Chapter VIII: Tom Paddock (3)

4.――Broome dashed in, let fly his left, which missed;
slight exchanges with the same hand followed, and
Paddock slipped down. He jumped up immediately to renew
the round, but Jemmy Massey squeezed him in his arms as
if he were a child, and carried him struggling to his
corner.

5.――Broome came up puffing, and evidently out of sorts.
Paddock, fresh as a daisy, grinned a ghastly grin, and
awaited the onslaught. Harry tried his left, when Tom
countered him heavily on the snout, drawing more of the
crimson. Tom attempted to follow up his advantage, but
Harry turned and ran away, Tom after him. On Broome
turning round, Tom again planted a little one on the
snuff box, and they once more closed, and some
infighting took place, in which Broome received heavily
on the body, and Tom got a little one behind his left
ear. In the end Paddock slipped down.

6.――Tom came up smiling. Broome at once rushed in, and
closed with his head under Paddock’s arm. Here Tom held
it and pegged away at the ribs until both were down,
Broome blowing and apparently distressed. The layers of
odds even thus early began to look excessively blue at
the want of precision of their pet, and his evident
lack of lasting powers.

7.――Broome slow, tried a feint, when Tom nabbed him
with the left on the cheek, and then with the same hand
on the snout. Harry at once closed, when Tom, as usual,
resorted to his fibbing, at which game Harry joined
issue, and each got it on the nose and left cheek. In
the end both again down.

8.――Tom led off with his left, a straight’un, on the
snuff box. Some rambling, scrambling exchanges followed
to a close, in which both fell.

9.――Tom steadied himself, and let go his left, but
Harry countered him heavily on the right cheek. Tom
returned on the jaw with his right, and in his hurry to
get away slipped down. Harry drew back his hand, as if
intending to deliver a spank, but prudently withheld
the blow.

10.――Broome let go his left, but open-handed, on Tom’s
left peeper. Tom returned on the sneezer, increasing
the supply of the carmine, and slipped down.

11.――Tom feinted, but found Broome ready for a shoot,
and stepped back, Harry after him. Tom now let fly his
left well on the nose. Harry rushed in to close, and
Tom resumed his fibbing on the dial and ribs. In the
end he slipped down to avoid the fall.

12.――Tom tried his left, but Harry stepped back, and as
Tom followed, delivered a heavy right-hander on the
mark, and then his left heavily on the mouth, drawing
the Falernian, but fracturing one of the small bones of
his hand. Paddock at once got down, and Harry walked to
his corner.

13.――Tom tried his left twice in succession, but Harry
jumped away, Tom, however, persevered, and having got
another little one on the mouth, went in to close, but
on Broome grasping him slipped down.

14.――Harry now tried it on, but Tom kept away, and as
Harry followed, gave him a touch on the ribs with his
left, and getting a little one in return on the chin,
dropped.

15.――Paddock dashed in without precision, and after a
scrambling rally, in which there was more bustle than
damage, he got down.

16.――Tom once more steadied himself, and let go his
left, but Harry cross-countered him on the forehead.
Tom now crept close, and feinting with his left, drew
Broome out, and then knocked him off his pins by a
slashing right-handed cross-counter on the jaw. (First
knock-down blow for Paddock.) The cheers of those who
had taken the odds were now vociferous.

17.――Harry did not seem much the worse for the crack in
the last round, but came up good humouredly, and at
once dashed to a close. Some sharp infighting took
place, followed by a break away. Tom came again, and
Harry nailed him very heavily on the snout with his
right, staggering him, and drawing a plentiful supply
of home-brewed. Paddock quickly sought mother earth.

18.――Tom showed a slight mark on the left side of his
beak, which was also swollen and bleeding. He rushed
in, when Harry caught him on the left cheek, drawing
more blood. Tom returned the compliment with interest
on the smeller, a very heavy spank, which once more
knocked the gallant Harry off his perpendicular.

