Chapter I: Tom Sayers (champion).――1849-1860 (7)

36.――The Benicia Boy’s face was a spectacle to behold,
while Tom was very weak. The Boy rushed to a close, and
caught Tom round the neck, dragging him to the ropes.
At this time, the police, who had been gradually making
their way to the ring, began a violent struggle to get
close and put a stop to hostilities. “The Boy” tried to
hold Tom, but the latter slipped through his arms and
fell.

37.――Tom was first up, and seemed the better man; he
made his left twice on Heenan’s eye, and the latter at
length caught him round the neck at the ropes and there
held him. Tom’s efforts to extricate himself were vain,
but he administered severe punishment to Heenan’s face.
The police at this time got closer, there was a rush to
the ropes from all sides, and we, in company with
others, including the referee, were completely shut out
from the view. We are informed that the round ended in
both going to grass at the expiration of _two hours and
six minutes_. We had hoped that the men would now have
been withdrawn, as the referee had been forced from his
post, and the police were close by. The battle, so far
as it may be called a battle, was for the time over,
and the men should have been taken away. However,
although the referee sent orders for a cessation of
hostilities, five more so-called rounds were fought,
with pretty equal advantage. Heenan’s right eye was
fast closing, his left being in complete darkness. The
ring was half full of people, however, and neither man
had a fair chance. Much do we regret the unpleasant
duty that now is imposed upon us, of finding fault with
the Benicia Boy for conduct which was not only unmanly,
but quite against the rules of the Ring, and had the
Referee been present, would inevitably have lost him
the battle. We can ourselves declare, as an impartial
eye witness of the mêlée, that in the fourth of these
supplementary rounds, while Sayers was on his second’s
knee, Heenan rushed at him in a very excited state, let
fly left and right at Tom’s seconds, floored them, and
kicked at them when on the ground in desperate style,
after which he closed with Sayers, and after a wild
rally, they fell together. The final round was merely a
wild scramble, in which both fell. The referee by this
time was able to get near again, and ordered the men to
desist from fighting. Immediately after this Heenan
rushed away from the ring, and ran some distance with
the activity of a deer, proving that as far as strength
was concerned, he was as fit as ever; but he had not
been away from the ring many minutes before he was
totally blind. Tom Sayers, although a little tired, and
suffering from his arm and the desperate hug in the
37th round, was also strong on his pins, and could have
fought some time longer. The blues being now in force,
there was, of course, no chance of the men again
meeting, and an adjournment was necessary. It was found
that the authorities were up in arms in all directions,
so that it would be mere waste of time to go elsewhere.
Backward home was therefore the word, and the men and
their friends returned to the Metropolis shortly after
three o’clock. The whole time occupied, up to the men’s
leaving the ring, was two hours and twenty minutes.

REMARKS.――Up to the unfortunate departure of the
referee, this was decidedly the very best Championship
fight we ever witnessed. It was to the time aforesaid
fought out with a manliness, a fairness, and a
determination on both sides worthy of the highest
commendation. Without any attempt at shifting, each
scorned to take a mean advantage, and loudly and
repeatedly was each of them cheered. The game displayed
on both sides was remarkable. The gluttony and bottom
of Tom Sayers are too proverbial to need further
comment at our hand; but as certain rumours had been
flying about to the effect that Heenan was destitute of
those qualities, we deem it right to express our belief
that a gamer, more determined fellow, never pulled off
a shirt. His punishment was terrible, and yet he took
it round after round without flinching, and almost
invariably with a smile on his face. We are bound to
own that in this, as in his talent, he very agreeably
disappointed us; and had we not known his career, we
certainly should never have set him down for a novice.
He has an excellent delivery with his left, which was
as straight as a dart, and early in the fight was very
heavy. It appears to us, however, that his hands are
not strong, for before half the battle was got through
his left hand was so much swelled as to be almost
useless; and this, doubtless, was fortunate for Tom,
who with his right arm gone, could have made but a poor
stand against such a weapon had it retained its
original hardness. Of his right Heenan makes but little
use. Of his conduct at the conclusion of the battle we
cannot speak in too strong terms. We trust it was
occasioned by the state of excitement in which he was
owing to the ring being broken, and by the fact that,
being almost blind, he took the unoffending seconds of
his opponent for some other persons. The state of
Heenan’s eyesight was shown by the fact that he hit out
with both hands at Jemmy Welsh, who wore a red and
black striped woollen shirt, mistaking him for his
antagonist. Of Tom Sayers we need not say more than
that he fought the battle throughout with consummate
tact and judgment, and, considering that his right arm
(his principal weapon) was rendered almost useless from
the commencement, too much praise cannot be awarded to
him for his courage and coolness. We are of opinion,
even without that arm, that he would eventually have
pulled through, had the fight been finished on the day.
But it is useless speculating on possibilities or
probabilities. On the question of nationality, the only
point that has been decided, and the only point in our
opinion requiring decision, is that both England and
America possess brave sons, and each country had reason
to be proud of the Champion she had selected. Both
were, doubtless, anxious to have it settled; but for
ourselves, were we asked, we should say each is so good
that he is deserving a belt, and we would call on our
countrymen to subscribe for such a trophy as a reward
for Heenan’s enterprise and boldness in coming, as he
has done, to face the British Champion on his own
ground.

