The fight had started as Dagg had expected. Donkey Johnson came rushing at him with teeth bared in a mocking grin, hoping to fell him with a first murderous blow. He swung his arm wildly but Dagg ducked beneath it and hit him with a vicious hook that stung the bigger man’s ear. Johnson needed a moment to clear his head before hurling himself into the fray once more, flailing away with both fists. Dagg used his feet this time, swaying out of reach then replying with some fierce counter punches that jolted his opponent. While he could hurt Johnson, however, it was obvious that he could not yet stop him in his tracks. The man was too big, strong and wily.
After another failed attempt to land a meaningful punch on the Black Assassin, Johnson changed tactics. He lowered both arms to his sides and taunted Dagg with outright abuse. The crowd took up the chant, demanding that the American get on with the fight instead of dancing around their champion. Dagg responded by doing something he’d planned in advance, flinging himself at Johnson and delivering a relay of swift punches, saving the heaviest of them for his opponent’s mouth. Three of his front teeth, which had given him the appearance of a donkey, were knocked out and blood was sprayed everywhere. Shocked by the bravado of it all, the crowd fell eerily silent. Something unheard of was happening in front of them. Their unbeaten champion was losing a fight.
Johnson was not finished yet. Enraged by the loss of his teeth, he went back on the attack, throwing punches so rapidly that Dagg was unable to elude them all. Instead, he took them on his forearms, protecting his body from any damage. The occasional counter punch rocked Johnson back on his heels but he soon recovered to swing his fists once more. Since he was at last inflicting punishment, the onlookers found their voices and egged him on, offering all kinds of obscene advice about what he should do to his challenger.
O’Gara and Fallon were exhorting their friend to finish his opponent off but their voices were drowned out by the mob. In any case, Johnson was not going to be defeated without a colossal and sustained effort. Seeing his chance, Johnson grappled with Dagg then shoved him hard against the board where a friend was waiting to lend his help. The man began to pummel Dagg from behind but his involvement in the fight was only momentary because the American jerked his elbow back so hard that it knocked the breath out of him and made him double up in agony. When he tried to raise his head again, the man was grabbed from behind by Fallon and dragged clear of the crowd. One crack with the shillelagh was all it took to knock Johnson’s friend unconscious.
Dagg had been rescued from his unseen attacker but he still had to contend with an infuriated Donkey Johnson with blood streaming from his mouth. The bigger man was starting to pant stertorously, but the power of his fists was not diminished in any way. What was clear was the fact that he was slowing down. After punching himself free from the board, Dagg got back to the middle of the ring and began weaving so cleverly that Johnson’s fists were missing him by inches. Diving forwards out of frustration, Johnson got hold of his shoulders and pulled his head back with the intention of smashing it down on the bridge of Dagg’s nose but the American took immediate action to counter the tactic. He lowered his own head immediately so that Johnson’s forehead smashed into the top of the Black Assassin’s skull and did little more than give him a headache. The clash of heads, however, had dazed Johnson and he reeled back. Dagg was on him at once, battering away at the paunch with both hands until the bigger man retreated a few paces in sheer agony.
Dagg pursued him relentlessly; switching his attack to Johnson’s face and opening a deep gash over one eye. Blood gushed out and there was a roar of protest from the crowd. Having bet on their champion, they were watching him being beaten by a faster and more cunning opponent. Advice poured in from all sides.
‘Hit him in the bone-box, Donkey!’
‘Draw his cork!’
‘Smash his face in!’
‘Break his arms!’
‘Bite his black balls off!’
‘Kill him!’
Blind in one eye and with his energy sapping away, Johnson resorted to foul play, lashing out with a foot and catching Dagg on the thigh. As his opponent went down on one knee, Johnson lunged forward and grabbed him by the throat, squeezing hard and making Dagg’s eyes bulge. Verging on hysteria, the crowd pushed forwards and shouted their champion on with partisan vigour. At long last, Donkey Johnson seemed to have the advantage.
Chevy Ruddock could see nothing whatsoever of the fight. Standing just inside the main door, his view was blocked by solid ranks of bodies. The only indication he had of what was happening in the boxing ring came from the crowd. The clamour rose in volume, subsided, rose again to a higher pitch then dissolved into a collective groan of disappointment. A sense of outrage filled the warehouse and a volley of expletives was fired. When brawls broke out among the spectators, Ruddock decided that the fight was over. Running out of the door, he waved to Filbert who was standing dejectedly in the rain with a lantern in his hand. When he saw the signal, Filbert turned on his heel and trotted forty yards along the river bank to The Jolly Sailor. When he pushed his way into the bar, he found his colleagues drinking happily out of the rain. There was no time for Filbert to join them. His only reward for being on sentry duty outside was to feel the sensuous brush of the barmaid’s enormous breasts as she went past him with tankards in both hands. For a second, he was bemused.