19.――Paddock feinted and let go his left on the nozzle,
got a little right-hander on the left cheek in return,
and slipped down, grinning. He jumped up, however, and
said, “Have another round, Harry.” Harry was ready, but
Tom was once more borne off by “the stunted Life
Guardsman” (Massey).

20.――Tom rattled in again, caught Harry on the nose,
just between his eyes, removing more bark, and drawing
more claret. Broome returned on the left cheek, and a
close followed, in which both pegged away, until Tom
fell on his knees, bleeding from his scent-bottle.
(Time 28 minutes.)

21.――Paddock let go his left once more at Harry’s
proboscis, and some rapid but wild exchanges followed,
Harry hitting open-handed, and Tom without judgment,
and in the end Tom slipped down.

22.――Harry came up panting and bleeding from the nose.
Tom feinted, and Harry turned away, but Tom, when he
got near enough, dashed out with his left very straight
and heavy on Harry’s mouth, inflicting a severe cut,
and turning on the tap. Harry missed his return, but
tried to make a plant upon Tom. It was a failure,
however――he seemed to have no steam in him――and Paddock
once more dashed out his left on the mug, increased the
wound, and again floored his brave antagonist.

23.――Harry, although distressed, attempted to take the
lead with his right, his left being apparently useless.
He, however, missed a terrific right-hander, and napped
a hot one on the nozzle in return. Harry then got in a
little one on the jaw, and Tom got down cunning.

24.――Paddock led off with his left slightly on the
nose, which led to exchanges, Tom again being at home
on the snuff box, renewing the stream. He got a
right-hander on the left listener, drawing the ruby,
and fell.

25.――Harry’s mug, on coming up, was much altered for
the worse. His mouth was much swollen and cut, and his
nasal organ was in not much better condition, while a
swelling was perceptible under his left eye. Paddock
had few marks of punishment, and was as fresh as ever.
Massey offered to lay odds on him, but did not find a
response. Paddock made a feint, when Harry turned and
ran round the ring, Tom after him. Harry then turned
round, and a close took place, in which, after some
slight fibbing, Paddock fell, receiving a right-hander
on the nut as he reached the ground. (A claim of
“foul,” which was not allowed.)

26.――Harry sparred a little for wind, and Tom let fly
his left, which was stopped. He then closed, and Tom,
as usual, pegged away with both hands right merrily,
thus preventing any chance of a heavy fall. His blows
fell on Harry’s damaged kisser and ribs. In the end
Paddock slipped out of Harry’s grasp and fell.

27.――The men feinted until they got close, when
tremendous right-handed counters were exchanged, Tom
getting home on the snout, and Harry on the left cheek,
and Paddock down.

28.――Tom came up wild, and rushed in, when Broome
countered him again heavily on the right peeper.
Exchanges followed, Harry getting another tap on his
cutwater, and, in the end, falling on his seat of
honour.

29.――Harry’s phiz was changing its appearance every
round. It was now much out of shape in every way.
Still, he persevered against hope. He went in feinting
and dodging, whereupon Paddock went to him, but Harry
retreated, and, as Tom rushed after him, nailed him
with his right on the ribs, and then with both mawleys,
the left open-handed, on the side of the nut, and Tom
slipped down.

30.――Harry rushed in to a close, and after a sharp but
short struggle, they fell side by side. (Another claim
of “foul,” on the ground that Broome had hit his man
when down. Not allowed. Time, 40 minutes.)

31.――Tom went in with ardour, dropped his left on the
nozzle, and, after some wild exchanges, fell.

32.――Tom again rushed in, and missing his delivery,
Broome closed, and Paddock got down to avoid the fall.

33.――Paddock still on the rushing suit, went in without
judgment. Harry closed, and some more sharp fibbing
took place. It was all in favour of Paddock, however,
who was evidently the more powerful man, and punished
poor Harry’s dial severely. In return he got a few
touches on the ribs, and that was all. After a severe
struggle they rolled over, and a claim was made that
Paddock had kicked Broome while on the ground. This
claim, like those on the other side, was justly
declared by the referee to be groundless, and the mill
proceeded.

