CHAPTER VIII.

TOM PADDOCK.

1844-1860.

In the little world as in the great, “history never tires of repeating itself,” according to the Napoleonic axiom; and so in the period in which the rustic, ruddy, round-boned, pugnacious Tom Paddock flourished his fists, the interregnum of the Ring exhibited a parallel to our ancient Heptarchy, the combats of which were compared by David Hume, the historian, to “the battles of the kites and the crows.” Big Ben Caunt, the crafty Bendigo (William Thompson, of Nottingham), Tom Paddock (of Redditch), Con Parker (for a few months), the Tipton Slasher (William Perry), and, finally, Harry Orme and Harry Broome, bandied and buffeted about the title of “Champion of England,” until the scarcity of “good men” reminded us of the lines of Juvenal:――

“Good men are scarce, indeed so thinly sown, They thrive but ill, nor do they last when grown; And should we count them, and our store compile, Yet Thebes more gates could show, more mouths the Nile.[26]

and so went on the “confusion in the camp” until little Tom Sayers came, and, by disposing of Perry and Paddock, united England in one “Championship of all the weights.”

Paddock’s claims to a niche in our gallery of celebrities are indisputable, as it was his lot to encounter almost every big man of repute in his day. He fought, as we shall see, Nobby Clarke (twice), Bendigo, Harry Poulson (three times), Aaron Jones (twice), Harry Broome, the Tipton Slasher, Tom Sayers, and Sam Hurst. With this anticipation of his career we will proceed to a more detailed account of the doings of the “Redditch needlepointer” than has been hitherto given; merely noting that this nickname, which we many times heard from his intimates and other provincials, seemed rather derived from the staple trade of Paddock’s native town than from any employment at “needlemaking” by the burly Tom himself, who was but slightly polished up from a rough and ready rustic chawbacon by his fourteen years of incidental town life.

Tom’s birth dated from 1824, and his pursuits, as we have intimated, were those of a farmer’s boy; indeed, Tom might have lived and died unknown, and taken his long nap in a nameless grave――

“Beneath those ragged elms, that yew-tree’s shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep”――

had not his good, or evil, fortune led him to “seek the bubble reputation” in the roped lists of the Prize Ring.

On the third day of the last month of the year 1844, a battle was fought between a brace of rustics, which soon after introduced yet another “Champion” candidate. The day above-named was a bustling one for the Fancy of the Hardware Town, there being no less than four fights on the far-famed battle-ground of Sutton Coldfield. The first of these, between William Shakespeare (of Brierly Hill) and Tom Jenkins (of Dudley)――in which the namesake and possible kinsman of that other “Warwickshire lad,” renowned for all time, got an exemplary thrashing in about half an hour――concerns us no farther than that the said Jenkins, in January of the same year, had beaten Elijah Parsons, of whom we shall hear more presently.

Shakespeare and his conqueror having quitted the stage by the early hour of half-past eleven, and the Birmingham Commissary having rearranged his “properties,” the spectators resumed their seats for the second performance, in which the principal actors were our hero, announced as “Young Tom Paddock, of Redditch,” and his opponent, “Old Elijah Parsons, of Tambourne,” a village near Dudley. Parsons, who stood six feet and weighed 13st., was liberally backed by his local friends, he having in his younger days (he was then thirty) won some very hard battles. Paddock, who weighed a pound or two under 12st., and was in his twentieth year, had already stripped on one occasion in the P.R., when, at Mapleborough Green, he defeated Fred Pearce, of Cheltenham, for a purse, after Sam Simmonds, of Birmingham, had defeated Tom the Greek, on January 29, 1844. The country folk seemed to fancy “Old Elijah,” who for a fortnight had been under the care and tuition of Nobby Clarke, who, on this occasion also acted as his second, assisted by Bob Rowley. Ben Terry had trained Paddock for the same short period, and now seconded him with Jem Hodgkiss. Parsons, who was in attire and staidness of demeanour a counterpart of a field-preacher, sported a white ground kerchief with a small yellow spot, Paddock the orthodox blue birdseye. Some time was lost, through local jealousy, in selecting a referee; but that and every other necessary preliminary settled, at half-past 12 o’clock the business began.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――As the men stood up Parsons looked big, bony, and formidable, Paddock round, rosy-red, and blooming with rude health. After a little rustic dodging and sparring, both went in right and left. Paddock succeeded in planting the first hit, a slashing left-hander on the Old’un’s mouth. Parsons missed a heavy hit, his right going over Paddock’s shoulder, who nailed him with a one, two. Parsons, evidently not knowing what to make of it, turned half-round and went from his man. Paddock followed him, and, hitting up, caught him a tidy smack with the left; Parsons, swinging completely round, made a good hit on the side of Paddock’s head, when they closed, and both fell. (5 and 6 to 4 offered on Paddock.)

2.――Parsons came to the scratch looking serious, with his right eye already damaged and a bleeding cut on the left cheek-bone. (First blood claimed for the Young’un.) Parsons rushed in, chopping away with both hands, but with little effect. Paddock propped him, but was first down. (Cries of “2 to 1 on Redditch!”)

3.――Parsons’s right eye showing symptoms of closing. Exchanges, Paddock nailing Parsons with his right on the damaged cheek, and Elijah retaliating on his opponent’s ribs. Both men pegged away at give and take; in the close, Parsons bored Paddock down.

4.――Parsons tried to force the fight, but napped it severely; Paddock fought on the retreat and got down in the close, laughing.

5.――Paddock sent in a staggering hit on Parsons’ left ear, but the Old’un stood it bravely, and grasped his opponent, but he could not hold him to fib, and Paddock slipped through his hands cleverly.

6.――After a few seconds of sparring, Paddock shot out his left, reaching Parsons’s damaged ogle, and then got in one on the mouth. Parsons rushed in for a close, but again Paddock faced him and got down.

7.――The Old’un again led off, both hitting away with mutual good will, a close, and Paddock under.

8.――Ding-dong work so soon as the men were at the scratch, Parsons bleeding freely, while Paddock as yet had scarcely a mark.

9.――Paddock dropped his left again on Parsons’s mug, and his right on the body, and fell. (Cries of “Stand up and fight like a man, you have got it all your own way.”)

10.――Paddock again shot out his left on Parsons’s cheek, which was assuming a sorry appearance. Parsons closed, in-fighting, and Paddock down.

11.――Paddock again made his left and right on Parsons’s dial, nevertheless, the Old’un did not flinch, but fought his man to the ropes, where Paddock fell.

12 to 17 were similar to the preceding, in favour of Paddock; still Parsons was game, and did all he could to turn the tide in his favour, but it was useless, his day had gone by.

18.――This was a slashing round, and the best in the fight, Parsons making his right tell on Paddock’s ribs, but caught it awfully on his damaged mouth from Paddock’s left. A close, good in-fighting, and both fell together.

19 and 20.――Parsons closed and bored his man to the ropes, where Paddock fell.

21.――Parsons at the scratch, game, but it was no go. Paddock again shot out his left on the dial, and made an upper cut with his right. Parsons closed, a struggle for the throw, and both fell, Paddock under.

22.――Parsons first at the scratch, with his left eye nearly closed and bleeding freely. (Cries of “Take him away.”) Parsons closed, both hitting away; at last Paddock got down.

23rd and last.――Paddock went to his man, hit out left and right, and caught Parsons a tremendous smack over the left eye; it was a stunner. A close followed, Paddock getting his right arm round Parsons’s neck, hitting up with severity; the punishment was severe. Both men struggled, and fell together. Parsons was taken to his corner in an exhausted condition. His seconds, perceiving it was useless to prolong the contest, threw up the sponge, and Paddock was hailed as the winner. The fight lasted twenty-two minutes. Another instance of the folly of backing an Ould’un against Young’un.

REMARKS.――This was, certainly, a promising _début_; for though “Old Elijah” was too stale to contend with such an impetuous, hard-hitting, and resolute youngster as the “Redditch needle-grinder,” he certainly tested the Young’un’s game, who showed he was “all there,” if he did not possess the higher attainments of a scientific boxer.

As a proof that the Brums at this time kept the game alive, we may mention that another pair, Blackman and Chadwick, not choosing to lose time, actually made an extempore ring, and got off a hard fight of forty-three rounds in fifty-six minutes, in which Blackman was the victor, while Shakespeare and Jenkins, and Paddock and Parsons were settling their differences. Of course as, unlike Sir Boyle Roche’s bird, we could not be in two places at once, we saw nothing of this; but we did see the fourth fight, between Frazer Brown, of Walsall, who fought George Giles, a West Bromwich youth, for a purse, which, after an hour’s hard work, to the damage of both, but with no advantage to either, was divided, and so ended a full day’s sport.

In the month of September, 1844, a fine, fresh young fellow, aged 22, standing 6 feet, and weighing 12st. 6lbs., came up to London, and displayed such capabilities with the mittens that Johnny Broome at once “spotted” him for a competitor for the yet-untried Bob Caunt, younger brother to the Champion, Ben, who was just then being “trotted out” by the St. Martin’s Lane coterie. The new-comer, whose pals had denominated him, on account of his smartness and good looks, “Nobby” Clarke, was articled with “brother Bob” for £25 a side, and on the 22nd of October, 1844, he gave his opponent such a skilful thrashing in seven rounds, occupying the brief space of a quarter of an hour, that his friends, too hastily judging from this very short spin, announced the “Nobby One” as ready for any 12st. man for £50. Our hero, who was on the look-out for active service, replied to the challenge, and on the 27th of January, 1846, they met at Coleshill Castle, near West Bromwich; the battle exciting great interest in Birmingham and the Midlands. “Nobby” Clarke was seconded by the Tipton Slasher and Tass Parker; Tom Paddock by Hodgkiss and Sam Hurst. Clarke was in splendid condition, and in looks fully justified the 6 and 7 to 4 laid on him by the Brums. At a few minutes after eleven, the men stood up and began

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――Clarke, who was a model of symmetry, had a noticeable superiority in length and reach over the round and ruddy Redditch man, who, however, not only seemed undismayed, but lost no time in sparring, and rattled in right and left. The “Nobby One” stopped him neatly and retreated; then let go his left at Paddock’s head, but did not seem to leave a mark. Paddock bored in, but Clarke caught him in his arms, and both were down, Paddock under.

2.――Clarke sparred and broke ground; as Paddock came on, hitting out viciously, Clarke caught him an ugly crack on the cheek-bone, and also one in the mouth. (“First blood” for Clarke.) Paddock would not be denied, and there were some ding-dong exchanges, in which Paddock got in a smasher on Clarke’s eyebrow, making a cut, which balanced the account; in the embrace which followed Paddock was undermost.

3.――A rattling rally, in which Paddock showed most determination, the “Nobby One” breaking away twice during the hitting; but coming again to close quarters there were some sharp deliveries on both sides, and Paddock was first down.

4.――Paddock made play, but Clarke avoided him, popping in one or two hits cleverly. Paddock persevered, and after an exchange or two, Clarke got the Redditch man undermost.

