PUGILISTICA


THE HISTORY

OF

BRITISH BOXING




  [Illustration: SAYERS AND HEENAN, April 17th, 1860. _See_ pages
  419-435.                                        _Frontispiece_]




PUGILISTICA


THE HISTORY

OF

BRITISH BOXING


CONTAINING

LIVES OF THE MOST CELEBRATED PUGILISTS; FULL REPORTS OF THEIR BATTLES
FROM CONTEMPORARY NEWSPAPERS, WITH AUTHENTIC PORTRAITS, PERSONAL
ANECDOTES, AND SKETCHES OF THE PRINCIPAL PATRONS OF THE PRIZE RING,
FORMING A COMPLETE HISTORY OF THE RING FROM FIG AND BROUGHTON,
1719-40, TO THE LAST CHAMPIONSHIP BATTLE BETWEEN KING AND HEENAN, IN
DECEMBER 1863


BY HENRY DOWNES MILES

EDITOR OF “THE SPORTSMAN’S MAGAZINE.” AUTHOR OF “THE BOOK OF FIELD
SPORTS,” “ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE,” ETC., ETC.




VOLUME THREE




Edinburgh
JOHN GRANT
1906




TO

LEAR JAMES DREW, ESQ.,

A PATRON OF SPORT, AND A

SUPPORTER OF THE RECREATIONS OF THE PEOPLE,

THIS VOLUME OF LIVES OF THE

MODERN BOXERS IS DEDICATED, AS A

TOKEN OF FRIENDSHIP, RESPECT, AND ESTEEM,

BY

THE AUTHOR.


_Wood Green._




PREFACE TO VOL. III.


The Reader who has attentively accompanied us through the biographies
which form the contents of our first and second volumes will not find
the memoirs in this third and concluding volume of less interest and
variety of incident than the former.

The period comprised herein extends from the year 1835 (the first
appearance of Bendigo), and contains the battles of Caunt, Nick Ward,
Deaf Burke, William Perry (the “Tipton”), Harry Broome, Tom Paddock,
Harry Orme, Aaron Jones, Nat Langham, Tom Sayers, and Jem Mace,
closing with the last Championship fight between Tom King and John
Camel Heenan, on the 10th of December, 1863.

In these chapters of the “Decline and Fall” of Pugilism it has been
the aim of the author to “write his annals true,” “nothing extenuate
nor set down aught in malice;” leaving the deeds of each of the
Champions to be judged by the “test of time, which proveth all
things.”

In these pages will be found all the battles of the actual Champions,
and of those who contended with them for that once-coveted
distinction. It must be evident, however, that the space of three
volumes thrice multiplied would not suffice to record the numerous
battles of the middle and light weight men of this period; indeed,
they do not come within the scope of this work. As these include some
of the best battles of the later days of the P.R., and for the
greater part fall within the memory of the writer of these pages, he
will collect them in a series of “PENCILLINGS OF PUGILISTS.” These
“Reminiscences” of the Ring, will form, when completed, a concurrent
stream of pugilistic history, subsidiary and contemporary with this
last volume of this work.

In bidding farewell to his subject the writer would plead, with the
Latin poet――

  “Nor is the book the index of my mind,
   But as I feel an honest wish to find
     Some way of pleasing, be it grave or witty;
   Accius were else the greatest brute in Rome,
   Terence a rake, who never dined at home,
     And those who sing of wars all fighters and banditti.”[1]


     [1] “Nec liber indicium est animi, sed honesta voluntas
            Plurima mulcendis auribus apta refert;
          Accius esset atrox; conviva Terentius esset;
            Essent pugnaces, qui fera bella canunt.”
                                                     OVID.




PUGILISTICA

  [Illustration: WILLIAM THOMPSON (“BENDIGO”) OF NOTTINGHAM.]




PUGILISTICA:

THE HISTORY OF BRITISH BOXING.




PERIOD VII.

FROM THE CHAMPIONSHIP OF BENDIGO (WILLIAM THOMPSON) TO HIS LAST
BATTLE WITH CAUNT (1845).




CHAPTER I.

WILLIAM THOMPSON (“BENDIGO”), OF NOTTINGHAM, CHAMPION. 1835-1850.


William Thompson, whose pseudonym of Bendigo has given its name to a
district or territory of our Antipodean empire, first saw the light on
the 11th day of October, in the year 1811, in the city of Nottingham,
renowned, in the days of rotten boroughs and protracted contested
elections, for its pugnacious populace, its riotous mobs, and rampant
Radicalism, succeeded, in a like spirit, even in later “reformed”
times, by its lion-like “lambs,”[2] and “tiger-Tories.” William was
one of three sons at a birth, and, we are assured, of a family holding
a respectable position among their neighbours, some of them filling
the ministerial pulpit, and others belonging to a strait and strict
denomination of dissent. The late Viscount Palmerston expressed his
opinion that had not John Bright, the coadjutor of Cobden and
Gladstonian Cabinet Minister of our own day, been born a Quaker, he
must have grown up a pugilist; a similar reflection suggests itself to
those who knew the character and genius of William Thompson; with the
difference that in his case the young pugilist did grow into an
elderly Methodist parson, as we shall hereafter see, while the
Broadbrim secular Minister has not yet figured in the roped
twenty-four feet.

There is a closer psychological connection between fighting and
fanaticism, pugnacity and Puritanism, than saints and Stigginses can
afford to admit, and the readiness of wordy disputants to resort to
the argumentum ad hominem, or ad baculinum, and the facile step from
preachee to floggee of parsons of all sects and times, need no
citations of history to prove. The young Bendigo, as we shall see
hereafter, became another illustration of the wisdom of Seneca,[3] and
took to theological disputation when he could no longer convince his
opponents by knock-down blows.

Of the earlier portion of the career of Bendigo, previous to his first
victory over the gigantic Ben Caunt, in July, 1835, much apocryphal
stuff has been fabricated by an obscure biographer.

In 1832, William Thompson, then in his twenty-first year, beat Bill
Faulker, a Nottingham notoriety. In April, 1833, he defeated Charley
Martin, and in the following month polished off Lin Jackson, another
local celebrity.

Tom Cox (of Nottingham), who had beaten Sam Merriman, was defeated
easily in June, 1833; and in August of the same year (1833) Charles
Skelton and Tom Burton[4] are said to have fallen beneath Bendigo’s
conquering fist. Moreover (surely his biographer is poking fun at us)
he is credited with beating Bill Mason in Sept. 1833, and Bill
Winterflood in October! Now as we know no Bill Winterflood except Bill
Moulds, the Bath champion, and he never met Bendigo at all, are we not
justified in rejecting such “history”?

The last in this list is a defeat of one Bingham, who is set down as
“Champion,” in January, 1834, which brings us near enough to Bendigo’s
first appearance in the blue posted rails of the P. R. with Caunt on
July 21st, 1835. On that day, we read――

     “A fight took place in the Nottingham district between two
     youngsters who were both fated to develop into Champions of
     England. The meeting-place was near Appleby House, on the
     Ashbourne Road, about thirty miles from Nottingham.” Both
     men were natives of Nottinghamshire; the elder one, William
     Thompson, hailing from the county town; while the younger,
     Benjamin Caunt, was a native of the village of Hucknall,
     where his parents had been tenants of the poet, Lord
     Byron――a fact of which the athlete was always intensely
     proud. Caunt on this occasion made his first appearance in
     any ring, and having been born on the 22nd of March, 1815,
     had only just completed his twenty-first year, and had
     therefore a very considerable disadvantage in point of age.
     On the other hand, he was a youngster of herculean
     proportions and giant strength; stood 6ft. 2in. in height,
     and his fighting weight was 14st. 7lb. Thus, in point of
     size, it was a horse to a hen; but Caunt had no science at
     all, while Bendigo had a very considerable share of it. The
     big ’un was seconded by Butler (Caunt’s uncle) and Bamford,
     and Bendigo by Turner and Merryman. Throughout twenty-two
     rounds Caunt stood up with indomitable pluck and perseverance
     to receive a long way the lion’s share of the punishment,
     while his shifty opponent always avoided the return by
     getting down. Caunt at last, in a rage at these tactics,
     which he could not counteract or endure, rushed across the
     ring, called on him to stand up, before the call of “Time”
     by the umpires, and then struck Bendigo before he rose from
     his second’s knee. The referee and umpires having decided
     that this blow was foul, the stakes, £25 a side, were
     awarded to Bendigo. “It was the expressed opinion of the
     spectators that, had Caunt kept his temper and husbanded his
     strength, the issue would have gone the other way, as he
     proved himself game to the backbone, while his opponent was
     made up of dodges from heel to headpiece.”

This fight had the effect of calling the attention of backers to both
men. Of Bendigo’s cleverness there could be no question, while Caunt’s
enormous strength and unflinching pluck were equally indisputable; and
it is a curious illustration of the circular theory of events that
these two men, whose pugilistic career may fairly be said to have
commenced in this fight――when they were, of course, at the bottom of
the ladder――should meet again when they were half-way up, and a third
time when they stood on the topmost round.

This victory over the gigantic wrestler of Hucknall Torkard could not
fail to bring his conqueror prominently before the eyes of the boxing
world. John Leechman, alias Brassey, of Bradford (of whom hereafter),
Charley Langan, Looney, of Liverpool, Bob Hampson, also of
Liverpool――indeed, all the big ’uns of the “North Countrie” were
anxious to have a shy at the audacious 11st. 10lb. man who had beaten
Ben the Giant.

In November, 1835, Brassey, of Bradford, announced by letter in
_Bell’s Life_, that he was prepared to meet Bendigo half-way between
Nottingham and the Yorkshire town for £50 a side. But the erratic
Bendigo was wandering about the country, exhibiting with Peter Taylor,
Sam Pixton, Levi Eckersley, & Co., electrifying the yokels by his
tricks of agility and strength, and his irrepressible chaff and
natural humour――gifts which made him, formidable as he really was, a
sort of practical clown to the boxing ring. Hence nothing came of the
challenges and appointments, although Bendigo, by a letter in a
Midland sporting paper, in February, 1836, declared himself ready to
make a match for £25 a side with Tom Britton or Jem Corbett――Bendigo
to be under 12st. on the day. He also threw down the gauntlet to “any
12st. man in the four counties of Nottingham, Leicester, Derbyshire,
and Lincolnshire; money ready at his sporting house in Sheffield”――a
rather amusing challenge, as it excluded Brassey, of Bradford, and
three well-known Lancashire heavy weights. Tom Britton replied to this
challenge that he would not fight under £100, being engaged in
business; but informed Bendigo that he could find two 12st. candidates
for his favours for £25 or £50, if he would attend at the “Grapes,”
Peter Street, Liverpool.

John Leechman (Brassey) now came out with a definite cartel, that he
was open to fight any 12st. man within 100 miles of Bradford for £25
or £50, and that his money was ready at the “Stag’s Head,” Preston
Street, Sheffield. This brought Bendigo to the scratch, and the match
was made for £25 a side, to come off on Tuesday, May 24th, 1836. The
deposits were duly made, and on the appointed day, May 24th, 1836, the
men met nine miles from Sheffield, on the Doncaster road. No reliable
report of this fight, which was for £25 a side, is extant: nothing
beyond a paragraph in the following week’s papers, declaring it to be
won by Bendigo, “after a severe contest of 52 rounds, in which the
superiority of science was on the side of the lesser man, Bendigo
weighing 11st. 12lb., Brassey nearly 13st.”

Brassey and his friends were not satisfied with this defeat, and
immediately proposed a fresh match for £50; and Jem Bailey (not of
Bristol, but an Irishman, afterwards twice beaten by Brassey) also
challenged Bendigo. Bendigo accepted Bailey’s offer, but Paddy’s
friends hung back and forfeited the deposit.

Our hero now visited London, and was for some weeks an object of some
curiosity, putting up at Jem Burn’s, where he kept the company alive
by his eccentric “patter.” Jem offered to back Bendigo against
Fitzmaurice (who had been beaten by Deaf Burke), but Fitz’s friends
also backed out. It may be remarked, par parenthese, that the Deaf ’un
was in America during this paper warfare.

At this period a remarkably clever eleven stone black, hight Jem
Wharton, who fought under the names of “Young Molyneux,” and “The
Morocco Prince,” had successively polished off Tom M’Keevor, Evans,
Wilsden, and Bill Fisher, and fought a gallant drawn battle of _four
hours and seven minutes_, and 200 rounds, with the game Tom Britton,
was the talk of the provincial fancy. A match was proposed for £50,
half-way between Nottingham and London. But in the interval of talk
Molyneux got matched with Harry Preston, and a most interesting fight,
from the crafty style of both men, was lost for ever. A forfeit in the
interim was paid to Bendigo by Flint, of Coventry.

Molyneux also accepted Bendy’s offer, but insisted on raising the
stakes to £100 a side, and to Bendy confining himself to 11st. 7lb.
(!) Molyneux not to exceed 11st. 2lb., &c., &c.

To these stipulations Bendy replied: “My Liverpool friends will back
me £100 to £80, or £50 to £40, at catch weight, against Young
Molyneux. I shall be in London in a few weeks, and shall be happy to
meet Luke Rogers for £50 or £100, as Looney’s match is off, owing to
his being under lock and key for his day’s amusement with Bob
Hampson.――Nottingham, November 25, 1836.” Molyneux got matched with
Bailey, of Manchester, and this second affair fell through.

At length, in December, articles were signed with Young Langan
(Charley), of Liverpool, to fight within two months, catch weight, and
the day fixed for the 24th of January, 1837, when the men met at
Woore, eight miles from Newcastle, in Staffordshire. At a few minutes
to one o’clock Bendy appeared, esquired by Harris Birchall and Jem
Corbett; Young Langan waited on by two of his countrymen. Langan
weighed within 2lb. of 13st.; Bendigo 11st. 10lb. on this occasion.
The battle was a characteristic one. The “long ’un,” as he was called
by the bystanders, began by “forcing the fighting,” a game which
suited the active and shifty Bendigo, who punished his opponent
fearfully for almost every rush. Cautioned by his friends, Langan
tried “out-fighting,” but Bendy was not to be cajoled into countering
with so long-armed and heavy an opponent. He feigned weakness, and
Langan, being encouraged to “go in,” found he had indeed “caught a
Tartar.” He was upper-cut, fibbed, and thrown, until, “blind as a
pup,” his seconds gave in for him at the close of the 92nd round, and
one hour and thirty-three minutes.

Negotiations with Tom Britton, of Liverpool, fell through, as Britton
could not come up to Bendy’s minimum of £100 a side.

Bendigo and his trainer, Peter Taylor, were now in high favour, and a
sparring tour among the Lancashire and Yorkshire tykes was organised
and arranged. Bendigo also wrote in the London and provincial papers
that he was “ready to fight any man in England at 11st. 10lb. for £50
to £100 a side; and, as he is really in want of a job, he will not
refuse any 12st. customer, and will not himself exceed 11st. 10lb.
Money always ready.”

At this period Looney, declaring that Bendigo had shuffled out of
meeting him for £50, claimed the Championship in a boastful letter.
This was too much for Jem Ward, who then kept the “Star” tavern in
Williamson Square, Liverpool; so he addressed an epistle to the editor
of _Bell’s Life_, offering to meet Mr. Looney for £200, “if there is
no big ’un to save the title of Champion from the degradation into
which it has fallen.”

Ward’s letter had the effect of leading to a meeting of Looney’s
friends, whereat that boxer discreetly declared that he never meant to
include Ward in his general challenge for £100 or £200, as he
considered that Ward had retired. Barring, therefore, Ward, Mister
Looney renewed his claim. Hereupon a gentleman from Nottingham,
disputing Looney’s claim to fight for “a Championship stake,” offered
to back Bendigo against him for £50 a side and “as much more as he
could get.” This was closed with, and a deposit made. On the following
Tuesday, at Matt Robinson’s, “Molly Moloney” tavern, Liverpool,
articles were signed for £50 a side (afterwards increased to £100), to
fight on the 13th of June, 1837, half-way between Nottingham and
Liverpool. A spot near Chapel-en-le-Frith, Derbyshire, was the
rendezvous, and thither the men repaired. Looney arrived in Manchester
from his training-quarters at Aintree, and Bendigo from Crosby, on the
overnight, when there was some spirited betting at five and
occasionally six to four on Looney.

The next morning proving beautifully fine brought hundreds from
distant parts to the spot, in the usual description of drags, until
there was not a stable left wherein to rest a jaded prad, or a bit of
hay or corn in many places to eat. Looney had fought many battles, the
most conspicuous of which were with Fisher (whom he defeated twice,
and another ended in a wrangle) and Bob Hampson, who suffered defeat
three times by him. Bendigo, as we have seen, had scored victories
over Caunt, Brassey, and young Langan. A little after eleven the
magnets of the day left their hotels, and were immediately followed by
an immense body on foot to the summit of a rasping hill, where a most
excellent inner and outer ring was formed with new ropes and stakes,
the latter being painted sky blue; near the top were the letters L. P.
R. (signifying Liverpool Prize Ring), encircled in a wreath of gold;
the one to which the handkerchiefs were attached was, with the crown,
gilt. Soon after twelve o’clock the men entered the ring amidst the
cheers of their friends――Bendigo first. They good-humouredly shook
hands, and proceeded to peel. Young Molyneux (who was loudly cheered),
along with Joe Birchall, appeared for Looney, whilst Peter Taylor and
Young Langan were the assistants of Bendigo. The colours――green and
gold for Looney; blue bird’s-eye for Bendigo. A little after one
o’clock, the betting being five to four on Looney, with many takers,
commenced


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――The appearance of Bendigo, on coming to the
     scratch, was of the first order, and as fair as a lily,
     whilst Looney displayed a scorbutic eruption on his
     back. Both seeming confident of victory put up their
     fives, caution and “stock-taking” for a few moments
     being the order of the day. Looney made a half-round
     right-hander, which told slightly on the ear. He then
     made three hits at the head and body, which Bendigo
     stepped away from, and dropped a little left ’un on the
     chin. Bendigo was not idle, but on the defensive, and
     succeeded in putting in two left-handers on the
     canister, and blood, the first, made its appearance
     from the mouth and under the left eye of Looney. This
     was a long round; in the close Bendigo was thrown.

     2.――Looney, all anxious, made play left and right; one
     told on the ear, a scramble, both fighting; Bendigo
     thrown, but fell cat fashion.

     3.――Bendigo put the staggers on Looney with a
     left-handed poke on the head; closed, and both down on
     their sides.

     4.――Both came up smiling. Bendigo made two short hits,
     had his left intended for the “attic” stopped, but put
     in a straight one on the breast, and the round finished
     by both men hammering away right and left in splendid
     style until Looney was sent down.

     5.――Two light body blows were exchanged, and Looney was
     thrown.

     6.――Bendigo got away from two right-handers, received a
     little one on the left ear, and both down one over the
     other.

     7.――Looney made two short hits with the left; Bendigo
     stopped his right at the ear; some capital in-fighting
     took place, in which Looney got his right eye out, and
     Bendigo slipped down.