34.――Tom feinted, and Harry bolted, pursued by his
opponent, who let go both hands with quickness on the
left ear, from which blood was drawn, and on the
mazzard, and Harry fell through the ropes.

35.――Broome once more tried a lead, and got well on
Paddock’s jaw with his right; he then closed, and,
after a long struggle, in which he could get no good
hold, both again fell together.

36.――Tom essayed a rush, and Harry, in getting away,
caught his heel and fell.

37.――Paddock went to Harry almost in his own corner,
and, after one or two feints some sharp exchanges took
place, each getting it on the chin. Paddock slipped on
his knees, and while in that position Harry gave him a
severe crack on the smeller, drawing a tidy supply of
the small still. (A claim of “foul” was once more made,
which was overruled by the referee, who considered that
Broome’s hand had started on its journey before Tom
reached the ground.)

38.――Tom came up bleeding from his sneezer, and dashed
fiercely in; he planted his left heavily on the throat,
closed, and fibbed his adversary with his left hand,
while he held him with his right; he then neatly
changed him over into the other arm, and gave him a
dose with his right daddle on the nose and mouth, and
Harry was eventually down, the main being on at the
high service from both taps. Harry now laid himself on
his stomach, in the hope of easing his distressed
bellows, and was very slow to time; and no wonder
either, seeing the quickness with which they had
fought.

39.――Tom dashed in, when Harry instantly closed, but
Tom gave him no peace; he pegged away with both hands,
administering heavy pepper on the ribs without a
return; he then nailed poor Harry on the proboscis and
mouth very heavily, and Harry fell. (Cries of “take him
away,” but Harry would not hear of it.)

40.――Tom came up smiling, and scarcely marked; he at
once went to work, and followed Broome all over the
ring, giving him no breathing time. He got a little one
on the nose without a return, and Broome got down,
blowing like a grampus. (51 minutes had now elapsed.)

41.――Harry made a feint, but it was long out of
distance, and Paddock quickly returned on the left
optic. Broome now put in a little one on the mouth;
after some merry little exchanges, they closed. At
infighting Paddock got it heavily on the throat, and in
the end he slipped down.

42.――Paddock let fly his left, but was short, when
Broome returned open-handed on the nose, and
immediately closed. Paddock fibbed him heavily and
effectually, prevented his obtaining any hold, and in
the end, after Paddock had received a rattler from the
left on the side of his nut, he slipped down.

43.――Paddock, bent on finishing his job offhand, dashed
in, got heavily on Harry’s ribs with his left, and
Broome fell.

44.――Tom once more dashed in, let go his left on the
beak, and on getting to close quarters some heavy
fibbing ensued, and another struggle for the fall,
which neither got, and they fell together.

45.――Tom went at his man with determination, delivered
his left on the side of the nut, when Broome closed,
but Tom proving much the stronger man, Harry got down.

46.――Harry attempted a rush, but it was only an
attempt. Tom came to meet him, delivered his one, two,
with quickness on the front of the dial, and Harry
fell, again lying on his back in the hope of recovering
his wind.

47.――Tom dodged his adversary, and then popped in a
rib-bender with his right; Harry missed his return, and
Paddock then made another visitation on Harry’s temple,
and the latter fell.

48.――The left side of Harry’s nut was terribly swollen,
and his left peeper all but closed, while Paddock had
still two good eyes, and was as strong and active as
ever. Harry was extremely weak, and it was perceptible
to all that nothing but an accident could give him a
chance. He came up boldly, however, and stopped Tom’s
first lead. A second time he was not so successful, and
received a smasher on the whistler and fell.

49.――Tom led off, but Harry cross-countered him on the
proboscis rather heavily, Harry then closed, but was
fibbed very severely on the left ear until he fell.
(One hour had now elapsed.)

50.――Harry came up bleeding from his left ear, nose,
and mouth. Tom rattled in, dashed a heavy hit with his
left on the nose, and then his right on the mouth.
Harry seemed to wake up a little at this, and some
heavy jobbing hits were exchanged, but in the end Harry
fell, extremely weak. His brother (Fred) wished him to
give in, but he seemed bent on another round.

