Chapter I: Tom Sayers (champion).――1849-1860 (4)

The stakeholder (the Editor of _Bell’s Life_) having to name the place of fighting, proposed to charter two steamers; one to convey the men, their seconds and friends, the other a select party of Corinthians; and for this tickets were issued. At the last moment, however, the scheme miscarried, a special boat being unobtainable. A gentleman, however, offered a vessel to start from Southend, with 250 passengers as a maximum number, on the Tuesday morning, to convey the “excursionists” wherever they might wish to go. This offer was gratefully accepted. The number was, subsequently, limited to 200, including ring-keepers, men, and seconds. On arriving at Southend, it was blowing a gale from the S.E., and there was a heavy sea on. The boat could not come alongside the pier, and it was with great difficulty that the passengers were able to get on board. It was upwards of an hour before Tom Oliver and the ropes and stakes were got in.

When all were on board, the vessel steamed out to sea, and rounded the Nore Light. The passage was anything but enjoyable to bad sailors, and many offered their contributions to Neptune in the most liberal manner. The passengers in the fore-part of the vessel were drenched with salt water, but they bore the infliction with stoical good humour. The men entered the ring between two and three, but just as all was arranged, the company seated, and the dressing commenced, a bevy of blues was seen swiftly approaching the ring. _Sauve qui peut_ was the order of the day, and all rushed off to the steamboats, many, in their anxiety, making for the wrong vessel, and many mistakes consequently occurring. All, however, got on board one or the other by three o’clock, and a move was made some miles farther on to an island, where a second debarkation speedily took place. Another ring was pitched, and round it were quickly ranged some 3,00 persons. The movements of the steamer had put all the frequenters of the river on the _qui vive_, and the water was studded with boats and sailing vessels of various sizes conveying their numerous freights to the scene of action. The ground selected was excellent for milling purposes, and the inner and outer rings were formed with as much expedition as possible, for fear of further interruption. A good business was transacted in the sale of inner-ring tickets, the amount realised by which was £47 2s. 6d. The number of Corinthian sportsmen was the largest we remember at the ring-side, and the spectators most orderly. At half-past four the men entered the ring ready for business; Sayers attended by Nat Langham and Bill Hayes, and the Slasher under the superintendence of Tass Parker and Jack Macdonald, perhaps the best pair of seconds that could be found. No time was cut to waste in preliminaries; the colours were tied to the stakes――blue and white spot for Sayers, and the old blue birdseye for the Slasher――and at twelve minutes to five they were delivered at the scratch, the betting being 6 to 5 on the old one.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――On toeing the scratch the contrast between
the men was, as may be imagined, most extraordinary.
The ould Tipton topped his adversary at least four
inches, and it looked, to the uninitiated, “a horse to
a hen.” His immense frame and ponderous, muscular arms
and legs seemed calculated to bear him to victory
against four such men as Sayers. He looked all full of
confidence, and evidently considered he had a very easy
little job before him. He was thinner than we expected
to see him, and his condition generally was very fair,
but there were the usual indications of age upon
certain points where the fulness and roundness of youth
had disappeared from his form. He looked all his age
(thirty-eight); indeed, by many he was thought to be
far on the shady side of forty. His attitude was
ungainly, but still he was rough and ready, and the
question that suggested itself was “how was Sayers to
get at him?” Tom Sayers, as he advanced to meet his
antagonist, was the perfection of manly strength and
athletic development. His fine broad shoulders, small
loins, and powerful arms and legs were all turned in
one of Nature’s best lathes, and there was not a fault
to find, unless it was found that he had two or three
pounds more flesh than was necessary about his back and
ribs. His attitude for attack or defence was admirable,
and however confident the Slasher was, it was perfectly
obvious that Sayers was not one whit behind him in that
respect. The Slasher had evidently made up his mind to
set to work at once and cut his man down in a jiffey.
He lumbered in like a huge bear, let go both hands with
more vigour than judgment, but did not get home, and
Sayers, in stepping back, fell, but at once jumped up
to renew the round. The Slasher went at him, put in a
little one on the skull, and Tom again fell.

