“Beneath the lowest deep a lower still.”
At the hour of four the train steamed out of the station, and it was currently stated that Wootton Bassett, in Wiltshire, about five miles below the great engine-works at Swindon, was our destination. On arriving at Didcot Junction it was perceived that the Oxfordshire constabulary were awake, like Johnny Cope, “Sae airly in the mornin’;” but their only exercise of their function on this occasion seemed to be to wave us a courteous farewell as we steamed off, with the addition of a few “’Varsity men” (in masquerade) who had become possessed of “the secret,” and joined our party. At Swindon we “watered” our iron horse, and about five miles farther the brakes were on, and all soon alighted. After some little refreshment of the inward man from the stores of a well-plenished hamper, the “meynie” getting what they could at a neighbouring public, we tramped a mile of a dirty lane, until it opened on a spot where the Commissary (Fred Oliver) and assistants had laid out an excellent ring. And now began the customary squabble between the “clever ones” on each side about the choice of a referee. The Editor of the chief sporting journal, for nearly forty years the consistent and able advocate and supporter of the Ring, had finally refused the now dangerous position, and had recently, in consequence of disorderly defiance of the representative of the paper, forbidden his reporter to officiate, unless in circumstances he might consider exceptional. Thus much valuable time was cut to waste. Finally, the reporter of a new sporting paper consented to act, was enthroned on the judge’s straw truss, and the men quickly made themselves ready. As they stood up Joe looked “as hard as nails,” while Mace’s elegant position, as he stood awaiting the anticipated onslaught of his opponent, was pronounced by more than one judge to be “beautiful.” To the surprise of all, however, after some not very graceful squaring of elbows and half-steps left and right, never venturing beyond the scratch, Joe retreated, and shaking his head with a grim smile invited his adversary to approach. Jem did not seem to perceive the advisability of this, so he smiled and nodded in return. Presently, after a shift or two right and left, Mace advanced, resolved to open the ball. Joe retreated, covering his points well, when from the outer ring rose a warning cry, and ere its cause could be asked, half a dozen “prime North Wiltshires”—not cheeses, but policemen—rolled into the ring. Mace darted under the ropes and skedaddled into a thicket, his retreat covered by his seconds, bearing his outward habiliments; while Joe had nearly rushed into the arms of one of the “rurals,” but luckily gave him the go-by, and “made tracks” in another direction. Meantime the “bobbies,” with the utmost good-humour, surveyed the flight, and, without interfering with the Commissary, left him to reload his light cart with the impedimenta of the ring, then, slowly following the discomfited company, saw them safely down the road on their return to the train, which soon returned at the appointed signal from a “siding” where it had been temporarily located. Once on board, though the day was yet young, the victims were politely informed that no more could be done that day, and that the “Company’s” obligation to the “train charterers” would be discharged by the delivery of the “excursionists” at their starting-point at Paddington. “But,” added the referee, in an immediate conference, “I shall order, as I am empowered by the Rules, the men to meet again this day, at Fenchurch Street Station, and go down to Purfleet. When there, we must be guided by circumstances; but we will have the fight off to-day if possible.” That this was “gall and wormwood” to sundry persons who looked to another “special” rather than a “result” might easily be seen. They did not, however, dare to do more than prophesy disaster and obstruction, and propose “a meeting at the stakeholder’s,” or anywhere else, to procure postponement, which was properly and peremptorily negatived.