5.――Clarke nailed Paddock left and right, but Tom bored in, caught Clarke a rib-roaster with the right; the “Nobby One” at the ropes made an attempt to butt, and then got down. Cries of “Foul.” A number of people forced themselves into the ring, declaring a “foul.” The referee called on the men to “go on.”

6.――After some confusion the ring was cleared. Clarke had still, in appearance, the best of the hitting, Paddock’s cheek looking like a scored beefsteak. A merry bout, but Clarke would not get near enough; and, at last, as he launched out his right and closed, Paddock slipped down laughing. The ground was a perfect quagmire, and foothold very uncertain.

7, 8, 9.――Paddock first to fight in these rounds. Clarke considerably shy in the rallies, and getting down amidst some disapprobation.

10, 11, 12.――Paddock’s style a little improving. He, however, did not shine at out-fighting, “Nobby” getting on prettily now and again, but never following up an advantage. In the last-named round Paddock was hit down in a scramble.

13.――Clarke began with more confidence, and nailed Paddock sharply twice in the head. Tom got in on Clarke’s ribs, a sounding thwack, and down went “Nobby,” to finish the round. (Applause for Paddock.)

14.――Clarke shy and sparring, Paddock on to him, when “Nobby” threw Tom a back-fall in the close.

15.――Exchanges; Paddock missed both hands; Clarke caught him heavily in the mouth, and Paddock was under in the throw.

16 to 21.――Paddock, game as a pebble, went in, and though “Nobby” met him in the head, he never failed to get home on the body. Clarke clever at stopping and saving his head, but shifty and shy. (5 and 6 to 4 on Paddock.)

22.――Clarke standing out and retreating on the saving suit; Paddock, resolute and determined, forcing the fighting. Clarke but little marked, except the cut over the eye in the second round though his left side showed some red bumps from Paddock’s right-hand body-blows, while Paddock was bleeding from half a dozen cuts on the cheek, nose, lips, and forehead. Still he was gay, and driving “Nobby” into his own corner, the latter dropped to avoid. (Hisses.)

23 to 30.――Similar in character, Clarke going down almost every round.

31.――Clarke, urged on by the Tipton, went in to fight and got the best of several exchanges, nearly closing his opponent’s left eye. Paddock got in a hit on “Nobby’s” neck, from which he turned round, and as Paddock was repeating his blow fell.

32.――This ought to have been the last round. Clarke caught Paddock on the forehead, jumped back, ran away, and as Paddock threw out his left fell without a blow. (Great confusion, the ring broken in, and a minute or two expired before the referee’s decision could be obtained, who gave Clarke the “benefit of the doubt,” from the slipperiness of the ground.)

33-40.――Paddock, despite the punishment he appeared to have received, was little the worse in wind or strength, while in pluck he was the very reverse of his clever antagonist. “Nobby” sparred cleverly, but was evidently afraid of his man, and when they got close and a half-arm hit was got in by Paddock, he was always a consenting party to going down; in fact, he was “on the go” before the blow reached him.

41.――Another wrangle; “Nobby” getting down questionably after getting in a left-hander. (Hisses.)

42.――Great wrangling and confusion. Paddock standing in the middle of the ring protesting, and calling on “Nobby” to come on, which he did after a minute or so of disputation. Paddock went at him, and “Nobby” slipped down. It was announced that Clarke would “fight no more.” Paddock again “orating;” the referee handed over the watch to a friend, called “Time!” and declared Paddock to be the winner. The Tipton created some amusement by his denunciations of the “Nobby One’s” cowardice, and was with difficulty prevented from striking the man he had just been seconding; politely addressing him as a “robber,” “cur,” “thief,” &c., with a variety of expletives which we decline to report, and ending by declaring he would “pay no bets on such a rank cross.” He had, however, to do so, as well as many others, and the stakes went to Paddock, as of right they were due.

REMARKS.――There was nothing so worthy of note in this battle as the utter unreliability of mere sparring skill when pitted against a fair amount of boxing acquirements, backed with those indispensable qualities, courage and endurance. Clarke had weight, length, skill, and, if properly applied, superior strength on his side; nevertheless, the Redditch man, by mere resolution and never losing trust in himself, literally frightened his opponent out of his victory. Paddock, though inferior to the “Nobby One,” displayed great improvement on his previous performance, and we did not hesitate to predict for him a successful career, provided that he possessed temper, discretion, and teachability, which, for some time, he certainly did not. Strength, pluck, stamina, and fearless courage he had; the regulating and guiding qualities he had not.

Paddock having failed in meeting with a customer after his defeat of Clarke, did not again appear within the ropes in 1846; but, on the 27th of December in that year, the clever “Nobby One” having somewhat wiped off the stain of cowardice which had attached to his name, by a triumphant defeat of a 12st. 7lbs. man of the name of Jordan, calling himself “the Welsh Champion”――his friends took “heart of grace,” and again offered to back their man for £50 a side against our hero. The second trial took place on the 6th of April, 1847, at Stony Stratford. We shall not inflict upon the reader a full report of this battle. It was, with little variation in its incidents, a mere replica of the first, except that it lasted seven minutes less――48 minutes――and the close of the 35th round brought Tom’s labours to a victorious conclusion. In the first few rounds Clarke, as on the former occasion, took a triumphant lead; but his game and hardy opponent stuck to him so determinedly, and, when he did get on, so completely――as his half-reconciled and again-deluded friend the Tipton said――“Knocked all the fight out of him,” that the result was merely a question of minutes more or less; the fight being finally declared to Paddock from a “foul” by the miscalled “Nobby One.”

In our Life of BENDIGO (_ante_ page 37), we have fully narrated the circumstances under which Paddock, as “Johnny Broome’s Unknown,” took up the gauntlet thrown down by Bendigo for £200 and the Championship; and how Paddock, after what appeared a winning fight, threw away his advantages, and lost the battle by losing his temper――striking his shifty opponent a “foul” blow. This took place on the 5th of June, 1850, and as the Tipton had already pledged himself to fight the winner (Bendigo having announced his retirement from the Ring), the Slasher, then and there, challenged him for £350, which was afterwards reduced to £200 a side. This came to nothing, for on the 22nd of August, 1850, both parties failed in their deposits, and the money down was drawn. A new match was then entered into for £100 a side, and on this occasion, as the battle ended in a draw, we shall merely refer the reader to the Life of PERRY (see _ante_ page 157), where, also, will be found the account of his defeat by the Slasher, at Woking, December 17th, 1850, again from the delivery of a “foul” blow.

These defeats, greatly due to obstinate violence and ungovernable temper, seem to have induced some rash challenges to Paddock. In March, 1851, Jack Grant was hastily matched with Paddock for £100, and £5 deposited; but at the next meeting Grant’s backers took second thoughts, and Tom pocketed the £5, as one of the “little fishes,” which are proverbially “sweet.” In June, at an evening at Jem Burn’s, Con Parker (who at that time kept the “Grapes,” in Aylesbury Street, Clerkenwell) proposed a battle for £50 a side, to come off July 24th; but on the following Wednesday Master Con’s courage, like Bob Acres’s, “oozed out at his fingers’ ends,” and Paddock pocketed this affront also, and a “fiver.”

Harry Poulson, of Nottingham, a sturdy, game, and resolute man, a trifle over 12st, was now thought good enough to dispute superiority with Paddock, and on the 23rd of September, 1851, the men met at Sedgebrook, near Grantham, for the small stake of £25 a side. This battle, which was lost by Paddock, after a desperate fight of 71 rounds, occupying 95 minutes, will be found under Poulson, in the APPENDIX to Period VII.

Paddock, who was under a passing cloud, seemed now to be shut out from the front rank, Harry Broome having attained the honours of the belt by beating the Slasher, on the 29th September, 1851. (See Life of BROOME, _post._) He was, in fact, at this time under articles with his former antagonist, Poulson, for a second trial, and the day fixed for December 16th, 1851. This proved an unfortunate affair for both parties. They met at Cross End, near Belper, Derbyshire, and the deposits being entirely carried out in Nottingham, no reporter from the London Press was on the ground, nor were any of the known patrons of the Ring present. The battle was gallantly contested, and Paddock, avoiding a fault conspicuous on a former occasion, had been most assiduous in his training. As usual, in gatherings where the roughs are predominant as partisans, there was a tedious waste of time in the appointment of a referee: any person of respectability who might have been present being either objected to, or himself objecting to take the thankless and often perilous office. The fight began at a little before one, Paddock gaining “first blood” and “first knock down,” by a delivery on Poulson’s left eye. After the first six rounds, Paddock forced the fighting, and had it nearly all his own way, Poulson’s want of condition telling against him. Eighty-six rounds were fought in 95 minutes, when Paddock was declared the winner amidst the plaudits of his friends.

Poulson was severely punished about the body. Paddock by no means escaped unscathed. Had the fight been conducted in a quiet manner, it would have been an affair which would not have discredited the older days of the Ring; but we regret to say the worst part of our tale remains to be told. The magistrates of Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire, and Leicestershire, aware that the fight was likely to come off in one of those counties, had for some days previously been on the look-out to ascertain the place of meeting, but had been put on the wrong scent; consequently, at the commencement of the battle, no efficient force was in attendance to prevent it. After the fight had continued some time, however, Messrs. John and Jedediah Strutt, with Captain Hopkins and another Derbyshire magistrate, arrived, and proceeded to dissolve the assemblage, with no other assistance than that of William Wragg, chief constable of Belper, to enforce their commands. The mob, however, refused to allow interference, when Mr. Jedediah Strutt rode up to the crowd, and ordered them to disperse. Paddock seem inclined to give over, but was told that if he did he would lose the money. The men, therefore, continued fighting, whereupon Mr. Jedediah Strutt attempted to force his way into the ring, for the purpose of reading the Riot Act, and Wragg, single-handed, endeavoured to clear a passage for him. A cry was raised of “Keep them out,” and about fifty roughs pounced upon the superintendent, and beat him savagely with sticks. The injured man was conveyed to Belper, where Mr. Allen and Mr. Lomas, surgeons, by skilful attendance, restored him to consciousness. The fight being concluded, the men set off for Derby, to which place Captain Hopkins had galloped off for assistance, and having obtained the co-operation of the borough-force, he met the combatants as they entered Derby, in different conveyances, with the intention of proceeding by train to Nottingham. Paddock and his second were taken out of a cab, and Poulson was apprehended amidst his friends in a “drag.” When taken, one of Paddock’s first observations was that “If he had won the toss for the choice of place, he would have chosen any place rather than that confounded county;” that he was sorry “the p’liceman was hurt; and he would have given over when the magistrates ordered them to disperse, but he was told that if he did he would lose the money; and, as he had been served so once before, he determined to go on with the fight.”

In this disgraceful riot and violence, we are happy to say, the men and their immediate seconds and backers took no part, as the subjoined letter from an eye-witness fully shows:――

“_To the Editor of_ ‘BELL’S LIFE IN LONDON.’ “Derby, December 24th, 1851.