     8.――This was another good round, but in the end Bendigo
     got his man on the ropes in such a position as to
     operate pretty freely on his face, and showers of
     “claret” were the consequence. Looney fell through the
     ropes, Bendigo over him.

     9.――Looney came up as gay as possible, with two to one
     against him, and a slashing round ended in favour of
     Bendigo; Looney down.

     10.――Bendigo sent home a tremendous whack on the left
     eye, which drew claret. Looney seemed amazed, and put
     up his hand to “wipe away the tear.” Looney thrown.

     11.――A very long struggle on the ropes, in which Looney
     appeared awkwardly situated, but he got down with
     little damage.

     12.――Up to this round there was not a visible mark of
     punishment on Bendigo. Looney put in two hits on the
     left ear, but was thrown through the ropes, Bendigo
     over him.

     13.――Looney hit short with his right on the body, but
     was more successful in the next effort; planted it on
     the ribs, and staggered Bendigo to the ropes, where
     both struggled down.

     14.――A capital round, in which some heavy hits were
     exchanged, and Looney fell.

     15.――Looney staggered his man again with his right,
     and, in making another hit, Bendigo dropped on his
     nether end, throwing up his legs and laughing. (Great
     disapprobation.)

     16.――Looney again delivered his right on the ribs.
     Bendigo bored him to the ropes, and Looney got down.

     17.――Looney put in two smart hits on the left ear, and
     one on the ribs. Bendigo dropped on his knees.

     18.――Bendigo pressed Looney on the ropes, held him for
     some time in a helpless position, and gave it him
     severely in the face, the claret flowing copiously. He
     was lowered to the earth by a little stratagem on the
     part of his seconds.

     19.――Notwithstanding the loss of blood in the last
     round, Looney was lively to the call, went up to his
     man, and knocked him through the ropes with a body
     blow.

     20.――Looney caught his man with his right; a struggle
     on the ropes in favour of Bendigo. Both down.

     21.――Another struggle on the ropes, in which Bendigo
     was forced through.

     22.――A rallying round, which Looney finished by
     knocking his man through the rope by a blow on the
     breast.

     23.――Looney again put in his right; another struggle on
     the ropes, until they were forced to the ground.

     24.――Looney rushed in and was going to work when
     Bendigo fell.

     25.――Bendigo put in a smart hit on the face, caught it
     in return on the head, and was thrown over the ropes.

     26.――Bendigo popped in three very heavy hits on the
     face, put three hits on the body, and went down as if
     weak.

     27.――Looney hit short. Bendigo gave it him on the conk,
     and threw him a clever somersault.

     28.――Looney put in his right heavily on the ribs, which
     compliment was returned by a stinger on the head, which
     staggered him down.

     29.――Both got to a close, and Bendigo was thrown,
     coming on his head.

     30.――A slashing round; give and take was “the ticket”
     on the ribs and head, until both went down weak.

     31.――Both got to the ropes, and went down together.
     Ditto the next round.

     33.――Bendigo put in two facers, and threw his man
     heavily.

     34.――After an exchange, Bendigo caught hold and threw
     Looney heavily.

     35.――Bendigo got on the ropes, and Looney dragged him
     down on his back.

     36, 37.――Two struggling rounds at the ropes; Looney
     under in the falls.

     38.――Looney planted a nasty one on the ribs, followed
     his man up, and forced Bendigo through the ropes.

     39.――Looney planted three tidy hits on the head and
     body, as did Bendigo on the mug, again tapping the
     claret; but in the end was whirled on the ground.

     40.――A rally in favour of Bendigo, who threw Looney.

     41.――Looney caught Bendigo’s head, put in a smart upper
     cut, but was thrown clean.

     42.――Bendigo’s left arm appeared a little black from
     the effects of Looney’s right, as did his ear, but with
     the exception of a small bump on his left eye he had
     not a scratch on his face, whilst Looney’s phiz began
     to assume a frightful aspect, his left eye completely
     closed, with a terrible gash over it, one under,
     another over his right, and his nose and mouth in a
     shocking state of disorder. Still he was game and
     confident of the victory; he rushed in, put in two
     sharpish hits on the head, and downed Bendigo in a heap
     on the grass.

     43.――Body blows exchanged. Bendigo under in the fall.

     44.――A rally in favour of Bendigo, in which Looney
     clasped him round the legs; but it was considered more
     by accident than design. He let go, and went down.

     45.――Looney rushed in, and in the struggle went down on
     his nether end.

     46, 47, 48, 49.――Struggling rounds――favour of Bendigo.

     50.――Bendigo shot out his left, and, in going down,
     Looney caught his head, but, not observing Hoyle’s rule
     of “when in doubt take the trick,” held back his fist,
     and let him go.

     51.――Looney popped one in the ear, but was thrown
     through the ropes.

     52, 53, 54.――Nothing done. In the latter Looney missed
     a heavy upper cut, and swung himself through the ropes.

     55.――Bendigo got Looney’s head in chancery, peppered
     away, and again the crimson stream flowed. Both down.

     56.――A struggle. Both down.

     57.――A close, in which Looney threw Bendigo a burster,
     with his head doubled under.

     58.――Bendigo, being doubled on the ropes, received a
     few heavy hits on the ribs, but on Looney striving for
     his head he got away, and both went down.

     59.――A close, Looney receiving a shattering throw.

     60.――Looney had his man on the ropes, but was too weak
     to hold him, and received another burster for his
     pains.

     61.――Looney, again on the ropes, caught pepper in the
     face until it assumed a frightful appearance, and the
     claret gushed freely; he escaped by the cords being
     pressed down.

     62.――Looney’s right eye was now fast drawing to a
     close, but his game was undeniable, and he still
     calculated on victory; he rushed in wildly, caught
     Bendigo in his arms, and threw him.

     63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68.――Strange to say these rounds
     were in favour of Looney, without any mischief, in the
     latter of which Bendigo was driven against one of the
     posts by a hit on the breast, from which he rebounded,
     and fell forwards on the turf.

     69.――Looney rushed in, Bendigo caught his head, drew
     his cork, and threw him.

     70, 71.――Bendigo’s optics all right, and very cautious.
     The first a scrambling round, Looney under. Bendigo, in
     the next, went to a close, and was whirled down.

     72.――A little altercation took place in this round,
     owing to Bendigo falling on his back without a blow
     being struck, which was the case, but it was not done
     for the purpose of evading a blow. Looney was creeping
     up to him, and his heel, in retreating, caught a tuft
     of grass and threw him, which appeared to be the
     general opinion.

     73.――Bendigo gave three facers, but was thrown.

     74.――Looney bored his man to the ropes, and sent him
     through them by a muzzler.

     75.――Bendigo slipped his left at the all but closed
     eye, and went down. (Cries of “Cur.”)

     76.――Looney put in with his right, and gained the
     throw.

     77.――Hugging. Looney down.

     78.――Bendigo made a hit, and got down by the ropes.

     79, 80.――Looney received two hits on the body, and was
     thrown in each.

     81, 82.――In both of these rounds Looney was thrown
     heavily, but put in a well-meant hit on the head.

     83.――Bendigo, on the ropes, received a heavy hit on the
     ribs. Looney was about to repeat the dose, but was
     stopped by the cries of “Foul,” and he left him.

     84.――Another rush. Bendigo whirled down.

     85.――Looney was floored cleverly by a spanking hit on
     the chops.

     Nothing particular occurred in the next six rounds; the
     throws, with the exception of one, being in favour of
     Bendigo.

     92.――Bendigo showed a good feeling in this round. In
     the struggle Looney got seated on the under rope, but
     Bendigo would not take advantage, and walked away.

     93, 94.――Looney down in both these rounds.

     95.――Looney rallied a little, and made two hits tell
     with the right on the ear, and Bendigo went down rather
     shook.

     96, 97.――Both down together. Bendigo gave a muzzler in
     the last, got his man on the ropes, but was too weak to
     hold him.

     98.――Looney put in his right on the temple, but was
     thrown very heavily.

     99, and last.――Looney came up as blind as a bat, and
     rushed in with his right, when Bendigo mustered up all
     his remaining strength and gave him another fall.
     Molyneux, finding it useless to prolong the contest,
     gave the signal of defeat, after fighting two hours and
     twenty-four minutes.

     REMARKS.――It will be seen by the above account that
     Bendigo won all the three events――first blood, first
     knock down, and the battle. He stands with his right
     leg foremost, has a good knowledge of wrestling, steps
     nimbly backwards to avoid, and hits out tremendously
     with his left. He was trained under the care of Jem
     Ward and Peter Taylor, who must have spared no pains in
     tutoring him, being much improved since he fought Young
     Langan; and no doubt will prove a troublesome customer
     to any 12-stone man who may meet him. He walked about a
     quarter of a mile to his carriage. A tint of black only
     appeared under his left eye, but his bodily punishment
     must be severe, as he could not bear to be touched on
     the left side. He arrived in Manchester the same
     evening per gig, and proceeded to Newton races the
     following morning. Poor Looney was terribly punished
     about the face, being cut under and over each eye, and
     his lips and nose terribly mangled: besides the loss of
     a grinder or two, he lost a great quantity of blood
     from nose, mouth, and other gashes in the face. He is
     possessed of most unflinching game, but is slow in his
     motions; he strikes very heavy with his right, but it
     is too long a time in arriving at its destination. All
     that could be done for him by his seconds, Molyneux and
     Birchall, was done. The ring was sometimes in great
     disorder, owing to want of attention on the part of the
     ring-keepers.

Bendigo, on the occasion of a joint benefit with Peter Taylor at the
Queen’s Theatre, Liverpool――which northern city at this period
appeared to have become the metropolis of milling, _vice_ London and
Bristol superseded――boldly claimed the belt. Looney disputed the
claim, complaining that Bendigo had recently refused him another
chance, though ready to make a new match for £50. Tom Britton also
demurred to the Championship claim, and offered to fight Bendy at
11st. 10lb.; money ready to £100 at Mrs. Ford’s, “Belt Tavern,”
Whitechapel, Liverpool.

Fisher, Molyneux (proposing the impossible 11st. 7lb.), and others now
rushed into letter-writing, but Bendy kept up his claim and his price;
and so ran out the year 1837 and part of 1838, the Championship
remaining in abeyance, as Jem Ward had retired, and the Deaf ’un was
still in America.

Bendy’s old opponent and fellow-townsman next re-appeared on the
scene. Ben Caunt, who in the interim had beaten Ben Butler, at Stoney
Stratford, in August, 1837, and Boneford, a big countryman, at Sunrise
Hill, Notts, in October of the same year, proposed to meet “the
self-styled Champion” for £100. Bendigo, _more suo_, thereupon
observed, that “at that price, or any other, the big, chuckle-headed
navvy was as good as a gift of the money to him.”

All, therefore, went merrily; the instalments were “tabled” as agreed;
Bendy was a good boy, and took care of himself; Big Ben worked hard,
and got himself down to 15st. 7lb. (!), as will be seen in our account
of this tourney, which, according to the plan of our work, must appear
in the memoir of the victor, BEN CAUNT (Chapter II., _post_), in the
present volume. In this unequal encounter, after seventy-five rounds,
Bendigo, who from a mistake had no spikes in his shoes, had the fight
given against him for going down without a blow. Two to one was laid
on Bendigo within four rounds of the close of the battle.

No slur on the skill, honesty, or bravery of Bendigo was cast by the
umpires and referee in this battle, when they gave their decision that
he had fallen without a blow, and handed over the stakes to Caunt.
Bendigo proposed, before the decision, to make a match for £500, each
to raise £200, to be added to the old battle-money. This Ben declined,
but declared his readiness to enter into new articles for £100.
Another match was accordingly made for £100 a side, to take place on
Monday, July 20th, 1838. Bendigo, after bumper benefits in Liverpool,
Derby, and Nottingham, now came to London, with Peter Taylor, and took
up his quarters at Tom Spring’s, where he became an object of much
curiosity; his animal spirits and practical joking being almost too
much for Tom Winter’s quiescent and almost sedate temperament. In
London he also took a benefit, “before going into strict training,”
said the bills. There was “somewhat too much of this,” for Ben also
was taking benefits in Notts, Leicester, and Derby. In the month of
June it may be noted Deaf Burke returned from America, a fact which
occasioned a hitch in Bendigo’s arrangements, as we shall presently
see, for on June 24th, 1838, we read in _Bell’s Life_: “The match
between Caunt and Bendigo is off by mutual consent, and Caunt desires
us to state, that he is now open to fight any man in the world,
barring neither country nor colour, for from £50 to £500. What does
this mean?” The following paragraph in the ensuing week’s paper may
show what it meant:――

     “BENDIGO AND CAUNT.――On the authority of a letter signed
     Caunt, we last week stated that this match was off by mutual
     consent; but we have since been informed by our Nottingham
     correspondent that such is not the fact, and that Caunt’s
     deposits are forfeited. Our correspondent adds that Caunt’s
     backer tried to get the match off, on the plea that it was a
     pity to see so little a man as Bendigo fight a giant like
     Caunt, who was anxious to enter the ring with Burke. He was,
     however, told that the fight must go on, and he promised to
     attend, but he neither came nor sent the deposit, but
     forwarded a letter to London stating that the match was off
     by mutual consent. As a proof that Bendigo’s backers
     intended the mill to go on, the deposit (£20) was received
     from Sheffield on the Thursday prior to the Monday, and on
     that very day £19 towards the next £20 deposit was raised.”

Thus pleasantly released from his engagement with his gigantic
competitor, Bendigo instantly responded to the cartel of Deaf Burke,
issued on his landing from the New World, in which the Deaf ’un defied
any man in the Eastern or Western hemisphere to meet him for £100 to
£500, within the twenty-four feet of ropes. £100 was remitted to Peter
Crawley to make the match; but lo! Burke had gone over to France (Owen
Swift, Young Sam, Jack Adams, &c., were already there) with a “noble
Earl,” and at two several meetings, to which the Deaf ’un was
summoned, though Bendigo’s “ready” was there, there was no cash from
across the water, and Jem Burn announced to Peter Crawley, that he had
“a letter” from Paris that “Mister Burke,” who was on a Continental
tour, could not fight for less than £200. In the midst of the ridicule
and censure of this proposal, so inconsistent with his own published
challenge, a gentleman offered to put down the other hundred himself
for Bendigo. Crawley, however, declined to put down £50 of Bendigo’s
money until guaranteed the £100. Thus the matter fell through. The
public feeling in this matter was not badly expressed in a
contemporaneous “squib” entitled:――


   HEROIC STANZAS FROM BENDIGO TO DEAF BURKE.

   Why, truly, my nabs of the torpid auricular,
   Your conduct of late ha’nt been wery particular,
   And I tell you in werse, which I’m no hand at tagging,
   That I shrewdly suspect you of bouncing and bragging.

   When a challenge you gave, and defiance was hurl’d
   To any professor of fives in the world,
   Of course I consider’d that nothing was wrong,
   Tho’ I fancied you com’d it a trifle too strong.

   I knew you were brave, and as strong as a horse,
   And remembered your sending poor Simon to dorse;
   And you told us how Yankees all quak’d at your name,
   And “guessed” they ne’er witnessed such bottom and game.

   You swore as Jem Ward had retir’d on the shelf,
   Your mind was made up to be Champion yourself;
   And you dar’d all the world to contend for the prize,
   While you barred neither country, nor colour, nor size.

   This was all wastly well, but how came you to trot
   Ere you knew if your challenge was answer’d or not,
   And to cut from your quarters in London adrift
   On the coming consarn between Adams and Swift?

   I tell you, my Deaf ’un, without any flourish,
   Your conduct appears most confoundedly currish;
   And as straightforward dealing was always my plan,
   If you wish for a customer, I am your man.

   You boast, my “Venetian,”[5] whoe’er may attack you,
   You have lordlings and dukes in attendance to back you;
   Well, as folks can’t suppose you are telling us fibs,
   Pray, are these patricians to fork out the dibs?

   I give you my word, Peter Crawley, my crony,
   On my part is ready for posting the pony;
   How is it, on yours, that your pal, Jemmy Burn,
   In spite of your chaffing, keeps dropping astern?

   Do you fancy that conduct like this will content us?
   Oh, let no folks say of you “_Non est Inwentus_;”
   Come forward, if e’er as a man you have felt,
   For Bendigo dares you to strive for the belt.

   Presume not brave fellows henceforward to taunt,
   For though of my prowess I’ve no wish to vaunt,
   An out-and-out good one I fac’d in big Caunt,
   Who in stature and muscle match’d owld John of Gaunt.

   In capital style you exhibit, I’m told,
   As statues of worthies wot figur’d of old;
   Apollor, and Wenus, and Mars to the letter――
   Wouldn’t _Back-us_, my cove, suit a precious deal better?

   But perhaps, arter all――such, believe me, my trust is――
   I may not exactly be doing you justice;
   And when you’re aware I will meet you at milling,
   At the scratch you may show yourself ready and willing.

   It will give me much pleasure, my Deaf ’un, I swear,
   To see how you’ll show off your attitudes there――
   While I, glad to see you returned from your mizzling,
   As you’re partial to statues, may give you a chiselling.

   I trust that in Paris you show’d in prime feather,
   And that you and old Soult had a bottle together;
   I’d like to have seen how you sported your tanners,
   And mark the French polish you got on your manners.

   But perhaps it is time to leave off, my prime feller,
   For I an’t wery much of a writer or speller;
   Yourself and your pals of the Fancy arn’t green,
   And will doubtless diskiver at once what I mean.

   They may call me a fool, and the words won’t affront,
   For ’tis sartain they can’t say the same of my blunt;
   They may swear you are sartain to vanquish me――good――
   But pray do not crow till you’re out of the wood.

   For the present farewell! May we soon have a shy,
   And if I don’t floor you, my Deaf ’un. I’ll try――
   So off, without any desire to offend, I go,
   Remaining, in hopes the best man may win――
                                                 “BENDIGO.”

September came, and the Deaf ’un was still studying “Paris graces and
parley-vous,” seconding Owen Swift in his second fight with Jack Adams
at Villiers, on the 5th of September, 1838. The police prosecution by
the French authorities sent home the tourist, but meantime Bendy’s
friends had been offended by some of his eccentric escapades, and had
withdrawn the cash from Peter’s hands. In November Bendigo writes to
the editor of _Bell’s Life_, that “he was induced to challenge Burke
on the promise of certain friends at Nottingham to stand by him; but
they having broken faith with him, he could not go on. His readiness
and disposition to fight Burke or any other man continue the same,
and, whenever friends will come forward to back him, he will be found
glad of the opportunity to prove that there is no unmeaning bounce
about him, and that he is neither deficient in courage nor integrity.”