Arrived at Paddington, the neighbouring cab-stands were quickly cleared of their yawning waiters, whose glee at this unexpected and profitable “call” was certainly heightened when they “twigged,” as one of the cabbies told us, that they were “a-helping some of the right sort out of a fix.” At Fenchurch Street conveyance to Purfleet was quickly arranged for, and at 3h. 30m. the men, materiel, and company were duly delivered at the riverside. Here it was resolved, and prudently, that a transit to Plumstead Marshes should be made, as suspicious movements of an “Essex calf” were observed. Long Reach cost many no less a sum than ten shillings for the ferry; but this did not stop those who could command the best and least crowded boats, and at five o’clock, in a well-formed and certainly select ring,
THE FIGHT
Began with Round 2; for we suppose we most pay the compliment to the four and a half minutes of “fiddling” at Wootton Bassett, as counting for Round 1. As before it was expected that the “terrific Joe” would force the fighting, and show that game and hard hitting must tell against mere skill, with a slight and apparently ineradicable suspicion among the provincials from the North Midlands that Mace had a “soft place” which Joe was the very man to find out. Nevertheless, the Londoners offered 6 and even 7 to 4 on Mace. Again Joe retreated, and as Jem followed got away again and again, though in anything but a graceful style. His intention to fight a crafty battle was apparent, and did not seem to please his country friends. At last the men came to a stand, Joe having his back to the ropes. Jem let go his left sharply, but was prettily parried. Mace drew back, when Joe, plunging at him, got home his left straight on the body, getting, as might be expected, a rattling smack on the mouth in return. Goss licked his lips, and dodged about; Mace got closer, and, swift as thought, planted a cutting left-hander on the left eyebrow. It was a caution, and the crimson instantly following, “first blood” was awarded to Mace. Joe in jumping away from Mace’s advance slipped and fell.
3.—Long and tedious sparring and manœuvring prefaced this round. Goss, to the dissatisfaction of many, being determined to avoid close quarters, and Mace equally resolved not to give a chance away at long shots. When they got closer, Mace sent in his left, and then his right slap in the middle of Joe’s head, when a couple of slashing counter-hits followed, Mace again delivering with precision on the head, and Goss on Mace’s forehead and chest. More sparring, Joe looking quite vicious, and twice missing his shifty adversary, until the latter accepted a rally, and some extraordinary counter-hitting took place to the advantage of Mace, he reaching Joe’s head, while the latter got home on the chest or shoulder. Joe was driven back, and as Mace pressed on to him slipped down.
4.—The men seemed warming to their work, and lost no time in the useless dodging which marked the previous rounds. Mace led off and jobbed his man severely through his guard, following his first smack with another, and then getting away. Goss, though quick in his returns, was hurried, and twice missed his right by Maces’s quickness in shifting. Mace worked round into the centre of the ring, when Joe bored in, in what his friends called his “own old style.” In the exchanges Joe dealt Mace a tremendous hit on the right eye, which instantly left its mark. Mace broke ground and retreated with his hands up in good form. (Vociferous shouting from the Gossites, “The Young’un wins! The Young’un wins!” and the excitement was immense at the Wolverhampton corner.) Mace steadied himself, and, after a short pause, Goss tried to get on to him again, when, after some two-handed fighting not remarkable for effectiveness, Mace caught his adversary such a well-distanced left-hander on the head that Joe went clean down against his will. (First knock-down for Mace, being the second event scored.)
5.—On appearing at the scratch the swollen state of Mace’s right eye told how heavily he had been hit in the preceding round. Goss, urged by his seconds, dashed in left and right, but was beautifully stopped. Joe tried to play round his man, but Mace stepped in, gave him a heavy hit in the mouth, then, after a few quick exchanges, closed and threw him.
6.—Both men were now much marked, showing how heavy the hitting had been. Goss moved all over the ring as before, leading off, but ineffectively, being either out of distance or easily stopped. Eventually they got close, and exchanged heavy left-handed hits. More chasséeing about the ring by Goss, till Jem got close, and brought on more counters, Jem planting swift and hard in the face with both hands. Goss returned left and right on the head, and went down on his knees at the ropes. Jem was about to deliver a stinger, but checked himself, laughed, and walked away.
7.—Goss led off, but out of distance, as was often the case when he attempted out-fighting. A long series of movements with no great merit in them followed, till Mace got in with his left, and then fine counter-hits came, Goss certainly hitting straighter than he had done in some preceding rallies. A little more manœuvring, and then Joe went at his man, and brought on some stunning exchanges—very heavy left-handed counters, Mace on the right cheek, Goss on the forehead. Goss, in getting away, fell.