2.――The Slasher came up evidently with greater
confidence than ever, and lunged out his right, which
reached Tom’s ribs with great force, and Tom countered
him sharply on the mouth, drawing “first blood.” The
Slasher looked astonished, stopped to consider a
moment, and again went in, swinging his great arms like
the sails of a windmill. Sayers danced lightly out of
harm’s way, and then, stepping in, popped a tidy smack
on the spectacle-beam, and got away laughing. After
dancing round his man, and easily avoiding several more
lunges, Tom again got home on the snuffer-tray,
removing a piece of the japan, and drawing a fresh
supply of the ruby. The Tipton, annoyed, rushed in,
missed his right, and also a terrific upper-cut with
his left, and Sayers again dropped in upon the nose.
After this, slight exchanges took place, the Slasher
too slow to be effective. He now chased Sayers all over
the ring, the latter dancing round him like a wild
Indian, or fleeing like a deer, to draw him after him.
The vicious blows aimed by the Slasher all fell upon
the air, and his exertions to catch his nimble
antagonist caused him to blow off steam to an
indefinite extent. Had one of the intended compliments
alighted upon Tom, it looked as if it would have been
all over with him. After Sayers had completed his dance
he went to his man, cleverly avoided a good
right-hander, and delivered another very hot one on the
proboscis (more “Lafitte” of the _premier crû_). The
Tipton tried his heavy punches again three times and
missed; a fourth attempt was prettily stopped, after
which both hit short. The Tipton next got on Tom’s
right cheek with his left, but not heavily, and some
very pretty stopping followed on both sides, after
which the Tipton made another rush like a bull at a
gate, and found himself once more battling with
vacancy, Tom having slipped under his arm, and danced
off laughing. The Slasher looked with astonishment, and
shook his nut. Sayers again approached, and after one
or two feints a good exchange took place, Sayers
getting on to the left eye, and the Slasher on the
ribs. Sharp counter-hits followed, Slasher on the mouth
and Tom on the cheek. Tom now led off with his double,
but the Slasher stopped him prettily twice in
succession, when he missed his return. The Slasher
again pounded away, principally with his right, but
without effect, as Sayers jumped back or stopped every
effort. Sayers now planted a stinger with his left on
the mark and stopped the return. The next minute he got
sharply home on the nasal organ, and jumped quickly
away from a well-intended upper-cut, which looked like
a finisher. The Slasher now stopped one or two pretty
leads, but his return came so slowly that Sayers was
far out of harm’s way. This occurred several times, the
Slasher rushing about like a baited bull, Sayers
skipping and nimbly getting away from every rush. After
a little of this entertainment Sayers went in, let go
his left, and was stopped neatly, and he, in turn,
stopped two very round hits on the part of Perry.
Sayers next feinted, and got home a slashing
left-hander on the right cheek, which he cut severely,
and drew a plenteous supply of ruby. Another hit fell
on the same spot. The Slasher then got a little one on
Tom’s body, and tried again, but Tom got away. The
Slasher retired to his corner to get his mug wiped,
and, on coming out again, Tom led him another dance all
over the ring, the Old One, with more haste than speed,
trying to catch him, and repeatedly expending his
strength in empty space. At last Sayers, having given
him a good turn at this game, stopped to see whether he
was pumped, and some good exchanges followed, Sayers
again on the damaged cheek, and the Slasher also
reaching the cheek. Mutual stopping followed, and
Sayers next got home heavily on the olfactory
projection. The Slasher now stopped Tom, and returned,
but not heavily, on the top of his nut, which led to
exchanges, Tom on the left optic, and Bill on the ribs.
After one or two more exchanges, another tremendous
counter took place, Tom receiving on the mouth, and the
Slasher on the nose, each drawing the carmine. The
Slasher having next made several misses went in, and
another sharp counter was exchanged, Tom receiving on
the brain-pan, and the Slasher on the beak, from which
more home-brewed escaped. Each now had a wipe of the
sponge, and Tom treated his opponent to another game of
follow-my-leader all over the ring, in the course of
which the Slasher caught him a heavy right-hander on
the back. He then stopped Tom’s left and heavy counters
followed Tom on the nose, and Slasher on the _os
frontis_, knocking him down (first “knock down” for
Slasher). This round lasted nearly half an hour.

