10 and last.—​The Slasher crawled very slowly to the scratch, and attempted to lead off. It was, however, only an attempt. Tom easily avoided it, and planted a tremendous hit on the mark, stopping the return with ease. He stopped two more attempts, and then as the Slasher lunged out a third time he caught him with the left on the damaged cheek and the right on the mouth, cutting his upper lip very severely, and the Slasher fell, Tom on him. The Slasher was carried to his corner, and, with some difficulty, was got round in time to go to the scratch for another round. His dial, however, was dreadfully punished, and his lip was so much cut that he presented a piteous appearance. It was evident that he had not the slightest chance; he was as weak as a kitten, and entirely at the mercy of his adversary, who was perfectly scatheless and apparently as active as when he began, and Owen Swift, the Slasher’s principal backer, seeing the state of things, stepped into the ring, and with praiseworthy humanity declared that he should fight no more. Perry was very unwilling to give up without one more shy, but Owen was imperative. He insisted upon the men shaking hands, and the sponge was thrown up, Tom Sayers being proclaimed the winner, and Champion of England, amid the cheers of his partisans, at the expiration of one hour and forty-two minutes.

No time was now lost in getting on board the vessels, the majority of the spectators making for the larger vessel, for which they had no tickets, and taking advantage of the absence of the authorities on shore to scramble on board before demands could be made upon them to show their credentials. The charterers of the “Widgeon” (the companion or rather opposition), did not display much consideration for their patrons, as they steamed off almost immediately on the conclusion of the mill, leaving the majority of their customers to their fate.

It was fortunate for Sayers that he finished his task at the time he did, for scarcely had the men left the ring when the same body of peelers who had before interfered arrived upon the ground, just in time to be too late to put their kind intentions into effect. It was only the difficulty in getting a boat that prevented their arrival at an earlier hour.

As soon as all were on board the regular boat a consultation was held as to the course that ought to be pursued, and the general opinion having been taken, it was resolved to make for Strood, instead of giving the navigators another turn round the Nore, and by eight o’clock a landing was effected at that town, and nearly all were enabled to reach town by eleven o’clock in the evening. On the voyage to Strood, Tom Sayers went round among the Corinthians and made a collection for his fallen but game opponent, which amounted to the sum of £22 5s.

Remarks.—​The account of this battle tells its own tale, and calls for scarcely any remarks. From first to last it was evident that the Tipton Slasher’s star had sunk, and that he was no longer “The Slasher.” He must have felt from the very first that, barring an accident, he had not the slightest chance. All his quickness and activity had left him, and we could not help thinking that his eyesight also must be failing, for times out of number did he lunge out and attempt to deliver upper-cuts when Tom Sayers was far beyond his reach, and these blows were of such tremendous force that they must have tended to take much of the steel out of him. It appeared to us that from the very beginning he adopted a wrong principle. For a heavy, lumbering man, like himself, to attempt to force the fighting, and pursue a lithe, active fellow such as Sayers, was perfectly ridiculous, as he evidently felt towards the conclusion of the battle; and we should imagine that he must many times since have regretted that he did not adhere to his original intention of awaiting the attack and depending upon his powers as a counter-hitter to bring him through. That he did his best to please his backers and to bring the fight off in his favour cannot for a moment be denied, and that he took his severe punishment without a murmur was self-evident. He always had the character of being a game man, and that character he carried with him into retirement. The Tipton said that early in the fight he injured his right hip in one of his sudden twists to catch his opponent, and this materially interfered with his powers. Tom Sayers fought strictly to orders throughout, and his coolness and judgment greatly enhanced his reputation among his friends. Some persons present commented upon his retreating tactics, and contended that this was not fair fighting, but as these remarks proceeded from the enemy’s camp they are worth but little. Of course it would have been infinitely more pleasing to them had Tom stood and slogged away against an adversary of so much heavier metal until he was disabled by a chance blow, but such a course would have been perfect madness on his part. How his jumping or running away could be called unfair, so long as he confined himself within the ring, we cannot conceive. The ring is always constructed of a certain size for the express purpose of restraining the combatants within certain bounds, and within those bounds a man has a perfect right to retreat and jump about as long as he likes, so that he does not decline to face his opponent; and that Tom Sayers for one moment declined to continue the battle cannot by any one be maintained. How far his jumping about and exertions upon his legs were advisable for his own sake is another question, and we are inclined to think that he might have kept out of harm’s way with far less exertion, and reserved much of his strength against any unlooked-for contingency, had he restrained his peristaltic energies within more reasonable bounds. If the Slasher had been younger and more active, it is not improbable that the gallant Tom would have found out to his cost, as the battle progressed, the benefit of such a mode of fighting. As it turned out, however, no harm was done, and as he achieved such an easy victory, none of his friends can for one moment complain. That his retreating arose from any want of confidence is a proposition not to be entertained for a moment. Never in his brilliant career has he shown the semblance of the white feather, and we feel assured that the only causes to which his method of fighting the Slasher can be set down are caution, a desire to please his friends, and an extraordinary exuberance of animal spirits. The ring throughout the fight was well kept, and, beyond the few vicissitudes connected with the voyage to the scene of action, we heard of nothing calculated to mar the pleasures of the day.