“MR. EDITOR.――Believing that a few words on the outrages committed at Paddock and Poulson’s fight may not be out of place, I send you the following: At the close of your Pedestrian Intelligence last week you gave some excellent advice to all connected with manly sports, and expressed a hope that those who by their ruffianly conduct thus disgrace the Ring, may receive their full deserts at the hands of the law. Were I the judge to try them, I would transport the whole; indeed, their conduct furnishes the opponents of prize-fighting with weightier arguments than could be found elsewhere. If pugilism, they may say, encourages fair play, and insists on equal strife, how comes it that one man shall be set upon by fifty of its supporters, and ill treated until it is doubtful whether he be dead or alive? But now let me say a word upon the state of the law in general, and the conduct of its instruments in this particular case. The same journal that reports the disturbance at the fight, details also the particulars of a murderous affray among the ‘navvies’ of the South Wales line; and, did we but alter the names of the places and persons, the whole of the latter skirmish might very well pass for a massacre among Malays or cannibals; stabbing, burning, maiming, and bruising――a dozen nearly dead, perhaps quite so, by this time. Yet I will venture to predict that the perpetrator of these villanies will reap no heavier punishment than would a poor fellow, professed boxer or not, who may have chanced in fair and honourable fight――such a thing occurring, perhaps, once out of a couple of thousand times――to have caused the death of his antagonist. Such being the case――the law looking with equal eyes at a butchery that would disgrace the Caffres, and a combat conducted with all possible fairness――men have no reason to choose the latter mode of settling their quarrels, but may as well, they think, adopt the method which inflicts the greatest injury on their enemies. Where men get two or three months for ‘knifing’ an opponent, and others get imprisoned for a twelvemonth for seconding or being present at a prize fight――although no harm may be done beyond the breach of our Sovereign Lady’s peace――it does not require a prophet or a Solomon to tell us to what state of things such a course must lead among the lower orders of people. And now I must ask, in the name of common sense, what the magistrates who interfered at Paddock’s fight expected? I would as lieve venture among a pack of wolves, as go single-handed to thwart a mob of midland counties roughs. Had the officer died, his death would have been owing to sheer foolhardiness, or the obstinacy of those who urged him on. I have seen hundreds of men, more than once, quietly disperse at the order of a magistrate, though he was quite alone, unsupported by even a single officer. So it ought to be, so I hope it will be, and so it must be, if pugilists hope that the next generation may know anything of their doings, except by tradition. Allow me to add that none but the ‘roughs’ took part in the brutal assault on the constable, Wragg. Yours, &c.,

“LYDON.”

The upshot of this regretable riot was that Paddock and Poulson, being by law responsible as “principals,” were sentenced each, in March, 1852, to ten months’ imprisonment with hard labour.

Paddock’s forced seclusion in Derby Gaol, although it appears to have had a favourable effect on his violence of temper, did not diminish his readiness to play the “rubber game” with Poulson; inasmuch as we find him articled to meet his old antagonist on the 14th of February, 1854, to try a final appeal, with £200 deposited to abide the issue.

Paddock at once went into assiduous training in company with Tom Sayers, at Mr. Patton’s, mine host of the “Old Hat,” Ealing; and Poulson did the same at the Neptune Inn, Hove, near Brighton, under the guidance of Jerry Noon; it being thought advisable to fix his training quarters far from the too friendly visits of his Nottingham admirers. Poulson was, on this occasion, backed from Caunt’s, Paddock from Alec Keene’s. As this battle was arranged for the London district, a trip per Eastern Counties rail was agreed on. By the time named, half-past eight, the crowd in the neighbourhood of the Shoreditch station gave evidence that something unusual was on the _tapis_, hundreds of East-Enders surrounding the terminus to catch a glimpse of the heroes of the day. The first to show was Harry Poulson, who entered the station accompanied by Jerry Noon, Callaghan, of Derby, and a dozen of Nottingham friends; he looked hard as nails, bright-eyed, smiling, and confident, and in rare preservation for an old’un, 37 summers having shone on his nob. He was soon followed by the Redditch champion, attended by Tom Sayers, Alec Keene, and Mr. Hibburd (one of his principal backers). Both men now began to distribute their colours to the voyagers on the platform, and, from the numerous handkerchiefs of both designs which were seen knotted round the throttles of the ticket-holders, the sale must have been satisfactory. At a quarter before nine the bell rang for the start, and although the town air was foggy, no sooner were we well on our way than the sun of St. Valentine shone out brilliantly, the hoar-frost deposited overnight vanished, and the pairing birds chirruped their courting notes from every hedge and thicket. The commissariat, under the care of Dan Pinkstone, occupying a saloon carriage, was first-class, as in an after-part of the day we had occasion to prove. The train sped merrily; and at a quarter-past eleven o’clock all disembarked, in high spirits, at the appointed station, Mildenhall, where the veteran Commissary and Tom Callas formed the lists in double-quick time, and the men soon after made their appearance. Poulson was attended by Jemmy Welsh and Jerry Noon, and Paddock esquired by Jemmy Massey and Jack Macdonald, to our thinking the best of all seconds of the present day. On shaking hands Paddock offered to back himself for “an even tenner,” which Poulson accepted; but the backers of Paddock in this “the rubber game” stood out for odds, and so little business was done. At length, umpires and a referee being chosen, at half-past twelve the rival pugs, stood up for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――On the men throwing themselves into attitude their appearance was carefully scanned; the enormous development of muscle on Poulson’s arms and his blade-bones excited astonishment among the Londoners, who now saw him stripped for the first time. Still they were confident in the man of their adoption, for Paddock was indeed in robust health, and appeared to have so much the superiority in length and height that they now laid evens on him. No time was lost in sparring or in striking attitudes; Poulson at once dashed in, made his right on Tom’s ribs, and directly after on his mouth. Paddock was with him, and a shower of half-arm hits followed, each getting pepper on the left side of the nut until both were down.

2.――Poulson went to work without delay, and began by pounding away with his right; Tom did not flinch, though he got it on the nose heavily, and then on his potato trap, from which the first vintage of the season was instantly perceived. (First blood for Poulson, amid cheers from the Nottingham lads.) Paddock slipped down.

3.――Paddock, first to the scratch, led off with his left and gave Harry a tremendous crack on the forehead, Poulson returning almost a counter-hit on Tom’s left cheek. This led to a slogging rally, in which Poulson again visited Paddock’s cheek, while the latter tapped the claret from Harry’s left eyebrow, and Poulson fell.

4.――Paddock again led off, and just reached Poulson’s right eye, Poulson was with him, and some sharp counters took place, Paddock catching it on the nozzle from Poulson’s left, while Tom retorted with a swinging crack on Poulson’s left ear. They now broke away, but soon returned to work; Paddock let fly right and left viciously at Harry’s frontispiece, when Poulson countered him steadily on the snout and forehead. Poulson was first on the ground.

5.――Paddock again opened the ball with a sharp rap on Harry’s cheek, but the latter retorted with such a sounding rib-bender that it was heard all round the ring. Soon after Tom landed a little one on Poulson’s right brow, cutting it, and producing the crimson. Both now banged away at close quarters, and in the end both came down.

6.――Both sparred for wind; indeed, the fighting had been very fast; some random shots were exchanged, the men closed, and rolled down together.

7.――Paddock let go his left, but it went clean over Poulson’s cranium. A second shot reached his forehead, but for this Tom caught a smasher on the mouth, that drew the Oporto copiously, and seemed for a second or two to puzzle Tom seriously. However, he went in, and more yard-arm to yard-arm cannonading followed; no quarter was given or asked for, but at the end of the ding-dong Paddock was down with the worst of the hitting.

8.――Paddock came up crimson as the “Red Lion,” at Brentford, but he led off without delay, and they were soon at infighting; Paddock got on his knees in the scrimmage, and Poulson dealt him a “hot one” on his snuff-box. A claim of “foul” from Paddock’s friends, but disallowed. Poulson’s blow could not be withheld, as it was delivered simultaneously with Paddock’s knees reaching the ground.

9.――Paddock, twice foiled in leading off, went in furiously, reaching Harry’s nose, and removing the bark, but getting a Roland for his Oliver in a smasher on his own olfactory organ that sadly spoilt its symmetry. Hitting right and left, and no stopping on either side, until Paddock went down in the exchanges.

10.――Both were distilling the crimson from their left eyes; Paddock led off with the left, and got again heavily countered in the face. Poulson slipped and dropped on one knee; Paddock might have hit him, but he withheld his hand, and walked to his corner amidst applause.

11.――Poulson dashed in, delivering his right heavily on the side of Tom’s nut, but the blow seemed open-handed. A merry rally ensued, in which some sharp, half-arm hits were exchanged, Paddock receiving some sharp thumps in the ribs, and retaliating on Poulson’s knowledge-box. Both down in the close.

12.――Paddock feinted, and then let go his left, a cross hit on Poulson’s cheek; he got away, and repeated the dose on Harry’s smeller. Poulson seemed stung at these visitations, rushed in, and after some busy half-arm work Paddock was down.

13 to 20.――Busy rounds, but short, and very similar in character, Paddock opening the ball and getting on by his superior length, but Poulson winding up the rounds by fear-nought hitting, and Paddock ending them by being first to grass.

21.――Paddock still first, got in his left on Poulson’s bread basket, and his right on the side of the head; the latter was retaliated by a severe body-blow, and Paddock broke away. Paddock nailed Poulson on the nose, and on the left brow, still Poulson pegged away, but was first down from a wild hit of Tom’s on the side of his head.

22.――Poulson tried to open the ball, but his left was stopped, and then his right, and Tom got home an ugly one on Harry’s left eye, which showed symptoms of the early closing movement. Poulson went in, but Tom planted an upper-cut on the damaged ogle, and Poulson slipped down.

23.――Paddock, on time being called, rose and walked rapidly across towards Poulson’s corner. The latter had hardly time to turn round from his seconds, when Tom let fly at his forehead. Poulson let go both hands without aim; Tom missed a vicious hit with his left, and Poulson slipped down in a scramble.

24.――Poulson was quickly up at the call of time, determined not to be stolen a march on; he opened the pleadings by a declaration with the right on Tom’s ribs, but got it on the mouth, and in a second attempt was stopped neatly; he, however, persevered, and some ding-dong exchanges ended by Poulson slipping down.

25.――Both men slower, as well they might be, Paddock giving his adversary a crack on the bridge of the nose that compelled him to snuffle and wink; half-arm hitting, in which Paddock dropped.

26.――Poulson took the initiative; he stepped in, caught Paddock a heavy spank with the right on the left cheek, and slipped from the force of his own blow.

27.――Poulson again rattled in; Tom countered, and Poulson was down in the hitting.

28.――Both seemed of opinion that a turn of the tide must be at hand. No time was lost on either side; Paddock made play, but Poulson was with him, and at close quarters they pegged away, Paddock with his straight left and Poulson with his dangerous right; but Jack was as good as his master――or rather Harry was as good as Tom. Though Poulson was first on the ground he had not the worst of the hitting.

