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.
[Illustration: TOM PADDOCK.
_From a Photograph by_ WATKINS.]
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.