51 and last.――Harry, very slow to the call of time,
came up unsteady and tottering; he made a blow at
Paddock, but missed, and Tom let fly a vicious
right-hander at the side of his nut――it missed its
destination and alighted on Harry’s chest, where it
left a tremendous bruise. It was a settler, however; it
floored the gallant Harry, who, on time being called,
got up, but instantly sank exhausted on his second’s
knee, and Tass Parker, seeing that it was all over,
threw up the sponge, Paddock being proclaimed the
winner, after a bustling affair of _one hour and three
minutes_. An attempt was made by some few outsiders to
bring the affair to a wrangle. They declared the sponge
had not been thrown up by Tass Parker, and that
Paddock, who had left the ring immediately after that
act, had forfeited by so doing before a decision had
been come to. This attempt was, of course, scouted by
all the respectable spectators, and was especially
discountenanced by Harry Broome himself, who owned that
he had been fairly vanquished, and that Tom Paddock was
now at any rate a better man than himself. The
proceedings over, the company at once betook themselves
to a station, about a mile distant, whither the special
had been removed, and whither they were followed by Tom
Paddock, who, with the exception of a few very trifling
bruises, appeared unscathed. Harry Broome was too much
exhausted to walk the distance, and, therefore, in
company with Nat Langham, Jem Burn, and a few others,
awaited the arrival of the train at the field of
battle. These invalids were quickly embarked, and
nothing now prevented the expedition from returning
with all speed to the Metropolis. The word was
therefore given, and good way being made, Shoreditch
was gained by half-past six. Here the excitement was
infinitely greater than it had been in the morning, and
there was a general rush of the crowd to ascertain the
result of the tournay. The news of the easy victory of
Tom Paddock was received with universal astonishment;
and though the general feeling appeared to be one of
pleasure, still, even the largest winners could not
help expressing their pity for the downfall of Harry
Broome. Harry arrived at home about seven, and was at
once put to bed. He did not appear to suffer so much
from bodily pain as from mental affliction. His defeat
was as unexpected as it was easy, and, of course,
convinced Broome that his day had gone by for figuring
in the P.R. Tom Paddock proceeded in triumph to the
house of his kind friend, Alec Keene, “Three Tuns,”
Moor Street, Soho, where he was received with
enthusiasm, and where he remained until far into the
small hours, receiving the hearty congratulations of
his backers and friends.