The writer of these lines, having been one of the less than half-dozen sporting writers and reporters who remained among the driving crowd which swayed hither and thither in the broken ring after the departure of the referee, and as several of these, notably _The Times_ reporter, wrote their published accounts from hearsay, feels himself freely entitled to express his unbiassed opinion on the probable result of the battle, and to describe “the occurrents of the fight,” in its last struggles, from the avouchment of his own eyesight.

The fight, which began at twenty-four minutes past seven, was over at a quarter to ten, lasting two hours and twenty minutes.

When the ring was broken in, in the thirty-seventh round, and the referee shut out from view, Heenan, who was fast becoming blind, hugged Sayers on the ropes. The ropes were lowered by Tom’s friends, doubtless, but were not cut. Had the referee been there, he would unquestionably have ordered the round to have been closed. Rule 28 of the Ring Code was as follows, _before_ the Farnborough fight. It has since been enlarged in its scope to prevent similar dangerous practices more effectually:――“28. Where a man shall have his antagonist across the ropes in such a position as to be helpless, and to endanger his life by strangulation or apoplexy, it shall be in the power of the referee to direct the seconds to take their man away, and thus conclude the round; and that the man or his seconds refusing to obey the direction of the referee shall be deemed the loser.” Of this the Yankee scribes chose to be utterly oblivious, though the articles specified the battle to be under the New Rules of the Ring――_i.e._, those of 1853. The referee, however, so say the American party, sent an order for the cessation of hostilities. This, though since confirmed, was not believed by Sayers’ friends, who, seeing victory within his grasp, thought it a mere _ruse_ to obtain a drawn battle.

Five rounds were thereafter fought, Heenan’s sight being so defective that, in the fourth of these, the forty-first, Heenan rushed from his corner while Sayers was on his second’s knee, and, letting fly at Jemmy Welsh, knocked him nearly over, and kicked at Harry Brunton, if he did not strike him, of which we are not certain. He then hugged Sayers, and they both fell; Tom hitting up sharply in Heenan’s battered frontispiece. A cry was raised that the referee had declared the fight over, whereon Heenan rushed from the ring with great activity, followed by his clamorous friends. We stayed, and found Sayers strong, with his sight good, and in all respects but his injured dexter arm――of little use since the fourth round――able, as he said, “to fight an hour.”

Leaving Tom, we hurried to the carriages, the train standing on the Farnborough embankment, where we saw Heenan, already blind as a bat, lifted into his compartment. Arrived at the Bricklayers’ Arm Station, we accompanied the gallant Champion to the hostelrie of his old friend, Ned Elgee, “The Swan,” Old Kent Road. Here no sooner was the hero seated, for he refused to go to bed, than he inquired after his opponent. His friend and backer (Mr. John Gideon) suggested that the heroes should meet and shake hands, and the writer of this hastened across the road to invite the Benicia Boy and his friends to an interview. He was in a close cab wrapped in blankets――blind, unpresentable, and seemingly unconscious. Tom was soon cheerful, and over a little tea regretted that the doctor’s veto prevented his partaking of the champagne creaming around him to his health and success, amid plaudits to his bravery.

