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5.—Gas came up an altered man; indeed, a bullock must seriously have felt such a blow. He stood still for an instant, but his high courage would not let him flinch; he defied danger, although it stared him in the face, and, regardless of the consequences, he commenced fighting, made some exchanges, till he went down from a terrible hit in the mouth. (The Bristol boys hoarse with shouting, and the faces of the backers of Gas undergoing all manner of contortions. “That’s the way,” said Tom Belcher. “It’s all your own. You’ll win it, my boy: only a little one now and then for the Castle.”)

6.—The mouth of the Gas was full of blood, and he appeared almost choking when time was called. He was getting weak; he, nevertheless, rushed in and bored Neat to the ropes, when the spectators were satisfied, by the superiority displayed, that Neat was the best in-fighter. He punished Gas in all directions, and finished the round by grassing him with a belly puncher that would have floored an ox. This hit was quite enough to have finished the pluck of two good men. (The long faces from London were now so numerous, that no artist could have taken their likenesses. The Bristolians were roaring with delight, “Didn’t I tell thee what he could do? The Gas is sure to go out now!” “Not this time,” replied a few out-and-outers from the Long Town, who endeavoured to face it out in favour of Hickman, while anything like a chance remained.)