3.—​Sayers, evidently bent on making short work of it, quickly went to work left and right. Benjamin tried to rally with him, but beyond an accidental touch on the lip, did not reach him. Tom planted heavily on the mouth and jaw, drawing more ruby, and down went the Novice all abroad. He lay in the middle of the ring, and nothing could persuade him to come to “time.” Broome then threw up the sponge, and Tom Sayers was once again proclaimed the conqueror, and still champion, in six minutes and a half, the battle—​if battle it could be called where it was all one way—​being the most bloodless we ever witnessed. The Novice, on being asked to account for his cutting up so badly, said he was hit very hard in the mark in the first round, and not expecting to be hit there, it had made him very sick and incapable of exerting himself. Further than that he knew not. His easy defeat struck dismay into all his friends, and the look of surprise and contempt cast upon him by Jemmy Massey was a study for an artist. Both men at once left the field of action, and repaired on board the boat, where they lost no time in resuming their warm wraps, and taking other means to infuse a little of that caloric into their systems which had been subtracted therefrom during their brief exposure to the outward air.

Remarks.—​We question whether it is not an insult to the understanding of the reader to offer any remarks upon this singular exhibition of incapacity upon the part of the would-be champion. Of Tom Sayers we have nothing more to say than he did what he was called upon to do with the utmost nonchalance, and that he performed his task even easier than he had all along anticipated. The Novice did not exhibit a single point which would entitle him to be called even an “outsider.” From the time that he was foiled in his very first move he cannot be said to have even “tried.” All his senses seemed to have left him, and, as far as we were able to judge, the only predominant thought in his mind was how to escape from the dilemma in which he had been placed, with the least damage to himself. Doubtless he was hit very heavily, but still he had not received even half enough to justify him in crying “a go,” had he meant winning at all hazards. That he must eventually have been beaten by such a man as Sayers, barring an accident, is a positive certainty, and that he exercised a sound discretion in not submitting to further punishment is equally true; but that he has done more than heap ridicule upon himself and those who brought him out, by his miserable performance, is a proposition not to be disputed for a moment. How such a judge of fighting as Harry Broome could have made the mistake he did we cannot understand, but the task of bringing out a candidate for the Championship once undertaken by a man of his known “talent,” it is easy to understand how the public were induced to come forward and take the long odds offered on Sayers. Among the deceived was the renowned Jemmy Massey, who, liking the appearance of the man, and being led on by the reports of Harry Broome as to his man’s cleverness and gluttonous qualities, took the odds of 2 to 1 to a considerable amount. The whole affair was carried out from first to last in a quiet and orderly way, and there was no fault to find with the partisans of either man for either unseemly language or noisy demonstrations. All that was required to render it a model fight was a little more devil and resolution on the part of the loser. The battle money was handed to Tom Sayers at Owen Swift’s, “Horse Shoe” Tavern, Tichborne Street, on Wednesday evening, January 13th, when he was again adorned with the Champion’s belt, which, according to rule, was deposited with the stakeholder to abide the event of his next battle for the permanent possession of the trophy.

After this victory Tom appeared in a fair way to rest upon his laurels, but soon, to his astonishment, as well as every one else’s, it was announced that Tom Paddock had recovered, and did not intend to let the belt pass without a struggle. He issued a challenge to Sayers, in which he intimated that, it being dead low water in his exchequer, he was as poor as a church mouse, and that unless Tom would extend him the hand of charity, and meet him for £150 a side, instead of the stipulated £200, the darling wish of his heart could not be gratified. He thought he could win the belt, and hoped Tom would not let a paltry £50 stand between them and prevent a friendly mill. Sayers, like a “brick” of his own laying, promptly responded to the call, and intimated that the meeting would afford him the highest gratification. With such an old pal he could not allow the paltry “rag” to stand in the way. The match was at once made, and came off on the anniversary of Tom’s fight with the Slasher—​viz., on the 16th of June, 1858. After some narrow escapes from police pursuit and persecution, the two Toms met on a place selected as “maiden ground,” at Canvey Island.

And here the phrase, “the two Toms,” tempts us to a brief digression. The baptismal name of “Tom” has, indeed, furnished more than its calculable proportion of Champions of the fistic Ring; and hence we have pictured on a previous page the “three Toms” whose deeds made their names, in the first three-quarters of the present century, among admirers of pugilistic prowess, “familiar in men’s mouths as household words.” This curious pre-eminence of name may be further extended; for though the Christian name of John, the familiar Jack, and the royal one of George (during the reign of “the four Georges”) twice outnumbered the Toms, yet Tom Johnson, Tom Paddock, Tom Sayers, and Tom King—​the ultimus Romanorum—​make up the mystic number of Seven Champions bearing that designation, while Jack Broughton, John Jackson, and John Gully are the only three to be credited to the far more numerous family of “Johns.”

The first to shy his wide-awake into the ring was Tom Paddock, who was loudly cheered. He was attended by Jemmy Massey and that accomplished master of the art Jack Macdonald, and looked as red as beet-root, and as strong and healthy as though he had never in the course of his life assisted at the ceremony of turning off the gas. His demeanour was the same as ever, that of extreme confidence, and the smile on his mug was more that of one who had merely come out to enjoy a little gentle exercise than of a candidate for honours preparing to meet the Admirable Crichton of the P.R. There was, however, nothing of bravado about him; he merely took the affair as a matter of course, which would soon be over. He was not kept many minutes before he was joined by his opponent, who, attended by Bill Hayes and Harry Brunton, was also received with a complete ovation of applause. Tom, like his brother Tom, also looked in rude health, but his good-tempered mug struck us as if anything too fleshy, and in this we were confirmed when he stripped, for it was then apparent that he was some three or four pounds heavier than he should have been under such a tropical sun. The lads shook hands good-humouredly, and while they were completing their half-finished adornments, the betting round the ring was of the liveliest and heaviest description: £25 to £20, £50 to £40, and similar odds to smaller sums upon Sayers were offered and eagerly accepted in all quarters, and it was as much as the stakeholder could accomplish for some time to collect and enter the names and amounts of perhaps some of the heaviest investments for many years.