3.――The Slasher came up laughing, but he was evidently
bent on mischief. Sayers smiled, tried his left and was
stopped, and the Slasher, as usual, missed two swinging
right-handers. Tom dodged, popped his left on the mark,
and then on the forehead, got a little one on the ribs,
and exchanges followed, Tom getting home on the left
ogle, and Tipton on the mouth. Some heavy give and take
fighting followed, Tom getting more juice from the
Slasher’s right cheek, and receiving one or two smart
ones on the neck and side of his head. Mutual stopping,
feinting and dodging until Tom got home on the mark,
and the Slasher again followed him all over the ring,
hitting out of distance, and with no manner of
judgment. Finding he could do nothing, the Slasher put
down his hands, and retired for another wipe from Jack
Macdonald, and then renewed his exertions, when some
pretty stopping took place on both sides, after which
Sayers got home on the left side of the nob, but was
stopped in another essay. The Slasher stopped two more
well-intended ones, and then got home on the side of
Tom’s cranium; Sayers returned now heavily on the
proboscis, once more turning on the tap. Tom now
dodged, and then got home heavily on the damaged
cheek――a tremendous hit, and again did the home-brewed
appear. The Slasher retired to be cleaned, and came
again viciously, but Sayers pinked him on the smeller,
receiving a slight return on the top of the nob. More
futile efforts on the part of the Slasher, whose
friends called upon Sayers to stand still and be hit,
but Tom wisely declined. He had orders to keep his man
on his legs and fight him at long shots, and these
orders he carried out most excellently. Again and again
did the Slasher miss or get stopped. Occasionally he
got home a very little one, which did not leave a mark,
and now he rushed at Tom, dashed out his right, and
very narrowly escaped smashing his fist against the
stake――it was within an inch. Sayers lifted up his arms
with astonishment, and stood laughing until the Slasher
wore round on another tack, and came at him again, when
Tom got away, shaking his noddle and grinning. The
Slasher followed, Tom nailed him on the nozzle, stopped
his return, and then planted another on the cheek.
Sharp exchanges followed, the Slasher getting on Tom’s
right cheek and just drawing the juice, while Tom left
a mark on the Slasher’s left eye. The Old’un, very
slow, sparred apparently for wind, and was then stopped
left and right, after which each hit over the shoulder.
Tom afterwards stopped both hands, and got easily away
from a third attempt. Slight exchanges followed, Tom on
the nose, and Slasher on the top of the head. More
dancing by Sayers, and exhausting efforts on the part
of the Slasher, and then as the Slasher came, Tom
caught him a severe straightener on the snuff-box,
drawing lots of claret. The Slasher, savage, stood to
consider, and then rushing in delivered a little one on
the side of Tom’s head with his right, and Tom fell.
(Time, 52 minutes.)

4.――The Slasher came up grinning, but he was evidently
somewhat fatigued by his exertions. He nevertheless
adhered to his practice of forcing the fighting, again
dashed at Tom, and contrived to plant a little one on
the body with his right, but it was not within
punishing distance. Slight exchanges followed on the
side of the wig-block, after which the Slasher stopped
Tom’s left. Heavy counter-hits next succeeded in favour
of Sayers, who got home on the Slasher’s potato-trap,
and napped a little one on the nob. After another dance
round the ring, Tom stopped the Slasher’s right, and
the latter then drove him into the corner, and,
evidently thinking he had him safe, wound himself up to
finish; but when he let go his left and right, he found
that Tom had slipped under his arm, and was laughing at
him in the middle of the ring. The K-legged giant,
irate that his opponent would not stand to be hit,
again lumbered after him, like an elephant in pumps,
but it was no go. “No catchee, no havee,” was Tom’s
maxim, and he kept to his active tactics. The Slasher
persevered, and Sayers stopped his left and right, and
then turned away laughing and shaking his noddle. The
Tipton giant could not make it out, and turned to his
second as if to inquire what he should do; another
illustration of the classical adage――_capit consilium
gladiator in arena_. At last he went at it again and
got home on the body, receiving in return on the
kisser. Some sparring followed, until the Tipton again
led off, and was short with both hands. Finding he
could do nothing, he retired to his corner, where he
stood leaning on the ropes, Tom waiting and beckoning
him to the scratch. After a rest the Slasher came out,
feinted at Tom, but was quickly nailed on the left
cheek. He tried again, and got home heavily on the
ribs, and Sayers fell. (Time, one hour and four
minutes.)

5.――Perry still adhered to his boring tactics, but Tom
was far too quick on his pins, and easily avoided him.
Another attempt was stopped, and from a third Sayers
got easily away. A fourth was missed, and Tom returned
on the left cheek, which led to heavy exchanges on the
side of the head, and Tom fell, the Slasher falling
over him.

6.――The Slasher came up laughing, and let go his left,
but out of distance; good exchanges followed, Sayers
effecting another lodgment on the right cheek, and
increasing the cut in that quarter, and the Slasher
getting home on the cranium. The Slasher, after another
ill-directed rush, again retired to his corner, had a
drink and a wipe, and then came again, when Sayers
stopped his deliveries with the greatest ease. The
Slasher persevered, and Tom led him another
morris-dance, but they afterwards got close, and slight
exchanges ended in the Slasher falling.

