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.