We feel it incumbent upon us here to perform an act of justice to Alec Keene, which speaks volumes for his kindness of heart, and without which our account would be incomplete. After the men had been fighting about twenty minutes, Alec, who had followed the belligerents in a tug from Gravesend, made his appearance on the ground, and, finding that things were not going altogether smoothly with Tom Paddock, at once betook himself to his corner, offered him the hand of fellowship, and throughout the remainder of the fight stood by him, to afford him the benefit of that experience and advice which he is so capable of imparting.

THE FIGHT

Round 1.—​Both came grinning to the scratch, and manœuvred for a brief space for an opening. Paddock looked, as usual, big and burly, but it was evident he was no longer the active, fresh man we had before seen. His mug was more marked with age, and there was a dulness about his eye we never remember in former days. His condition was good and he was in good health, but still he looked only Tom Paddock in name. Sayers was more fleshy than he should have been, but this was the only fault to be found with him. His eye was as bright and clear as a hawk’s, and the ease of his movements was a picture to behold. His attitude was, as usual, all readiness for a shoot or a jump. Paddock, instead of rushing, as had been expected, steadied himself, and felt with his left for an opening. It was not long before he attempted it, but Sayers stopped him easily. He made a second attempt, and Sayers stepped back, shaking his noddle and laughing. After a little sparring, Paddock tried again, and got on Tom’s brow, but not heavily. Again they dodged, and at length two counter-hits were exchanged, each getting on to the proboscis. After this Paddock again reached Tom’s nozzle rather sharply, but was stopped in another attempt. Another bit of cautious sparring eventually led to very heavy exchanges, in which Sayers left a mark on Paddock’s left cheek, and napped a warm one over the right peeper, slightly removing the bark, and giving Paddock the first event. Several rapid passes were now made on both sides, but they were evidently mere trials to find out what each intended. After a pause Sayers tried his favourite double, which he succeeded in landing on Paddock’s cheek, but not very heavily. More sharp exchanges followed, the advantage being with Sayers, until they both retreated and stood to cool themselves, the heat being intense. After a few seconds thus employed, they again approached one another smiling, and after a dodge or two they exchanged slight reminders on the side of the nut, broke away, and then got at it again, when heavy counter-hits were exchanged, but Sayers was first, and inflicted a cut on Paddock’s left brow, calling forth the juice in abundance. Paddock landed on the cheek, but not heavily. After this slight exchanges with the left took place, and they again stood, Sayers awaiting the onslaught, and Paddock puzzled. At last the latter dashed in, and was easily stopped twice in succession. He rushed after Sayers, who ducked under his arm, and, as Paddock turned round again, nailed him very heavily over the left peeper, renewed the supply of carmine, and then got out of harm’s way. Paddock, nothing daunted, dashed in, but Sayers stopped him most beautifully, and then, putting in his double, got well on the old spot. Paddock once more bored in, and was neatly stopped, but, persevering with his usual gameness, heavy exchanges ensued, all in favour of Sayers, who was as straight as a die, and got heavily on the left cheek and brow. Paddock, wild, rushed after him; Sayers ducked, and then planted his left on the left cheek, another hot one, and then on the snout, renewing the ruby. As Paddock bored in, he made a cannon off the cushion by putting his double heavily on the mark and nose without a return, and Paddock then rushing after him, bored him down. This round lasted fifteen minutes, and at its conclusion the backers of Sayers offered 2 to 1—​an offer not accepted by the Paddock party, who looked indigo. It was patent to all good judges even thus early that Paddock was only Paddock in name, and that all the steel was out of him; and he has since informed us that he felt tired and worn out, and that he had no chance from this time. His gameness, therefore, in persevering so long and so manfully against his own conviction is the more commendable.

2.—​Both came up grinning, but while Sayers was almost scatheless, Paddock’s mug showed that Sayers had been there. Paddock, nothing daunted, rattled in, and got on to the top of Tom’s nob. Sayers returned, but not heavily and sharp counter-hits followed, Sayers on the damaged ogle, and Paddock on the left cheek. After this, Sayers got home his dangerous right on the side of Paddock’s nob, and the latter fell.

3.—​Paddock seemed slow, while Sayers was as fresh as a daisy; Paddock attempted to lead, but was very short. He, however, stopped Tom’s return. Heavy exchanges followed, Sayers receiving on the left cheek, and getting heavily on Paddock’s damaged squinter. Paddock, nothing daunted, made several desperate efforts, but Sayers got away with the greatest ease, and at length, as Paddock persevered, he once more countered him on the old spot, drawing more of the red port, and stopped Paddock’s return. Twice again did Sayers repeat this visitation, and get away from Paddock’s kindly intentions. Sayers then tried to lead off, but was well stopped. He made another attempt, and lodged his favourite double on the mark and nose, and then stopped Paddock’s return. Paddock now endeavoured to force the fighting, but Sayers danced away under his arm, came again, and, as Paddock rushed in, delivered a tremendous left-hander on the cheek, by the side of the smeller, drawing more home-brewed from the fresh cut. Paddock, angry, made several desperate efforts, but was well-stopped. At length they got close, and in the heavy exchanges, Sayers got his right heavily on the side of the nut, and received on the mouth. Paddock now dashed in, and although Sayers pinked him on the nose and eye, he persevered until he forced Sayers down.