7.――The Tipton bored in stooping, head-foremost, like a
bull of Salamanca. Tom, not being provided with a
mantilla to throw over his head, jumped aside like a
matador, and on went his assailant to the ropes. Perry
swung round, just got on to Tom’s head, and each then
missed a blow. The Slasher persevered, and Tom
countered on the left side of his forehead with his
right, after which Perry retired to his corner, whither
Sayers followed him, and the Slasher at once lunged out
at the cheek, but not effectually. He now made another
of his wild onslaughts, but only to be disappointed,
and he next stopped both Tom’s mauleys. Some sparring
followed, both being slightly blown; the Slasher
stopped Tom’s left, and returned with his right on the
body. After a few more misses, they got close, and Tom
delivered a heavy spank on the left eye, and fell from
the force of his own blow. (One hour, fifteen minutes.)

8.――Perry showed a bump under the left peeper, but he
came up smiling, and let go his left and right, both of
which were stopped. He then stood blowing, until Sayers
went to the attack, and some mutual pretty stopping
took place, followed by several misses on either side.
The Slasher once more retired to rest in his corner,
but was fetched out by Sayers, who then got home on the
side of the nob, and neatly avoided a return. Both were
now rather wild in their lunges, and the Slasher, who
pursued his man most vigorously, repeatedly missed his
blows. Tom at length caught him on the cutwater,
drawing a fresh supply from the best bin, and the
Slasher walked off to borrow Jack Macdonald’s wipe. Tom
followed, and got home very heavily on the mark and
then on the mouth, renewing “the cataract from the
cavern.” Sharp exchanges in favour of Sayers followed,
and in the end both fell.

9.――The Slasher came up slowly. Notwithstanding his
severe punishment, his seconds sent him up beautifully
clean, and in fact their attention throughout was
beyond all praise. He tried again and again to plant
upon the agile Sayers, but in vain. Sayers stopped him
at all points, and then delivered a heavy left-hander
on the mark. Some sparring followed, and Sayers stopped
several heavy lunges, the Tipton in return stopping his
left. Tom, in another attempt, got on the damaged
cheek, increasing the cut, and the Tipton walked to his
corner, whither Tom followed him, but on the Slasher
making his usual lunge Sayers jumped back. Perry
followed, and some pretty taps and stops, without
mischief, took place. The Slasher then hit out of
distance several times in succession, but on getting
close some neat exchanges followed, Tom on the mark,
heavily, and Perry on the cheek, but not effectively.
Perry once more bored in, and delivered his right, but
it was a mere fly-blow. Tom missed his prop with the
left, and the Slasher retired for a drink. Tom thought
this an example worth following, and after the inner
man was refreshed, they went to work again, and sharp
exchanges, all in favour of Sayers, followed; he kept
playing on the Slasher’s damaged nose and cheek, his
double being very effective, while Perry’s blows
appeared to leave no mark. Tom now stopped several
well-intended blows, and returned heavily on the right
cheek with his left. Perry, although getting slower
every minute, gamely persevered, put in his right and
left on the body, and then hit short with both hands.
More mutual stopping ensued, until they got close, when
the Slasher dashed his right at the body, but Tom met
him with a very straight left-hander on the mouth,
drawing more of the elixir of life, and with his right
he planted severely on the nose. Another sharp one on
the mouth caused the Slasher to stagger and fall, and
Tom fell over him. The Slasher evidently was fast
going; the last three blows, particularly the
right-hander, were very heavy, and the game old fellow
was almost abroad, and was very slow to time.

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 Broome
pushed him forward, and he went reluctantly to the
scratch, Massey, in disgust, having declined to have
any more to do with him.

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.

4.――Paddock’s physog. seemed a good deal out of the
line of beauty, while Sayers had scarcely a mark.
Paddock still smiled, and attempted to lead, but the
dash and vigour we remember of yore were all gone; his
blows seemed but half-arm hits, and did not get near
their destination. Almost every time Sayers stopped him
with ease, and at last, as Paddock came boring in, he
met him heavily on the cheek, producing another streak
of cochineal. Still did Paddock persevere but only to
be nailed again, and to have the Red Republican once
more called forth. After this he got home on Tom’s
chest, and then on the cheek, but the blows lacked
vigour. Exchanges ensued, in which Paddock removed the
bark from Tom’s sniffer, and turned on the main, but it
was not a material damage. After a rest, in which both
piped for wind, they again got at it, and a tremendous
rally took place, in which Sayers was straightest and
heaviest; he, however, got a hot’un on the mouth, which
drew the Badminton. This was a tremendous give-and-take
round, and Paddock caught it heavily on the left side
of his nob, while Sayers received chiefly on the
hardest parts of his cast-iron canister. In the end
Paddock was down, amidst the vociferous cheers of the
Sayers party.