29 to 34.――Alternate leading off, but Paddock best at the attack. Poulson’s eyes were much damaged, though he was still the stronger man on his legs. The left side of Paddock’s face was awfully swelled, and as Jerry Noon said, “Was polished like a newly lasted boot.” At the end of round 33, Poulson fairly sent down Paddock in a close rally, and the seconds of the latter cautioned him to “keep away” from infighting.

35.――Paddock adopted the advice. He measured his distance with his left got it in, but not heavily, on Poulson’s forehead, and jumped back; Poulson followed, but Tom retreated and shifted, hitting out as opportunity offered. Paddock got home on Harry’s right peeper, but could not prevent a visit to his ribs, and a sharp crack on the nose, from which the ruby distilled copiously. Poulson closed, and Paddock got down.

36.――Paddock’s mug, on coming up, was a curious mixture of the comic and the serious. The right side, which was untouched, bore a sort of grin, while the left side, which was swollen to twice its natural size, buried the other half of the laugh in its tumefied recesses. He had, too, a cut on the bridge of his nose, and a blue mouse under his left eye. Poulson’s hardier mug was less battered in appearance, but his left eye was nearly closed, and the remaining window damaged. Paddock got on to Poulson slightly, and after some exchanges, both were down.

37 to 50.――As before; alternate leads, followed by half-arm hitting, and one or the other down. Anybody’s battle.

51.――Poulson’s left eye was now entirely in darkness, but he dashed in. Paddock caught him round the neck with his left arm, but could not screw him up for fibbing. Poulson kept pegging away, although getting the worst of it, and got down through Paddock’s hands.

52.――Paddock let go his left on Poulson’s nose, but Poulson rushed in and pelted away till Tom got down to finish the round.

53.――Paddock kept working in, and twice reached Harry’s eye and brow without a return. As they got closer there were some sharp exchanges, Poulson getting home a heavy hit on Paddock’s left eye, and also on his bruised ribs; Poulson was, however, down.

54.――Paddock several times attempted to get in his favourite blow on the mark, but he was not quite near enough; at last he got home effectively, and Poulson reeled from the blow; Paddock followed him up, caught him on the head with the right, and Poulson was down.

55 to 60.――Poulson’s right eye seemed to be in danger of following suit with the left. He evidently thought there was no time to be lost, and as Paddock would not come to close quarters, he rattled in somewhat wild and round, and in the 59th and 60th rounds was down.

61.――Both came tired and slow, with but little to choose as to which was the weaker man. Paddock caught Poulson in the neck, changing his aim to the body, then caught Poulson on the proboscis, who closed and fell.

62 to 65.――Paddock commenced business in each of these rounds; in the last-named Paddock delivered a spank with the left under Poulson’s right eye which knocked the brave fellow off his legs, and was pronounced to be “First knock-down to Paddock.” There was loud cheering, and many thought the fight over, concluding that Poulson’s right eye must now be closed. To the surprise of all, however, Harry came up at the call of “Time,” looking little, if any, the worse for the knock-down.

66, 67.――Poulson steadily stopped two attempts with the left. Paddock at length got in a blow on the mark, and Poulson missed his return. Paddock hit over Poulson’s head with the left, and Poulson closed and fell.

68.――Both slow; after some ineffective exchanges Paddock concentrated his energies, and, letting go his left straight from the shoulder, gave poor Poulson a nose-ender that again knocked him off his legs.

69 to 75.――Poulson, losing precision in his deliveries from his failing eyesight, was nobbed almost at pleasure by his opponent, yet he never failed to get in a hard blow when they were at close quarters.

76 to 88.――In all these rounds Poulson came up with unshrinking courage and determination, and his friends clung to the idea that a chance blow might yet reward his exertions, while Paddock’s friends, though they thought themselves on the winning side, feared that he could not finish his day’s work satisfactorily, and that a “draw” might yet disappoint their hopes. Round after round Poulson came up, amid cries of “Take him away!” But the brave fellow refused to give in.

89.――Poulson, to the astonishment of all, was no sooner at the scratch, than he rushed at his opponent with such vigour and determination, pegging away right and left, that Paddock, in retreating, fell on his south pole in a ludicrous state of surprise and bewilderment at this unexpected but ineffective onslaught.

90.――It was clear that this was the last flickering effort. Poulson came up weak and shaky, and, on Paddock letting go his left, fell.

91 to 102 and last.――It was clearly all over with the gallant Harry. Paddock, by the advice of his seconds, kept away from his man, and just popped in a hit when he saw an opening, whereon Poulson fell. Noon vainly urged him to give in, until, in the 102nd round, his seconds and several of his backers, seeing the hopelessness as well as danger of prolonging the contest, threw up the sponge, and Paddock was declared the winner, after a desperate battle of _two hours and thirty-two minutes_.

REMARKS.――Few remarks will suffice upon this game and manly encounter. Experienced ring-goers tell us that second fights, still more third battles, between the same men are, as a rule, unsatisfactory. This was indeed an exception to that rule. It was, in courage, active work, and endurance, the best fight between big ones for many a day past. Poulson, for a man pronounced “stale” by many, is an extraordinary quick and punishing hitter, but he depends too much on his right, and thus throws open his face to the blows of a superior tactician. With any man not more skilful than himself he must yet prove the victor, but not even his game and gluttony can enable him to conquer a clever two-handed boxer possessed of resolution and skill like Tom Paddock. We must give praise to Jerry Noon for his humanity in throwing up the sponge when he did, and this we the more insist on as we know that he has been most shamefully censured and even abused, since the affair, by persons who ought to know better, and who have even brought to us their complaints of what they call his “unauthorised giving in against the wish of Poulson himself.” No impartial spectator can support such an argument for a moment, and the stakes were accordingly given up, with the approbation of the referee, despite a notice served upon the stakeholder.

Paddock, having thus retrieved his first defeat by the hardy Harry Poulson, by a second victory, was soon after called to the field by his old opponent Aaron Jones, who now sent forth his cartel from the domicile of Jem Burn, who had moved his head-quarters westward from Windmill Street to the erewhile domus of Johnny Broome, the “Rising Sun,” in Air Street, Piccadilly. Paddock, as before, was backed from Alec Keene’s, the “Three Tuns,” in Moor Street. The stakes, £100 a side, were duly made good, and the 18th of July, 1854, saw both parties embarked on board “The Waterman, No. 7,” which was the craft chartered to convey the men and the managers to the battle-field. On this occasion Paddock trained at Brighton, under the supervision of Alec Keene; Aaron first at Newbridge, in Ireland, near the Curragh, and later on at Shrewsbury, under the auspices of some distinguished military officers, and the mentorship of Jerry Noon. “The loquacious” Jerry won the toss for choice of corners, and took the corner with Jones’s back to the sun. Paddock, after an ineffectual attempt to lay an even “tenner” with his adversary, offered Jones 2 to 1, but there being no response, Tom, much disappointed, replaced the flimsy in his pocket. All being in readiness, and rumours of Jones’s inferior condition spread about the ring, offers to lay 2 to 1 on Paddock were taken to some amount. The colours were tied to the stakes, the men shook hands, and at ten minutes to one began

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――On assuming the perpendicular it was evident that Jones was the taller and more symmetrical man. He was, despite rumour, in excellent condition. There was a pleasing smile of confidence and an ease in his attitude that favourably impressed the spectators; in short, he looked a model of a 12 stone man. Tom, the rough-and-ready, seemed rather lighter than usual――he was declared to be no more than 11st. 9lbs.――but he still looked rounder, stronger, and tougher than his fairer skinned opponent. Paddock lost no time in sparring but went straight in, catching Jones on the forehead, but getting a smack in return on the proboscis from Jones, who said, smilingly, “You had it there!” Paddock replied by making another dash, and landing on Aaron’s cheek, who retorted on the side of Tom’s head. Some rather wild exchanges followed, left and right, in which each displayed more haste than judgment; they then broke away. Paddock twice made his left on Jones’s cheek, leaving marks of his handiwork; on trying a third time, Jones countered him sharply on the nose, then closed, and both rolled over, Paddock undermost.

2.――Paddock let go his left and reached Jones’s ear, another attempt was too high, and a third was cleverly stopped. Paddock bored in, when Jones met him with a sounding spank on the left eye that made Tom “see fireworks.” Paddock forced the fighting, but after a rally, in which no harm was done, Jones gripped Paddock and threw him in good style, falling on him. (Applause from the “Rising Sun.”)

3.――Jones came up all smiles, but Paddock did not give him a chance of leading off, for he rattled in left and right, but was cleverly stopped. Tom afterwards succeeded in landing on Aaron’s ribs, but sent his left over Jones’s shoulder. He then bored in, but Jones jumped back quickly, caught Paddock in his arms, and again threw him neatly, Jones being evidently the better wrestler.

4.――Paddock made his left hand and then his right, the latter heavily, on Aaron’s left optic. A ding-dong rally ensued, in which Jones drew “first blood” from Tom’s smelling organ. The men closed, and some severe fighting took place at close quarters, Jones getting it on the forehead and ear, Paddock on the ribs. Both down.

5.――Jones’s left peeper in mourning from Paddock’s one, two, in the previous round. Paddock grinned derisively, and at once went to work, but was stopped cleverly. Jones returned with both hands, dropping on to Tom’s nose and left cheek. Paddock looked vexed, and went in with both hands, when Jones was down first.

6.――Paddock led off, but Jones countered him heavily on the nose. Paddock reciprocated with a heavy left-hander, also on the nasal prominence, and after some exchanges both were down.

7.――Paddock led off short, and Jones missed his left, but soon afterwards got on his right on the side of Tom’s head, inflicting a deep cut that bled freely. Jones closed, and after a brief struggle threw Paddock a burster.

8.――Jones led off, nailed Tom sharply on the left eyebrow with the right, closed at the ropes, and hung on Paddock till he got down.

9.――Paddock looked unutterable things at finding Jones was not the easy customer he had expected. He rushed in, hit-or-miss, banged in his left at Aaron’s head, who retaliated straight and swift on the cheek and side of the brain-pan; this led to a rally in favour of Jones, who threw Paddock, and walked to his corner laughing.

10.――Paddock began hastily, but was stopped. Jones closed and again threw him, falling on him.

11.――Paddock let fly his left, but was short. Jones kept him at arm’s length. Paddock got closer, but his hits were stopped. Jones then got home on Tom’s left eye, making a cut and drawing the crimson fluid. Some tremendous exchanges followed, Jones sticking to his work in a style that electrified those who doubted his pluck, and in the end Jones gained the second event by knocking Paddock off his legs by a right-hander which cut open his left eyebrow. (“First knock-down” for Jones.) The layers of 3 to 1, for some had ventured those odds, looked blue, and there was some anxiety to “hedge;” even money would have been taken, but there were no layers.

12.――Jones’s left optic all but closed. He went in wildly, and Paddock slipped down.

13.――Jones let go his left, which went over Tom’s shoulder; with his right he was more successful, and reached Tom’s left eye a sharp crack. Paddock was out of distance with his return, and Jones again slipped down.

14.――Paddock led off, but was prettily stopped, left and right. Jones returned on the left temple, closed, and again threw Paddock heavily, falling on him.

