The men stripped, and
tossed for places. Heenan won the toss, and with it a
considerable advantage. He was nearly a head taller than
Sayers, and the ground not being quite level, he chose the
higher side of the ring. But this was by no means his only
'pull.' Just as the men took their places the sun began to
rise. It was in Heenan's back, and right in the other's
face.
Heenan began the attack at once with scornful confidence; and
in a few minutes Sayers received a blow on the forehead above
his guard which sent him slithering under the ropes; his head
and neck, in fact, were outside the ring. He lay perfectly
still, and in my ignorance, I thought he was done for. Not a
bit of it. He was merely reposing quietly till his seconds
put him on his legs. He came up smiling, but not a jot the
worse. But in the course of another round or two, down he
went again. The fight was going all one way. The Englishman
seemed to be completely at the mercy of the giant. I was so
disgusted 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 splendid
condition of Sayers were proof against these violent shocks.