Such an appeal had an immediate response. The match was made at
Sheffield, Burke’s friends proposing to stake £100 to £80, and a
lively interest was soon awakened. On the occasion of the third
deposit, on the 27th of November, at Jem Burn’s, in Great Windmill
Street, the aristocratic muster was numerous, and five to four was
freely laid on Burke, who was present, full of quaint fun, for the
Deaf ’un, as well as Bendy, was indeed a “character.” Burke said he
had “lowered his price by £50, rather than not ’commodate Mishter
Bendys, as he ses his frinds is backards in comin forards.” The
articles specified that the battle should take place within
thirty-four miles of Nottingham, and the day to be the 15th of
January, 1839. These articles were afterwards revised, and the fight
postponed to February 12th, the stakes――£100 Burke to £80 Bendigo. The
Deaf ’un went into training near Brighton, but removed later to
Finchley; Bendigo at Crosby, near Liverpool. Here, on Sunday, January
4th, Bendigo had a narrow escape of his life, as the following
paragraph records:――

     “NARROW ESCAPE OF BENDIGO.――During the storm on Sunday night
     Bendigo who is in training at Crosby, near Liverpool,
     narrowly escaped being ‘gathered unto his fathers.’ It
     appears that Peter Taylor went to meet Bendigo on Monday
     morning, but not finding him at the appointed place,
     proceeded at once to Crosby, when he discovered that the
     house in which he had left his friend on the previous
     evening was almost in ruins, the roof having been blown in,
     and nearly every window broken. Peter’s fears were, however,
     soon allayed by ascertaining that Bendigo was at a
     neighbouring cottage, where he found him between a pair of
     blankets, and looking quite chapfallen. Bendigo said that he
     would sooner face three Burkes than pass such another night.
     He went to bed about nine o’clock, but awoke about eleven,
     by his bed rocking under him, the wind whistling around him,
     and the bricks tumbling down the chimney. Every minute he
     expected the house to fall in upon him, and at three o’clock
     the hurricane increased so much in violence that he got out
     of bed, put on his clothes, and made his escape out of the
     window. He had not left the house ten minutes before the
     roof was blown in. A knight of the awl kindly gave him
     shelter, and he has since obtained fresh quarters in the
     same village.”

As the day approached, intense interest prevailed both in London and
Liverpool, to say nothing of Nottingham, Birmingham, Derby, and
Manchester, all of which towns sent their contingents of amateurs. Jem
Ward undertook to give Bendy “the finishing touch,” and reported him
“in prime twig,” while Burke was declared by Tommy Roundhead, his
faithful red-nosed “secretary” and “esquire,” to be “strong as a
rhinoceros and bold as a lion.”

At length the eventful morn of Tuesday, the 12th of February, 1839,
dawned; it was Shrove Tuesday, and the concourse on all the roads to
Ashby-de-la-Zouch, for which the “office” was given, was something
more marvellous than that which was occasioned by the “gentle passage
of arms” in which Richard Cœur-de-Lion figured, for which see
“Ivanhoe.” But we will leave _Bell’s Life_ to tell the further
proceedings of the tournament.

According to articles, the men were to meet within 35 miles of
Nottingham, and it was finally agreed that they should meet at the
“Red Lion,” at Appleby, in Warwickshire, on the Monday, to agree upon
the battle-field. A centre of attraction having been thus appointed,
the men were moved from their training quarters, to be near the scene
of action. Burke, attended by Jem Burn, King Dick, Tommy Roundhead
(his secretary), and other friends, took up his position at
Atherstone, while Bendy, under the fostering care of Jem and Nick Ward
and Peter Taylor, approached in an opposite direction. The contest
seemed to excite extraordinary interest, and the bustle of preparation
was observable in all directions. In Atherstone, a most pugnacious
town by ancient charter, Burke was hailed with great favour, as a
precursor of the local sports of Tuesday; for, from time “whereto the
memory of man runneth not to the contrary,” on Shrove Tuesday the
inhabitants of the village exercise a sort of prescriptive right to
settle all disputes in fistic or other combat.

It was decided to pitch the ring as near Appleby as possible, and if
practicable to have the men in the ring at ten o’clock. In the interim
all sorts of vehicles were pressed into the service, horses were at a
high premium, and the most ludicrous shifts were made to procure
conveyances. In some instances mourning coaches, and even a hearse,
were irreverently brought into use, while nags of the most unseemly
description were drawn from their privacy and honoured by being hooked
as leaders to post-chaises, or harnessed to any out-of-the-way kind of
vehicle that fortune dictated. Beds and other accommodation were also
difficult to procure, and, as in times of yore, hundreds, _de
necessitate_, sat up all night to be up early in the morning.

Long before dawn on Tuesday multitudes were progressing towards
Appleby, and at nine o’clock the assemblage in front of Burke’s
domicile was immense. The crowd continued to increase steadily until
the arrival of a cavalcade of “swell drags” from the direction of
Leicester, which gave the signal for departure, as in and upon these
were the patrician supporters of the Deaf ’un. On the arrival of these
traps the Burke party instantly prepared for a start. Jem Ward and
Bendigo, who were located about two miles off, were also in readiness,
and lost no time in repairing to the trysting-place, which, to the
dismay of the toddlers and the discomfiture of the prads, proved to be
at least seven miles off. The ring was formed on the top of a hill, in
the parish of Heather, which spot was not reached by the Deaf ’un,
owing to various impediments, until half-past eleven o’clock. A vast
crowd had preceded him, and hailed his approach with cheers, but it
was evident that thousands were yet to arrive, and fortunately for
them an unexpected delay in the arrival of Bendigo proved favourable
to their hopes, by protracting the commencement of hostilities.

It was nearly half-past twelve before the actual arrival of Bendigo
was made known, and at that time, upon a moderate calculation, there
were not less than 15,000 persons present of all degrees, the
aristocracy forming no inconsiderable portion.

From some inexplicable delay it wanted only a quarter to one when
Burke entered the ring, attended by King Dick and Jackson, and if good
humour and confidence could be taken as indications of success his
friends had no reason to grumble. While waiting for the arrival of
Bendigo an incident occurred which produced considerable laughter: it
was the approach of a well-dressed and not unlikely woman, who,
forcing her way through the well-packed mass of spectators, ran up to
the roped arena, and, seizing the Deaf ’un by the hand as an old
acquaintance, wished him success, and, but for the intervening rope,
would no doubt have added an embrace. She then seated herself in front
of the inner circle, and waited the issue of the battle, subsequently
cheering her favourite throughout his exertions. Shortly before one
o’clock Bendigo made his salaam amidst deafening shouts, attended by
Peter Taylor and Nick Ward, and, walking up to Burke, shook him
heartily by the hand. The men then commenced their toilets, and on
being stripped to their drawers a subject of much contention arose;
Bendigo, on examining Burke’s drawers, discovered a belt round his
waist, which he insisted should be taken off. In vain did Burke and
his friends assure him it was merely a belt to sustain a truss which
he wore in consequence of a rupture, and, as it was below his waist,
was of no importance; in vain, too, did the referee pronounce it to be
perfectly fair; Bendigo was not to be driven from his point, and it
was not till the obnoxious belt was taken off that he was satisfied.
The belt was exhibited, and fully corroborated the opinion of the
referee as to its perfect inutility as a means of defence.

The signal having been given, the men threw off their great coats,
and, advancing to the scratch, threw themselves into position; and
now, for the first time, a superficial estimate of their condition
could be formed. Burke presented all that fine muscular development
for which he is famed, but he was pale, and it struck us most forcibly
that his flesh wanted that firmness and consistency, the sure
consequence of perfect training, and to the attainment of which the
mode in which he passed his time was anything but conducive; still he
was playful and confident, and regarded his adversary with a look of
conscious superiority. Bendigo, in point of muscularity, was inferior
to Burke, especially in the shoulders, arms, and neck, but he appeared
in perfect condition, and firm as iron. The colour of his skin was
healthful; his countenance exhibited perfect self-possession, and wore
an easy smile of confidence. The current odds, on setting to, were six
to four on Burke, with plenty of takers. In Nottingham, where the
physical qualities of Bendigo were better known, the odds had been as
low as five to four.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――The position of Burke was easy and
     unconstrained. He stood rather square, his left foot in
     advance, and his arms well up, as if waiting for his
     antagonist to break ground. Bendigo, on the contrary,
     dropped his right shoulder, stooped a little, and,
     right foot foremost, seemed prepared to let fly left or
     right as the opportunity offered. After a little
     manœuvring, he made a catching feint with his left, but
     found the Deaf ’un immovably on his guard. They changed
     ground, both ready, when Bendigo let go his right, and
     caught Burke on the ribs, leaving a visible impression
     of his knuckles. More manœuvring. Bendigo tried his
     left, but was stopped. The Deaf ’un popped in his
     right, and caught Bendigo on the ear, but soon had a
     slap in return from Bendigo’s right, under the eye, as
     straight as an arrow. (Cheers for Bendigo.) Both
     steady. Bendigo made two or three feints with his left,
     but did not draw the Deaf ’un. Each evidently meaning
     mischief, and getting closer together. Counter hits
     with the left, when both, by mutual consent, got to a
     rally, and severe hits, right and left, were exchanged.
     The Deaf ’un closed, but Bendigo broke away, and
     turning round renewed the rally. Heavy exchanges
     followed, when they again closed, and trying for the
     fall both went down in the corner. (There was a cry of
     first blood from Bendigo’s left ear; but, although very
     red from the Deaf ’un’s visitations, the referee, who
     examined it, decided there was no claret.)

     2.――Both men showed symptoms of the “ditto repeated” in
     the last round, although no great mischief was done,
     nor was there much advantage booked, each having given
     as good as he got. The Deaf ’un resumed his defensive
     position, and was steady. Bendigo again tried the feint
     with his left, evidently desirous of leading off with
     his right, but the Deaf ’un was awake to this dodge,
     and grinned. The Deaf ’un tried his right, but was
     stopped. After a pause, during which the men shifted
     their ground, Bendigo let go his left, but was prettily
     stopped. He was more successful with his right, and
     caught the Deaf ’un a stinger under the eye. The
     straightness and quickness of these right-hand
     deliveries were now conspicuous. Counter hits, left and
     right, followed, and the Deaf ’un showed a slight tinge
     of claret on the mouth, but it was not claimed. The
     Deaf ’un now made up his mind for a determined rally,
     and to it they went ding-dong; the stops, hits, and
     returns, right and left, were severe, and no flinching.
     Bendigo again wheeled round, but the Deaf ’un was with
     him, and the rally was renewed with equal vigour and
     good will. Bendigo, rather wild at the end, closed, and
     after a sharp struggle, both down. (The Deaf ’un’s
     _chère amie_, before alluded to, now cheered him, but,
     indifferent to her blandishments, he was carried to his
     corner piping a little from the severity of his
     exertion. Bendigo, on reaching his corner, seemed
     freshest, and exhibited less impression from the blows
     which he had received than his antagonist.)

     3.――Both came up strong on their pins, but the Deaf
     ’un’s face, especially on the left cheek, was greatly
     flushed, and other marks and tokens of searching
     deliveries were visible. The Deaf ’un looked serious,
     and coughed as if the contents of his pudding-bag were
     not altogether satisfied with the disturbance to which
     they had been exposed. Sparring for a short time, when
     Bendigo let go his right, but was stopped; it was a
     heavy hit, and the sound of the dashing knuckles was
     distinctly heard. Well-meant blows on both sides
     stopped. The Deaf ’un again coughed; his “cat’s meat”
     was clearly out of trim. Again did the Deaf ’un stop
     Bendigo’s right, but did not attempt to return. He now
     seemed to gain a little more confidence, and exhibited
     a few of his hanky-panky tricks, making a sort of Merry
     Andrew dance; but his jollity was soon stopped, for
     Bendigo popped in his left and right heavily, and got
     away. The Deaf ’un changed countenance and was more
     serious; Bendigo again tried his left-handed feints and
     was readiest to fight, but the Deaf ’un stood quiet.
     (Even bets offered on Bendigo.) Bendigo closed in upon
     his man, who waited on the defensive; but his defensive
     system was inexplicable, for Bendigo jobbed him four
     times in succession with the right under the left eye,
     on the old spot, jumping away each time without an
     attempt at return on the part of the Deaf ’un, and
     producing a fearful hillock on the Deaf ’un’s
     cheek-bone. The Deaf ’un seemed paralysed by the
     stinging severity of these repeated visitations and his
     friends called on him to go in and fight. He made an
     attempt with his right, but was short; at last he
     rushed to a rally, and some heavy hits were exchanged;
     Bendigo retreated, but kept hitting on the retreat. The
     deliveries were rapid and numerous, but those of the
     Deaf ’un did not tell on the hard frontispiece of his
     opponent. They broke away, but again joined issue, and
     the rally was renewed. The jobbing hits, right and
     left, from Bendigo were terrific, and the Deaf ’un’s
     nose began to weep blood for the state of his left
     ogle, which was now fast closing. (The question of
     first blood was now decided.) Bendigo broke away again,
     the Deaf ’un following, but Bendigo, collecting
     himself, jobbed severely, the Deaf ’un apparently no
     return, and almost standing to receive. He looked round
     and seemed almost stupefied, but still he kept his
     legs, when Bendigo went in and repeated his
     right-handed jobs again and again; he then closed, gave
     the Deaf ’un the crook, threw him, and fell on him.
     (The seconds immediately took up their men, and both
     showed distress, especially the Deaf ’un, who was
     obviously sick, but could not relieve his stomach,
     although he tried his finger for that purpose. All were
     astonished at his sluggishness. He seemed completely
     bothered, and to have lost all power of reflection and
     judgment.)

     4.――The Deaf ’un now came up all the worse from the
     effects of the last rattling round, while Bendigo
     scarcely showed a scratch. The seconds of the Deaf ’un
     called on him “to go in and fight;” he obeyed the call,
     but again had Bendigo’s right on his damaged peeper.
     Bendigo fought on the retreat, hitting as he stepped
     back, but steadying himself he caught the Deaf ’un on
     the nose with his right, and sent his pimple flying
     backwards with the force of the blow. The Deaf ’un
     rushed in, hitting left and right, and in getting back
     Bendigo fell over the ropes out of the ring. (The fight
     had now lasted sixteen minutes; the Deaf ’un had all
     the worst of it, although Bendigo from his exertions
     exhibited trifling symptoms of distress.)

     5.――The Deaf ’un came up boldly, but all his cleverness
     seemed to have left him. Bendigo, steady, was first to
     fight, popping in his right; exchanges followed, and in
     the close both went down, Burke uppermost.

     6.――“Drops of brandy” were tried with the Deaf ’un, but
     his friends seemed to have “dropped down on their
     luck.” Still he came up courageously, although his
     right as well as his left eye was pinked.
     Counter-hitting, in which Bendigo’s right was on the
     old spot. A close at the ropes, the Deaf ’un trying for
     the fall, but after some pulling both went down and no
     harm done. (Three to one on Bendigo, but no takers.)

     7.――The Deaf ’un’s left eye was now as dark as Erebus,
     and as a last resource he tried the rush; he rattled in
     to his man without waiting for the attack, but in the
     close, after an exchange of hits and a severe struggle,
     was thrown. The moment the Deaf ’un was picked up he
     cried “Foul!” and asserted that Bendigo had butted him,
     looking anxiously at the umpire and referee for a
     decision in his favour; but there was no pretence for
     the charge, as it was obvious Bendigo merely jerked
     back his head to relieve himself from his grasp. Like
     “a drowning man,” however, it was obvious he was
     anxious to “catch at a straw.”

     8.――The Deaf ’un showed woeful punishment in the
     physog, although not cut. Again did he make a
     despairing rush, stopping Bendigo’s right, but in the
     second attempt he was not so fortunate, for Bendigo
     muzzled, closed, and threw him.

     9.――The Deaf ’un’s game was now clearly all but up, for
     while he showed such prominent proofs of the severity
     of his antagonist’s visitations to his nob, the latter
     was but little the worse for wear. The Deaf ’un,
     however, was determined to cut up well, and again
     rattled in left and right, Bendigo retreating and
     jobbing as he followed, and at length hitting him down
     with a right-handed blow on the pimple. The Deaf ’un,
     with one hand and one knee on the ground, looked up,
     but Bendigo stood steadily looking at him, and would
     not repeat the blow, showing perfect coolness and
     self-possession.

     10, and last.――The Deaf ’un, greatly distressed, still
     came up with a determination to produce a change if he
     could by in-fighting. He rushed into his man, hitting
     left and right, but receiving heavy jobs in return. He
     forced Bendigo with his back against the ropes, and, as
     he had him in that position, deliberately butted him
     twice, when both went down in the struggle for the
     fall. Jem Ward immediately cried “Foul!” and appealed
     to the referee, who refused to give any decision till
     properly appealed to by the umpires. He stepped into
     the ring, where he was followed by the umpires, when he
     was again appealed to, and at once declared that Burke
     had butted, and that therefore Bendigo was entitled to
     the victory――a judgment in which, it is due to say, the
     umpire of the Deaf ’un, although anxious to protect his
     interests, declared in the most honourable manner he
     must concur. Several of Bendigo’s friends wished no
     advantage of this departure from the new rules to be
     taken, foreseeing that a few more rounds must finish
     the Deaf ’un; but the decision of the referee was
     imperative, and thus ended a contest which disappointed
     not only the backers of the Deaf ’un but the admirers
     of the Ring generally, who anticipated on the Deaf
     ’un’s part a different issue, or at least a better
     fight. With regard to the butting, of which we have
     no doubt, our impression is that it was done
     intentionally, and for the express purpose of
     terminating the fight in that way rather than by
     prolonging it to submit to additional punishment and
     the mortification of a more decided defeat; and we are
     the more inclined to this conclusion from the Deaf
     ’un’s readiness to claim a butt on the part of Bendigo
     in the seventh round, a convincing proof that he was
     fully sensible of its nature and consequence. An
     attempt was subsequently made to wrangle with the
     referee on the soundness of his decision, for the
     purpose of sustaining the character of the Deaf ’un,
     and exciting a spirit of discontent among his backers.
     This was not creditable, and to be classed among these
     petty expedients to which some of our modern
     “Ringsters” are but too willing to have recourse――namely,
     at all events “to win, tie, or wrangle,” a practice to
     which every honest man must be opposed. The time
     occupied in the contest was exactly four-and-twenty
     minutes. In no one of Burke’s former battles was he
     more severely punished in the face, not, it is true, in
     any vital part, for all Bendigo’s hits, both left and
     right, were as straight as a line, going straight from
     the shoulder and slap to their destination. There were
     no round hits on his part, and the body blows on both
     sides were few and far between.

