As the time of battle drew near the difficulties of a mode of transit to the ground increased. One after another refusals of accommodation were returned, the powers and authorities having experienced the disorders which seemed inseparable from the gathering of such a crowd as had now made it a custom to gather on such an occasion. During Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday, the offices of the sporting newspapers, to say nothing of the “houses of call” for sporting men, were besieged by questioners; but beyond the fact that tickets at three sovereigns a head were procurable, no definite tip was to be had.
Tuesday evening was a night of festivity at all sporting pubs. The public fully believing that on the following morning the mill would come off, and all being agog to get the necessary tip. It was not until well into the small hours that many would believe that Wednesday was not the day. The same scene was repeated on Wednesday, with the exception that delay had doubled the excitement, and the houses, which on Tuesday were crammed, were on the following night well nigh overwhelmed, and the ordinary business could scarcely be transacted. At Owen Swift’s much anxiety was expressed as to whether a bet of £600 to £400 appointed to be put down the night before the fight would really be forthcoming, certain half-sceptics pinning their faith on this ceremony as calculated to prove the genuine nature of the match. It was also expected it would materially affect the betting, many considering that the staking would show such confidence on the part of King’s backers as would justify his being backed for money.
On our arrival at London Bridge Station a few minutes before five in the morning, we found that the “rasping” division had dwindled away to an insignificant few. The fact is, the busy tongue of rumour had sent them so often to the various stations on a Will o’ the Wisp errand, that the detrimentals were completely tired out, and, after the lesson of Tuesday and Wednesday nights, without anything turning up, they denounced the whole affair as “a sell,” and stayed at home. Never was a secret of such a kind better kept, and the wide-awakes who “knew the exact spot to a yard,” found themselves neck deep in the mire, after a fashion they little calculated on; the cut-purse family wiping the frosty icicles from their noses in the west, when they should have been looking out for squalls in the South Eastern horizon. The delightful result was that the congregation of the fistic art passed through the thin dark line of worn and weary snapper-badgers. The arrangements of the legitimate “conveyancers” were most excellent; everybody was comfortably “taken in and done for,” whilst the presence of the ring-constable volunteers set the foot of authority down with a crash upon all attemps at “rigging the market.” In fact, one might have thought that he was going to see an early ploughing match, whilst the “Yahoo” business didn’t rise as high as the song of an old tea-kettle. Indeed, that ugly element was wise in the course it was constrained to adopt; had it done otherwise there was force enough present to have brought every atom of it to grief. Both the men reached the ground in good time, and both had their fair quantity of supporters, who would persist in blocking up each carriage door, so that the entrance of a breath of air was almost next to an impossibility.
The train consisted of thirty carriages, in each of which, to use a theatrical phrase, there was not standing room. We were “horsed” by two powerful engines, and, at about a quarter past six glided out of the station without the least confusion, and with the greatest regularity. The morning stars were just beginning to show signs of that glimmering faintness which indicates the approach of daybreak. Once the train got in motion, not a sound was to be heard save the outburst of some occasional hearty laugh at the jocularity going on inside. But even this was of the mildest possible character, and there was an entire absence of that reprehensible boisterous outpouring which has too often awoke the slumbering people along the route, filling their half-dreamy imaginations with the horror that the Philistines were upon them. We were more than half afraid that the new plan of paying at the doors would have been productive of the direst confusion, but our apprehensions were agreeably dispelled.
On casting a quiet running glance through the interior of each carriage, before we started, we found the genuine patrons of our national manly “trial by battle” in very strong force indeed. We heard one and all join in a universal chorus of satisfaction at the way in which we had been “got off.” On and on we rolled through the fair county of Kent, and as the grey dawn of morning rose eastward on our track the mild fresh breeze played upon our half-sleepy faces, waking us up to a sense of life and activity that was as agreeable as it was invigorating. The morning was beautiful and mild, and away now to our left the bright blue-tinged light of early day could be seen breaking gently and softly, widening and lengthening as it imperceptibly spread over the landscape in a manner that would have excited the admiration of a Gainsborough or a Creswick. Still on and onward we go through deep cuttings and over high embankment; anon the iron horses slacken their speed, and the next instant the reverberating sounds of our whirling wheels tell us that we are passing through the bowels of mother earth. On emerging from the tunnel into open country our ears were saluted with voices that unmistakably marked the owners as denizens of the aristocratic regions west of Regent Street. Speculation made itself heard, and 6 and 7 to 4 on the Benicia Boy seemed to be the chorus of the song. Just as we could distinguish houses and buildings sufficiently, the train glided noiselessly into Reigate Junction, where we were “regaled” by the sight of a strong covey of early “blue birds” belonging to the Surrey County Constabulary. It is needless to say that they were not there on our invitation. We considered them more free than welcome, and following the prudent and time-honoured example of those philosophic predecessors of theirs, Masters Dogberry and Verges of blessed memory, we stole ourselves out of their company with all possible alacrity and despatch. A thin white frosty veil of mist floated over the landscape as we again got in full swing, whilst the leaden coloured clouds as they lay heavy and motionless overhead gave us cause for grave anxiety, but, as our fears were rising to an uncomfortable grade on our nervous thermometer, in we rushed to another tunnel. When