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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.
Such were the vulgar pleasures of the people. They sufficed them. The people had not the means of going to the noble matches of the gentry, and could not, like lords and gentlemen, bet a thousand guineas on Helmsgail against Phelem-ghe-madone. Man has a notion of revenging himself on that which pleases him. Hence the contempt felt for the comedian.
When Phelem, released at length, lifted his head, he had no longer a face. That which had been a nose, eyes, and a mouth now looked only like a black sponge, soaked in blood. He spat, and on the ground lay four of his teeth. Then he fell. Kilter received him on his knee. Helmsgail was hardly touched: he had some insignificant bruises and a scratch on his collar bone. No one was cold now.
"Let us go on fighting, on one condition that I also shall have the right to give one foul blow." They cried "Agreed!" from all parts of the ring. Helmsgail shrugged his shoulders. Five minutes elapsed, and they set to again. The fighting, which was agony to Phelem, was play to Helmsgail. Such are the triumphs of science.
Helmsgail, raising his arm, struck out; and, what was strange, both fell. A ghastly chuckle was heard. It was Phelem-ghe-Madone's expression of delight. While receiving the terrible blow given him by Helmsgail on the skull, he had given him a foul blow on the navel. Helmsgail, lying on his back, rattled in his throat. The spectators looked at him as he lay on the ground, and said, "Paid back!"
From the way in which this Cyclops, for he had but one eye, placed himself in position, it was evident that this was the last round, for no one doubted his defeat. He placed his guard below his chin, with the awkwardness of a failing man. Helmsgail, with a skin hardly sweating, cried out, "I'll back myself, a thousand to one."
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.
Kilter wiped the blood from his face and the sweat from his body with a flannel, and placed the neck of a bottle to his mouth. They had come to the eleventh round. Phelem, besides the scar on his forehead, had his breast disfigured by blows, his belly swollen, and the fore part of the head scarified. Helmsgail was untouched. A kind of tumult arose amongst the gentlemen.
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.
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