had been broken. He was neatly made and
active. He was about the height of a small woman, upright, thick-set,
and of a stature low and threatening. And nothing had been lost of the
advantages given him by nature; not a muscle which was not trained to
its object, pugilism. His firm chest was compact, and brown and shining
like brass. He smiled, and three teeth which he had lost added to his
smile.

His adversary was tall and overgrown--that is to say, weak.

He was a man of forty years of age, six feet high, with the chest of a
hippopotamus, and a mild expression of face. The blow of his fist would
break in the deck of a vessel, but he did not know how to use it.

The Irishman, Phelem-ghe-Madone, was all surface, and seemed to have
entered the ring to receive rather than to give blows. Only it was felt
that he would take a deal of punishment. Like underdone beef, tough to
chew, and impossible to swallow. He was what was termed, in local slang,
raw meat. He squinted. He seemed resigned.

The two men had passed the preceding night in the same bed, and had
slept together. They had each drunk port wine from the same glass, to
the three-inch mark.

Each had his group of seconds--men of savage expression, threatening the
umpires when it suited their side. Amongst Helmsgail's supporters was to
be seen John Gromane, celebrated for having carried an ox on his back;
and one called John Bray, who had once carried on his back ten bushels
of flour, at fifteen pecks to the bushel, besides the miller himself,
and had walked over two hundred paces under the weight. On the side of
Phelem-ghe-Madone, Lord Hyde had brought from Launceston a certain
Kilter, who lived at Green Castle, and could throw a stone weighing
twenty pounds to a greater height than the highest tower of the castle.

These three men, Kilter, Bray, and Gromane, were Cornishmen by birth,
and did honour to their county.

The other seconds were brutal fellows, with broad backs, bowed legs,
knotted fists, dull faces; ragged, fearing nothing, nearly all
jail-birds.

Many of them understood admirably how to make the police drunk. Each
profession should have its peculiar talents.

The field chosen was farther off than the bear garden, where they
formerly baited bears, bulls, and dogs; it was beyond the line of the
farthest houses, by the side of the ruins of the Priory of Saint Mary
Overy, dismantled by Henry VIII. The wind was northerly, and biting; a
small rain fel