Sayers was next morning at Norfolk Street, at the stakeholder and referee’s office, and a photograph has fixed beyond dispute his condition, which, save his right arm already spoken of, was nothing beyond a tumefied mouth and a few bumps on his hard forehead. Heenan, on the contrary, despite the absurd declarations of his American letter-writer, was not in a condition to see or be seen. For fully forty-eight hours he was in “darkness,” in bed in an upper-room at Osborne’s Hotel in the Adelphi, and for more than that time in a critical condition, as we know from unimpugnable proof. The friends of Heenan pretended to base their great grievance on the fact that, as the contest was not finished on the day, it ought to have been resumed during the week. The answer to this is, first, that this was mere bounce, as Heenan was in no condition to resume hostilities; secondly, that in the condition of Sayers’s right arm he was entitled, by Ring precedents (the fight having been once interrupted) to a reasonable period to recover its use; thirdly, that it would have been contrary to all dictates of humanity――and fairness, which includes humanity, is a prized attribute of British boxing; fourthly, that public opinion was opposed in the strongest manner to the two brave fellows who had so heroically contended, and had been baulked of a result by no fault or shortcoming of either, after such punishment as they had undergone, renewing their interrupted struggle. For these and other cogent reasons, it was proposed by the referee and stakeholder, and――after the subsidence of the American mortification to a better state of feeling――agreed to by both men, that two similar belts should be made, one to be presented to each champion.

We shall not record the ceremonial of this presentation――which was performed on the part of England by Frank Dowling, Esq., editor of _Bell’s Life_, and on that of America by G. Wilkes, Esq., editor of the _New York Spirit of the Times_――as the whole affair, speeches and all, savour too strongly of the circus style of bunkum and bombast. The modest paragraph in the _Times_ of May 30th, 1860, though written as an _avant courrier_, is more to our taste:――

“THE CHAMPIONSHIP BELTS.――America and England shake hands
cordially to-day. What our greatest diplomatists and
engineers have failed to achieve has been accomplished by
the Benicia Boy and Tom Sayers, whose fame will descend to
future generations, and whose posterity will each be enabled
to show a _fac-simile_ of that much desired ‘belt,’ so
boldly challenged, so manfully defended. The Atlantic cable
has not linked the two nations together, but the good
feeling which has been shown by the two gladiators, who on
this day receive at the Alhambra their respective ‘belts,’
will be responded to by the two nations on either side of
the Atlantic. We have been favoured with a view of the old
belt, ‘the belt’ still open to competition, and of the two
other belts to be presented to the ‘two Champions of
England,’ for such is the inscription upon the case of each.
Both are precisely similar in every respect, and the
somewhat clumsy workmanship, in frosted silver, carefully
copied from the original, is by Mr. C. F. Hancock, of Bruton
Street.”

How British admiration of true courage expressed itself in the substantial form of a public subscription, and how Members of Parliament, the Stock Exchange, Lloyd’s, and Mark Lane, clubbed their gold pieces to enable the Champion to pass in peace and competence the remainder of his days, guarded from the stings and sorrows of poverty, have been told in the columns of the contemporary sporting press.

After Mace’s victories over Sam Hurst and Tom King, there was some talk of Sayers coming out from his retirement and having a turn with the Norwich man, but it ended in smoke. As Tom, from the universal interest excited by his heroic display, was an object of interest to the multitude, he received liberal offers from some Yankee circus proprietors, and by the aid of the “rhino” thus earned became first a shareholder, and then proprietor of Howes and Cushing’s Circus, under the management of Jem Myers. The speculation, we suspect, carried Tom out of his depth, and the horses, mules, carriages, &c., were sold off some twelve months after their purchase. Tom’s free living degenerated into excess during this loose and excited life of a travelling showman and exhibitor; for poor Tom, in his simple faith, was by no means an Artemus Ward, and no match for Yankee smartness. There is little doubt that Tom at this time laid the seeds of the inflammatory disease which shortened his days, and cut him off at the early age of thirty-nine.

The kind friends who uncompromisingly stipulated, when Tom’s capital was invested, that he should “fight no more,” did not place any restriction on his re-appearance in the roped arena. When King and Heenan fought, on December 10, 1863, Sayers conformed to the etiquette of his profession, and seconded “the American.” Heenan’s party evidently believed that Tom’s _prestige_ would scatter dismay in the ranks of King’s followers, and help to overwhelm the “jolly young waterman” at the outset. Poor Sayers’ descent had, however, commenced, and when he stepped into the ring, in Heenan’s corner, it was plain he was there more for dramatic effect than anything else. Attired in a fur cap, a yellow flannel jacket, and jack-boots, he was vociferously applauded when he commenced his duties in attending to Heenan’s toilette. Even then people said, “How are the mighty fallen,” for poor Tom was no more equal to his onerous task than a child. During the fight at Wadhurst he looked in strange bewilderment at King and Heenan, and when the “Benicia Boy” required assistance, his second was perfectly helpless. Still the gladiator quitted the scene in a graceful and generous manner, in having stood esquire to the opponent who was instrumental in bringing out that steel, courage, and pluck of which the first of English pugilists was composed.

As it no doubt will prove interesting to all those who have admired the wonderful pluck and endurance of the greatest gladiator of modern times to know something of the progress of that insidious disease which gradually but surely did its work, we append a few particulars. Since the memorable battle of Farnborough――when Sayers appeared in the ring the picture of health, and the result proved that his _physique_ could not have been improved upon――he now and again showed symptoms of the hectic flush which is the precursor of an affection of the lungs. This was brought on by the course of life he subsequently chose, or rather by the force of circumstances under which he was placed. Unable to fall back upon the pleasures of a cultivated mind from want of education, Tom became the idol of his fellows; he cast off all those restraints which had secured for him health and victory, and plunged into excesses of living――late hours and dissipation. Nature’s laws are not to be broken with impunity, and in the beginning of 1866 he fell into a very low condition, and betrayed symptoms of consumption, aggravated with diabetes, for which Mr. Adams, F.R.C.S., attended him on February 20, at his sister’s, Mrs. King’s, 16, Claremont Square, Pentonville. His robust and healthy frame exhibited a great change for the worse, and the doctor then feared, from his having wasted away so much, coughing frequently, and losing strength fast, that he was sinking into a decline. He was ready to acknowledge his physical weakness, but when told of the serious nature of the disease then apprehended, he became as docile as a child, and obeyed the injunctions of his medical adviser, who, we may remark in passing, expressed to us the melancholy pleasure which he experienced whilst Tom was under his care. However, the dreaded enemy was stalled-off by careful watching and nursing, and he recovered sufficiently to take a trip to Brighton about the middle of April. When there, he appeared strong and robust, and like his former self. This, however, was not to last long, for at the end of August he returned to his sister’s, in Claremont Square, and in a consultation held there between Dr. Adams and Mr. Brown, they came to the conclusion that actual and absolute disease of the lungs had set in, and that he could not survive many weeks. He took a fancy to go to his old friend’s, Mr. Mensley, High Street, Camden Town, on October 16, and there he stayed until he died. For the satisfaction of Dr. Adams himself, that gentleman called in Dr. Gull to consult, but they both agreed that nothing more could be done to save him. A reaction took place in his condition after being a fortnight at Mr. Mensley’s; he seemed to get fresher and stronger, and for a week remained in a doubtful state, giving hopes to his friends that he would survive the illness. A relapse came on, and with it unconsciousness, and for the last few days he had only a few intervals of consciousness. Mr. Litten, assistant chaplain of St. Pancras, attended by desire of Sayers, and administered the consolations of religion. He passed away at six o’clock on Wednesday evening, November 7th, in the presence of his father, with his two children at hand. For upwards of four-and-twenty hours before his death he was in a state of semi-insensibility, and could only recognise his friends on being aroused and appealed to. But the great change came with comparative peace at last, and when nature compelled him to “throw up the sponge,” he left the world, let us hope, without that pain which no man feared less when he stood up in defence of his reputation as the Emperor of British boxers. Many were the inquiries made for the health of poor Tom, and it is satisfactory to know that he was visited by some who had taken a part against him in the battle-field, and that he bid them, each and all, a peaceful farewell.

