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His whole face streamed with blood. The crowd cried, "Helmsgail has tapped his claret!" There was applause. Phelem-ghe-Madone, turning his arms like the sails of a windmill, struck out at random. The Honourable Peregrine Bertie said, "Blinded;" but he was not blind yet. Then Helmsgail heard on all sides these encouraging words, "Bung up his peepers!"
The two combatants stood for a few seconds motionless in the ring, whilst the watches were being compared. They then approached each other and shook hands. Phelem-ghe-Madone said to Helmsgail, "I should prefer going home." Helmsgail answered, handsomely, "The gentlemen must not be disappointed, on any account." Naked as they were, they felt the cold. Phelem-ghe-Madone shook. His teeth chattered.
The little man found means of putting the big one into chancery that is to say, Helmsgail suddenly took under his left arm, which was bent like a steel crescent, the huge head of Phelem-ghe-Madone, and held it there under his armpits, the neck bent and twisted, whilst Helmsgail's right fist fell again and again like a hammer on a nail, only from below and striking upwards, thus smashing his opponent's face at his ease.
Goliaths are always vanquished by Davids. A hail of exclamations followed the combatants. "Bravo, Helmsgail! Good! Well done, Highlander! Now, Phelem!" And the friends of Helmsgail repeated their benevolent exhortation, "Bung up his peepers!" Helmsgail did better. Rapidly bending down and back again, with the undulation of a serpent, he struck Phelem-ghe-Madone in the sternum.
The Colossus staggered. "Foul blow!" cried Viscount Barnard. Phelem-ghe-Madone sank down on the knee of his second, saying, "I am beginning to get warm." Lord Desertum consulted the umpires, and said, "Five minutes before time is called." Phelem-ghe-Madone was becoming weaker.
Phelem-ghe-Madone was a kind of sluggish mauler somewhat mauled himself, to begin with. It was art against nature. It was cultivated ferocity against barbarism. It was clear that the barbarian would be beaten, but not very quickly. Hence the interest. A little man against a big one, and the chances are in favour of the little one. The cat has the best of it with a dog.
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.
Of the two combatants, one was an Irishman, named after his native mountain in Tipperary, Phelem-ghe-Madone, and the other a Scot, named Helmsgail. They represented the national pride of each country. Ireland and Scotland were about to set to; Erin was going to fisticuff Gajothel. So that the bets amounted to over forty thousand guineas, besides the stakes.
All clapped their hands, even those who had lost. Phelem-ghe-Madone had given foul blow for foul blow, and had only asserted his right. They carried Helmsgail off on a hand-barrow. The opinion was that he would not recover. Lord Robartes exclaimed, "I win twelve hundred guineas." Phelem-ghe-Madone was evidently maimed for life.
Some gentlemen present were evidently fathers of families, recognized as such by their putting up their umbrellas. On the side of Phelem-ghe-Madone was Colonel Moncreif, as umpire; and Kilter, as second, to support him on his knee. On the side of Helmsgail, the Honourable Pughe Beaumaris was umpire, with Lord Desertum, from Kilcarry, as bottle-holder, to support him on his knee.
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