5.――Paddock made two ineffectual attempts to deliver,
each being short, after which Sayers missed his
favourite double. He then stopped Paddock’s one, two,
and exchanges followed, in which Paddock reached Tom’s
chin, and received with interest on the damaged cheek.
Again did they deliver left and right, and Paddock drew
more gravy from Tom’s sucker. Paddock rattled to it,
but Sayers countered heavily on the snorer, again
calling forth the ruby; he, however, napped one on the
kisser, which must have shaken his false ivories. After
this they piped for wind, the perspiration oozed from
every pore, and they were evidently both tired. Paddock
retired for a wipe, and after a pause Sayers went to
him, and Paddock, seeing this, rushed in but Tom danced
away, followed by Paddock, who eventually got a
reminder on the cheek, and Sayers, in getting away from
the return, fell.

6.――Sayers feinted and dodged until Paddock came to
him, when Tom got home a very hot one on the snuff-box,
turning on the vermilion galore. Paddock, wild, dashed
at him to deliver the right, but Sayers getting quickly
out of mischief, the blow fell on the stake, and
evidently caused the poor fellow intense pain. He was
not cowed, however, but followed Sayers, who fell, and
Paddock’s umpire appealing, the referee desired Sayers
to be cautious.

7.――Paddock slow, came up cautiously, and after a few
dodges, led off, but was short, and received a reminder
on the beak from Tom’s left. Sayers then got heavily on
the mark with the left, and stopped the return. This
led to heavy exchanges, in which Paddock received on
the nose, and lost more juice, while Sayers only got it
on the brow. Paddock tried again and again to lead off,
but Sayers danced away, or ducked under his arm, and
each time nailed him heavily on the nose or left cheek,
and, finally, Paddock fell weak.

8.――Paddock’s left peeper was now completely closed,
and the left side of his knowledge-box much swollen. He
was sent up very clean, however, and again tried to
lead off, but Sayers was too quick for him, and got
away. Still did the gallant Paddock persevere, but
Sayers stopped him with ease, and returned on the
damaged visual organ very heavily. Paddock again dashed
in, but was short, his blows lacking vigour; and Sayers
returned on the mark. Again and again did Paddock make
an onslaught, but there was none of the vigour of the
Paddock of former days; he was repeatedly stopped with
ease, and Sayers caught him again and again on the mark
and damaged chop. At last they got close together, and
Paddock succeeded in knocking Sayers off his pins by a
heavy right-hander on the whistler, which inflicted a
severe cut, and drew the carmine (loud cheers for
Paddock, who had thus won the two first events).

9.――The blow in the last round had evidently shaken
Sayers, who was slow to the call of time, and came up
with a suspicious mark on his potato-trap. Paddock
tried to follow up his advantage and incautiously went
in, when Sayers met him with a beautiful left-hander on
the snout, which sent him staggering, and put an end to
his rushing for the time. This enabled Sayers to
recover a little, and then, as Paddock afterwards came
in, he made another call on the cheek, and got cleverly
away from the return. Paddock followed him up, and
heavy left-handed exchanges took place in favour of
Sayers, who afterwards stopped Paddock’s right twice in
succession. Good exchanges ensued to a close, and
Paddock got down, just escaping Tom’s right.

10.――After slight harmless exchanges, they stood
piping, until Paddock took the initiative, but Sayers
danced under his arm, and, as he turned round, pinked
him on the blind goggle, and then, putting in his
double, renewed the home-brewed from the cheek. Paddock
tried a return, but was stopped twice in succession,
and then got another little ’un on the out-water. After
some neat stopping on both sides, Sayers made another
call on the cheek, then on the chest, and after sharp
exchanges, as Paddock rushed after him, he slipped and
fell, but obviously from accident.

11.――Paddock at once rushed to close quarters, but
found Sayers nothing loth; they struggled for a brief
period, and in the end both fell, it being obvious that
Sayers was the stronger man.

12.――Paddock, who was piping and evidently fatigued,
tried to lead off, but was miserably short. After a
slight exchange they again closed, and, after a short
struggle, Sayers threw and fell on his man, amidst the
cheers of his admirers. One hour and two minutes had
now elapsed.