REMARKS.――Our readers, doubtless, have, ere this, drawn
their own conclusions as to the conduct and issue of
this eventful battle, and it is at the risk of being
thought tedious that we venture to offer our own
comments thereupon. Harry Broome is no longer the man
he was, and this remark applies not merely to his
inability to train, but also to his falling off in that
quickness and judgment for which heretofore he had
distinguished himself. He admits that he cannot train,
that he feels his own weakness, and that on Monday all
his fighting qualities appeared to have left him
directly he held up his hands. It certainly did seem
extraordinary to see a well-known good general at the
very outset rattle in and lead off at the body,
throwing open his head to the attack of his adversary;
and when it was seen afterwards that he could neither
stop nor hit with anything like vigour, there was a
general exclamation of astonishment. Some persons said
he did not intend fighting; but any one with half an
eye could see that this was not the case, and that all
his mistakes were the result of physical incapability.
Even his wrestling powers appeared to have left him;
but then, it must be remembered that the way in which
all his attempts for the fall were met by Paddock,
viz., by fibbing at his nut until he loosed his hold,
was well calculated to distract even a more powerful
man. The only thing that reminded us of the Harry
Broome of old appeared to be the gift of occasionally
delivering a straight hit with his left; but even this
power was taken from him by the accident to that hand
early in the fight, which entirely deprived him of its
use, as might be seen by his continually hitting
open-handed. The want of vigour in his right hand was
sufficiently obvious from the almost entire immunity
from punishment of the winner. Harry still resorted
occasionally to his old trick of turning round and
running from his opponent――a plan of fighting which, in
our opinion, is neither commendable as a method of
escaping punishment, or judicious as a means of drawing
an adversary off his guard. Of game and determination
Harry displayed no lack, and it was not until perfectly
exhausted and incapable of renewing hostilities that he
consented to be taken away. Of Tom Paddock we do not
feel that we are called upon to say much, but the
little we do must be all in the highest terms. At first
he was evidently cautious, and a little thrown off his
guard by the extraordinary tactics of Broome, thinking,
as he did, that the latter was merely “kidding him,” in
order to induce him to throw away a chance. Tom
however, was steady, and bided his time. He was now and
then a little wild, and lost his precision; but this
cannot be wondered at, seeing the pace at which they
fought――not one round lasting above a minute. He took
what little punishment he received, as he always does,
without a murmur; and we must do him the justice to
say, that he fought throughout with great good temper.
In point of science and coolness, we consider that he
has improved every time we have seen him enter the
P.R., and on this, his last appearance, his advance in
the noble art was more than ever perceptible. He hit
straight and heavily with each hand. When at close
quarters, he fought as one possessing a clear head, and
a just appreciation of what was best to be done, and
occasionally displayed a presence of mind which was
most astonishing, being quite unexpected from his
reputed “hasty” character. The performance of changing
Broome over from one hand to the other, and giving him
a dose from each pepper-box, described above, was one
of the best instances of this presence of mind. Tom is
now within one of the goal of his wishes, and we doubt
not will find plenty of friends to back him against the
veteran Tipton Slasher, who, although he vanquished our
hero five or six years ago, will, in the event of their
again meeting, find that he has cut out for himself a
task the satisfactory completion of which will be
easier imagined than completed. Tom has now the ball at
his foot; every one wishes him well, and by steadiness
and good conduct he has every chance of obtaining a
position which will render him comfortable for the
remainder of his days. We cannot conclude these remarks
without paying a compliment to the seconds for the
careful manner in which they nursed their men. Alec
Keene’s excellent judgment no doubt proved of
considerable utility to Tom Paddock, and the herculean
strength of the “stunted Lifeguardsman,” as he bore his
charge in his single arms to his corner, elicited the
applause, and, we may say, the astonishment, of the
surrounding throng. Tom Sayers and Tass Parker did
their duty most ably by Harry Broome, and by their
careful nursing enabled him to prolong the encounter
quite as long as was consistent with humanity or
prudence.

The battle money, £400, was paid over to Paddock, at Alec Keene’s, on the Friday of the following week. After some deserved complimentary remarks on the conduct of the winner, the Stakeholder expressed his condolence with the defeated man, to which Paddock immediately responded, amidst some applause, by placing a £10 note in our hands towards the collection already made for the losing man; to this two gentlemen present added the like amount, and the collection for the losing man was announced to be £62 14s., a sum subsequently increased. Broome, in a neat speech, expressed his grateful sense of the support he had met with from friends, and the kindness of those who had opposed him. He further declared his intention to “stick to business,” and never again tempt fortune in the Prize Ring, for which he felt his day was past. The evening thereafter passed in harmony and good fellowship.