     REMARKS.――Perhaps no battle on record offers a stronger
     illustration of the consequences of vanity and
     headstrong confidence than that which we have just
     recorded. Burke, puffed up by his former successes, and
     flattered by the good-natured freedom of young men of
     fashion, placed himself beyond the pale of instruction
     and advice. He was self-willed and obstinate, and
     quarrelled with all who presumed to guide him in the
     proper course. His repeated acts of imprudence while in
     training called forth the strongest remonstrances, but
     in vain; and thus he has found, when too late, that “a
     man who will be his own adviser” on such occasions “has
     a fool for his client.” Nothing but the most decided
     want of condition can account for the slowness which he
     exhibited; and, when his career from the time he went
     to Brighton till the day of the battle is considered,
     that state of constitution is sufficiently explained;
     and yet those besotted friends who knew all this were
     as prejudiced in his favour that they blindly pinned
     their faith to his former reputation, believed no man
     alive could beat him, and risked their money, as well
     as stultified their judgment, on we issue of his
     exertions. But then say these wiseacres, opening their
     eyes with well-feigned astonishment, “We could not have
     erred. It is impossible, seeing all that we have seen,
     and knowing what we have known of the Deaf ’un that he
     could have made so bad a fight, and be beaten so hollow
     by a countryman!” Oh no! this could not be――and what
     follows? Why, the old story――the honest Deaf ’un has
     all at once turned rogue――he had been bought and fought
     a cross!――he has sold his friends, and must be consigned
     to degradation. Why, from the third round it was seen
     by the merest tyro in the ring that he had not a
     chance. He was completely paralysed by the unexpected
     quickness of his adversary, who has, as Jem Ward
     foretold, proved himself a better man than has for some
     years appeared in the ring. This has been Ward’s
     constant cry, and had his advice been taken all the
     odds that were offered would have been taken. But no;
     the Londoners were not to be beaten out of their
     “propriety.” Twos to one, sevens to four, and sixes to
     four have, as is well known, been offered over and over
     again in sporting houses without takers, and many who
     lamented the impossibility of “getting on” before the
     fight, have now, after it, the consolation of feeling
     that they have “got off” most miraculously. And yet
     this was a cross; and the cunning concoctors of the
     robbery had the generosity to refuse the hundreds which
     were, as it were, forced under their noses. Verily this
     is “going the whole hog” with a vengeance; but from the
     little we know of such speculations we are inclined to
     think that those who hazard such an opinion will be
     deemed greater flats than they have proved themselves.
     It is an accusation unjust towards a weak, but, we
     believe, an honest man, and still more unjust towards
     Bendigo, who, throughout, proved himself, in every
     respect, a better fighter, as well as a harder hitter,
     than Burke, and who, in no part of the battle, was
     guilty of an act which would disentitle him to the
     honour and profit of his victory. But some facts seem
     to be altogether lost sight of in forming a just
     estimate of poor Burke’s pretensions, for, independent
     of his want of condition, it seems to be forgotten that
     instead of fighting or sparring for the last two years
     he has been confining himself to the personification of
     “the Grecian statues,” forsooth――anything but calculated
     to give energy to his limbs――added to which he is
     ruptured. We are also informed on medical authority
     that the patella or knee-pan of his right leg is as
     weak from the fracture which he sustained in the
     hospital some time back that he is obliged to support
     it by double laced bandages, and he has been altogether
     precluded from taking strong walking or running
     exercise, never having walked more than ten miles in
     any one day of his training. For our own part we
     think his day is gone by, and, like many other great
     performers, he has appeared once too often; but that he
     intentionally deceived his friends we believe to be a
     most ungenerous calumny, although his friends may have
     deceived themselves. After the fight, Burke, who was
     sufficiently well to walk from the ring, returned to
     Appleby, and from there to “foot-ball kicking”
     Atherstone, where the annual sports were merrily kept
     up in his absence. The same night he returned to
     Coventry, and arrived by the mail train in London the
     next morning, none the worse in his bodily health from
     the peppering he received, however mentally he was
     “down on his luck.” He complained much of his arms,
     which, from the wrists to the elbows, were covered with
     bruises, the effects of stopping――and stopping blows,
     too, which, had they reached their destination, would
     have expedited his downfall. Bendigo returned to
     Nottingham the same night, decorated with his well-earned
     laurels; and it is to be hoped he will enjoy his
     victory with becoming modesty and civility, bearing in
     mind that he has yet to conquer Caunt before he can be
     proclaimed Champion of England.

The Deaf ’un, who showed on the Friday at Jem Burn’s, with the
exception of his “nob” was all right. He complains most of having been
stripped of his belt, which was attached to his truss by a loop, and
the absence of which filled him with apprehension. This, combined with
his admitted want of condition, he declares placed him on the wrong
side the winning post. He is, however, most anxious for another trial,
and instructs us to say that he still has supporters who will match
him once more against Bendigo for £100 a side, the fight to come off
in the same ring with Hannan and Walker; Burke to be permitted to wear
his belt, as in the case of Peter Crawley and Jack Langan. It is
needless to say that Burke never again faced Bendigo in the ring,
getting on a match at this time with Jem Bailey.

For several months the newspapers were rife with challenges from Caunt
to Bendigo and Bendigo to Caunt; each “Champion” roving about the
counties in which he was most popular upon the “benefit dodge,” each
with a star company, and each awakening the city or town where his
company performed with a thundering challenge, while each pugilistic
planet revolved in his own peculiar orbit without giving the other a
chance of a “collision.”

In this interval Jem Ward presented a “Champion’s” belt to Bendigo, at
the Queen’s Theatre, Liverpool, amid great acclamations, and again the
tiresome game of challenging and making appointments for “a meeting to
draw up articles,” at places where the challenged party never attended
or meant to show, went on. Brassey, of Bradford, too, having in the
interim beaten Young Langan, of Liverpool, and Jem Bailey, put in his
claim and joined the chorus of challengers. Burke also offered himself
for £100, which Bendigo declined, according to his published
challenge. In the latter half of 1839 we read as follows:――

     “_To the Editor of_ ‘BELL’S LIFE IN LONDON.’

     “SIR,――Caunt states that he has been given to understand I
     wish to have another trial with him for £200 a side, and
     that his money is ready at any sporting house in Sheffield.
     Now, Sir, I have been to many houses that he frequents, and
     cannot find any one to put any money down in his behalf; and
     as he was in Sheffield for a fortnight previous to my going
     away to second Renwick, I think, if he meant fighting, he
     would have made the match when we were both in Sheffield.
     Now, Sir, what I mean to say is this――I will fight Caunt, or
     any other man in England, for from £200 to £500 a side, and
     I hope I shall not be disappointed, as I mean fighting, and
     nothing else; and to convince the patrons of the Prize Ring
     that there is no empty chaff about me, as I am going to
     leave Sheffield this week, my money will be ready any day or
     hour at Mr. Edward Daniels’, ‘Three Crowns,’ Parliament
     Street, Nottingham. Or if Burke wants another shy, I will
     fight him for £150 a side.

                              “WILLIAM THOMPSON, alias BENDIGO.”

This certainly looked like business, yet the next week we find Caunt
declaring “I will make a match with Bendigo for £200, and I will take
a sovereign to go to Nottingham, or give Bendigo the same if he will
meet me at Lazarus’s house at Sheffield.” This was in July, and
shortly after Bendigo writes:――

     “_To the Editor of_ ‘BELL’S LIFE IN LONDON.’

     “MR. EDITOR,――Having sent a letter to Caunt accepting his
     challenge on his own terms, and not receiving an answer, I
     wish to put that bounceable gentleman’s intentions to a
     public test. I am willing to fight him on his own terms, and
     I will give him the sovereign he requires to pay his
     expenses in coming to Nottingham to make the match, and let
     it be as early as possible. As to Deaf Burke, he is but of
     minor importance to me. I have no objection to give him
     another chance to regain his lost laurels, and will fight
     him for his ‘cool hundred,’ as he calls it, providing he or
     his friends make the first deposit £50, for my friends are
     not willing to stake less. Should the above not suit either
     of these aspirants for fistic fame, I again repeat I will
     fight any man in the world for £200 or £500, barring neither
     weight, country, nor colour. I am always to be heard of at
     the ‘Three Crowns,’ Parliament Street, Nottingham.

                               “WILLIAM THOMPSON, alias BENDIGO.
     “August 3rd, 1839.”

Soon after we read:――

     “CAUNT AND BENDIGO.――Bendigo went to Nottingham to make the
     match with Caunt on Saturday week, but the latter could not
     find more than two sovereigns to put down as a deposit.
     Caunt, before he indulges in bounce, should reflect that he
     only disgraces himself and gains nothing by his
     ‘clap-traps.’ These benefit humbugs must be suppressed.”

No wonder that the much-enduring editor should thus express himself.
Nevertheless the “benefit humbug,” like other humbugs, exhibited
irrepressible vitality; 1840 wore on, and Caunt, who seemed to prefer
a tourney with Brassey or Nick Ward (who had challenged him), did not
close with Bendigo. Had there been a real intention, the subjoined
should have brought the men together:――

     “_To the Editor of_ ‘BELL’S LIFE IN LONDON.’

     “SIR,――I agree with you that there is more ‘talk than doing’
     among the professors of ‘the art of Self-Defence’ of the
     present day――more challenges than acceptances――evidently for
     the purpose of giving to the members of the Ring, for
     benefits and other interested purposes, fame and character
     which they do not always possess――I allude particularly to
     Caunt and Bendigo, ‘the Great Guns of the day.’ Each talks
     of being backed, but each, in turn, avoids ‘the scratch.’
     Now to the test: I am anxious, for the sake of society, that
     ‘old English Boxing’ should not decline, because I am sure
     it is the best school for the inculcation of ‘fair play,’
     and the suppression of the horrible modern use of the
     knife――and of this I am prepared to give proof. Bendigo says
     he will not fight Caunt for less than £200, which sum I
     presume he can find, or he, too, is carrying on ‘the game of
     humbug.’ Caunt says he is equally ready to fight Bendigo,
     but cannot come to his terms. Now to make short work of
     it――if Caunt can get backed for £100, I will find another
     £100 for him, and thus come to Bendigo’s terms. Let him
     communicate with Jem Burn, in whom I have confidence, and
     the money shall be ready at a moment’s warning. I wish for a
     fair, manly fight and no trickery; and my greatest pleasure
     will be to see the ‘best man win.’ In and out of the Ring
     prize-fighters ought to be friends――it is merely a struggle
     for supremacy, and this can be decided without personal
     animosity, foul play, or foul language, all of which most be
     disgusting to those who look to sustain a great national
     and, as I think, an honourable game.

                                                     “I am, &c.,
              “A MEMBER OF THE NEW SPARRING CLUB AT JEM BURN’S.”

Brassey, however, was withdrawn from the controversy by an accident
beyond his own control. The magistrates of Salford, determining to
suppress pugilism so far as in them lay, indicted Brassey for riot in
seconding Sam Pixton in a fight with Jones, of Manchester, and,
obtaining a conviction, sentenced him to two months’ incarceration in
the borough gaol. He was thus placed _hors de combat_.

Early in 1840 Bendigo was in London, with his head-quarters at Burn’s,
where Nick Ward exhibited with him with the gloves in friendly
emulation. The brother of the ex-champion, however, was averse to any
closer engagement. Bendigo returned to the provinces, and the next
week the public was informed that “Caunt’s money, to be made into a
stake of £200, was lying at Tom Spring’s, but nothing has been heard
from Bendigo!” The conjunction of circumstances is curious, for in the
same week the subjoined paragraph appeared, which records an accident
which certainly crippled Bendigo for the rest of his life. Indeed the
author, who at this period saw him occasionally, did not consider him
well enough to contend in the ring up to the time of his crowning
struggle with the gigantic Caunt.

     “ACCIDENT TO BENDIGO.――William Thompson, better known by his
     cognomen of ‘Bendigo,’ has met with an accident which is
     likely to cripple him for life. On Monday he had been to see
     the military officers’ steeplechase, near Nottingham, and on
     his return home he and his companions were cracking their
     jokes about having a steeplechase among themselves. Having
     duly arrived nearly opposite the Pindar’s House, on the
     London Road, about a mile from Nottingham, Bendigo
     exclaimed, ‘Now, my boys, I’ll show you how to run a
     steeplechase in a new style, without falling,’ and
     immediately threw a somersault; he felt, whilst throwing it,
     that he had hurt his knee, and on alighting be attempted in
     vain three times to rise from the ground; his companions,
     thinking for the moment he was joking, laughed heartily, but
     discovering it was no joke went to his assistance and raised
     him up, but the poor fellow had no use of his left leg. A
     gig was sent for immediately, in which he was conveyed to
     the house of his brother, and Messrs. Wright and Thompson,
     surgeons, were immediately called in. On examination of the
     knee we understand they pronounced the injury to the cap to
     be of so serious a nature that he is likely to be lame for
     life.

This serious mishap, which befell him on the 23rd of March, 1840, was
the result of those “larking” propensities for which Bendy was
notorious. It shelved our hero most effectually, leaving the field
open to Caunt, Nick Ward, Brassey, Deaf Burke, Tass Parker, and Co.,
whose several doings will be found in the proper place.

While Bendigo suffers as an _im_-patient under the hands of the
Nottingham doctors for more than two years, we shall, before again
raising the curtain, interpose a slight _entr’acte_ in the shape of a
little song to an old tune, then in the height of its popularity, “The
Fine Old English Gentleman;” of which we opine we have read worse
parodies than this, which was often chaunted in the parlour of Tom
Spring’s “Castle,” in Holborn, at various meetings of good men and
true, the patrons of fair play and of the then flourishing “Pugilistic
Association,” whereof Tom was the President, and “the Bishop of
Bond-street” the Honorary and Honourable Treasurer.


   THE FINE OLD ENGLISH PUGILIST

   BY THE P.L. OF THE P.R.

   I’ll sing a song of days of old now vanish’d like the mist,
   And may the fire of “Frosty Face” a modern bard assist
   To pay the honours justly due to each Old Pugilist,
   Who, not for filthy lucre, but for conquest, clenched his fist,
                                Like a fine Old English Pugilist,
                                One of the olden time!

   No plans of crossing robbery he ever deigned to hatch,
   The honest backers to betray, or simple ones to catch;
   But at a moment’s notice always ready for a match,
   Whoever was the customer that dar’d him to the scratch,
                                Like a fine Old English Pugilist,
                                One of the olden time!

   Whate’er his size, whate’er his weight, he didn’t care a pin,
   The science of his challenger, or colour of his skin,
   But gallantly he went to work, regardless of the tin,
   And though not certain of success he did his best to win.
                                Like a fine Old English Pugilist,
                                One of the olden time!

   Those were the days when Ben the Big and Johnson fought of old,
   Mendoza, Humphries, Bristol Pearce, and both the Belchers bold,
   That was, I mention it with pride, Pancratia’s age of gold,
   When men, like cattle in a fair, were neither bought nor sold,
                                But shone true British Pugilists,
                                Men of the olden time!

   Then manfully within the ring each boxer kept his ground,
   Bestowing wholesale pepper in each well-contested round;
   And when the victory was proclaim’d, their brows with conquest
      crown’d,
   All anger, in a foaming pot, was in an instant drown’d,
                                Like fine Old English Pugilists,
                                Men of the olden time!

   But, ah, those hours flew swiftly by, of boxing annals bright,
   And men began to do the thing that wasn’t very right,
   And honesty from Pugilists prepar’d to take a flight,
   For cross coves manag’d, as they pleas’d, to win or lose a fight,
                                Unlike brave English Pugilists,
                                Men of the olden time!

   Then censures on the fancy Ring on every hand were rife,
   And beaks proclaim’d they’d put an end to Boxiana’s life;
   And now, as a more gentle mode of settling points of strife,
   We’ve introduc’d, God save the mark! the dagger and the knife;
                                Oh, for brave English Pugilists,
                                Men of the olden time!

   Now surely it were better far the Ring should thrive again,
   And good Old English Boxing should a character maintain,
   Than that assassination foul our annals still should stain,
   And crimes best suited to the soil of Italy and Spain,
                                Unlike Old English Pugilism,
                                Milling of olden time!

In 1842 Bendigo, maugre the advice of the medicos, made his way to
London, and, putting in an appearance at a “soirée” at Jem Burn’s,
solicited the honour of a glove-bout with Peter Crawley. Bendy’s
resuscitation was hailed with delight, and as he declared his
readiness to renew a broken-off match with Tass Parker, a spirited
patron of the Ring declared that money should be no obstacle. On the
Thursday week ensuing, Tass also being in town with his friends for
the Derby week, all parties met at Johnny Broome’s, and articles were
penned and duly signed. By these it was agreed that the men should
meet on Wednesday, the 24th of August, within twenty miles of
Wolverton, in the direction of Nottingham, for a stake of £200 a side.

Parker having beaten Harry Preston, the game Tom Britton, of
Liverpool, and the powerful John Leechman (Brassey, of Bradford), was
now at the pinnacle of his fame. His friends, too, were most
confident, as Bendigo’s lameness was but too painfully apparent. Tass
offered to “deposit the value of Bendigo’s belt, to be the prize of
the victor.” The match went on until June 28th, when, £140 being down,
it was announced at the fifth deposit that the bold Bendigo was in
custody on a warrant issued by his brother (a respectable tradesman in
Nottingham), who was averse to his milling pursuits. The rumour was
too true. Bendy was brought before their worships, charged with
intending a breach of the peace with one Hazard Parker, and held to
bail to keep the peace towards all Her Majesty’s subjects for twelve
months, himself in £100, and two sureties of £100 each.

During this interval, too, Ben Caunt had not been idle. He had beaten
Brassey on the 27th of October, 1840, after a long, clumsy tussle of
101 rounds in an hour and a half, as may be read in the memoir of
CAUNT. He had also lost a fight with Nick Ward, by being provoked to a
foul blow, and then beaten the same shifty pug. in May, 1841,
thereafter departing on a tour to America, after the fashion of other
modern champions. “Time and the hour wore on;” Bendy’s knee
strengthened, and Big Ben returned from Yankeeshire, bringing with
him, from the land of “big things,” the biggest so-called boxer that
ever sported buff in the P.R., in the person of Charles Freeman,
weighing 18st., and standing 6ft. 10½in. in his stocking feet.
Freeman’s brief career will be found in an Appendix to that of his
only antagonist WILLIAM PERRY, the Tipton Slasher.

At the close of 1843 Bendigo once again disputed the now established
claim of Caunt to the proud title of Champion of England, when Brassey
also offered himself to Bendigo’s notice. The Bradford Champion,
however, does not seem to have had moneyed backers, and the business
hung fire. On the 14th February, 1844, we find the following:――


   VALENTINE FROM BENDIGO TO BRASSEY.

   Many happy returns of the Spring, bouncing Brassey,
     I hope Fortune gives you no cause to complain,
   That you’re right as a trivet, determined and saucy,
     And ready for mischief with Bendy again.

   May I never again take a sip of blue ruin
     If I love to see fair English fighting take wing;
  ’Tis time for the “big ’uns” to up and be doing,
     For bantam cocks only show now in the Ring.

   Then again for the laurel crown let us be tugging,
     May fair play be always our motto and plan!
   But Caunt I denounce, and his system of hugging,
     A practice more fit for a bear than a man.

   As to Freeman, the giant――I don’t mean offending――
     His bulk and his weight may astonish the raw,
   But when with Bill Perry, the Slasher, contending,
     I’m bless’d if he showed any point worth a straw.

   Of falsehood I scorn the unclean manufacture,
     My luck with good men always forward to try;
   And but for my knee-pan’s unfortunate fracture
     With the Yankee I wouldn’t have shrunk from a shy.

   Then, Brassey, come out if you truly mean milling,
     And drop down your dust for a match if you dare,
   And you’ll find Billy Bendigo ready and willing
     To give you a sample of Nottingham ware.

   I’m anxious, bold Brassey, again to be busy,
     And face a good fellow, true-hearted and tough;
   And I’d cheerfully draw from my cly my last tizzy
     To see two game pugilists stripp’d to the buff.

   But here I conclude, for my time’s up for starting,
     And conscience is giving a sort of a shove;
   But I just drop a hint, my good fellow, at parting,――
     If you can’t raise the needful, I’ll fight you for love.

Brassey did not make a deposit, and Caunt, who was now settled at the
“Coach and Horses,” St. Martin’s Lane, seemed rather given to benefits
and bounce than boxing.

The rest of the year was consumed in correspondence, in which Bendigo
demanded the odds offered and then retracted by Caunt, the latter
having, _ad interim_, a row, and ridiculous challenge from Jem Burn,
and an equally absurd cartel from a burly publican named Kingston,
whose eccentric antics will be noticed in the memoir of CAUNT.

The year 1845 was, however, destined to see the eccentric Bendigo and
the ponderous Caunt brought together. All doubts and surmises were
silenced when articles were signed to the effect that on the 9th of
September, 1845, the men were to meet, Bendigo having closed, after
innumerable difficulties, with Caunt’s terms of £200 a side and the
belt.

At the final deposit, on August 26th, at Tom Spring’s, the Castle
Tavern, Holborn, it was officially announced that both men were in
splendid condition. Bendigo had trained at Crosby, near Liverpool,
under the care of Jem Ward, and Caunt near Hatfield, in Hertfordshire,
where he was looked after by his uncle, Ben Butler, and by Jem Turner,
the D’Orsay of the Ring, besides being constantly visited by his great
friend and patron, the gallant Tom Spring. Caunt, who was now
thirty-three years of age, had scaled over 17st. when he went into
training, but on the day of the fight was reduced to a pound under
14st., the lightest weight he ever reached in any of his fights.
Bendigo, who was three years older, weighed 12st. 1lb., and was also
in the pink of condition. When articles were originally signed, on
April 17th, it was arranged that the fight should take place half-way
between London and Nottingham, but at the final supper this was
altered by mutual consent to Newport Pagnel, in Bucks. On the Sunday
Bendigo, Merryman, and Jem Ward arrived at Newport Pagnel, which led
to an immediate issue of a warrant, and Bendigo’s friends took him out
of the town to a neighbouring farmhouse. Caunt turned up in London, at
Spring’s, with his uncle, Ben Butler, on the Monday afternoon, in high
spirits, though remarkably thin. He had got rid of every ounce of
superfluous flesh, and was nothing but bone and sinew. Two hundred of
his handkerchiefs were sold, at a guinea each if he won, nothing if he
lost. He left by the four o’clock train for Wolverton, from whence he
proceeded, with Spring and other friends, to the “Cock” at Stony
Stratford. Newport Pagnel was full of the Nottingham division. The
“Swan” (Tom Westley’s) and all the other inns were filled to excess.
In the evening Spring went to the “Swan” to meet Bendigo’s friends to
settle the place. Bendigo wished to fight in Bucks; Spring had seen
constables with warrants, and wanted to take them to Oxfordshire, to
Lillingston Level, where Deaf Burke and Nick Ward fought in 1840.
There was a long disputation, but at last they agreed to toss. Jem
Ward, for Bendigo, won, and they chose Bedfordshire. In the morning
they again altered their minds, and determined to try Whaddon in
Oxfordshire. This ill-judged proceeding necessitated a ten miles’
tramp to Whaddon, where the first ring was pitched. Meanwhile, at the
“Cock,” at Stony Stratford, the chief constable told Spring that
Whaddon was in Bucks, and that they could not fight in that county.
Spring sent off a messenger, but at first the Nottingham roughs would
not allow a move to be made; at last they started for another eight
miles’ walk to Sutfield Green. At half-past two a second ring was
formed, when there were at least 10,000 people present. The Nottingham
roughs, who were in great force, made an invasion, and drove all back
who would not buy Nottingham tickets. Spring, who had provided tickets
for the London men, had not yet arrived. At twenty minutes past three
the men entered the ring――Caunt first, attended by Molyneux the Black
and Jem Turner as seconds, Butler having charge of the bottles.
Bendigo was attended by Nick Ward and Jack Hannan, Jem Ward and Jem
Burn. They shook hands, and tossed for choice of corners. Caunt won,
and took the higher ground, with his back to the sun. Spring, in
compliance with the articles, produced Caunt’s belt, and handed it to
Bendigo to show it was the genuine article. He buckled it on in
bravado, and laughingly offered to bet Caunt £50 that he would win the
fight. Caunt declined; he evidently did not appreciate Bendy’s
funniment. The belt was then handed to Jem Ward to await the result.
There was another disputation about choice of referee. After various
names had been proposed on one side only to be captiously rejected on
the other, “t’Auld Squire”――the renowned George Osbaldiston――who had
retreated to his carriage to get out of the rush, was agreed to. At
first the Squire declined, but being pressed, and it being urged that
if he did not consent the match would not come off, he accepted.
Bendigo’s colours were blue with white spot――Caunt’s bright orange,
with blue border, the following inscription in a garter in
centre:――“Caunt and Bendigo, for £200 and the Championship of England,
9th September, 1845.” This was surrounded with the words, “May the
best man win!”


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Caunt threw himself into attitude erect and
     smiling, whilst Bendigo at once began to play round
     him, dodging and shifting ground in his usual style.
     Caunt let fly his left, but missed. Bendigo, active on
     his pins, retreated, and _chasséed_ left and right; at
     last he crept in closer, then out again, till, watching
     his opportunity, he got closer, and popped in a
     sounding smack with his left on Caunt’s right eye.
     After a few lively capers he succeeded in delivering
     another crack with his left on Caunt’s cheek, opening
     the old scar left by Brassey, and drawing first blood,
     as well as producing an electric effect on Caunt’s
     optic. (Shouts unlimited from Bendigo’s friends.) Bendy
     got away laughing, and again played round his man.
     Caunt got closer, missed an intended slasher with his
     left, and closed for the fall. Bendy grappled with him,
     but could not escape, and Caunt, by superior strength,
     forced him down at the corner.

     2.――Caunt up at the call of time, his cheek and eye
     testifying the effects of the visitations in the last
     round, Bendy dancing round him, and waiting for an
     opening. Slight exchanges left and right, Caunt missing
     his opponent’s head; Bendigo, in retreating to the
     ropes, slipped down, was up again in a moment, and
     dashed to his man. Wild exchanges, but no apparent
     execution; Caunt hit out viciously left and right,
     missed his kind intentions, and Bendy got down
     unscathed.

     3.――Caunt came up quiet, and determined on
     annihilation. Bendy again played about him, but did not
     get near enough for execution. After some wild passes,
     Caunt missing, Bendigo, on the retreat, was caught in
     the powerful grasp of Caunt, who threw him across the
     ropes and fell on him, but no mischief done. (Shouts
     from the roughs.)

     4.――Caunt came up blowing, when Bendigo, after a little
     dodging, popped in his left under his guard, and got
     away. Caunt, determined on mischief, followed his man,
     and at last getting to him let fly left and right,
     catching Bendy with the left on the mouth slightly, but
     missing his right. Bendigo finding himself in
     difficulties got down, falling on the ropes, and
     grinning facetiously at Goliath the Second, who walked
     back to his corner.

     5.――Caunt, first to lead off, drew on his man, but
     Bendy retreated, Caunt after him, till he reached the
     ropes, when Caunt hit out left and right, his blows
     passing harmlessly over Bendigo’s head. There was a
     want of precision in Caunt’s hitting not to be
     accounted for with his supposed science. Bendigo, who
     stopped rather wildly, got down.

     6.――Caunt, first to the call of time, waited with his
     hands well up, but blowing. We believe he was
     over-trained, and really distressed thus early in the
     struggle. Bendy manœuvred to the right and left; Caunt
     approached him, but he retreated. Caunt let fly left
     and right, but Bendy ducked his canister, and got down
     with more caution than gallantry.

     7.――Left-handed exchanges on the nobs, but of no
     moment. Caunt made some desperate lunges left and
     right, but was too high, and Bendy slipped down.

     8.――Bendy, after a few dodges, got within Caunt’s guard
     with his left, and gave him a pretty prop on the cheek.
     Caunt missed his return, but, seizing Bendy in his
     grasp, flung him over the ropes. Here he leaned heavily
     on him, overbalanced himself, and fell over on his own
     head, bringing Bendy with him, amidst loud shouts and
     abusive epithets. Caunt fell at the feet of his
     friends, Tom Spring and the editor of _Bell’s Life_,
     the latter of whom was seated on that side of the ring
     near the centre stake.

     9.――Bendy came up full of glee, and played round his
     man, watching for his opportunity to plant his left.
     This at last offered, and catching Caunt on the old
     wound he ducked his head to avoid the return, and got
     down.

     10.――More sly manœuvring by Bendy, who, after dancing
     about at arm’s length, stole a march, and caught Caunt
     a stinging smack with his left on the right cheek,
     drawing more claret, and giving the big ’un more of the
     tragedy hue. Caunt instantly closed, gave Bendy the
     Cornish hug, flung him by main strength, and fell on
     him.

     11.――Bendy pursued his eccentric gyrations round his
     man, when with the swiftness of lightning he popped in
     his left on the jaw and right on the body, and fell.
     Caunt, stung by these visitations, followed him, and
     dropped on his knees close to his man, but luckily did
     not touch him, and Bendy was picked up laughing and
     uninjured; in fact, up to this time he scarce showed
     the semblance of a hit beyond a slight contusion on the
     lip and left ear.

     12.――Bendigo retreated from Caunt’s vigorous charge
     right and left, and slipped down, but instantly jumped
     up and renewed the round. After some wild fighting, but
     no execution worth recording, Bendy went down in his
     corner, amidst cries of “Foul!” “Unmanly,” &c.

     13.――Caunt, on coming to the scratch, let fly with his
     left, just grazing the top of Bendigo’s scalp. A sharp
     rally followed, and counter hits with the left were
     exchanged, Bendy hitting Caunt with such terrible force
     on the old spot on the right cheek that he knocked him
     clean off his legs, thus gaining the first knock-down
     blow, amidst deafening shouts from the Nottingham
     roughs. Bendigo’s blow was so powerful that he actually
     rebounded back against the stakes, and Caunt was picked
     up almost stunned by the severity of the visitation.

     14.――Bendy, elated with his handiwork in the last
     round, again dashed in with his left, but not being
     sufficiently quick in his retreat Caunt caught him
     round the neck with his left and lifted him to the
     ropes, and there hung on him till, in trying to escape
     from his grasp, he pulled him forward, threw, and fell
     heavily on him, amidst the indignant shouts of his
     opponents.

     15.――Bendy came up as lively as a kitten, while Caunt,
     undismayed, came smiling to the scratch. Caunt plunged
     in his left and right, but missed; he then seized his
     man for the throw, but Bendy slipped round, and seizing
     Caunt by the neck pulled him down.

     16.――Bendy tried his left-hand dodge, but missed and
     retreated. Caunt followed him up to his corner, hitting
     out right and left, but throwing his hands too high.
     Caunt grappled for the fall, but Bendy got down, Caunt
     following suit, and as he sat upon the ground beckoned
     Bendy to come to him.

     17.――Bendy made himself up for mischief, and played
     round his man for a few seconds, when, getting within
     distance, he delivered a terrific hit with his left on
     Caunt’s mouth, and fell. Caunt’s upper lip was
     completely split by this blow, and the blood flowed
     from the wound in torrents. (Renewed cheers from the
     Nottingham division.)

     18.――Bendy again came the artful dodge put in his left
     on Caunt’s mouth, and fell. Caunt pointed at him, but
     Bendy laughed and nodded.

     19.――Bendy, more cautious, kept out Caunt rushed to
     him, hitting out left and right, but with little
     effect. Bendy retreated. Caunt caught him on the ropes,
     and hung on him till he fell. (More shouting and some
     threats at Caunt.)

     20.――Caunt, anxious to be at work, advanced, while
     Bendy retreated to the ropes, where he hit up with his
     left, and slipped. Caunt turned his back, and was
     retiring, when Bendy jumped up, and had another slap at
     him. Caunt turned round and caught him under his arm as
     he attempted to escape, lifted him to the ropes, and
     there held him till he fell, amidst the cries of
     Bendy’s friends.

     21.――Caunt prompt to the call of time, his hands well
     up, but Bendy again stole a march, popped in his left,
     and slipped down to avoid a return of the compliment.
     (Indignant expressions at Bendigo’s shifty way of
     terminating the rounds.)

     22.――Bendy was still free from punishment, and looked
     as fresh as when he entered the ring, while Caunt,
     although firm and active on his pins, showed heavy
     marks of punishment on his frontispiece; his cheek had
     a gaping wound, his lip cut, and eye and nose evincing
     the consequence of Bendy’s sly but stinging
     visitations. Caunt, impatient at Bendy’s out-fighting,
     rushed to him left and right, but Bendy, unwilling to
     try the weight of superior metal, slipped down, and
     Caunt fell over him, but not on him, as his friends
     anticipated, and as perhaps he intended.

     23.――Both fresh. After a little dodging, advancing, and
     retreating, Bendy again nailed Caunt with his left on
     his damaged kissing-trap. Caunt caught him a slight
     nobber on the head with his left, and Bendy got down.

     24.――Bendy again played round his man till within
     distance, when he popped in a heavy blow on the ribs
     with his left, and got down without a return. There was
     an immediate cry of “Foul!” and an appeal was made to
     the referee. He hesitated, amidst tumultuous cries of
     “Fair! fair!” and allusions to the size of Caunt. The
     uproar was terrific, and the inner circle was
     overwhelmed by the roughs from without rushing in to
     enforce their arguments in favour of Bendy. At last the
     referee decided “Fair,” and “time” was called.

     25.――Nick Ward was here so overcome with his exertions
     that he was taken out of the ring, and his office was
     filled by Nobby Clark. The moment time was called, and
     Bendy reached the scratch, Caunt rushed to him left and
     right, and after slight and wild exchanges with the
     left Bendy slipped and got down cunning.

     26.――Bendy, after a little hanky-panky manœuvring,
     popped in his left on Caunt’s mug, and retreated to the
     corner of the ring. Caunt followed him with so much
     impetuosity that he hit his hand against the stake. In
     the close and scramble for the fall, Bendy succeeded in
     pulling Caunt down, falling with him.

     27.――Caunt on his guard, his hands well up. Bendy
     stepped in, delivered his left on the old spot, and
     dropped to avoid; Caunt shaking his finger at him as he
     retired to his corner. Caunt’s right was visibly puffed
     by its contact with the stake in the previous round.

     28.――Caunt attempted to lead off with his left, but
     Bendy retreated to the ropes, over which Caunt forced
     him, and as he lay upon him, both still hanging on the
     lower rope, Bendy hit up with his left. In this
     position they lay, half in and half out of the ring,
     till released by their seconds.

     29.――Caunt let fly left and right, but he was short,
     Bendy playing the shifty game. Wild fighting on both
     sides, till Caunt fell on his knees. Bendy looked at
     him, lifted his hand to strike, but he prudently
     withheld the blow, and walked to his corner. (Shouts
     from the Nottingham “Lambs.”)

     30.――A rally, in which both fought wildly, Caunt
     catching Bendy a crack over the right brow, from which
     the claret flowed, and Bendy returning the compliment
     on Caunt’s smeller. In the end Bendy slipped down, and,
     on rising, a small black patch was placed on the
     damaged thatch of his peeper.

     31.――Bendy resumed his hitting and getting down system,
     popping in his left on Caunt’s muzzle, and slipping
     down.

     32.――The same game repeated. Spring, indignant,
     appealed to the referee; and Molyneux, in like manner,
     called on the umpires for their decision; they
     disagreed, and Molyneux ran to the referee. The roughs
     again had their say. A blow was aimed at Spring’s head
     with a bludgeon, which fortunately only fell on his
     shoulder. It was a spiteful rap, and he felt the effect
     of it for some days. The referee declared, however,
     that he had not seen anything unfair, and Molyneux
     returned to his man, and brought him to the scratch at
     the call of time, amidst tremendous confusion, sticks
     in operation in all directions, and many expressing
     great dissatisfaction at Bendy’s unfair mode of
     fighting, and the reluctance of the referee to decide
     against him.[6]

     33.――A short round, in which Bendy retreated, and
     Caunt, following, caught him at the ropes and threw him
     over, falling on him.

     34.――Bendy again popped in his left, and threw himself
     down (?) This was repeated in the two succeeding
     rounds, but Bendy’s friends attributed it to accident,
     and not design, and there was no adverse decision on
     the part of the referee, whose position, amidst the
     tumult that prevailed, was far from enviable. He must
     have been possessed of no small nerve to have presumed
     to decide against the arguments that were so
     significantly shaken in the vicinity of his
     knowledge-box, and to this must be attributed his
     reluctance to give a candid opinion. [Partisan
     writing.――ED. “Pugilistica.”]

     37.――Bendy tried his hit and get-down practice, but
     Caunt seized him round the neck, threw, and fell over
     him.

     38.――A wild and scrambling rally, in which Bendigo
     caught it on the nob. After a scramble they fell, Caunt
     within and Bendigo without the ropes, when each put his
     tongue out at the other like angry boys.

     39.――A slight exchange of hits with the left, when
     Bendy went down laughing.

     40.――Bendy popped in his left on Caunt’s ancient wound,
     his right on the ribs, and slipped down.

     41.――Bendy renewed his left-handed visitation, and was
     retreating, when Caunt rushed after him, caught him at
     the ropes, over which he threw him, and fell on him. A
     blow was here aimed at Caunt’s head by one of the
     roughs with a bludgeon, but it fell on Bendy’s
     shoulder.[7]

     42.――Exchanges of hits left and right, when Bendy got
     down.

     43.――Bendy manœuvred in his old way, delived a smashing
     hit with his left on Caunt’s throat, and went down to
     avoid a return.

     44.――Caunt came up fresh, and rushed to the assault,
     but Bendy got down. Caunt, indignant, jumped over him,
     but luckily fell on his knees beyond him, without
     touching him. It was assumed that he meant to jump on
     him, and an uproarious appeal of “Foul” was made to the
     referee, which, after much confusion, he decided in the
     negative, and ordered the men to go on.

     45.――Bendy renewed his Merry Andrew curvetings, and
     tried his left, but Caunt seized him round the neck
     with his right, and swung him twice round like a cat.
     Bendy succeeded in getting the lock with his right leg,
     when Caunt gave him a twist, threw, and fell heavily on
     him, a little to the derangement of the Nottingham
     heroes, who shouted vociferously.

     46.――Caunt again succeeded in catching Bendy by the
     neck under his powerful arm, threw, and fell heavily on
     him, but at the same time came with great force against
     the ground himself.