15.――On getting together, good exchanges took place, Paddock reaching Aaron’s snuffbox smartly, but Jones giving him a rattler on the domino-box in return. Jones, in the rally which followed, struck Paddock on the top of the head, to the damage of his own dexter fin, and then slipped down.

16.――Jones dashed in fearlessly, got home a heavy one on Tom’s left ear, who went down on his right hand with a sort of half-consenting stagger, and so finished the round.

17.――Jones, still forcing the fighting, dashed out left and right, and Tom, in stopping and getting away, fell by catching his heel against the centre stake.

18.――Paddock now tried for a lead; he opened the ball by dropping his left on Aaron’s cheek-bone, and got it on the side of the head――tit-for-tat. Some tremendous exchanges followed, when Jones closed, shot his left arm round Paddock’s neck, threw him a clean back-fall, and fell on him. (We learned, subsequently, that in this round Jones so severely injured his left shoulder that he was incapacitated from its free use for several succeeding rounds; he also complained that Jerry Noon, by his careless way of lifting him, increased the mischief by an additional twist.)

19.――Jones went in and pegged away, but his left-hand hits seemed ineffective; Tom hit out wildly, but at last fell with his own consent.

20-24.――Jones planted on Paddock’s frontispiece cleverly; but there was no steam in the hits. In the last-named round Paddock slipped down, but instantly jumped up to renew the round; Jones, who was in the arms of his seconds, released himself, and at it they went. After some wild exchanges, the men embraced, swung round, and both fell.

25.――Paddock got home his left bunch of fives on Aaron’s sadly damaged optic. Jones returned on the side of the head, and in going down narrowly escaped a swinging blow from Paddock’s right.

26.――Jones dashed in on the snout, whence spouted a crimson jet, then closed, and, after a short struggle, both fell, Paddock under.

27.――Jones again rattled in, but his left-hand blows seemed mere pushes, his following hits with the right being sharp and heavy. After mutual exchanges, Jones again gripped Paddock and threw him, falling over him. As they lay on the ground Paddock patted Jones on the shoulder, in a patronising way, as if saying, “Well done, my lad!”

28.――Jones broke ground by letting go both hands, but they were mere fly-flaps. In trying to get nearer he missed his left, over-reached himself, and fell.

29.――Paddock, tired of the defensive, dashed in; they quickly got to work, and after a merry rally, in which there were several mutual misses, both were down, Paddock undermost.

30-34.――Good sharp rounds, with equal success; Paddock getting twice or three times on to Jones’s good eye――the right――which looked in danger of following suit like its sinister brother. In the last round Paddock again thrown.

35.――Paddock, anxious for a turn, went in resolutely; Jones met him with the right, and propped him severely, his left, though he made use of it in stopping, doing no damage to his opponent. In the exchanges Paddock slipped down.

36-46.――Similar in character, sharp rallies, some wild but punishing exchanges; Jones the best of the closes, but Paddock hitting hardest.

47.――Jones went in and forced his man determinedly; he got his right hand heavily on Tom’s listener, but received a slashing upper-cut while attempting to close, he staggered and fell, his knees evidently failing him.

48.――Paddock grinned at his opponent, and looked round at his friends, nodding his head as he put up his hands at the scratch. He popped in his left on the side of Aaron’s head, who fell, Paddock just missing a right-hander as Jones went to earth.

49-52.――Jones’s fighting ineffective, and Paddock slowly improving his position.

53.――Paddock again visited the old spot on Jones’s left cheek, and Jones was again down. It was evident the steam was out of Jones’s deliveries, though he yet preserved his form of stopping and hitting. In fact, his left was no longer his best weapon. From this to the 70th round comparatively little mischief was done, through exhaustion from continued exertion, falls, and repeated blows. Paddock, whose hands were swollen by repeated visitations to Jones’s forehead and brain-pan, did but little execution, while Jones, with his sprained left shoulder and weakened understandings, was too tottery to go in with effect. In the 78th round Paddock sent a smasher into Jones’s remaining window, the shutter of which was fast closing. Cries of “Take him away!” to which Jones contemptuously replied, “I’m good for another hour!”

79.――Paddock went in as if to finish, but Jones astonished him by stopping his left, and retaliating with such a stinger on the side of the nut, that he rolled down and over, amidst the shouts of the spectators.

80.――Jones was evidently fighting against fate. Paddock, though his hands were puffed, seemed little the worse for wear in wind or strength, while Jones was weak on his pins, pumped out, had but one good arm, and was gradually losing distinct vision. Forty-one more rounds were fought, making 121; but though Jones made many gallant efforts to turn the tide, fate was against him. His backers (the principal one was absent) were willing he should give in, but the game fellow would not hear of it. He gradually became blind, and, at length, in the 121st round, he rushed wildly in the direction of Paddock, who steadily propped him on the side of the jaw with the left, then delivering his right on the body, down went poor Aaron in a heap, nature forsook him, and Paddock stood over him the victor, after a determined struggle of _two hours and twenty-four minutes_.

Both men were immediately conveyed on board “Waterman No. 7,” where they received every attention. Paddock quickly recovered, though his external marks of punishment were numerous and severe; Jones, however, was not himself for a considerable period. The boat at once returned to town; but as she departed before the second fight (between Spooner and Donovan) was concluded, ourselves and many others were compelled to avail ourselves of the Gravesend Railway, _via_ Dartford or Purfleet, which brought all in good time to their homes in the great Metropolis.

REMARKS.――The reader of the foregoing account will cordially agree with us that Jones in this gallant battle completely wiped out any stain of cowardice which the result of his battle with Orme might have attached to his character. His own statement to us, that he did not refuse to meet Orme a third time from any dread of punishment, but simply upon the advice of his backers and friends, was fully borne out. His perseverance, after the disablement of his left shoulder in the 18th round, and the unflinching endurance with which he faced so determined a two-handed hitter as Paddock, for ever dispose of the imputation of a white feather in Aaron’s composition. The loser certainly left no stone unturned, no resource untried, to achieve victory, and if he failed to command success he did more――he deserved it. Paddock, as usual in his later fights, fought with coolness and good-humour, taking the roughest blows and falls without a murmur. His left cheek, eye, temple, and ear were fearfully swollen, while the right side presented a curious contrast by retaining its original shape and expression. His hands were more injured than in any of his previous battles, and this will account for the protracted nature of the contest after the tide had turned against Jones. The fairness of Paddock’s fighting, even, on several occasions, to the extent of forbearance, was the admiration of all who witnessed the contest. Paddock, too, was certainly weak towards the close, owing to the burning sun under which the battle was fought. For ourselves, the mere work of sitting in a somewhat constrained position, in the full blaze of its rays, attending to our duties as referee, occasionally holding a bet, and taking the note which form the “bones” of the foregoing account, so entirely beat us that we can speak feelingly of the labours of the men who were subjected to and went through such a trying ordeal. Their endurance speaks volumes for the wonderful results attainable by training and condition. In brief, we may say in conclusion, that a better or more courageous fight has not been seen since Paddock last met the game and persevering Poulson.

The battle-money (£200) was handed to Paddock on the ensuing Monday, at Alec Keene’s, “Three Tuns,” Moor Street, Soho, when a handsome collection was made as a golden salve for the wounds of the brave but unfortunate Aaron Jones.

That Aaron Jones fully removed by his last two battles every trace of suspicion as to want of game is certain, but that he will ever be able to take a first-rate position as a pugilist is extremely dubious; not from want of either courage or capabilities as a punisher, but from the simple fact that his constitution is not sufficiently strong to enable him to stand for any great length of time the fatigues of a contest with a determined lasting adversary like Paddock. He is a civil, well-conducted young fellow, and a great favourite among those who know him well. His defeat has not lost him a single friend, though it has gained him many. It is just possible that his constitutional defects may be removed as he grows older, and if they are, he will prove an awkward customer to any one who may fancy him; but unless he can improve his stamina, and that very materially, we would advise him to abstain in future from milling pursuits. Paddock fought steadier and with more generalship than we had given him credit for, and, to our surprise, his hands, which in all former battles had swelled so as almost to incapacitate him from inflicting punishment, stood firm and hard to the last. His hits were delivered with much judgment, and, although he was fearfully punished, he never flinched from his task. He says it was a much tougher job than he expected, and does not disguise the fact that he was glad when it was over; he also adds, that whoever fights Jones in future will find he must put up with a good deal more punching than will do him good. Many persons found fault with Paddock for dropping on several occasions after delivering his right on Jones’s most vulnerable point, the ribs, and certainly we agree that such a practice should have been avoided. It must be remembered, however, that Paddock was himself seriously injured, and fast growing blind, and that he could scarcely be expected to display that coolness which under more favourable circumstances would have been expected from him. These dropping manœuvres were also in a material degree counterbalanced by his manly conduct in the eleventh round, when he refrained from punishing Jones, when the latter was in a defenceless but perfectly fair position for being hit.

Our hero was allowed scant breathing-time after this tremendous encounter. At the giving up of the stakes at Mr. Jackson’s, King Street Mews, Park Lane, on the following Tuesday, the fearless Tom Sayers presented himself and proposed a battle for £200, catch-weight, but the details were postponed to a future meeting at Bill Hayes’s in the ensuing week. In the interval Tom’s friends had entered into what the politicians call _pourparlers_ with some friends of Harry Poulson, and this proved “a red herring” that crossed the “line,” and so the match with Tom Sayers was for the present a lost “scent.”

In the papers of August 27, we read as follows:――

“The gallant Tom Paddock having waited for some time for a reply to the question we put to the Tipton Slasher, as to whether he intends to maintain his claim to the Championship, and having seen no answer, declares that if Perry has retired――as he is at a loss to know which of these worthies is actual Champion――he will fight Harry Broome for £200 or £300 a side.” [We may state, for Paddock’s information, that Broome, when he forfeited some time back to the Slasher, declared his intention of retiring from the Ring, and leaving the title to the Tipton.] “Paddock adds that if neither Perry nor Broome takes up the gauntlet, he shall consider himself Champion, as prepared to meet all comers.”

In the following week’s issue, the Editor announces that Johnny Broome has called on him, and left a deposit to “find a man” who will fight Paddock for £200, or any larger sum.