Tom’s defeat of the ponderous Tipton was not, however, to leave him in undisputed possession of the belt. Tom Paddock considered himself capable of taking the shine out of such a little one, and challenged Sayers accordingly; but ere a match could be arranged, the Redditch man was suddenly seized with a rheumatic fever, which completely floored him, and from which it was feared he would not recover. There was now apparently every chance that Sayers would walk over the course, but this did not suit Harry Broome, who, although unable to cope with Tom himself, “thought he knowed a cove wot could,” and made a match for an “Unknown,” to fight Tom for £200 a side on the 5th of January, 1858. The speculations as to who this unknown could be were extraordinary—​he was the bold Bendy, he was Ben Caunt, he was Ould Nat, he was Harry Orme—​in fact, he was everybody but himself; and great indeed was the public astonishment when it became known that he was not only actually an “Unknown,” but also a perfect novice, being, in fact, Bill Bainge, or Benjamin, a native of Northleach, 5ft. 10¾in. in height, weighing 12st., of whose prowess rumour had propagated extravagant accounts, while others maintained that as the Broomes were behind Benjamin, it was a “got-up” robbery, and that Sayers would “chuck it.” Poor Tom was sadly mortified at these insinuations, and indignantly assured the writer that if he should be beaten it should only be by a better man.

A steamboat conveyed the men and their backers down the river to the Isle of Grain, where, at about half-past twelve o’clock, the Champion made his appearance at the ring-side, and modestly dropped his castor within the ropes, following it at once himself, attended by Bill Hayes and Harry Brunton. He was hailed with loud cheers from all sides. Bill Benjamin was close upon his heels, and stepped into the ropes under the care of Harry Broome and Jemmy Massey. There was a smile upon the face of each man; but we fancied that of Sayers was the genuine smile of confidence, while that of his opponent had somewhat of a nervous twist about it. They shook hands good humouredly, tossed for corners, Sayers proving the winner, and then at once commenced peeling to the bitter frost and south-easterly breeze. The colours, a neat French grey for Sayers, and blue and white spots for Benjamin, were now tied to the stakes, the usual preliminaries were quickly settled, and at fourteen minutes to twelve “time” was called. The betting round the ring was very slight, 2 to 1 being freely offered, but takers were scarce at anything under 5 to 2.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—​When the men appeared at the scratch, which they did in the midst of perfect silence, there was a visible contrast in their physical powers. The Novice stood well over Sayers, his muscles were larger and better developed, and altogether he looked, as he undoubtedly was, the heavier and more powerful man. His attitude at first was good, and led one to suppose he had studied under a good master. His condition was perfect, there not being a superfluous ounce about him. Tom looked rather fleshy about the chest and shoulders, but in such weather it was perhaps a fault on the right side. His attitude was the same as ever—​cool, calm, and collected. He eyed his adversary with steadiness, and there was the same unmistakable glance of confidence always to be seen on his mug. He had clearly made up his mind to let the Novice make the first move, and tried several dodges to draw him out. The Novice, although evidently nervous, sparred and feinted like an accomplished boxer for a brief period, and at length tried his left, but Tom stopped him with nonchalance, and returned quickly with the left on the nozzle, and then on the mark a sharp crack. The Novice stood his ground, and now succeeded in stopping Tom twice, and returning, but very slightly, on the cheek. Tom next delivered his left and right at close quarters, on the cheek and jaw, and the Novice dropped. He was conveyed to his corner, and the look of dismay upon his countenance as he glanced around was perfectly ludicrous. It was at once patent to all that he knew nothing of the business he had undertaken, and that the contest was virtually over, for directly his guard was broken through he appeared to have no resources. He could not use his legs, and his arms flew about like the sails of a windmill, so that Tom was able to put in both hands perfectly at his ease. The celerity with which he brought his right into play thus early in the fight was remarkable.

2.—​The Novice did not “smile as he was wont to smile,” but seemed to be on the look-out for a place of secure retreat. Tom walked quietly up, led off with his left and was stopped, but the Novice missed his return. Tom then popped his left very heavily on the mouth, knocking his opponent clean off his pins, and filling his potato trap with ruby. The Novice lay as if undecided for a second, and then, turning over, got gradually on his pins, and his seconds took him to his corner. He shook his head several times, and appeared extremely undesirous of encountering another of Tom’s heavy shots, but, on time being called, Harry y Broome pushed him forward, and he went reluctantly to the scratch, Massey, in disgust, having declined to have any more to do with him.