A sullen purple cloud had been drifting slowly up from the south-west—­though I dare say that out of thirty thousand folk there were very few who had spared the time or attention to mark it.  Now it suddenly made its presence apparent by a few heavy drops of rain, thickening rapidly into a sharp shower, which filled the air with its hiss, and rattled noisily upon the high, hard hats of the Corinthians.  Coat-collars were turned up and handkerchiefs tied round. necks, whilst the skins of the two men glistened with the moisture as they stood up to each other once more.  I noticed that Belcher whispered very earnestly into Harrison’s ear as he rose from his knee, and that the smith nodded his head curtly, with the air of a man who understands and approves of his orders.

And what those orders were was instantly apparent.  Harrison was to be turned from the defender into the attacker.  The result of the rally in the last round had convinced his seconds that when it came to give-and-take hitting, their hardy and powerful man was likely to have the better of it.  And then on the top of this came the rain.  With the slippery grass the superior activity of Wilson would be neutralized, and he would find it harder to avoid the rushes of his opponent.  It was in taking advantage of such circumstances that the art of ringcraft lay, and many a shrewd and vigilant second had won a losing battle for his man.  “Go in, then!  Go in!” whooped the two prize-fighters, while every backer in the crowd took up the roar.

And Harrison went in, in such fashion that no man who saw him do it will ever forget it.  Crab Wilson, as game as a pebble, met him with a flush hit every time, but no human strength or human science seemed capable of stopping the terrible onslaught of this iron man.  Round after round he scrambled his way in, slap-bang, right and left, every hit tremendously sent home.  Sometimes he covered his own face with his left, and sometimes he disdained to use any guard at all, but his springing hits were irresistible.  The rain lashed down upon them, pouring from their faces and running in crimson trickles over their bodies, but neither gave any heed to it save to manoeuvre always with the view of bringing it in to each other’s eyes.  But round after round the west-countryman fell, and round after round the betting rose, until the odds were higher in our favour than ever they had been against us.  With a sinking heart, filled with pity and admiration for these two gallant men, I longed that every bout might be the last, and yet the “Time!” was hardly out of Jackson’s mouth before they had both sprung from their second’s knees, with laughter upon their mutilated faces and chaffing words upon their bleeding lips.  It may have been a humble object-lesson, but I give you my word that many a time in my life I have braced myself to a hard task by the remembrance of that morning upon Crawley Downs, asking myself if my manhood were so weak that I would not do for my country, or for those whom I loved, as much as these two would endure for a paltry stake and for their own credit amongst their fellows.  Such a spectacle may brutalize those who are brutal, but I say that there is a spiritual side to it also, and that the sight of the utmost human limit of endurance and courage is one which bears a lesson of its own.