The amount of money subscribed for Sayers by his personal admirers and the public was £3,000, which sum was invested in the names of trustees, Tom to receive the interest during his life, providing he never fought again; and, in the event of his fighting again or dying, the interest was to go to the children until of age, when it was to be divided between them. Tom left only two children――young Tom, then at boarding-school, and fourteen years old, and Sarah, in her seventeenth year. Independent of the interest in this sum, Sayers left a considerable amount of property in plate and other valuables. Some of his backers have treasured up _souvenirs_ of him. Mr. John Gideon, Tom’s earliest “guide, philosopher, and friend,” has the boots in which Sayers fought Heenan, with the Farnborough grass and earth attaching to the spikes, just as the great gladiator left them.

Those who remember the personal appearance of the departed Champion will have his bronzed, square, and good-humoured, lion-like phiz in their mind’s eye; those who did not see him in the flesh must imagine a round, broad, but not particularly thick-set man, standing 5 feet 8½ inches in his stocking-feet, with finely turned hips, and small but powerful and flat loins, remarkably round ribs and girth, and square shoulders. His arms were of medium length, and so round as not to show prominently the biceps, or even the outer muscles of the fore-arm, to the extent often seen in men of far inferior powers of hitting and general strength. Indeed, the bulk of Sayers was so compactly packed that you did not realise his true size and weight at a cursory glance, and it was this close and neat packing of his trunk――excuse the pun――that doubtless was an important ingredient in many a “long day” in which Tom’s lasting powers were the admiration of every spectator. Tom’s head was certainly of the “bullet” shape, and it was supported by a neck of the sort known as “bull,” conveying the idea of enduring strength and determination to back it. We have no phrenological examination of Tom’s “bumps” before us, but we doubt not those of combativeness and amativeness were fully developed. Tom’s fighting weight began at 10st. 6lb.; in his later battles it was 10st. 10lb. to 10st. 12lb. The photographs which figure in the print-shop windows do not convey a fair idea of Tom’s good-tempered and often merry expression: he seems to have been taken when filled with the contemplation of the seriousness of the position of having one’s “counterfeit presentment” multiplied and sent forth to the world. From the hips downward Tom was not a “model man.” Though round in the calf, his thighs were decidedly deficient in muscular development; yet no man made better use of his pins in getting in and out again, as witness his _up_-hill performances with the six-foot Slasher, and the ponderous and more active Benicia Boy. It was to Tom’s excellent judgment of time and distance that the severity of his hitting was due, and to his mighty heart――a bigger never found place in man’s bosom――that his triumphant finish of many a well-fought day is to be attributed. No man ever fought more faithfully to his friends or bravely with his foes in “the battle of life;” and therefore is the tribute of a record of his deeds due to TOM SAYERS.

His remains were consigned to their parent earth, on Wednesday, November 15th, 1866, at the Highgate Cemetery, attended by an immense concourse of the sympathising and curious. A committee of friends, the admirers of true British courage, raised a monument over the spot where――

“After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well.”

Of this monument we present a faithful delineation.

It would be an unpardonable omission were we to conclude the biography of Tom Sayers without appending the remarkable poem, attributed to the pen of William Makepeace Thackeray, which appeared in _Punch_, April 28th, 1860. We need hardly say that it is a paraphrase rather than a parody of Lord Macaulay’s legend of “Horatius” in the “Lays of Ancient Rome.”

THE COMBAT OF SAYERIUS AND HEENANUS.

A LAY OF ANCIENT LONDON.

(Supposed to be recounted to his Great-grandchildren,
April 17th, A.D. 1920, by an Ancient Gladiator.)