The Tipton Slasher, whose match with Aaron Jones had gone off in the interval preceding the event just narrated, now came again to the front, and, Harry Broome having retired from the “the tented field,” made proposals to Paddock. Tom was now certainly another man from the time when he was knocking about two or three years previously. Meeting on Worcester Race-course, at the July races, Paddock being now in a sort of partnership with his late opponent, Harry Broome, as booth-keepers and purveyors, the “Old Tipton” being also in the same line, the “two-of-a-trade” proverb was verified, and a couple of “fivers” were popped down for the old opponents to face each other for £200 a side, and meet at Alec Keene’s in the next week, and settle particulars. Great was the muster on Tuesday, July 15th, at the “Three Tuns,” when the articles were drawn, and another £20, in addition to the first £10, provisionally placed in the hands of Alec, and the remainder of the deposits dated and settled. Not a little surprise, however, was occasioned by the fact that Harry Broome appeared as the backer, friend, and adviser of the Slasher, and declared himself responsible for his training expenses, colours, &c.; the date fixed being November 15th. At the second deposit, however, which was appointed for the succeeding Tuesday, at the Slasher’s own house, “The Champion” Inn, Spon Lane, Tipton, “a scare” was occasioned; neither Paddock nor any representative was present, and the Tipton claimed forfeit. Inquiry proved that the seldom-failing post office was the innocent cause of the non-delivery; Paddock’s £10 having been duly forwarded from Brighton two days before, but returned to the post office, marked “Address not known;” “Spon Lane,” being written thereon, but the important word “Tipton” accidentally omitted. All which was explained, and the envelope produced, at the next deposit, at Jem Burn’s, “Rising Sun,” in Air Street. From this time things went on regularly until £80 were down, when, to the general disappointment of all parties, Tom presented himself at the appointed place――Jem Ward’s “Champion Stores,” Oxford Street――and quietly stated that, owing to “want of friends,” and his own losses “at racing,” he “must submit to a forfeit.” Hereupon Broome declared that Slasher should fight for £50, rather than there should be “no fight;” to which there was no response, and the whole of the money was handed over in due time to the lucky Tipton Slasher, at a “Champion’s” dinner, at “The Coal-hole,” presided over by the facetious Chief Baron Nicholson. How this short-lived Championship was “done for,” in 10 rounds, by little Tom Sayers, on the 16th of June, 1857, at the Isle of Grain, must be read in the Life of TOM SAYERS, hereafter.

In the month of February in the following year, after Sayers’ second defeat of the unlucky Aaron Jones, we could not help remarking that the little Champion had mentioned to us privately, though certainly not under the seal of secrecy, that he thought his next venture would be either Tom Paddock or the Tipton. It proved to be the latter. Tom, chafing at the delay, called on the Editor of _Bell’s Life_, on the 17th of June, the day after the battle between Sayers and “The Tipton,” and on the 21st we read:――

“TOM PADDOCK AGAIN IN THE FIELD.――Paddock is by no means
satisfied that Tom Sayers should wear the Champion’s belt
undisputed. He has, therefore, called upon us to state that
he can be backed against Sayers for any sum from £100 up to
£500. To fight within five or six months at Sayers’ option.
He will be at Alec Keene’s, Moor Street, Soho, on Wednesday
next.”

A comical episode intervened. “Big Ben” actually left £10 with “the Editor” to make a match with Sayers, who, thereupon, promptly covered it, informing Paddock that if his “engagement” with Ben went off he should have the preference. The “little game” of the Big One was next week displayed most transparently. Caunt declared it “to be understood that the articles were to be drawn up, and further deposits made, at _his_ house;” and “he should expect Sayers to attend there,” &c., &c.; adding, that “of course the date must be beyond my affair with Langham,” (nearly two months later!) Tom was not “drawn” by or to the “Coach and Horses,” and the negotiations were suspended. In the same paper we find the subjoined letter from Alec Keene, relating to Sayers’ reply to Paddock:――

“Three Tuns, Moor Street, Soho, July 9, 1857.

“MR. EDITOR,――I have very strictly observed the results of
Tom Sayers’ recent career, and certainly did expect (taking
into consideration the many warm interviews between Sayers
and Paddock on former occasions), that the first-named
gentleman would have been only too glad to accommodate
Paddock with a ‘merry meeting.’ I cannot understand why
Sayers does not accept Paddock’s offer, for should Sayers be
permitted, there is just a possibility of abortive matches
being continually made, forfeits taken, ultimately the
prescribed time for legitimate possession or the belt
elapse, and then Sayers becomes its lawful possessor. Let it
be distinctly understood, sir, that I do not say such _will_
be the case; but matches like Caunt’s (that personage being
preoccupied with Langham) must necessarily occupy needless
time; and gentlemen connected with the P.R. have lately
become so learned that it behoves me (as Paddock’s deputy)
to regard every move in the camp of the enemy with jealous
watchfulness. I see no other person really capable to fight
Paddock, therefore it will be useless for the opposite party
to dissemble; _we must meet_, and I hope Sayers will think
with me, that the sooner we conclude terms the more
satisfactory to the public, as it is but just that Tom
should be accepted after being so long ‘an expectant.’ I
nearly omitted to mention that Sayers never meets Paddock
without distributing a quantity of that chaff for which he
is famous. We do not want this, we wish business; and I
conclude by earnestly hoping your kind insertion of this
will assist us.