we issued forth we made a series of weatherwise surveys all round us, and were joyed to find the dark curtain lifting evenly and gradually up on our right, whilst on the opposite side bright broken patches encouraged our most earnest hopes, Another turn of the steam valve, and away we sped at over forty miles an hour; wood and dell, hamlet and village, cottage and mansion flew by like the magic of the kaleidoscope, and the question of our journey’s end took the place of other topics for the moment. A few miles further on and we shot by Tunbridge Wells. By this time we could see that the “bold peasantry” were discussing their breakfast, but as we rattled on at the rate of a mile a minute and a half, we did not take particular notice of what they ate. At length we drew up in a secluded and well-selected spot, where we got out, yawned, stretched ourselves, and gulped in the sharp morning air most voraciously. On account of the extreme softness of the ground it was some time before a decent place could be found. At this hour, about a quarter past nine o’clock, the sun was shining out as magnificently as on a fine May morning, and as we toiled some mile and a half up a steep clayey hill, the “stuff” was taken out of many. At length a chosen spot was taken possession of, and the ring pitched in a field at Wadhurst, near Frant, below Tunbridge Wells. King first dropped in his castor, amid loud cheers, accompanied by Jerry Noon and Bos Tyler, and was immediately followed by Heenan, who was similarly received, being esquired by Jack Macdonald, and, for the sake of theatrical effect, Tom Sayers. Colours were now unfolded on both sides, and the combatants began to dress. The choice of ground was won by Heenan, and then came the referee. Some wrangling here took place in respect to that functionary, during which the betting went on with offers at 40 to 20, &c. on Heenan, but there did not seem to be any takers. Confusion now became the ruling element, wasting away precious time on the top of a hill that could be seen for twenty miles around. There were the men and their seconds ready, while the referee was expected to come from the clouds. Three quarters of an hour was spent in this way before matters were finally closed, and the referee originally proposed was ultimately agreed to. The men then began the important duty of the toilet, and in the hands of their respective valets that operation was soon completed. The ring was then cleared, and the men showed themselves ready in battle array. Heenan was the first to exhibit, mid the loud cheers of his admirers, and was instantly followed by King, for whom another salvo rose up from the throats of his party. Exactly at ten o’clock the men were delivered at the scratch, shook hands, and prepared to commence
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—As the men advanced towards the centre of the ring the first glance seemed to show how great were the physical advantages of Heenan, who looked quite the stone heavier man he really was—King being comparatively a fair-skinned stripling; but a closer inspection revealed a jaded appearance. He looked clumsier altogether than when he fought Sayers. King, on the contrary, was as well as ever he could be, and there was a bloom and healthfulness about him, which spoke not only of steady training, but of an unvitiated constitution. He had not altogether the cut of a professional pugilist, but would rather be described as a fine, fresh, good-looking young countryman. The men threw themselves into attitude, and opened the round with a little sparring, but there was a hurried, not to say nervous, manner about each of them, which indicated that the scientific display would not be very prolonged. Heenan led off once or twice, but was not close enough. King was equally out of distance in trying to return. At last they got nearer, and exchanged good counter-hits. A couple more heavy hits were given, and King was drawing back to take up fresh ground, when Heenan plunged desperately at him, and got his left arm round his neck; the impetus of his rush carrying them both to the ropes. Here Heenan sought to fix his man in the dangerous manner he had practised with Sayers, but King’s strength enabled him to wrench himself up, and, locked together, they wrestled back to the centre of the ring. Here Heenan hung upon his man, squeezing him tightly, and trying to force him down. King, whose arms were at liberty, hit him heavily about the body left and right, until he fell, dragging Heenan with him, but the Yankee was uppermost. (The referee here entered the ring and cautioned Heenan as to his “hugging” system, which was certainly an unsightly mode of attack.)
2.—Both men were somewhat flushed about the head from the previous round, and King appeared a little distressed from the severe struggle. He was urged to be first with his man, and led off directly he came to the scratch. He got well home on Heenan’s head; the latter countered, but without much precision, and some wild but heavy exchanges took place with both hands, King dealing the Yankee a severe blow on the mouth. Tom was pressing his man, when Heenan made a dash at him, and showing great superiority in strength, after a few seconds of squeezing, threw him heavily, a very dangerous fall, coming with all his weight upon him. (First blood was here given to King; Heenan’s lips being cut and bleeding.)
3.—King seemed anxious to keep away from his man spar; there was no doubt that he was already considerably shaken by the severe falls he had received. Heenan appeared more anxious to seize a favourable chance to grasp his man than to hit him. After a moment’s pause they got together, and lashed out heavily with the left, each getting home. This led to some more exchanges, desperately heavy, it is true, but made in a wild style, and not like two finished boxers. Heenan again plunged in, King meeting him heavily as he came, but he grappled Tom, and again brought him down with shattering force across the lower rope, which was pressed to the ground. Luckily the ground was not hard. (Unpleasant as was Heenan’s style of fighting, he was considered to be getting the best of the battle, as King evidently could not resist his rush and clinching throw.)
4.—King’s left eye was marked with a mouse, but otherwise he did not show much signs of punishment. The rounds were all short ones, Heenan forcing his way in upon King, a few slashing exchanges; then King was once more caught in the hug, and thrown a desperate fall. (Great disapprobation of Heenan’s style of fighting—if fighting it could be called. His hugging and squeezing was far worse than even in Sayers’s fight.)