Suppose, Tom, that you and your friends are pitted against an immense invader—­suppose you are bent on holding the ground, and dying there, if need be—­suppose it is life, freedom, honor, home, you are fighting for, and there is a death—­dealing sword or rifle in your hand, with which you are going to resist some tremendous enemy who challenges your championship on your native shore?  Then, Sir Thomas, resist him to the death, and it is all right:  kill him, and heaven bless you.  Drive him into the sea, and there destroy, smash, and drown him; and let us sing Laudamus.  In these national cases, you see, we override the indisputable first laws of morals.  Loving your neighbor is very well, but suppose your neighbor comes over from Calais and Boulogne to rob you of your laws, your liberties, your newspapers, your parliament (all of which some dear neighbors of ours have given up in the most self-denying manner):  suppose any neighbor were to cross the water and propose this kind of thing to us?  Should we not be justified in humbly trying to pitch him into the water?  If it were the King of Belgium himself we must do so.  I mean that fighting, of course, is wrong; but that there are occasions when, &c.—­I suppose I mean that that one-handed fight of Sayers is one of the most spirit-stirring little stories ever told and, with every love and respect for Morality—­my spirit says to her, “Do, for goodness’ sake, my dear madam, keep your true, and pure, and womanly, and gentle remarks for another day.  Have the great kindness to stand a LEETLE aside, and just let us see one or two more rounds between the men.  That little man with the one hand powerless on his breast facing yonder giant for hours, and felling him, too, every now and then!  It is the little ‘Java’ and the ‘Constitution’ over again.”

I think it is a most fortunate event for the brave Heenan, who has acted and written since the battle with a true warrior’s courtesy, and with a great deal of good logic too, that the battle was a drawn one.  The advantage was all on Mr. Sayers’s side.  Say a young lad of sixteen insults me in the street, and I try and thrash him, and do it.  Well, I have thrashed a young lad.  You great, big tyrant, couldn’t you hit one of your own size?  But say the lad thrashes me?  In either case I walk away discomfited:  but in the latter, I am positively put to shame.  Now, when the ropes were cut from that death-grip, and Sir Thomas released, the gentleman of Benicia was confessedly blind of one eye, and speedily afterwards was blind of both.  Could Mr. Savers have held out for three minutes, for five minutes, for ten minutes more?  He says he could.  So we say we could have held out, and did, and had beaten off the enemy at Waterloo, even if the Prussians hadn’t come up.  The opinions differ pretty much according to the nature of the opinants.  I say the Duke and Tom could have held out, that they meant to hold out, that they did hold out, and that there has been fistifying enough.  That crowd which came in and stopped the fight ought to be considered like one of those divine clouds which the gods send in Homer: