun,” where he was greeted by an admiring circle, including many patricians. He retired to his “flea pasture” at an early hour; but the eccentric Bendy kept the company at the “Rising Sun” in a perpetual grin until the approach of the small hours reminded him that he, too, had work to do early in the morning, upon which he retired to roost, as did the host himself, who, although suffering from gout, had made up his mind to be present. The betting, at both Jem’s and Nat’s, varied between 6 and 7 to 4 on Poulson—odds which the superior strength, weight, and condition of the countryman fully justified. The betting was tolerably brisk, but there were more layers of odds than takers.
By six o’clock in the morning all the Fancy were astir, and great was the difficulty in getting cabs. A hard frost had set in, and most of the vehicles were detained at home to get the horses “roughed.” Several, owing to this unforeseen occurrence, were unable to catch the train at eight o’clock; and, had it not been for the opportune arrival of the drag of an old friend, Sayers would, in all probability, have been left behind. As it was, he cut it so fine that he only arrived as the station-doors were closed. The journey down was performed by eleven o’clock, and within half an hour the ring was ready at Appledore. The men lost no time in entering its precincts, Poulson attended by Bob Fuller and Bendigo, and Sayers receiving the friendly assistance of Nat Langham and Jemmy Massey. Umpires and a referee were soon appointed, and at six minutes to twelve the men toed the scratch. The betting now was tolerably brisk at 7 to 4 on Poulson—odds which, at one period of the fight, advanced to 3 to 1, which was laid by Tom Paddock, whose confidence in his old opponent’s tried game and resolution tempted him to overstep the bounds of prudence in his investments.
THE FIGHT.