Close round my chair, my children,
And gather at my knee,
The while your mother poureth
The Old Tom in my tea;
What while your father quaffeth
His meagre Bordeaux wine――
’Twas not on such potations
Were reared these thews o’ mine.
Such drinks came in the very year――
Methinks I mind it well――
That the great fight of HEENANUS
With SAYERIUS befell.[30]

These knuckles then were iron,
This biceps like a cord,
This fist shot from the shoulder
A bullock would have floored.
CRAWLEIUS his Novice,
They used to call me then
In the Domus Savilliana[31]
Among the sporting men.
There, on benefit occasions,
The gloves I oft put on,
Walking round to show my muscle
When the set-to was done;
While ringing in the arena
The showered denarii fell,
That told CRAWLEIUS’ Novice
Had used his mauleys well.

’Tis but some sixty years since
The times of which I speak,
And yet the words I’m using
Will sound to you like Greek.
What know ye, race of milksops,
Untaught of the P.R.,
What stopping, lunging, countering,
Fibbing, or rallying are?
What boots to use the _lingo_,
When you have lost the _thing_?
How paint to you the glories
Of BELCHER, CRIBB, or SPRING――
To _you_, whose sire turns up his eyes
At mention of the Ring?

Yet, in despite of all the jaw
And gammon of this time,
That brands the art of self-defence――
Old England’s art――as crime,
From off mine ancient memories
The rust of time I’ll shake.
Your youthful bloods to quicken
And your British pluck to wake;
I know it only slumbers,
Let cant do what it will,
The British bull-dog _will_ be
The British bull-dog still.
Then gather to your grandsire’s knee,
The while his tale is told
How SAYERIUS and HEENANUS
Milled in those days of old.

Y FYGHTE.

The Beaks and Blues were watching
Agog to atop the mill,
As we gathered to the station
In the April morning chill;
By twos and threes, by fours and tens,
To London Bridge we drew;
For we had had “the office”
That were good men and true;
And saving such, the place of fight
Was ne’er a man that knew.
From East, from West, from North and South,
The London Fancy poured,
Down to the sporting cabman,
Up to the sporting lord;
From the “Horseshoe” in Tichbourne Street
Sharp OWEN SWIFT was there;
JEM BURN had left the “Rising Sun,”
All in the Street of Air;
LANGHAM had out the “Cambrian,”
With tough old ALEC REID,
And towering high above the crowd
Shone BEN CAUNT’S fragrant weed;
Not only fighting covies,
But sporting swells besides――
Dukes, Lords, M.P’s., and Guardsmen,
With county Beaks for guides;
And tongues that sway our Senators,
And hands the pen that wield,
Were cheering on the Champions
Upon that morning’s field.

And hark! the bell is ringing,
The engine puffs amain,
And through the dark towards Brighton
On shrieks the tearing train;
But turning off where Reigate
Unites the clustering lines,
By poultry-haunted Dorking
A devious course it twines,
By Wootton, Shier, and Guildford,
Across the winding Wey,
Till by heath-girded Farnborough
Our doubling course we stay,
Where Aldershot lay snoring
All in the morning gray,
Nor dreamed “the Camp” what combat
Should be fought here to-day.

The stakes are pitched, the ropes are rove,
The men have ta’en their stand;
HEENANUS wins the toss for place,
And takes the eastward hand;
CUSSICCIUS and MACDONALDUS[32]
Upon “the BOY” attend;
SAYERIUS owns BRUNTONIUS
With JIM WELSHIUS for friend.[33]
And each upon the other now
A curious eye may throw,
And from the seconds’ final rub
In buff at length they show,
And from their corners to the scratch
Move stalwartly and slow.

Then each his hand stretched forth to grasp
His foeman’s fives in friendly clasp;
Each felt his balance trim and true――
Each up to square his mauleys threw――
Each tried his best to draw his man――
The feint, the dodge, the opening plan,
Till right and left SAYERIUS tried――
HEENANUS’ grin proclaimed him “wide;”
Then shook his nut――a “lead” essayed,
Nor reached SAYERIUS’ watchful head.

At length each left is sudden flung,
We heard the ponderous thud,
And from each tongue the news was rung,
SAYERIUS hath “first blood!”
Adown HEENANUS’ Roman nose
Freely the tell-tale claret flows,
While stern SAYERIUS’ forehead shows
That in the interchange of blows
HEENANUS’ aim was good!
Again each iron mauley swung,
And loud the counter-hitting rung,
Till breathless both, and wild with blows,
Fiercely they grappled for a close;
One moment in close hug they swing,
Hither and thither round the ring,
Then from HEENANUS’ clinch of brass,
SAYERIUS, smiling, slips to grass!