“Yours, &c., “ALEC KEENE.”

There is, indeed, “many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip.” The very week in which Alec Keene penned his friendly note, Paddock was laid prostrate by a severe attack of rheumatic fever, his state being declared dangerous when admitted to the Westminster Hospital, on the recommendation of the medical man called in.

And here we must interpose what a parsonic biographer would call a “refreshing” incident, showing that there is that “touch of nature which makes the whole world kin” even in the hearts of “those degraded wretches who engage in brutal prize-fights” (as we heard a very Reverend Dean, the Vicar of Cheltenham, charitably characterise this very pugilist and his _confrères_). Tom Sayers called in Norfolk Street, in the next week, to accept Paddock’s challenge and cover his deposit, when he was informed of his namesake’s illness. He was himself that very day going North, and he not only expressed his earnest sympathy with his adversary’s affliction, but at once left £5 for his use, with a promise to use his best endeavours to collect a fund among his friends for the same purpose; and he did so. We find no such practical Christian charity among the “refreshing” passages in “the Memoirs” of the vice-suppressing clergyman.

In the October following, Paddock, recovering from his long and painful illness, looked up his friends, and wrote from Brighton (inclosing £10) to say that he was “ready to meet the winner of the fight between Tom Sayers and Bill Benjamin for £200 a side; to come off within four months after the 5th January, 1858,” the fixture for that fight.

The disposal, by the “coming man,” in 1856, of Harry Poulson, in February, 1857, of Aaron Jones, of the Tipton Slasher in June of the same year, and of Bill Benjamin (Bainge), in January, 1856, seemed to have failed to convince “the knowing ones” of even the probability of a 10½ stone beating 12 or 13 stone; so the anti-Sayerites readily backed Paddock to do battle with the “little” champion. Sayers, on hearing that Paddock had a difficulty (he had quarrelled with Alec Keene, his money-finder) in raising the £200 required, showed his accommodating temper by lowering the stake to £150, thus making the total £300 instead of £400. The 15th of June, 1858, was appointed for the battle.

The public interest was intense, and the crowd at London Bridge station on the eventful morning was immense. Paddock never looked better; he was red as a beetroot, and as strong and healthy as if he never had witnessed the sight of “turning off the gas.” He was credited, on the authority of his trainer, with doing fifty miles of walking a day at one period of his training, and weighed exactly 12 stone, at which he was supposed to be at his best. How all these qualifications, backed by perfect confidence unflinching game, and desperate courage, failed in the trial, and he struck his flag to the victorious “Champion,” who, on this day, proved himself the stronger though the lighter man, will be found in the first chapter of the next “Period” of our History.

Once more, and for the last time, our hero appeared in the P.R. This was in combat with the gigantic Sam Hurst, who, in 1860, put forth a claim to the Championship. Hurst, who weighed 15st., and stood 6ft. 2½in., was renowned as a wrestler. Hurst, of whom the reader may know more by a reference to the Memoir of JEM MACE, in a future chapter of the present volume, was, of course, formidable from his strength, weight, and bulk; his boxing pretensions were of a mediocre quality. Paddock lost the battle by a chance blow from the Colossus, in the fifth round, at the end of nine and a half minutes; and thus closed an active, chequered, but not inglorious Ring career as a defeated man.

From this time Paddock no further occupied a position of prominence in pugilistic circles. He had but few of the qualifications necessary to impart the principles or demonstrate the practice of boxing to learners, and except an occasional appearance with the gloves, he was unheard of by the public, until his demise, from a somewhat lingering illness, on the 30th June, 1863.