As the day of the battle approached, the interest in the expected encounter increased, and the eighteenth deposit, carrying the stakes up to £160, being duly posted at Alec Keene’s, “Three Tuns,” Moor Street, Soho, all seemed going fairly. On the following Tuesday, however, an alarming intelligence reached Air Street, that Harry had been apprehended at his training quarters at Patcham, and taken before the Brighton magistrates, by whom he had been bound over to keep the peace for three months, thus putting an end to hostilities for that period at least. We shall not here encumber our pages by any detail of the angry “’fending and proving” which followed this very mysterious arrest, of which each sought to cast the blame on his opponent’s party. On this occasion the Editor of _Bell’s Life_, who was the stakeholder, declared it to be his duty, from documents laid before him, to hand over to Paddock the £180 deposited, which was done on the 20th of February, 1855. Hereupon Broome deposited £10 for a fresh match, to come off on May 7th, after the expiry of Harry’s recognisances, which Paddock covered, and once again received forfeit from his wrangling opponent on the 12th of March. Hereupon the “highest authority” declared, “in answer to numerous correspondents,” that “Tom Paddock is now Champion of England, until the position is wrested from him by the Tipton Slasher or Aaron Jones, or confirmed to him by their defeat.” And here we may note that “old K-legs” was still “pegging away on the same line;” but the ruddy hero of Redditch fancied Aaron Jones to be an easier job, so he postponed his old friend’s invitation, and joined issue with Jones by signing articles on April 3rd, at Bill Hayes’s, the “Crown,” in Cranbourne Passage, to fight on the 26th of June, 1855, for £100 a side, within 70 and over 50 miles from London. As we were present on the previous Thursday, at Dan Dismore’s, and ourselves registered the “ring-constables” for preservation of order on the occasion, it may be interesting to print our note. Those who gave in their names were: Nat Langham, Edward Hoiles (the Spider), Tom Sayers, Jack Grant, Jemmy Welsh, Young Sambo (Welsh), Jemmy Massey, Billy Duncan, Charley Mallett, John Hicks, Alf. Walker, Tom Adams, and Ned More; Ned Adams, Inspector. All these were provided with armlets and a number, and were empowered to prevent any person intruding within the outer roped circle, unless provided with an inner-ring ticket, purchased of them individually or of the appointed distributors. Each of these constables was compensated by an “honorarium” in proportion to the receipts for “privilege” tickets, which was subject to deduction or fines for proved remissness or breach of duty. These arrangements fell into confusion and almost into oblivion when the master-hand which framed them retired from the conduct of the affairs of the Ring, of which he had been, through good report or evil report, through sunshine as through storm, “the guide, philosopher, and friend”――nay, more, the disinterested and zealous champion and advocate. We allude to Vincent Dowling, Esq., who for more than thirty years edited _Bell’s Life in London_, and to whom the hand which writes these lines is proud to own that that teacher was the Gamaliel at whose feet he sat to learn the now forgotten and self-degraded principles of honour, courage, forbearance, and fair play embodied in and inculcated by the Art of Self-Defence. On this occasion the law survived the law-giver, and the most perfect order was maintained. On the former occasion Jones’s friends declared that their man lost the use of his left hand from an injury to his collar-bone in the tenth round, and moreover, that he was suffering from a disablement brought on by undue exertion, for which the application of leeches had been considered necessary only a day or two before the fight. If, they argued, Jones could under these drawbacks, prolong the fight for two hours and twenty-four minutes, to the 121st round, the chances were now in his favour. Besides, Jones, on a recent occasion (at Jem Ward’s benefit) had so unmistakably “bested” Master Tom, flooring him in masterly style, that his friends were “legion” for this second trial. For some time after the signature of articles both men remained in town, but at length Aaron betook himself to Shrewsbury, where he remained until a fortnight before the fight, when he came up to London, and took up his quarters at Sutton, in Surrey, under the surveillance of Bob Fuller, who, “it goes without saying,” did all that could be done to bring him “fit to the post.” Paddock went to the neighbourhood of Leatherhead, where, by strong exercise on the breezy downs, he did all that could be done to bring his “pipes” and muscle into the primest order. We saw him both at the Epsom and Ascot meetings, to each of which he came on “Shanks’s mare” and certainly looked in “wind and limb,” eye, skin, and general complexion, up to anything. On the Monday previous both men showed at the Rotunda, Blackfriars Road, at the gathering for the benefit of the Pugilistic Benevolent Association, and of course received the congratulations of the crowd.

The “special” was chartered on this occasion by Dan Dismore, Hayes, Mr. Jackson, and Paddock’s backer. On our arrival at the terminus we met an immense assemblage of curious folks, who unable to be present at the fight were anxious to get a peep at the men. On the platform was a goodly concourse, noblemen and soldiers, Corinthians and clergy (at any rate, we noticed the “Bishop of Bond Street,” carefully superintending the safe deposit of sundry Fortnum-and-Mason-looking baskets and hampers in the guard’s van), sporting pubs, country-cousins, pugilists, and many well-breeched plebeians. At a few minutes past eight o’clock, both men with their immediate attendants were comfortably seated, and at half-past eight the whistle sounded and away we steamed. The well-known stations on the Eastern Counties were quickly passed, and, with the exception of one stoppage for a “drink” for the iron horse, we had covered nearly eighty miles from Shoreditch before we put on the brakes, and pulled up near Mildenhall, in the county of Suffolk. Here an excellent piece of ground had been selected, and a first-rate inner-and-outer-ring were quickly marked out by Tom Oliver, Tom Callas, and assistants. A brisk trade in tickets for the outer enclosure showed a receipt of £33 10s., a very fair contribution to the funds of the P.B.A. The heat, as the men stripped for the encounter, was intense, and by an amicable agreement the usual toss for corners was dispensed with, and the men “placed across the sun;” thus neither had the disadvantage of advancing to the scratch with the rays of that dazzling luminary in his face. At half-past twelve o’clock, the number of spectators numbering a little over a thousand, Jones threw in his cap, attended by Bob Fuller and Bill Hayes, the latter, who was in ill-health, resigning his position soon afterwards to Jerry Noon. Paddock soon followed, Alec Keene and Jemmy Massey acting as his assistants. Paddock, after shaking hands, offered £25 in crisp bank notes to Aaron, on condition of a deposit of £20 on the part of the latter, but Jones declined the wager. The odds round the ring were now at this figure――5 to 4 on Paddock. Jemmy Massey, however, offering “3 to 2, rather than not get on,” had his £15 taken against £10, and the market-price went back again.

As the men stood up Paddock looked red, hard, and, contrary to former exhibitions, sinewy and comparatively lean, with a look of wear and tear about him that spoke well for his attention to training. Jones was fine, symmetrical, and a model for a statuary; but though he smiled and looked healthy and confident, we could not bring ourselves to think he could last out a day’s work with the Redditch man. At six minutes to one the seconds retired and business began.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――Paddock was evidently not disposed to make a waiting race; he approached his man with an ominous smile, and at once launched forth his left, which was prettily stopped. He tried it a second time, but Jones was away. Tom would not be denied, but dashed resolutely in, and caught Jones heavily on the mouth with his left. Jones turned half round and went down, bleeding from the lips. (_First blood_ for Paddock. First knock-down blow was also claimed, but not allowed by the referee, who considered that Jones was a consenting party to his own downfall.)

2.――Paddock again tried his left, catching Aaron a second time on the mouth. This led to some heavy exchanges, in which Paddock got it on the left cheek heavily, and Jones in the mouth. Paddock in the end slipped down.

3.――The men at once got within distance, and heavy counter-hits left and right were exchanged, Jones with the latter hand catching Tom another spank on the left cheek, and receiving on the left peeper and ribs. A close followed, in which both were down, Jones under.

4.――Paddock came up smiling, when Jones let go his left heavily on Paddock’s larboard optic, and his right on his nose――a very heavy hit, which produced a good supply of red currant juice, and both fell.

5.――Paddock dashed in, but was met with another smasher on the snout. He retaliated on Aaron’s left eye, inflicting a cut on the brow, and drawing a fresh tap. He made his left again on Aaron’s cheek, which led to heavy exchanges, left and right, both getting it on the left side of the nut, and Paddock at the close fell on his south pole.

6.――Jones came up with his left peeper in mourning; Paddock’s sinister visual organ had on a similar suit. Paddock determinedly rattled in and tickled Aaron on the left side of his occiput. He tried a second dose, but napped an ugly right-hander on the left eyebrow, which was cut, and the ruby at once responded to the call. Heavy exchanges without an attempt to stop followed, and both were down, Paddock under.

7.――Both showed serious marks of punishment, but neither said “nay.” Some heavy rambling exchanges took place, and Jones slipped down.

8.――No ceremony on either side, but ding-dong was the order of the day. The exchanges were in favour of Paddock, who paid some heavy to visitations Aaron’s left peeper. In the close both were down.

9.――Jones attempted to lead off, but Paddock got cleverly away; Jones followed him up, and some tremendous exchanges took place, Jones in the end knocking Paddock off his legs by a tremendous crack from his right on the jaw. (First knock-down blow for Jones.)

10.――Paddock looked serious――he was evidently shaken by the hit in the last round. Jones, however, instead of going to work, waited for him. Paddock quickly recovered, and just touched Aaron on the proboscis; this brought on a rally, in which little mischief was done, and Jones got down.

11.――Paddock took the lead, planted a left-hander on Jones’s left daylight; Jones retaliated by a right-hander on the same spot, and then a second edition of the same, and in getting back fell on the ropes; he was not down, and Paddock might with fairness have struck him, but, with a manly feeling, for which he is entitled to much credit, walked to his own corner amidst cheers from both sides.

12.――This was a tremendous fighting round. It commenced with some heavy exchanges left and right, Paddock reaching Aaron’s left eye, and the latter pounding Tom on the smeller. A break away, followed by some severe counter-hits in favour of Jones, who again drew Tom’s cork, brought them to a close, in which both were down. Paddock distilling the ruby from his nose and left eye, and Jones from the nozzle. (The facetious Jerry Noon remarked that it was “Chelsea Hospital to a sentry-box” on Jones.)

13.――Jones led off, caught Tom another nasty one on the side of his knowledge-box, and Tom, astonished at its suddenness, dropped.

14.――Paddock tried his left, which was neatly stopped. Again did he make the attempt with a like result, but Jones with quickness planted his right on the damaged left eye with effect, and Paddock fell, Jones on him.

15.――Tom came up with his left shutter nearly closed, and the cheek on the same side as big as a pumpkin. He attempted to lead off, but was again well stopped. He would persevere, and got home on Jones’s left ogle. Jones countered heavily on the same point, and Paddock again got down, Jones on him.

16.――Jones rushed at his man, who in retreating fell.

17.――Paddock led off, but missed. Tremendous counter-hits followed, Paddock getting it on the side of his nut from Jones’s right, and Jones being knocked off his legs by a heavy visitation on his left cheek, which inflicted a severe cut and spilled more of the vital fluid.

18.――Paddock again missed a well-intended left hander, and, after a few scrambling exchanges, Jones fell weak. He had evidently not recovered the terrific hit in the last round.

19.――Paddock let go his left, which caught Jones on the damaged chop, but not heavily. Jones returned on the left eye, and Paddock dropped laughing.

20.――Paddock went to his man, who let go his left on the side of his head, and Paddock fell. He jumped up to renew the round, when Jones at once went to work, pegged away left and right, drawing some more claret from the left eye. Paddock returned on the left cheek, but in the end was knocked through the ropes, Jones falling weak from his own exertions.

21.――Paddock’s lead was again stopped, and Jones again propped him on the left cheek. Paddock dropped, and once more jumped up to renew the round, but Jones’s seconds forced him away to his owner.

22.――Jones, slightly recovered from his weakness, went to work, and some tremendous counter-hits were exchanged, Paddock on the left eye, and Jones on the smelling bottle. Paddock now shoved in his right heavily on Jones’s ribs, and dropped, amidst cries of “Foul.” No appeal, however, was made, and the affair passed off.