I trow mine ancient breath would fail
To follow through the fight
Each gallant round’s still changing tale,
Each feat of left and right.
How through two well-fought hours and more
Through bruise, and blow, and blood,
Like sturdy bull-dogs, as they were,
Those well-matched heroes stood.
How nine times in that desperate mill
HEENANUS, in his strength,
Knocked stout SAYERIUS off his pins,
And laid him all at length;
But how in each succeeding round
SAYERIUS smiling came,
With head as cool, and wind as sound,
As his first moment on the ground,
Still confident and game.
How from HEENANUS’ sledge-like fist,
Striving a smasher to resist,
SAYERIUS’ stout right arm gave way,
Yet the maimed hero still made play,
And when “in-fighting” threatened ill,
Was nimble in “out-fighting,” still――
Still did his own maintain――
In mourning put HEENANUS’ glims,
Till blinded eyes and helpless limbs,
The chances squared again.
How blind HEENANUS, in despite
Of bleeding face and waning sight,
So gallantly kept up the fight,
That not a man could say
Which of the two ’twere wise to back,
Or on which side some random crack
Might not decide the day;
And leave us――whoso won the prize――
Victor and vanquished, in all eyes,
An equal meed to pay.

Two hours and more the fight had sped,
Near unto ten it drew,
But still opposed――one-armed to blind――
They stood, those dauntless two.
Ah, me! that I have lived to hear
Such men as ruffians scorned,
Such deeds of valour “brutal” called,
Canted, preached-down, and mourned!
Ah! that these old eyes ne’er again,
A gallant mill shall see!
No more behold the ropes and stakes,
With colours flying free!

* * * * *

But I forget the combat――
How shall I tell the close?
That left the Champion’s belt in doubt
Between those well-matched foes?
Fain would I shroud the tale in night――
The meddling Blues that thrust in sight――
The ring-keepers o’erthrown;
The broken ropes――th’ encumbered fight――
HEENANUS’ sudden blinded flight――
SAYERIUS pausing, as he might,
Just when ten minutes, used aright
Had made the day his own!

Alas! e’en in those brighter days
We still had Beaks and Blues――
Still canting rogues, their mud to fling,
On self-defence, and on the Ring,
And fistic art abuse!
And ’twas such varmint had the power
The Champions’ fight to stay,
And leave unsettled to this hour
The honours of that day!
But had those honours rested――
Divided as was due,
SAYERIUS and HEENANUS
Had cut the Belt in two.

And now my fists are feeble,
And my blood is thin and cold,
But ’tis better than Old Tom to me
To recall those days of old.
And may you, my great-grandchildren,
That gather round my knee,
Ne’er see worse men, nor iller times
Than I and mine might be,
Though England then had prize-fighters――
Even reprobates like me.

[29] There were numerous pictorial representations of the
battle both in England and America; some of them amusingly
imaginative. The large, coloured engraving, published by
Newbold, and its smaller American piracy, are faithful as to
the men and the field of action. The object in view in these
pictures――that of giving recognisable portraits of most of
the pugilistic, and many of the sporting, and a few of the
literary notabilities of the day, of course destroys all
truthfulness or reality of grouping, as in so many works
professing to represent great battles, festivals, or public
commemorations. Our frontispiece, from a contemporary
sketch, is less pretentious, and therefore more realistic
and truthful.

[30] An allusion to “Gladstone claret;” cheap, thin French
wines being admitted first at low duty in 1860.――ED.

[31] Domus Savilliana――Saville House, on the north side of
Leicester Square, where sparring exhibitions and bouts with
the gloves were frequent in those days. See also
PUGILISTICA, vol. i., page 19, for a notice of Saville
House.――ED.

[32] Cusick, Heenan’s trainer, and Jack Macdonald (still
living, 1881).

[33] Harry Brunton, now host of the “Nag’s Head,” at Wood
Green. Jemmy Welsh, late of the “Griffin,” Boro’.――ED.