     47.――Caunt led off with the left, catching Bendy on the
     forehead. Bendy retreated, hit Caunt as he came in with
     his left on his distorted phiz, dropped, and looked up
     in derision. Appeal from this species of generalship
     seemed now to be idle, and was not repeated. [He
     slipped through Caunt’s hands, which he was entitled to
     do.――ED.]

     The succeeding ten rounds were fought in the same
     style. Little worthy of note occurred; each in turn
     obtained some trifling advantage in the hitting or
     failing but neither exhibited any disposition to say
     enough, although we thought that Bendigo from his
     repeated falls, began to evince symptoms of fatigue.
     The confusion round the ring continued most annoying,
     although, the ropes and stakes were still preserved
     entire. Many persons, from the pressure of those
     behind, were completely exhausted, and happy to beat a
     retreat. For ourselves (Ed. of _Bell’s Life_) we had
     repeatedly to bear the weight of some half-dozen
     neighbours, to which the bodies of both Caunt and
     Bendigo were occasionally added as they fell over the
     ropes on us. During all this time the members of the
     London Ring, with one or two exceptions (Macdonald and
     Johnny Broome in particular), were perfectly quiescent,
     and looked on with modest timidity, evidently afraid to
     interfere with the “club law” of the Nottingham bands,
     who were regularly organised, and obeyed the signals of
     their leaders with a discipline worthy of a better
     cause. [An impartial observation convinced us that
     Caunt’s partisans quite rivalled those of Bendigo in
     riotous ruffianism.――ED. “Pugilistica.”]

     58.――Bendigo “jumped Jim Crow” round his man, tipped
     him a left-handed smeller, and dropped without a
     return.

     59.――Caunt followed Bendy to the corner of the ring,
     hitting out left and right, but without precision, and
     certainly without doing execution. Bendy nailed him
     with his left in the old style, and slipped down, but
     instantly jumped up to renew the round. Caunt, instead
     of stopping to fight, considering the round over, ran
     across the ring to his corner, Bendy after him, till
     they reached the ropes, and after a confused scramble,
     in which Bendy used his left and right behind Caunt’s
     back, both were down, amidst general expressions of
     distaste at this style of fighting, but loud applause
     for Bendy.

     60.――Caunt no sooner on his legs than to his man, but
     Bendy escaped his intended compliments left and right,
     threw in his left on the mouth, and dropped, Caunt
     falling over him.

     61.――One hour and twenty-four minutes had now elapsed,
     but there were still no symptoms of an approaching
     termination to the battle; each appeared fresh on his
     pins and strong; and although Caunt showed awful flesh
     wounds on his dial, there was nothing to diminish the
     hopes of his friends(!) Bendy exhibited but a few
     slight contusions, and although, no doubt, shaken by
     the falls, and his own repeated prostrations, he
     appeared as active and leary as ever. Caunt, anxious to
     be at work, rattled to his man, hitting left and right,
     but Bendy retired, and fell back across the ropes.

     62.――Bendy again on the retreat; Caunt after him,
     hitting wildly and without precision left and right.
     Bendy gave him an upper pop with his left, and slipped
     down. Caunt was retiring, when Bendy jumped up again to
     renew active operations, but Caunt dropped on his
     knees, looked up in Bendy’s face, grinning, as much as
     to say, “Would you?” and Bendy, deeming discretion the
     better part of valour, contented himself with shaking
     his fist and retiring to his corner. Spring here
     remarked that jumping up to hit a man when the round
     was over, and when he was unprepared, was as much foul
     as striking a man down, and in this we perfectly
     concur. [No appeal was made, but the Squire sent to
     Clarke to caution his man that such conduct was
     dangerous.――ED.]

     63.――Caunt let fly left and right, but missed his
     blows. Both slipped down on their knees in the struggle
     which followed, and laughed at each other. In Caunt’s
     laugh, from the state of his mug, there was little of
     the comic.

     64.――Bendy renewed his hanky-panky tricks, and trotted
     round his opponent. Caunt rushed to him, but he
     retreated to the ropes, hit up, and dropped, but
     instantly rose again to renew the round. Caunt was with
     him, but he again got down, falling over the bottom
     rope; and Caunt narrowly escaped dropping with his knee
     on a tender part.

     65.――Bendy again dropped his left on the sly on Caunt’s
     damaged phiz, and went down. Caunt fell over him,
     jumped up, and retired to his corner.

     66.――A slight rally, in which wild hits were exchanged,
     and Bendy received a pop in the mouth, which drew the
     claret. Bendy dropped on one knee, but, although Caunt
     might have hit him in this position, he merely drew
     back his hand and refrained.

     67.――Bendy came up cautious, keeping _à la distance_
     for a few seconds, when he slyly approached, popped in
     a tremendous body blow with his left, and dropped, as
     if from the force of his own delivery, but evidently
     from a desire to avoid the return. Caunt winced under
     the effect of this hit, and went to his corner.

     68.――Caunt quickly advanced to his work, but Bendy
     retreated to the corner, waited for him, popped in a
     slight facer, and, in a wild scramble, got down.

     69.――Bendy threw in another heavy body blow with his
     left, and was going down, when Caunt, with great
     adroitness, caught him round the neck with his left
     arm, lifted him completely off the ground, and, holding
     him for a few seconds, fell heavily on him.

     70-73.――Scrambling rounds, in which wild exchanges took
     place, and Bendy slipped down as usual to avoid
     punishment.

     74.――Caunt to the charge, and Bendy on the retreat to
     the corner, where he succeeded in flinging in his left
     with terrific force on Caunt’s damaged cheek, and
     dropped.

     75.――Bendy again on the retreat, till he came to the
     ropes, over which he was forced, Caunt on him.

     76.――Caunt planted his left on Bendy’s pimple, and he
     slipped down.

     77.――A scrambling round, in which both hit wildly and
     without effect. Caunt in vain tried to nail his man
     with his right; he was always too high, and Bendy went
     down. The uproar without the ring was tremendous, and
     whips and sticks were indiscriminately applied.

     78.――Bendy, after some dodging, delivered his right
     heavily on Caunt’s body, and got down. It was a fearful
     smack.

     79.――Caunt led off with his left; Bendy ducked to
     avoid; and in the close both were down. Bendy was too
     cunning to allow his opponent the chance of the throw.

     80.――Bendy made his favourite sly hit with his left on
     Caunt’s smeller, and slipped down without the account
     being balanced. “Time” was very inaccurately kept, a
     minute, instead of half that time, being frequently
     allowed. [The blame was alternately in each corner; the
     seconds continuing their attentions to their men,
     heedless of the call of the holder of the watch.――ED.]

     81.――Bendy again displayed symptoms of fatigue, and was
     tenderly nursed. On coming to the scratch, however, he
     planted his left on Caunt’s carcase, and slipped down.

     82.――Caunt led off. Bendy retreated to the ropes, and
     fell backwards stopping, but instantly jumped up to
     recommence hostilities, when Caunt literally ran away
     across the ring, with his head down, Bendigo after him,
     hitting him on the back of his neck. At length Caunt
     reached his corner, and in the scramble which followed,
     and in which Caunt seemed to have lost his presence of
     mind, both went down, amidst contemptuous shouts at the
     imputed pusillanimity of the Champion.

     83.――Bendy, on the retreat, hit up; Caunt returned the
     compliment on Bendy’s mouth with his left, and on Bendy
     attempting to get down he caught him round the neck
     with undiminished strength, pulled him up, threw him
     over, and fell heavily on him.

     84.――Bendy, on being lifted on his second’s knee,
     showed blood from the mouth, and was certainly shaken
     by the last fall; still he came up boldly, but
     cautiously. Caunt rattled to him left and right, but he
     retreated towards the stake, which Caunt caught with
     his right as he let fly at him, and Bendy slipped down,
     receiving a body tap as he fell.

     85.――Caunt rushed to his man, but Bendy, on his
     attempting to close, got down, unwilling to risk
     another heavy fall. He was obviously getting fatigued
     from his exertions and the excessive heat of the sun.

     The uproar was now greater than ever; the referee was
     driven into the ring,[8] and the roaring and bawling in
     favour of Bendigo and in contempt of Caunt were beyond
     description. We [ED. _Bell’s Life_] were overwhelmed
     again and again, and were with difficulty extracted
     from a pyramid of our fellow-men by the welcome aid of
     Jack Macdonald, our togs torn, and our tile quite
     shocking. The exertions of Jem Ward and others enabled
     them to restore the referee to his position, but he was
     evidently in a twitter, and the whips and sticks often
     reached within an inch of his “castor,” while they fell
     heavily on the nobs of some of his neighbours. Several
     “Corinthians,” who endeavoured to brave the storm, were
     involved in the general _mêlée_, and had sufficient
     reason to be disgusted with the conduct of the parties
     towards whom they are always disposed to vouchsafe
     their patronage, and who, as we have already said, with
     few exceptions, looked on inactive. [These observations
     are coloured, and form part of the “manipulation”
     undergone by the “report,” as revised under the
     suggestions and supervision of the Caunt and Spring
     party. The ruin of their confident hopes was
     impending.――ED.]

     86.――The Nottingham hero came up nothing daunted, but
     with an evident determination to continue to play the
     old soldier. Caunt, as usual, evinced a desire to get
     to his opponent, but the latter jumped away, and
     waiting his opportunity threw in his left heavily on
     the big’un’s eye, and, in escaping from the retort,
     slipped down.

     87.――Caunt, although so repeatedly hit, came up as
     fresh and strong as ever (?) He was incapable, however,
     of parrying the cunning dodges of Bendy, who again gave
     him a stinging rap on the cheek, and, staggering back,
     fell, amidst cries of “Foul,” and appeals from Caunt’s
     friends to the referee; but in the din which prevailed
     no decision was obtained. [They were both fencing for
     “time,” and told by the Squire to “go on.”――ED.
     “Pugilistica.”]

     88.――Two hours had now elapsed, and still there was no
     apparent approximation towards a termination of the
     combat, while the confusion which prevailed round the
     ring prevented anything like a dispassionate criticism
     of the operations within. Bendy came up slowly, while
     Caunt was evidently disposed to annihilate him, as
     indeed his formidable fists induced every one to
     believe he would have done long before, but Bendy
     prudently kept out of distance until a slight opening
     in the guard of Caunt enabled him to jump in and
     deliver his left twice in succession, on effecting
     which he slipped down, and looked up with a triumphant
     leer at the mystified Champion.

     89.――Bendy again made himself up for mischief, and,
     cleverly avoiding Caunt’s attempt to reach him left and
     right, delivered a heavy hit with his right on the
     Champion’s ribs, which was distinctly heard amidst the
     row; after which he dropped, and Caunt retired to the
     corner.

     90.――A close, and struggle for the fall, which Caunt
     easily obtained, falling heavily on his adversary, and
     his knee again happily escaped pressure on a vital
     part. From Bendy’s shifty tactics it was impossible for
     Caunt to avoid falling as he did. It, however, led to a
     fresh appeal by Johnny Hannan, on the part of Bendigo,
     and a contradiction by Molyneux on the part of Caunt.
     The umpires disagreed, and the question having been put
     to the referee, amidst a horrible outcry raised by both
     parties, he decided “Fair,” declaring that there was
     nothing intentional on the part of Caunt.

     91.――A scrambling round. A close, in which, after
     having delivered his left, Bendy contrived to get down,
     amidst fresh cries of “Foul,” “Fair.”

     92.――Exchanges of hits with the left, when Bendy,
     stooping to avoid the repetition of Caunt’s blow, as he
     was going down struck Caunt below the waistband and
     near the bottom of his stomach. Bendy fell on his back
     at the moment, while Caunt dropped his hands upon the
     place affected, and fell as if in great pain. An
     indescribable scene of turmoil ensued; shouts of “Foul”
     and “Fair” escaped from “a thousand tongues――a thousand
     pair of iron lungs,” many evidently influenced by their
     desires and not their convictions. There is no doubt
     that the blow, according to the rules of the Ring, was
     foul; but that it was intentional we cannot say, as it
     was struck when Bendy was in the act of falling. At
     last the umpires, disagreeing, made the customary
     appeal to the referee, who, almost deafened by the
     roaring of the multitude, finally said he had not seen
     the blow, and consequently could not pronounce it
     foul.[9] The seconds immediately returned to their
     principals, and the latter, time being called,
     commenced the

     93rd and last round.――The men were quickly at the
     scratch, and Caunt commenced operating left and right,
     catching Bendy slightly on the forehead. Bendigo was
     forced back upon the ropes almost in a recumbent
     position, but got up and was again knocked down, and
     Caunt turned from him, considering the round had
     concluded. Bendy, however, awake to every chance of
     administering punishment, jumped up as he had done
     before, and rushing after Caunt, who was half turned
     from him, was about to let fly, when Caunt dropped on
     his nether end, evidently disinclined to renew or
     continue that round.[10] And now a final, and, as it
     turned out, a decisive appeal was made to the referee
     (not by the umpires, but by Jem Ward, Hannan, and
     others), who, with very little hesitation, pronounced
     the fatal word “Foul,” declaring that he considered
     Caunt had deliberately violated the rules of the Ring
     by going down without a blow, and had therefore lost
     the fight. This verdict was hailed with the loudest
     vociferations by the roughs, and Bendy, without further
     delay, was borne off the scene of his unexpected
     triumph by his partisans, and carried to his carriage
     amidst reiterated acclamations. So sudden was this
     issue to the affair that thousands were for some time
     unable to discover who was the real victor, many
     imagining that the foul blow in the previous round had
     led to the decision being against Bendigo. It was only
     by those immediately contiguous to the ring that the
     true state of the case was known; and the mortification
     and disappointment of the friends of Caunt, who stood
     up immediately afterwards to renew the fight, were
     beyond description. Caunt himself, as well as Spring
     and his seconds, was incredulous as to the result, but
     personal application to the referee, who had escaped
     from the rabble, left no doubt on the subject. He
     declared “he had seen Caunt go down without a blow, and
     that upon his conviction of the unfairness of such
     conduct, he had pronounced against him.” Spring
     remarked that there had been clearly an exchange of
     blows; that to all appearance the round had been
     finished; and that when Caunt went down he did so from
     a determination not to be taken by surprise or to renew
     the struggle till “time” was again called. The referee
     said, in answer, he was not aware of this fact, nor had
     such a representation been made to him. He judged from
     what he saw in the overwhelming difficulties in which
     he was placed, and he had given his decision
     accordingly. He had been chosen referee by both
     parties, and he had accepted the office against his own
     inclination. In discharging his duty he had done so
     impartially to the best of his abilities, and certainly
     had no bias in favour of one man or the other. What he
     had said could not now be recalled, and therefore the
     business was at an end. We must here repeat that the
     umpires were not consulted, nor did they express any
     difference of opinion. It was the duty of the referee
     to have withheld his decision till properly appealed
     to, not by the interested partisans, but by the
     appointed officials, who were on the other side of the
     ring from him, and could hold no immediate
     communication with him. He ought to have been placed
     between those persons. He was clearly bullied and
     hurried into a premature judgment. Had he been allowed
     to reflect, we are persuaded he would have hesitated in
     pronouncing a fiat which the state of Bendigo rendered
     almost indispensable to his success.

     The time occupied by “the battle,” such as it was,
     according to our watch, when we could venture to have a
     peep at it, was two hours and ten minutes. We do not
     intend to speak to a minute, nor is a minute more or
     less important on this occasion, few bets having been
     made on “time,” and those certainly not having
     reference to so long a period as that recorded. We
     heard that long odds were taken that Caunt won in half
     an hour, and others that Bendy would not be licked, if
     at all, in one hour, and these are of course settled by
     the issue of the fight, as well as the first blood and
     first knock-down blow, both of which were properly
     booked to Bendy. On Bendy reaching his carriage, we are
     informed he was dreadfully exhausted from the
     repetition of heavy falls to which he had been exposed,
     as well as his own continued exertions under a broiling
     sun; but his punishment being of comparatively a
     trifling description, he soon recovered on the
     application of proper restoratives. The only
     perceptible marks of the visitations of Caunt to his
     cranium were a cut over his right eye, a few contusions
     of the cheek, mouth, scalp, and forehead, and a little
     enlargement of his auricular organ. He was quickly
     conveyed from the ground to his “quarters,” both he and
     his friends highly elated at the result of their
     operations. Caunt, on quitting the arena, although
     displaying convincing marks of the severity with which
     his opponent could use his mawleys, was strong on his
     legs, but dreadfully mortified at having been thus
     suddenly stripped of his laurels, and deprived of the
     proud distinction which he had so long held. Spring,
     who had throughout acted as his _fidus Achates_, was
     not less mentally depressed; he was “dead beat,” not
     only from his incessant exertions to procure “fair
     play” throughout the fight and the cowardly assaults to
     which he was exposed, but from a perfect conviction
     that the decision against his man was not only
     premature, but utterly opposed to the rules of the
     Ring. He lost no time in returning with Caunt to the
     Cock, at Stony Stratford, and the great event of the
     day having been concluded, the immense multitude
     followed suit. The scenes exhibited on the road home
     were of the most extraordinary description. Every house
     of entertainment was besieged, and the call for swizzle
     so continuous that many of the best-filled cellars were
     exhausted, and even water at last became an acceptable
     luxury to those who never pretended to be patrons of
     the hydropathic system. We have neither time nor space
     however to dwell on these vicissitudes, and shall
     proceed at once to offer such general observations as
     the events of the day seem to warrant.

     REMARKS.――Upon the character of “the Great Fight for
     the Championship of England,” we have no doubt our
     readers have formed their own opinions. During the last
     thirty years it has been our fate to witness almost
     every important battle in the P.R., but we confess,
     although we have occasionally had to record
     transactions of the most discreditable description, and
     to administer castigation to wrong-doers in no measured
     terms, the proceedings on Tuesday far exceed in
     enormity anything we had before witnessed.

     With regard to the pretensions of the two men who took
     so prominent a part in the day’s proceedings, few
     remarks are necessary. Caunt, although a big man, and
     possessed of great physical strength, does not possess
     the attributes of an accomplished boxer. He is
     deficient in science, and wants the art of using the
     gifts of nature with that tact and precision which are
     calculated to ensure success. There was a wildness and
     indecision in his deliveries which prevented his doing
     execution, and the major part of his blows either flew
     over Bendigo’s head or were short or wide of their
     destination. Had he been steady and self-possessed, and
     hitting at points, this would not have been the case,
     and did he understand the perfect art of self-defence,
     four-fifths of the punishment he received might have
     been avoided; but he left himself open to attack, and
     thus his opponent was enabled to plant on him with
     stinging severity. With a man of his own bulk the case
     might have been different; and perhaps there are few if
     any of the present day who would prove superior to him
     in fair fighting.

Our own opinion of the fight may be gathered from the few brief notes
we have bracketed in the report. The immense amount of assertion and
rejoinder which filled the sporting papers for weeks was “flat, stale
and unprofitable.” The stakeholder being served with legal notice to
return the stakes, the referee (George Osbaldiston, Esq.) wrote thus
to that gentleman:――

     “_To the Editor of_ ‘BELL’S LIFE IN LONDON.’