23.――Paddock came up with his left ocular completely closed, the opposite cheek being swollen as if from sympathy. Jones’s left eye was also barely open. Paddock went resolutely to work with both hands, Jones retaliating, and in the end Jones fell.

24.――Paddock took the lead by another essay upon Jones’s head, which staggered him. Paddock at once closed, threw, and fell on him.

25.――Slight changes to a close, in which a little mutual fibbing took place. In the end both down, Paddock under, but still much the fresher man.

26.――Jones attempted to open the pleadings, but Paddock stepped back, jobbing him on the snuffbox as he came in. Slogging exchanges now took place, in favour of Jones, who caught Paddock a tremendous right hander behind the left ear, which cut that organ severely, and opened a new crimson conduit. The men closed and fell together, Jones under.

27.――Paddock, although bleeding from the left ear and eye, came up merrily, and led off with the left on Aaron’s os frontis. Jones returned with a heavy right hander on Tom’s darkened peeper, and again knocked him off his pins.

28.――Paddock, who was very slow to the call of time, came up weak. Jones led off, with his right on the nose, but had not devil enough to let it go with a will. Paddock retreated until he had shaken off the effects of the knock-down in the last round, and then caught Jones heavily on the body. Jones returned on the mouth with effect, the blow turning Paddock half round. Paddock at once walked to his corner and sat down――an example followed by Jones. This hit was very severe, and many persons thought Paddock would not come many more rounds.

29.――Paddock tried to lead off, but was stopped. Jones then planted his left slightly on the right cheek, and Paddock got down.

30.――Jones went to work, but without force, and after some slight exchanges, both fell on their knees exhausted. The intense heat must have been indeed distressing to both.

31.――Slight exchanges, in which little mischief was done, and Paddock again down.

32.――Both attempted to deliver, and both missed their mark. Slight exchanges, each on the left side of the nut, and both down fatigued.

33.――Jones essayed a lead, which was neatly stopped. He then dashed in, and after a scrambling rally both fell over the ropes.

34.――Paddock’s head presented an unique specimen of Aaron’s handiwork. The left cheek was swollen as big as a cocoa-nut, and his eye was all but covered up. With the other optic he glared furiously upon his opponent, and rushing at him, delivered his left on the cheek. Jones returned slightly on the body, and Tom dropped.

35.――Paddock stopped Aaron’s left. Paddock returned twice heavily on the ribs with his right, leaving visible impression of his knuckles, and then dropped without a return, amidst the hisses of the Aaronites.

36.――Paddock’s left well stopped. A tremendous ding-dong rally then took place, in which Paddock got it on the left eye and cheek, and Jones on the ribs. In the end both down.

37.――Paddock’s left again stopped, and Jones returned on the side of the wig-block. Paddock then popped in his left with effect on the mouth, and after some more exchanges Paddock got down. He looked round anxiously at Jones, as he was being carried to his corner, and evidently wished his work was done.

38.――Paddock made his right heavily on Jones’s body, and then his left on the side of his head. Both now pegged away with determination, and in a most unflinching way, as if they had received fresh vigour. The hitting, however, was in favour of Paddock, and in the end Jones fell weak. It had evidently been an expiring effort on his part to get a decided lead, and having failed it was now patent to all that his defeat was a mere question of time.

39.――Paddock let go his left on the side of Aaron’s cheek, which led to some severe counter-hits. They then closed, and Paddock pegged away with his right at the ribs until both were down.

40.――Some slight exchanges, without mischief, and Jones down.

41.――Paddock came up with an awful grin; his single open peeper glaring in a most ludicrous manner. He tried to lead off, but napped it on the smeller and left ear, from which the main was again tuned on. Paddock then made his right on the ribs, and Jones dropped.

42.――Paddock again effected a heavy right-handed delivery on the ribs, and after slight exchanges both were down.

43.――Slight exchanges, in which neither was effective, and in a scramble they fell. Paddock under.

44.――Jones attempted to lead off, but was easily stopped; Paddock returning heavily on his left eye, and then on the body, again screwed his courage to the sticking-place, and a second with his right and got down.

45.――Paddock led off, but was short. In another attempt he reached Aaron’s damaged bread-basket, and dropped à la Bendigo. He jumped up to renew the fight, when Jones nailed him on the left side of his brain-pan, and Tom finally dropped to end this round.

46.――Jones tried to lead, but was very slow, and easily stopped. Paddock again reached his ribs with his right, and a sharpish rally ended in their failing together at the ropes.

47.――Paddock’s left was out of distance; he tried his right at the body but missed, and Jones dashing in, caught him on the right cheek slightly, and fell on his face.

48.――Counter-hits with the left, Paddock catching Jones very heavily on the left temple, and dropping him as if shot.

49.――Jones, very slow to the call of time, at length came up wildly. He staggered in to close, and they fell, Jones under.

50.――Jones, alter a futile attempt to punish, fell weak.

51.――Slight exchanges, but no mischief, and both down.

52.――Wild, swinging hits which did not get home. Paddock then planted his right heavily on the ribs, and again got down, amidst loud hisses. There was no appeal to the referee, and the fight proceeded.

53.――Paddock let go his left on the mouth; slight exchanges followed, and they then fell on their backs. Both were much exhausted, but Paddock was the stronger on his pins.

54.――After slight exchanges, Paddock again made his right at the ribs, and got down.

55.――Paddock led off, but was stopped. They then got close, and some slight fibbing ended in Jones seeking Mother Earth. Paddock stood looking at him, as much as to say, “Why don’t you cut it?” until he was carried to his corner.

56.――Jones attempted to lead off, but Paddock countered him heavily on the cheek, and he fell, amidst cries of “Take him away.”

57.――Jones, although slow to time, came up steadily, and succeeded in putting in a little one “on the place where Tom’s eye ought to be,” and having received in return on the proboscis, he fell on his latter end.

58.――Paddock rushed in to finish, but Jones, to the surprise of all, stopped him, and some heavy counter-hits took place. Paddock getting another crack on his disfigured nob, and hitting Jones down by a spank on the dice-box.

59.――Paddock planted his left on Jones’s kissing-organ heavily, opening a fresh tap, and Aaron again dropped. For two more rounds did Jones stagger up to the scratch, but it was only to receive――all the steel was out of him――he was extremely weak on his legs, one eye was closed, and the other following suit; his nose, mouth, and ribs were severely damaged, while Paddock――although tremendously disfigured about the title-page――had still a little “go” left in his trotters. Every one begged of Jones or his seconds on his behalf to give in, but the gallant fellow persevered against hope until the close of the 61st round, when getting another heavy crack on the mouth, he fell, almost senseless, and his seconds threw up the sponge in token of defeat, at the end of one hour and twenty-nine minutes. Poor Aaron, who had done all he could do to turn the tide in his favour, was much mortified by this second defeat at the hands of Paddock, and cried like a child. He could scarcely walk on leaving the ring, and was obliged to lie down on an adjacent bank for some time before he could be removed to the station. Paddock was no great shakes, and was evidently much delighted that his task was at an end. He went into the ring with a full conviction that he should not gain a bloodless victory, and that he should get his brain-pan pretty well knocked about, but we question whether even he, confident as he was, anticipated that it would be quite so “hot” as it turned out.

REMARKS.――Every one who witnessed the above battle will cordially agree with us that it was a determined, manly struggle for pre-eminence throughout. It clearly demonstrated to our mind, however, the fact that Jones does not possess sufficient physique to enable him to contend successfully against such a hardy bit of stuff as Tom Paddock. True, he is a harder hitter than Paddock, but then, after a time, unless a man has a frame of iron, this gift is materially diminished by the constant jar; and a determined adversary, with such a granite nob as Tom Paddock, capable of receiving almost any amount of punishment, is almost certain to last longest at mere give-and-take fighting, as was fully proved on Tuesday. Jones, notwithstanding he had received hints from the most accomplished boxer of the day, Jem Ward, still persevered in his old system of hitting principally with his right-hand, a practice which, although it altered Paddock’s physiognomy in the most extraordinary manner on one side, still was not calculated, unattended as it was by much execution from his left, to reduce his opponent to a state of darkness. He punished Paddock more than that hero was ever punished before, and we believe that, did he possess more wear and tear, it would have been a much nearer thing than it was. He had for some time the best of the hitting, but, falling weak, the inequality was quickly removed by the determination of Paddock, who, seeing that he had his work to do, never gave Jones breathing time to collect his faculties.

The Old Tipton being matched with Aaron Jones, and Harry Broome being supposed to have retired from pugilism to publicanism, Tom was standing idle in the market-place, when on the 2nd of December he was enlivened by reading the following in the Ring column of _Bell_, under the heading of “WHO IS TO HAVE THE BELT?” A new one having been just put into the hands of a fashionable goldsmith from the proceeds of a public subscription:

“MR. EDITOR,――It was my intention never to have entered the roped arena again, but the persuasions of my old friends and backers have determined me to pull off my shirt once more. I now come forward for the satisfaction of the public and the Prize Ring, in order to determine who’s the better man, Tom Paddock or myself. I will fight him for £200 a side for the Champion’s Belt, which I feel I am entitled to, for both the Tipton Slasher and Aaron Jones have been beaten by me or by men that I have beaten, and therefore I claim it, and shall do so until fairly beaten in a roped ring, as a trophy of that description ought to be contested for man to man, and never obtained upon a mere challenge. To prove that I mean to carry out what I state, I will meet Paddock at your office on Wednesday, Dec. 12, to sign articles, to which the following condition must be attached:――The money not, under any circumstances, to be parted with until _fairly won or lost_ in a 24 feet roped ring. Should this not suit Paddock (not that I wish to interfere with the match between the Tipton Slasher and Aaron Jones) I will fight Aaron Jones for £200 a side, whether he wins or loses with the Tipton Slasher. By inserting this, you will oblige.――Yours, &c.,

“HENRY BROOME.” “Bell’s Life” Tavern, Strand, November 28, 1855.

Paddock lost no time in calling on the stakeholder, and leaving £10 early in the next week, under condition that if he could not raise £200, they should meet for £100. Broome did not flinch, and, after two more “conditional” deposits, articles were signed in the editorial sanctum of _Bell’s Life_, by which Thomas Paddock and Henry Broome mutually bound themselves to fight for £200 a side, on Monday, May 19th, 1856, within 100 and over 50 miles from London. The anxiety in boxing circles, as the day drew near and all was found progressing smoothly to the desired issue, became intense; and Alec Keene’s “Three Tuns,” in Moor Street, whence Paddock was backed, and Harry’s own house, the newly named “Bell’s Life” Tavern (now the “Norfolk Arms”), in the Strand, were crowded with curious inquirers as to how the men went on, and for “the straight tip.” On the day previous both champions showed, and the distribution of colours――a blue with white spot for Broome, and a blue with a white check for Paddock――on the usual terms of a guinea or “nothing,” was extensive. Paddock was closely scrutinised by both friends and foes, each equally anxious to ascertain whether time or previous contests had impaired his freshness or vigour; but no traces of deterioration were there, and those who felt his muscle declared their belief that he was never in finer trim.

