Sayers, however, had not escaped scot-free. In countering
the last attack, Heenan had broken one of the bones of
Sayers' right arm. Still the fight went on. It was now a
brutal scene. The blind man could not defend himself from
the other's terrible punishment. His whole face was so
swollen and distorted, that not a feature was recognisable.
But he evidently had his design. Each time Sayers struck him
and ducked, Heenan made a swoop with his long arms, and at
last he caught his enemy. With gigantic force he got Sayers'
head down, and heedless of his captive's pounding, backed
step by step to the ring. When there, he forced Sayers' neck
on to the rope, and, with all his weight, leant upon the
Englishman's shoulders. In a few moments the face of the
strangled man was black, his tongue was forced out of his
mouth, and his eyes from their sockets. His arms fell
powerless, and in a second or two more he would have been a
corpse. With a wild yell the crowd rushed to the rescue.
Warning cries of 'The police! The police!' mingled with the
shouts. The ropes were cut, and a general scamper for the
waiting train ended this last of the greatest prize-fights.
We two took it easily, and as the mob were scuttling away
from the police, we saw Sayers with his backers, who were
helping him to dress. His arm seemed to hurt him a little,
but otherwise, for all the damage he had received, he might
have been playing at football or lawn tennis.
We were quietly getting into a first-class carriage, when I
was seized by the shoulder and roughly spun out of the way.
Turning to resent the rudeness, I found myself face to face
with Heenan. One of his seconds had pushed me on one side to
let the gladiator get in. So completely blind was he, that
the friend had to place his foot upon the step. And yet
neither 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 sung
this great battle, how glorious we should have thought it!
Beyond a doubt, man 'yet partially retains the
characteristics that adapted him to an antecedent state.'
CHAPTER XLIII
THROUGH the Cayley family, I became very intimate with their
near relatives the Worsleys of Hovingham, near York.
Hovingham has now become known to the musical world through
its festivals, annually held at the Hall under the patronage
of its late owner, Sir William Worsley. It was in his
father's time that this fine place, with its delightful
family, was for many years a home to me. Here I met the
Alisons, and at the kind invitation of Sir Archibald, paid
the great historian a visit at Possil, his seat in Scotland.