     “SIR,――An appeal having been made to me, as referee, by Mr.
     Spring, to reverse my decision in the late fight between
     Bendigo and Caunt, on grounds unworthy of my consideration,
     I request you will confirm that decision by paying over the
     stakes to Bendigo, who, in my opinion, is justly entitled to
     them. It was with the greatest reluctance, and at the
     particular request of my friends and the unanimous
     solicitations of the backers of the men, that I accepted the
     office; but I shall always consider it one of the greatest
     acts of folly I ever was guilty of in my life. In
     discharging my duty I endeavoured to do justice to the
     contending parties to the best of my abilities and judgment;
     and, arriving at the conclusion I did, and now confirm, I
     was actuated only by a complete conviction of the justness
     of my decision, and not by the intimidation of the roughs,
     as stated by Mr. Spring in his letter.” After some further
     remarks in reply to Spring, the referee goes on to
     say:――“Had I been under the intimidation of the ‘roughs’ I
     had several opportunities of putting an end to the fight
     before the conclusion by foul acts on the part of Caunt. A
     noble lord, and several gentlemen who stood close by me
     during the whole fight, can corroborate this statement. I
     most positively deny that I stated to any one that a man
     going down without a blow, after he himself had
     treacherously delivered blows, was fair. In no one instance,
     in my judgment, did Bendigo break the laws of fair fighting.
     I must also deny, in the most positive manner, that I ever
     stated to any person that I did not see the last round. I
     saw every round distinctly and clearly, and when Caunt came
     up the last round he had evidently not recovered from the
     92nd. After the men were in position Bendigo very soon
     commenced operations, and Caunt turned round directly and
     skulked away, with his back to Bendigo, and sat down on his
     nether end. He never knocked Bendigo down once in the fight,
     nor ever got him against the ropes in the last round. In my
     opinion Caunt got away as soon as he could from Bendigo,
     fell without a blow to avoid being hit out of time, and
     fairly lost the fight.

                              “I am, your obedient servant,
                                                “THE OLD SQUIRE.
    “Doncaster, Sept. 18th, 1845.”

In 1849 the Championship was certainly at a low ebb. Con Parker, a big
brother of Tass, so it was publicly said, challenged the distinction,
after beating Jem Bailey in a scrambling fight in February of that
year, and received a forfeit from the Tipton Slasher in September. He
was a great, hulking pretender, of 6ft. high, and about 13st., but his
pretensions were quickly snuffed out by Tass Parker (weight 11st.
8lb.), who showed at Frimley Green, on November 26th, in 27 rounds,
that Master Con had no points of a fighting man about him. Con went to
America, and died soon after suddenly. As Tass declined to call
himself Champion, there was literally no Champion at all. In this
interregnum, at the beginning of 1850, the bold Bendigo called upon
the editor of _Bell’s Life_, and declared that sooner than the title
should be so knocked about he would once more do battle for the honour
of the Ring. He then left £10 with the editor as an earnest that he
was ready to meet any man in England, for £200 a side, half-way
between home and home. At the same time it was stated that Bendy and
Caunt had met, shaken hands, and buried the past in oblivion. Caunt
had undertaken to stand a portion of Bendy’s battle-money, fight whom
he might, and Bendy, to prove his sincerity, had presented Caunt with
the belt with which he had been girded by Jem Ward after his defeat of
the Deaf ’un. The Nottingham challenge was not long unanswered. Caunt
and Bendigo, the new Orestes and Pylades, took, three weeks
later――namely, February 4th, 1850――a joint benefit at the National
Baths, Westminster Road.

Now, Johnny Broome had, _ad interim_, stated publicly that he had an
unknown whom he was ready to back against Bendy for his own sum.
Accordingly, after a friendly glove-bout with Harry Broome, Tom
Paddock came forward, and announcing himself as Johnny’s “Unknown,”
declared his readiness to post, and make a match with Bendy for £200 a
side. Peter Crawley responded, and £30 was staked, the next meeting to
take place at Peter’s house, the “Queen’s Head and French Horn,”
Smithfield, on the next Tuesday. This merely produced a stormy meeting
upon details, deposits, and a stakeholder, and a further adjournment
to another night, to meet at Jem Burn’s. Here the matter was finally
adjusted, and accordingly the men met on the 5th of June, 1850.

It was much to Bendigo’s credit that on this occasion he took unusual
pains with his training, and came to the post in prime fettle,
looking, as a friend said, “fresh as a four-year-old,” though verging
on his fortieth year. When we saw him we felt some misgiving about the
stability of his damaged knee; he walked unmistakably lame, and the
whole left side was evidently lower than the right.

The articles provided that the fight should take place, as nearly as
possible, half-way between London and Nottingham――the stakeholder to
name the place. The recollection of former events in which Bendy had
been concerned led to some difficulty in making a selection, and after
much consideration it was determined that Mildenhall Road Station, in
the county of Suffolk, should be the fixture, that place being, by
road, rather nearer to Nottingham than to London; but, as it turned
out, the travelling by rail gave the advantage to the London
party――the Nottingham folks having to make three changes before they
reached the ground, while the Londoners proceeded direct.

Due notice of the place was given to the parties interested on the
Tuesday week before the mill, and they made such arrangements as best
suited them. A special train was announced to start from Shoreditch
Station at precisely eight o’clock on the morning of fighting. It was
resolved only to have first and second class carriages, and that the
fares should be £2 and £1 respectively for conveyance “there and
back.” Third-class carriages were rejected to prevent the obtrusion of
persons whose presence is invariably productive of disorder. Public
notice was given of this arrangement, and on the morning in question,
the weather being in every way desirable, the arrival, in rapid
succession, of cabs, &c., in which an unusual number of Corinthians
were perceptible, evinced the spirit that was abroad.

We must now turn to Bendigo. It would seem that during the previous
week his Nottingham friends had come in great numbers to visit him at
his training quarters, and being of the rough class, and not very
particular when out for a spree, they contrived to create so much
prejudice in the minds of the quiet and easy folk of the
neighbourhood, that an application was made for a warrant to apprehend
Bendigo on his way to the battle-field, and this warrant was placed in
the hands of a constable for execution. Bendigo had previously shifted
his quarters, and taken up his abode at the house of a staunch friend,
whence, on Monday, he proceeded to a station eight miles from
Nottingham, intending thence to depart for the scene of action. Here
he was recognised by a “blue,” and an attempt was made to take him
into custody. Bendy, however, being on the alert, broke from the grasp
of the Philistines, and rushed through the house in which he was to a
back yard, locking the door as he retreated. He then scrambled over
some pig-sties, reached the open country, and by a circuitous route
gained the main road, where a fly followed, picked him up, and
conveyed him on his course. Police were mounted as quickly as
possible, but too late to overtake the fugitive, who reached Newark,
posted on to Stamford, where he slept, and on Tuesday evening reached
in safety the Railway Tavern at Mildenhall, where he took up his
quarters for the night, thus safely evading the trap which had been
laid for his detention; and here he was found, surrounded by a good
many friends, on the arrival of the metropolitan division.

An admirable inner and outer ring were formed on a spot about a
quarter of a mile from the station, and few meetings had taken place
in modern times at which there were so many persons of rank and
consideration assembled. The total number of spectators was under
2,000, and the partisans of the men were pretty evenly balanced.

Soon after twelve o’clock, Paddock, who had been reposing under some
shady trees, approached the scene of action, and, flinging his tile
into the ring, was received with loud applause. It was nearly one
o’clock before Bendy put in an appearance. He seemed in perfect good
humour, but exhibited none of those antics by which his early career
was distinguished. He was quiet and easy in his deportment, and
submitted himself to the guidance of Jemmy the Black and Jack Hannan.
Paddock was escorted into the arena by Solid Coates and Macdonald.
There was a grim smile upon his countenance. He approached Bendy, and
they shook hands with apparent cordiality. Bendy pulled a roll of bank
notes from his pocket, as if intending to challenge his opponent to
make a bet, but this Paddock declined. The toss for choice of corners
was won by Bendy, and to the surprise of many he selected that in
which he had to stare old Sol in the face; and perhaps his solar
majesty never put forth a more glowing phiz, for in truth it was
“phizzing” hot throughout the day, and the shades of umbrellas were
sought for the protection of both men, who seated themselves on the
ground in their respective corners, while the usual discussion arose
concerning the selection of a referee. This knotty point led to a
variety of difficulties. Several persons, noblemen and gentlemen, were
suggested and rejected, and at last serious apprehensions were
entertained that there would be no fight. Finally, the representative
of _Bell’s Life_, who had twice refused the office, was induced,
rather than spoil sport, to waive his own feelings on the subject, and
to undertake a duly as unpleasant as it proved to be dangerous.

The men then commenced their toilettes. They fought in sparrow-bills
instead of the objectionable spikes. On being completely peeled, their
condition and physical pretensions were open for general criticism.
Bendigo appeared extremely well in health, but thinner than usual, his
weight not exceeding 11st. 9½lb., being 2lb. less than when he fought
Caunt. His face also looked thinner, and, it could not be denied,
betrayed the advance of time, and although not an old man, when
compared with Paddock he certainly might be pronounced a veteran
warrior. He was very quiet, and evidently foresaw that he had his work
to do――work which he resolved to perform for the last time with as
much acuteness as his experience could suggest. Paddock looked as
fresh and fit as his best friends could desire. His face presented a
glow of florid health, and there was nothing superfluous about his
frame. Immediately beneath his drawers was a strengthening plaister,
which seemed to cover his loins. He stood much taller than Bendigo,
over whom his length of reach appeared to give him a decided
advantage. Regarding the general appearance of the two men,
the current seemed strongly to run in favour of youth; but,
notwithstanding this apparent discrepancy, two to one was offered on
Bendigo. The customary overtures having been adjusted, time was
called, and the men appeared at the scratch.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――At twenty minutes to two the men were in
     position, Bendigo right foot foremost, with his arms
     close to his chest, and waiting for the attack.
     Paddock, on the contrary, had both arms stretched out
     before him, evidently, to our judgment, too much so to
     admit of heavy delivery. He made two or three steps
     forward, as if to commence the attack, but Bendy
     stepped back. Paddock exhibited great anxiety to get to
     work. Bendigo shifted his ground and got away. They
     played round each other in this way for a second or
     two, when Paddock came to a standstill, crossed his
     arms on his breast, and looked thoughtfully at the
     “old’un.” At last Paddock commenced his long-armed
     operations, and both flung out their feelers left and
     right, but without getting home. They fought wildly,
     and missed their blows. In the close Paddock was down,
     Bendy on him; but the trifling taps which reached their
     persons would not have ruffled the wing of a butterfly.

     2.――Paddock quick to the scratch, impatient to get to
     work; and slight taps were exchanged, Bendy on
     Paddock’s body, and Paddock returning the compliment
     with his right. It was a scrambling affair, and the
     round ended in Bendigo getting down.

     3.――Paddock again rushed to the charge with more
     impatience than judgment, popped in a slight slap with
     his right on Bendy’s nut, and was following up his
     tactics, when Bendy pirouetted round. Paddock pursued
     him with resolution, and as he was on the retreat let
     fly with his right, which, catching Bendy on the ribs,
     tumbled him down, amidst the cheers of the Redditch
     representatives. (First knock-down for Paddock.)

     4.――No sooner was “time” called than Paddock rushed to
     the scratch, his arms still too much in advance.
     Bendigo adopted the dodging system, retreating from his
     man, and got away. Paddock, however, would not be
     denied, hit out wildly left and right, Bendigo covering
     his head with both arms, and again turning round on the
     pirouetting principle. Paddock fought fast and wild,
     but without precision. Bendigo, equally abroad, hit out
     twice, but missed his destination, and in the close
     went down.

     5.――Paddock up and at it still, but without the
     judgment of a good tactician. He missed left and right,
     but rushed on with such vigour that Bendigo was again
     obliged to retreat with a twirling evolution, and in
     avoiding Paddock’s wild pursuit got down――Paddock
     pointing at him with his finger with contempt.

     6.――Bendy came coolly to the scratch, looking as
     cunning as an old fox, and prepared for the attack. He
     had not long to wait, for Paddock, with his usual
     impetuosity, dashed to his work, Bendy getting away.
     Paddock followed him up till they reached the ropes,
     and a hasty rally followed, when Paddock popped in his
     left and right, the latter on Bendy’s ear. Bendy
     returned the compliment, hit out left and right, caught
     Paddock on the left eyebrow, and dropped. First blood
     was now claimed for Bendy, a slight tinge being
     perceptible on Paddock’s left eyebrow.

     7.――Paddock again as quick as lightning to the scratch,
     and after some wild but very ineffective exchanges,
     Bendy went down. As he lay Paddock held his foot above
     his body, as if intending to scrunch him; but luckily,
     whatever might have been his wishes, he had discretion
     enough to resist the momentary impulse.

     8.――Paddock no sooner up than at it; Bendy on the
     retreat, and twirling round to avoid his resolute
     pursuer. Paddock followed him till they closed at the
     ropes, over which Bendy fell, Paddock on him.

     9.――Paddock again too hastily to business, when, after
     some wild exchanges, they closed. Paddock grappled his
     man, and, as he held him in his left arm, chopped his
     nob with his right, till he slipped down on his nether
     end.

     10.――Paddock pursued his fast tactics, but so wild were
     the deliveries on both sides that no serious mischief
     was done; and in the close, in trying for the fall,
     they were both down, Bendy uppermost.

     11.――Paddock hit short with his left; Bendy got away.
     Paddock would not be denied, delivered his left and
     right, and closed, when after a severe struggle
     (Paddock chopping with his right) Bendigo was thrown
     over the ropes. On getting up blood was perceptible on
     the left brow of Bendigo; so far, therefore, the
     punishment was pretty much upon a par.

     12.――Paddock impatiently rushed to his man, hit wildly
     with his left, and closed at the ropes. A short
     struggle; both down, Bendy undermost.

     13.――Paddock, quick to work, gave the “old ’un” no time
     for reflection, dashed at him left and right, tumbled
     him over the ropes, and fell on him. The youth and
     vigour of Paddock up to this time seemed to have put
     all Bendy’s memorable tactics at defiance, and although
     nothing had been done to produce a sensation in the way
     of punishment on either side, the manner in which Bendy
     retreated from his opponent, which was so utterly
     unexpected, produced a strong feeling to his disfavour,
     and those who had so freely backed him in the first
     instance, turned round and laid against him; in fact,
     six to four was offered on Paddock.

     14.――The quickness of Paddock’s onslaughts obviously
     set Bendigo’s bellows in motion; he was, however, ready
     at the call of “time,” and met the coming charge with
     determination. Some heavy hits were exchanged, Paddock
     catching the lion’s share. In the close there was a
     desperate struggle for the fall, during which Bendigo,
     to resist the throw, caught Paddock round the face with
     his right, amidst a cry of “He’s gouging him.” It was
     asserted that he was endeavouring to force his fingers
     into his eye, but it was not so. His hand was against
     Paddock’s bleeding cheek. In the end Bendy was down,
     Paddock on him. Complaint was made to the referee of
     the alleged gouging, but the evidence was not
     sufficient to justify any interruption of the fight on
     that account.

     15.――Paddock was not to be restrained; he rushed across
     the ring, delivered his left twice, and Bendigo, in
     getting away, fell.

     16.――The fighting on the part of Paddock was still at
     railway speed, not a little exhausting to both men in
     the heat of the sun. Bendy fought on the get-away
     principle, and after some wild exchanges Paddock
     slipped down, Bendy falling over him.

     17.――A determined rally, in which heavy hits were
     exchanged; Bendy catching it on the nob and nose, from
     whence the blood trickled. They stood well to their
     work, Paddock never flinching, and in the end Bendy was
     down.

     18.――Paddock, as resolute as ever, rushed in left and
     right; his hands were, however, too far from his body,
     and his execution not effective. Bendigo waited his
     opportunity, and popped in his right on Paddock’s
     cheek, on which he made another incision. A scrambling
     rally followed, which ended in Bendy being down. The
     fighting was the reverse of scientific, and as wild as
     at a country fair.

     19.――Paddock, so impatient was he to be at work, rose
     from his second’s knee before time was called. Bendigo
     dodged from his corner, but in getting away slipped
     down without a blow. He was evidently playing the old
     soldier and reserving his strength, while Paddock was
     putting forth all his energies. The referee called on
     Paddock’s seconds to check his impetuosity, and to
     prevent his running over the scratch to meet his man.

     20.――Paddock, to time again, dropped on Bendy’s nob
     with his right twice in succession. Bendy down and
     threw up his hands; the fighting was too fast for his
     taste, and the young one would not be denied; still on
     Bendy’s frontispiece there were few marks of
     punishment, save on his left ear, which was
     considerably swollen from Paddock’s occasional pats.

     21.――Another ferocious onslaught by Paddock; wild hits
     were exchanged in Bendy’s corner, where he dropped.

     22.――Paddock, as usual, first to work, but Bendy
     succeeded in planting a left-handed stinger on
     Paddock’s cheek-bone, drawing more claret. A rally in
     the corner; both down, and Bendy undermost.

     23.――Bendigo waited for Paddock’s charge, and gave him
     a heavy counter-hit with his left. A rally followed, in
     which Bendy popped in his right three times in
     succession on Paddock’s ribs. Paddock was not idle,
     and, in the close at the ropes, continued hammering
     away with his right as Bendy fell on the ropes. A cry
     of “Foul,” but the referee decided “Fair.” Bendy had
     not reached the ground.

     24.――A scrambling close, in which both were down; not
     much mischief done.

     25.――Paddock to business, and after some trifling
     exchanges Bendy got down on the saving system.

     26.――No time lost; Paddock up and ready, when Bendy
     rattled in and delivered a terrible smasher on
     Paddock’s smeller, and fell. More claret from Paddock,
     and cries of “The old ’un’s not beaten yet.”

     27.――To business in earnest. Paddock got home slightly
     with his left. Bendy down in getting away, when Paddock
     followed him and delivered an upper-cut with his right;
     and as he was getting away, Bendy jumped up, retorted,
     and a desperate rally followed, in which heavy hits
     were exchanged. Bendy down and up again. Bendy
     ultimately down. Paddock had lost control over his
     temper, and was wild with excitement. The punishment to
     both was severe, although not so perceptible on Bendy,
     from the blows being delivered on the side of his head
     and ear.

     28.――Paddock got home with his left on Bendy’s optic,
     and Bendy fell.

     29.――Bendy no sooner at the scratch than dropped by a
     delivery from Paddock’s right on the side of the head.

     30.――Paddock, more impatient than ever, darted across
     the ring to his man, hit left and right with his
     customary wildness, and repeating the dose with his
     left; Bendy down. The fight had now lasted thirty-five
     minutes.

     31.――Wild fighting; Bendy down to avoid.

     32.――The fighting all one way. Paddock rattled in left
     and right as before, not giving Bendy time to arrive at
     the scratch, and almost before “time” was called
     delivering his one, two.

     33.――On Bendigo the marks of punishment were not
     prominent, and he was as cool and quiet as ever.
     Paddock delivered left and right, and Bendigo fell.