Harry’s appearance, so far as his face was concerned, was that of perfect health, and the disappearance of the protuberance which had long been visible under his waistcoat was remarkable. These signs of careful training, with the prestige of his name, carried the odds to 6 and 7 to 4 in his favour. We knew that he worked hard and was most creditably abstemious; but we feared, as the sequel proved, that he was unable to train efficiently, and that strength was lost in the great reduction of weight to which he had been subjected.

It had been the original intention of the backers of the men to have given the inhabitants of Kent and Sussex the opportunity of a view of this encounter; but it proved, upon inquiry, that it was impossible to obtain a “special” on those lines, as some saints in the directorate of the companies had issued an ukase against such “excursions” as were not to their own taste or under their own patronage. Recourse was, therefore, had to the Eastern Counties, where the necessary facilities for an excursion of “Odd Fellows” was applied for and granted. It was suggested to the “managers” of the “outing”――Alec Keene, Fred Broome, and Dan Dismore――that any invasion of the territory of Cambridge, Huntingdon, or the country round Mildenhall or Brandon, would inevitably be resisted; so these worthies, after consultation with experienced strategists, deemed it prudent to abandon the old and beaten track, and strike out a new plan of campaign. The company’s agent was, therefore, apprised that the excursionists wished to pass through Suffolk into Norfolk, by the Eastern Union Line, as their place of reunion would be a few miles beyond Ipswich. The officials made their arrangements accordingly, and on our arrival at the Shoreditch terminus, at eight o’clock on Monday morning, we found that no pains had been spared to prevent anything like crushing or disorder at the doors. The neighbourhood of the station was, as usual, crowded with anxious spectators, who hoped to get a view of the principals in the forthcoming duel; but, so far as Broome was concerned, they were disappointed, as he had proceeded at an early hour to Stratford, where it was arranged the train should stop and pick him up. Paddock, however, accompanied by Jemmy Massey and Alec Keene, was early at the starting-place, and was eagerly greeted by the multitude. From the heavy tariff which had been determined on, we fully expected to find the company not only very select, but far from numerous, and we anticipated that the original number of carriages ordered would have been found sufficient; but such was the rush of the public, that, long before the hour of starting, every carriage was filled, and chiefly by respectable persons. It was soon perceptible that a considerable addition to the conveyances was required, and no less than seven extra carriages were added, all of which filled almost immediately; and, not only so, but very shortly after the special had started a sufficient number of gentlemen arrived at the station to charter another train of some four or five carriages, to follow that containing the belligerents. Among the _voyageurs_ by the first train were almost all the pugilists of note, and an immense number of Corinthians of every grade. In fact, a larger muster of the higher classes we have not seen on such an occasion for many years. There were one or two familiar faces missing, but there were quite sufficient new hands to make up for the deficiency. Among the company was an Indian prince of high rank, and his suite, anxious to obtain a glimpse of the peculiarly national spectacle, and we were delighted to hear that he was treated throughout with the greatest respect, and suffered not the slightest indignity from the thoughtless throng on account of his peculiar appearance or unaccustomed manners; a piece of good behaviour on the part of an unpoliced crowd that was a creditable example to those public gatherings which pretend to superior order and civility. The only complaint we heard on the way down was on the subject of the commissariat, the want of “belly-timber” being universally felt. It turned out that the absence of refreshment among the Corinthians was attributable to the pressure of a certain class at the doors of the station, who, unwilling to pay, and anxious to get a trip for nothing, besieged the doors at the latest moment, in the hope of taking the officials off their guard, and so making a rush for the platform. The formidable appearance of this phalanx induced the police of the line to close the doors and refuse admission to all. Unluckily, amongst the late arrivals, was Mr. Commissary Dismore, who, with his Land Transport Corps, well provided with everything necessary, arrived just too late. Dan himself contrived to get round by a private way on to the platform, but, alas! the “vital ammunition” was cut off. Thanks, however, to the second special, the provisions were brought down in time for the hungry and thirsty souls to refresh themselves after the mill, when due justice was done to Dan’s ample provision. The first special did not leave Shoreditch until a quarter past nine; it reached Stratford about half-past; and here Harry Broome and his friends were picked up. Harry’s mug looked hard and healthy, and about his mouth was a smile of confidence. The universal exclamation was, “How well he looks!” and the short glimpse obtained of him induced many persons to “open” at offers of 7 to 4 on him――offers which the friends of Paddock were not slow to accept. The train now sped on at a good pace to Chelmsford, where water was taken in, and we again set forward on our journey. At Manningtree, where a second refresher was necessary for the engine, an intimation was received that the “war hawks” were abroad, and that the Ipswich police had, through the indiscretion of some would-be-clever persons, who had gone on over night, obtained a scent of what was intended, and had telegraphed to the police at Diss, in Norfolk, and other places, to be on the look-out. This intimation arrived most opportunely, and it was at once resolved to put on the double, and to bring off the mill as close as possible to Ipswich, where it was least expected. The commander-in-chief mounted the engine, and, under his direction, a likely spot was selected, where the train was brought to a halt, and the assembled multitude, to the number of at least five hundred, dropped upon the field like a flight of crows. Several of the committee of the P.B.A. at once spread themselves about the field in skirmishing order to select the best spot, but while they were so engaged the Commissary and Callas had pitched upon a place which, although not the best, was still tolerably level, and the grass was not very long. Here no time was lost in getting up the fixings. It was uncertain how long the Ipswich “blues” would be hoodwinked, and, therefore, time was everything. A large outer-ring was formed simultaneously with the original circle, and round this the non-paying part of the community quickly ranged themselves. The business of selling inner-ring tickets proceeded briskly, and a sum of £47 was realised thereby, the surplus of which, after paying ring-keepers and the farmer on whose grounds the mill took place for damage to his grass, went to the funds of the Association. So great was the number of privilege ticket-holders that, on sitting down at some distance from the ring, they formed a double row almost the whole way round, and effectually proved their own barrier against the irruption of those who at all times are more free than welcome. It is true that several of the latter class, by some means, obtained access to Broome’s corner later on, where their vociferations were the reverse of agreeable; but, thanks to the exertions of Mike Madden, Bill Barry, and Fred Mason, they were effectually kept within bounds. At length, by a quarter to one, everything was in apple-pie order, and the signal being given, the men at once stepped into the arena; Harry Broome attended by Tass Parker and Tom Sayers, and Paddock under the surveillance of the accomplished Alec Keene and Jemmy Massey. They smiled and shook hands, Harry shaking his nut in a significant manner at Tom, as much as to say, “I’ve got you at last, old fellow.” The colours were now tied to the post, and while the men were preparing their toilet a good deal of betting took place. The first offer was £35 to £20 on Broome――a bet which was at once made and staked. 7 to 4 was then laid very freely, the business of booking and staking going on most briskly. Massey now came forward and offered to take £20 to £10, but not being able to get a higher bid than £15 to £10, he closed, and this amount was staked, as was also a similar bet laid to Alec Keene. The layers now began to hang back, and £30 to £20 became the current odds, at which a good deal more business was done. A heavier amount of betting we never remember to have witnessed at the ring-side; and this tended, more than anything else, to show the intense interest the battle excited. At length, offers became more languid, and finally ceased altogether; and as we did not hear of a single bet after the mill commenced, we are inclined to think that the speculators had staked every farthing they brought with them. By one o’clock it was announced that both men were quite ready, and time being called they were led to the scratch, where, after the usual hands across, they were left, peeled to the buff, and their proportions and condition displayed to the curious gaze of the assembled throng.

Tom Paddock, as he stood at the scratch, looked every inch a gladiator. Each thew and sinew was perfectly developed, and seemed ready to burst the tightened skin. His broad shoulders and deep chest, covered with ponderous muscles, were the admiration of all; and the distinctness with which his lower ribs were visible proved that there was not an ounce of superfluous flesh on his wiry, powerful frame. His mug was hard and ruddy, and there was clearly little there to swell up should his dial come in too close propinquity to Harry’s sledge-hammers. He looked good-humoured, but determined, and evidently feeling the importance of the occasion, he toed the scratch with a determination to “do or die.” Widely different was the aspect presented by the once powerful Harry Broome. True it was that he had got rid of his superabundant belly, but in doing so it was apparent to all that he had also got rid of much of his muscle and sinew. When he fought Harry Orme he was certainly well covered with fat, but still underneath this coating the evidences of great power were plainly visible; but now, what a falling off was there! Barring the aforesaid protuberance, he was as fat as ever, but all appearances of sinewy strength had vanished. His breasts were soft and puffy, his arms round and smooth, while the flesh on his once fine back hung in collops; there was also a slight eruption on his pale skin, which betokened a feverish state of the blood, which would not have been guessed from the appearance of his face. He said he felt quite well, though not so strong as on former occasions. On inquiring of Joe Bostock, who had been with him while he finished his training at Bosham, near Chichester, we learned that he had several times complained of weakness, and that the more he tried to get his fat off the more did it seem to accumulate. Harry himself informed us, and we are satisfied as to the truth of his statement, that he reduced himself upwards of 3st. in the course of his exercise, but he found himself getting so weak that he was compelled at last to be more gentle in his work; and he now declares his belief that had he gone into the ring in his ordinary state, without any preparation whatever, he would have been better and stronger than he was on Monday. With all his drawbacks, however, he was extremely confident as to the result of the battle, and advised his friends to back him at all hazards. He no doubt depended upon his science, and expected to set at defiance the well-known onslaughts of his opponent. We must now bring these preliminaries to a conclusion, and proceed to our account of

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――Precisely at six minutes past one the onslaught commenced. Broome, to the astonishment of all, did not assume the elegant attitude we have seen in former battles, but feinted and dodged about without gathering himself together in the least. Tom was evidently surprised, and thought he must be “kidding;” he therefore assumed a defensive position, and bided his time. He had not long to wait. Harry was bent on forcing an opening, and dashed in, feinted with his left, ducked his head, and lodged his left heavily on Tom’s breadbasket. His nut was laid open to a severe upper cut, but Tom, bewildered, did not see, and therefore did not take the advantage of his opening. Broome now came again, let fly his left at the forehead, inflicting no damage, napped a little one on the left brow, and slipped down.

2.――Paddock at once rattled in, let go his left with great quickness on the proboscis, drawing first blood. Broome returned on the left cheek, and also elicited a supply of the ruby. Harry then closed, and tried to throw his man, but, after a short struggle, in which Tom was very busy with his right at close quarters, Tom slipped from his grasp and fell.

3.――Broome, out of all form, tried to take a lead, but in vain. Paddock was too quick for him, and pegged away heavily left and right on the conk, inflicting a cut on the bridge thereof, drawing more fluid. Broome again closed, and Tom resorted to his fibbing system with both hands heavily on the side of Harry’s nut, and on his ribs. This effectually put a stop to any chance of his being thrown, and in the end both fell side by side.

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.