Chapter 42

THROUGH George Bird I made the acquaintance of the leadingsurgeons and physicians of the North London Hospital, where Ifrequently attended the operations of Erichsen, JohnMarshall, and Sir Henry Thompson, following them afterwardsin their clinical rounds. Amongst the physicians, ProfessorSydney Ringer remains one of my oldest friends. Both surgeryand therapeutics interested me deeply. With regard to thefirst, curiosity was supplemented by the incidental desire toovercome the natural repugnance we all feel to the mere sightof blood.

　　Chemistry I studied in the laboratory of a professionalfriend of Dr. Bird's. After a while my teacher would leaveme to carry out small commissions of a simple character whichhad been put into his hands, such as the analysis of water,bread, or other food-stuffs. He himself often hadengagements elsewhere, and would leave me in possession ofthe laboratory, with a small urchin whom he had taught to beuseful. This boy was of the meekest and mildest disposition.

　　Whether his master had frightened him or not I do not know.

　　He always spoke in a whisper, and with downcast eyes. Hehandled everything as if it was about to annihilate him, orhe it, and looked as if he wouldn't bite - even a tartlet.

　　One day when I had finished my task, and we were alone, Ibethought me of making some laughing gas, and trying theeffect of it on the gentle youth. I offered him a shillingfor the experiment, which, however, proved more expensivethan I had bargained for. I filled a bladder with the gas,and putting a bit of broken pipe-stem in its neck for amouthpiece, gave it to the boy to suck - and suck he did. Ina few seconds his eyes dilated, his face became lividlywhite, and I had some trouble to tear the intoxicatingbladder from his clutches. The moment I had done so, thetrue nature of the gutter-snipe exhibited itself. He beganby cutting flip-flaps and turning windmills all round theroom; then, before I could stop him, swept an armful ofvaluable apparatus from the tables, till the whole floor wasstrewn with wreck and poisonous solutions. The dismay of thechemist when he returned may be more easily imagined thandescribed.

　　Some years ago, there was a well-known band of amateurmusicians called the 'Wandering Minstrels.' This bandoriginated in my rooms in Dean's Yard. Its nucleus wascomposed of the following members: Seymour Egerton,afterwards Lord Wilton, Sir Archibald Macdonald my brother-in-law, Fred Clay, Bertie Mitford (the present Lord Redesdale- perhaps the finest amateur cornet and trumpet player of theday), and Lord Gerald Fitzgerald. Our concerts were given inthe Hanover Square Rooms, and we played for charities allover the country.

　　To turn from the musical art to the art - or science is itcalled? - of self-defence, once so patronised by the highestfashion, there was at this time a famous pugilistic battle -the last of the old kind - fought between the Englishchampion, Tom Sayers, and the American champion, Heenan.

　　Bertie Mitford and I agreed to go and see it.

　　The Wandering Minstrels had given a concert in the HanoverSquare Rooms. The fight was to take place on the followingmorning. When the concert was over, Mitford and I went tosome public-house where the 'Ring' had assembled, and wheretickets were to be bought, and instructions received. Fightswhen gloves were not used, and which, especially in thiscase, might end fatally, were of course illegal; and everyprecaution had been taken by the police to prevent it. Aspecial train was to leave London Bridge Station about 6 A.M.

　　We sat up all night in my room, and had to wait an hour inthe train before the men with their backers arrived. As soonas it was daylight, we saw mounted police galloping on theroads adjacent to the line. No one knew where the trainwould pull up. Ten minutes after it did so, a ring wasformed in a meadow close at hand. The men stripped, andtossed for places. Heenan won the toss, and with it aconsiderable advantage. He was nearly a head taller thanSayers, and the ground not being quite level, he chose thehigher side of the ring. But this was by no means his only'pull.' Just as the men took their places the sun began torise. It was in Heenan's back, and right in the other'sface.

　　Heenan began the attack at once with scornful confidence; andin a few minutes Sayers received a blow on the forehead abovehis guard which sent him slithering under the ropes; his headand neck, in fact, were outside the ring. He lay perfectlystill, and in my ignorance, I thought he was done for. Not abit of it. He was merely reposing quietly till his secondsput him on his legs. He came up smiling, but not a jot theworse. But in the course of another round or two, down hewent again. The fight was going all one way. The Englishmanseemed to be completely at the mercy of the giant. I was sodisgusted that I said to my companion: 'Come along, Bertie,the game's up. Sayers is good for nothing.'

　　But now the luck changed. The bull-dog tenacity and splendidcondition of Sayers were proof against these violent shocks.

　　The sun was out of his eyes, and there was not a mark of ablow either on his face or his body. His temper, hispresence of mind, his defence, and the rapidity of hismovements, were perfect. The opening he had watched for cameat last. He sprang off his legs, and with his whole weightat close quarters, struck Heenan's cheek just under the eye.

　　It was like the kick of a cart-horse. The shouts might havebeen heard half-a-mile off. Up till now, the betting calledafter each round had come to 'ten to one on Heenan'; it fellat once to evens.

　　Heenan was completely staggered. He stood for a minute as ifhe did not know where he was or what had happened. And then,an unprecedented thing occurred. While he thus stood, Sayersput both hands behind his back, and coolly walked up to hisfoe to inspect the damage he had inflicted. I had hold ofthe ropes in Heenan's corner, consequently could not see hisface without leaning over them. When I did so, and beforetime was called, one eye was completely closed. What kind ofgenerosity prevented Sayers from closing the other during thepause, is difficult to conjecture. But his forbearance didnot make much difference. Heenan became more fierce, Sayersmore daring. The same tactics were repeated; and now, nolonger to the astonishment of the crowd, the same successrewarded them. Another sledge-hammer blow from theEnglishman closed the remaining eye. The difference in thecondition of the two men must have been enormous, for in fiveminutes Heenan was completely sightless.

　　Sayers, however, had not escaped scot-free. In counteringthe last attack, Heenan had broken one of the bones ofSayers' right arm. Still the fight went on. It was now abrutal scene. The blind man could not defend himself fromthe other's terrible punishment. His whole face was soswollen and distorted, that not a feature was recognisable.

　　But he evidently had his design. Each time Sayers struck himand ducked, Heenan made a swoop with his long arms, and atlast he caught his enemy. With gigantic force he got Sayers'

　　head down, and heedless of his captive's pounding, backedstep by step to the ring. When there, he forced Sayers' neckon to the rope, and, with all his weight, leant upon theEnglishman's shoulders. In a few moments the face of thestrangled man was black, his tongue was forced out of hismouth, and his eyes from their sockets. His arms fellpowerless, and in a second or two more he would have been acorpse. With a wild yell the crowd rushed to the rescue.

　　Warning cries of 'The police! The police!' mingled with theshouts. The ropes were cut, and a general scamper for thewaiting train ended this last of the greatest prize-fights.

　　We two took it easily, and as the mob were scuttling awayfrom the police, we saw Sayers with his backers, who werehelping him to dress. His arm seemed to hurt him a little,but otherwise, for all the damage he had received, he mighthave been playing at football or lawn tennis.

　　We were quietly getting into a first-class carriage, when Iwas seized by the shoulder and roughly spun out of the way.

　　Turning to resent the rudeness, I found myself face to facewith Heenan. One of his seconds had pushed me on one side tolet the gladiator get in. So completely blind was he, thatthe friend had to place his foot upon the step. And yetneither man had won the fight.

　　We still think - profess to think - the barbarism of the'Iliad' the highest flight of epic poetry; if Homer had sungthis great battle, how glorious we should have thought it!

　　Beyond a doubt, man 'yet partially retains thecharacteristics that adapted him to an antecedent state.'