     34.――Paddock in left and right, as heretofore. Bendigo,
     retreating, fell back under the ropes. Paddock dropped
     on him with his knees. Another appeal of foul rejected,
     on the plea that Paddock’s fall was unavoidable.

     35.――Again did Bendy fall, after Paddock had delivered
     slightly left and right. This dropping system of
     Bendy’s created a strong feeling of disgust, but it was
     clear that he was out-fought, and could not resist the
     vigorous attacks of his antagonist. He was obviously
     “biding his time.”

     36.――A wild but rattling rally. The men fought and
     closed at the ropes, over which Bendy hung, Paddock
     peppering away at him from above. Another appeal of
     foul, which the referee again rejected, to the danger
     of his life. Several of the Nottingham division
     threatened him with their sticks, charging him with
     gross partiality, and asserting that the fight had been
     lost over and over again. The referee repeated his
     caution to Paddock’s friends to restrain his
     impetuosity and keep his temper.

     37.――A lively rally, in which some wild hits, left and
     right, were exchanged. Both were down. Another appeal
     was made, on the ground that Paddock had been using
     turpentine and resin on his hands, contrary to the 27th
     rule of the Ring, by which it is provided “that the use
     of resin be deemed foul.” A suspicion existed that
     Paddock had been provided with resin in a dissolved
     state before the fight commenced, and a protest was
     entered against its use. Paddock was brought to the
     referee for examination, and there could be no doubt
     that his hands had been smeared with resin, but whether
     put on before the fight commenced, or after, could not
     be proved. The referee pronounced that such practice
     was foul, but, in the absence of direct evidence
     ordered that his hands should be washed, and that the
     fight should proceed――much to the renewed distaste or
     Bendigo’s friends, whose exclamations of partiality
     were vociferous.

     38.――The delay occasioned by this examination gave an
     opportunity for Bendigo to recover his second wind, and
     come fresher to the scratch, for on time being called
     he waited steadily for his man, and on his coming in
     met him with a tremendous hit with his right on the
     bridge of the nose, drawing his cork in a most decided
     manner; the blood came trickling from his proboscis in
     a purple stream, and, after a short rally, both were
     down. The last hit made a decided turn in “the affairs
     of man,” and more especially in the minds of Bendy’s
     patrons, who cheered lustily.

     39.――Bendigo again made himself up for mischief, and
     after stopping Paddock’s one, two, he delivered three
     loud sounding whacks on his ribs, which were heard all
     round the ring. A wild rally followed, and Bendy was
     down. The betting was now evens; Bendy was taken for
     choice.

     40.――Bendy came up like “a giant refreshed.” He clearly
     saw he had brought his man to his level. He met him as
     he came bouncing in, stopped, closed, grappled for the
     throw, and fell on him. Renewed shouts from the
     Nottinghamites.

     41.――Paddock came up, the claret still dripping from
     his nose. A wild rally, a close at the ropes, and Bendy
     down.

     42.――Paddock, on getting into his corner, dropped his
     head as if stung by hits recently received. Still he
     obeyed the call of “time” as game as a pebble. Bendy,
     who had also reposed in his corner, got up fresher on
     his pins, waited for him, again parried his left and
     right, and once more delivered three heavy body blows
     with his left, and fell laughing.

     43.――Bendy up at the usual summons, and steady. Paddock
     impetuously rushed to the attack, Bendy meeting him
     left and right as he came in. Paddock hit away left and
     right, forced him back on the ropes, and fell on him.

     44.――Again, after a short struggle at the ropes, did
     Paddock fall over Bendy.

     45.――A wild rally, in which there were some flying hits
     exchanged, but Paddock wanted steadiness――he was too
     impatient――and Bendy played the part of Master Reynard.
     In the close Paddock was down.

     46.――The heat of the weather began to tell on both, and
     each showed symptoms of fatigue. After a short pause
     there was a lively rally, in which Paddock received
     another visitation on the left cheek, and Bendy was
     down.

     47.――A slight rally, in which exchanges were made,
     Bendy getting home with his left and going down
     smiling.

     48.――Six and seven to four were now offered on Bendy,
     but no takers. The fight had lasted fifty-seven
     minutes. Paddock had lost none of his precipitate
     propensities; he rattled to his man, still fresh on his
     legs, but wild and passionate. Bendy retreated, Paddock
     after him, and Bendy, in avoiding, fell. Paddock struck
     him as he was down, and just brushed the top of his
     head with his right. Another cry of “Foul,” but the
     referee considered Paddock could not restrain the blow,
     and the appeal was once more rejected, and another
     urgent caution given to Paddock’s seconds to prevent
     his throwing a chance away.

     49, and last.――Bendy waited for his man, but did not
     wait long. Paddock was with him, and, after an exchange
     of blows, Bendy fell on the lower rope, which, from
     being loose, let him down on the ground, and in this
     position, with his hands up, Paddock deliberately hit
     his man with his right on the side of the head twice.
     The last and final appeal was then made, and the
     referee had now no other option than to pronounce
     “Foul,” being perfectly satisfied that the man was on
     the ground when the blow was given.

     The decision, of course, produced a great uproar among
     the losers; and, on Bendigo coming up to have it
     confirmed, Paddock, who had completely lost his temper,
     and while he was not offering the slightest resistance,
     hit him down almost at the feet of the referee. Thus
     ended this most unsatisfactory battle, with little
     credit to Bendigo, although strictly in accordance with
     the 14th rule of the Ring――“That a blow struck when a
     man is thrown or down shall be deemed foul.” There were
     those, of course, who repudiated the decision of the
     referee, and who, perhaps, without the same opportunity
     of seeing the real state of the men, considered that
     Bendy was not actually on the ground. There was not the
     slightest doubt, however, that he was seated on terra
     firma, with both his arms spread out, and his legs
     flat; and in this position Paddock, in the absence of
     that caution which the referee had so repeatedly
     recommended, foreseeing what would happen, committed
     the fatal mistake which ended in his chances being put
     out of court. It was thought by some that he struck
     foul for the express purpose of terminating his
     labours.

     The confusion which followed was immense. The friends
     of Paddock were, of course, clamorous, and highly
     incensed at the disappointment of their hopes. There
     was, however, no help for it; the decision was strictly
     in accordance with rule, and although certainly
     mortifying could not have been otherwise if the laws
     were to be obeyed, added to which, Paddock had been
     over and over again cautioned against suffering his
     temper to get the better of his judgment. It is said
     that his seconds urged him to go in; this might be the
     case, but they should also have impresed upon him――if
     he were capable of guidance――what must be the sure
     result of intemperance, on which Bendigo and his
     coadjutors no doubt relied. However provoking it might
     be for Bendigo to get down to avoid mischief――too much
     the practice of pugilists of modern times――in Bendigo’s
     case might be justified by the superior strength and
     length of his antagonist. It does not follow that the
     breach of a clear rule is to be overlooked. Indeed, the
     reader can hardly fail to perceive that the referee was
     slow to decide against Paddock where he had any excuse
     for palliating his errors. These were considerations,
     however, which did not weigh with the angry party; they
     followed the referee out of the ring with volumes of
     abuse, and finally one of the gang (Long Charley Smith,
     of Birmingham) stealthily came behind him, and with a
     bludgeon dealt him a terrific blow on the back of the
     head, which for a moment paralysed him. Fortunately Tom
     Spring, who was behind, and heard the blow, turned
     round to prevent a repetition of the cowardly assault
     (narrowly escaping a similar compliment intended for
     himself by another ruffian), and the assassin fled,
     although his companions, also well known, remained to
     applaud the act with the consoling exclamation of
     “Sarved him right.” The effects of the concussion were
     serious, and subjected the sufferer to some
     inconvenience, probably to the triumph of those by whom
     it was abetted. Mr. Vincent Dowling was not one likely
     to seek redress for an act which no man, however sunk
     in degradation, in his moments of cool reflection can
     approve, and which certainly could receive no sympathy
     from the lovers of fair play.

     REMARKS.――Of the character of the fight we cannot speak
     in terms of praise. Bendigo was clearly overmatched; it
     was old age opposed to youth, vigour, and
     determination. In the early rounds of the fight he
     found his mistake. He could not withstand the impetuous
     rushes of the young’un, whose tactics were to bear down
     all the shifty dodges of his opponent, and this he did
     with a vengeance, and with a precipitation altogether
     at variance with sound discretion, although, for a
     time, Bendigo’s knowledge of the art was set at naught
     by it. The rapidity of the rounds――49 in 59
     minutes――will show that there was little time for
     reflection on either side. Bendy soon discovered that
     he had “caught a Tartar,” and not, as he imagined, “a
     yokel.” Physically he was incapable of resisting the
     avalanche of sinew and bone which poured upon him, and
     as the only resource he had recourse to the distasteful
     practice of getting down, when he found destruction
     inevitable. This all practitioners will pronounce
     perfectly consistent with rule; as no man can be
     expected, for the mere gratification of the spectators,
     to submit to punishment if he can avoid it by legal
     expedients. The editor of _Bell’s Life_ is candid
     enough to admit that he had a prejudice against
     Bendigo. We may add that the reading of his report of
     Bendigo’s third fight with Caunt fully shows this. For
     his own sake, and that of his friends, it was Bendigo’s
     duty to make the most of his knowledge and strength,
     and to husband whatever powers he possessed. This he
     did to the best of his ability, and had the worst of
     the battle, as the betting would show, till Paddock, by
     his own headstrong career, began to exhibit the effects
     of his own folly; he was, in fact, reduced to the level
     of his crafty antagonist, who, the moment he saw his
     time, came out with his reserve, and the blows which he
     then administered were of stinging effect, quickly
     perceptible by the judges, who, foreseeing the storm
     approaching, turned round to get out of their
     difficulties, and, from being a non-favourite, Bendigo
     soon had the call at six to four. The effects of this
     change were obvious; Paddock became still more wild,
     and rushed to his work without temper or reflection,
     although repeatedly called to by the referee to be
     careful in avoiding that which was easily foreseen,
     viz., the delivery of a foul blow. More than once was
     he saved from the consequences of his precipitation by
     the indulgence of the referee; there were doubts of
     which he had the benefit, to the personal risk of the
     referee; and yet at last he fell into the trap which
     was laid for him, and left to the referee no other
     option than to pronounce judgment against him――a
     judgment which was given with reluctance, but, as every
     impartial witness of the battle must acknowledge, with
     justice.

With regard to the state of the men, we may mention that Paddock
reached London, per special train, the same night, little the worse
for wear, with the exception of his swollen mazzard and damaged snout.
The same night, however, it was discovered that he had seriously
injured his right hand, which he had to submit to surgical inspection,
and for some weeks he wore his arm in a sling, and his hand protected
by a splint.

Bendigo remained at the “Railway Tavern” till the London trains had
departed, and in due course commenced his return, with his friends, to
Nottingham, where he arrived the same night by the express train. His
success had been telegraphed, and an immense crowd assembled to hail
his return――a band of music being prepared to strike up “See the
conquering hero comes.” He proceeded to his brother’s house, where,
upon examination, his injuries appeared more serious than had been
supposed. In a fortnight after the battle Bendigo came to town and
received the battle-money at Jem Burn’s, when he declared in a formal
manner his intention of finally retiring from the ring. Hereupon the
Tipton Slasher, who was present, and who had recovered from his
illness, again laid claim to the Championship, offering to meet any
man in England for £200 to £300 a side, or to fight Tom Paddock and
stake £350. This led to a match for £150 a side, but this ended in a
draw. A second match was soon after arranged, which came off on the
17th December, 1850, at Woking, the details of which will be found in
the history of the career of the Tipton Slasher.

This time Bendy kept his word, and thenceforward confined his
eccentricities to occasional outbursts at Nottingham elections and
other occasions of public holidays and festivities. In some of these
escapades he afforded considerable amusement to the public, and
employment to the pens of provincial reporters, by the mother wit of
his defence, or the ludicrous aspect he imparted to the results of his
fistic or gymnastic evolutions. After some solemn promises of
amendment made to their worships, and a pledge to Father Mathew (he
was never a sot), we heard of Bendy’s “conversion,” and of his
appearance in the white choker (he always wore the straight hair) of a
dissenting preacher. On the occasion of a visit to London, in which he
was introduced to a congregation of the faithful at the Holborn Circus
(turned for the nonce into a conventicle), a good story is told of “a
keen encounter of the wits” between the ex-pugilist and a noble lord
who met the preacher in a West-end thoroughfare. After a mutual stare
of surprised recognition, his lordship inquired, glancing at Bendy’s
parsonic “get-up,” what might be his “little game” now. As befitted
his new vocation, the solemn reply was, “Truly, my lord, I am now
fighting Satan――and behold the victory shall be mine.” “I hope so,
Bendy,” rejoined his lordship, “but pray fight Beelzebub more fairly
than you did Ben Caunt, or I may change my side.”

A final word on the much-disputed nickname of Bendigo. Of course, as
people generally invent some plausible meaning or derivation for a
word they do not comprehend, we were told (first, I believe, by an
Australian paper) that “Bendigo was the name given to an English
prizefighter from his _bending as he went in to fight_. Hence called
Bend-I-go.” Prodigious etymologist! We never saw any such _bend_ in
Bend-i-go, or any other pugilist, though we have heard of “a Grecian
bend” in a lady.

William Thompson was, as we have already noted, one of three boys at a
birth, and these, among people irreverently familiar with the use of
Scripture names, were called (though not at the baptismal font),
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. A curious confirmation of this is now
before us in our hero’s first challenge, in _Bell’s Life_, in 1835,
wherein he styles himself “Abednego, of Nottingham.” Yet ever
afterwards that journal prints the popular vernacular corruption of
“Bendigo.” In this matter of Abednego do we not find――

   The breath of chance, the bubbles of the present,
   Fraught with no meaning to the duller sense,
   Foreshow and shape our dark and unknown future?

The Abednego of Nottingham, who nearly half a century ago was “ready
to meet any 12st. man,” is now, in 1880, “articled” to floor the
“Prince of Darkness” himself, who――we have Shakespeare’s word for
it――is every inch “a gentleman.”

Thus far had we penned our memoir of the eccentric pugilistic
preacher, when an _annonce_ in the London journals informed the
public, that on Monday, the 23rd of August, William Thompson (alias
Bendigo) had died at Beeston, near Nottingham, in the 69th year of his
age. His death was the result of an accident, he having fallen
downstairs at his own house, and fractured three of his ribs, a bony
splinter perforating the lung. Poor Bendy, as we have already stated,
was always fond of acrobatic tricks. A severe accident some years
since while playing at quoits, a broken knee-cap, which permanently
shortened his right leg, and, subsequently, a serious injury to his
head, while in pursuit of “the contemplative man’s recreation,” bear
witness that his talent for knocking a man about extended to his own
person. In all probability, but for these untoward mischances, “the
Bold Bendigo” might have added another to the many Champions of the
P.R. who have exceeded the Psalmist’s limit of “three score years and
ten.”


     [2] Ponderous Parliamentary blue-books, election petitions,
     “Reports” of Committees of the House, bear abundant
     testimony to the frays and feuds of the “Nottingham Lambs,”
     from the sacking of Clumber and the burning of Nottingham
     Castle to the street and faction fights of this turbulent
     town.

     [3] “Natura tenacissimi sumus eorum quæ pueri percipimus, ut
     sapor, quo nova vasa imbuuntur, durat,” says the old heathen
     tutor of Nero.

     [4] If Burton, of Leicester, is meant, he was then 11 years
     old. His first fight was with a native of Swindon, in May,
     1845.

     [5] Burke’s performance of “The Venetian Statues” was highly
     popular in America and England.

     [6] This is a gratuitous and unjust imputation on a most
     honourable sportsman. The writer on this eventful day sat on
     a small form, immediately by the side of the Squire,
     throughout the whole fight. Caunt was, unless a chance hit
     or fall had turned the tide, a beaten man thus far.――ED.
     “Pugilistica.”

     [7] We saw this, but believe it was meant for the man who
     was hit.――ED. “Pugilistica.”

     [8] There was great confusion, but the referee rose from his
     seat and went to Bendigo’s corner of his own accord, and
     without obstruction. The partisans of the men were equally
     violent.――ED. “Pugilistica.”

     [9] As we made a full note of every round of the fight, the
     perusal of this in the following Sunday’s paper astounded
     us.――ED. “Pugilistica.”

     [10] We firmly believe, from his position near the centre
     stake, on the grass, that the editor of _Bell’s Life_ was
     unable to see clearly what passed, that he was compelled to
     trust to others for the actual incidents of these later
     rounds, and that he was designedly misled.――ED.




CHAPTER II.

BENJAMIN CAUNT (CHAMPION).

1835-1857.[11]


Benjamin Caunt, like his noted opponent Bendigo, was a native of
Nottinghamshire. He was born on the 22nd of March, 1815, at the
village of Hucknall Torkard, his parents being tenants of Lord Byron,
the poet, a fact of which the huge, unsentimental Ben in after-life
was fond of boasting. His father having been engaged in some humble
capacity at Newstead, Ben had some traditions of the wayward genius,
more or less apocryphal. According to his own account (he was
certainly a first-rate shot) his earliest employment was as gamekeeper
or watcher; his Nottingham opponents insisted on his having been a
“navvy.” His size and strength might well fit him for either
occupation, his height being 6ft. 2½in., and his weight 14st. 7lb.

Caunt appears at an early age to have aspired to pugilistic honours,
and acquired some local reputation by being victor in a couple of
battles, of which, however, we have no reliable details. His first
recorded contest is, therefore, his encounter with William Thompson,
of Nottingham, on the 21st July, 1835, near Appleby House, Notts, when
he had just completed his twentieth year, wherein he was defeated by
the greater experience, shifty tactics, and superior boxing skill of
the afterwards famous Bendigo. (See BENDIGO, Chap. I., page 6,
_ante_.)

Caunt’s next appearance within the ropes was attended with better
fortune. On the 17th August, 1837, he met and defeated a local
celebrity, William Butler, at Stoneyford, Notts, in fourteen rounds,
for a stake of £20 a side. In this battle his opponent, a 12-stone
man, was beaten by weight, strength, and resolute, though by no means
scientific, fighting.

In like manner Boneford, a big one, was polished off in six rounds by
“Young Ben,” at Sunrise Hill, Notts, in November of the same year.

In the interval his former opponent had been rapidly rising in fistic
fame. He had defeated Brassey, of Bradford (May 24th, 1836), Young
Langan, of Liverpool (January 24th, 1837), and Bill Looney, another
big one (June 13th, 1837).

These exploits could not fail to attract public attention, and the
patrons of the P. R. were anxious to bring the antagonists together
once again, an anxiety fully shared by Caunt and Bendigo themselves.

“Where there’s a will there’s a way,” so in this case preliminaries
were arranged with much greater facility than in after-times. The
stakes were posted to £100 on each side, and the day, Monday, April
3rd, 1838, fixed for the encounter, the field of battle to be in the
neighbourhood of Doncaster.

  [Illustration: BENJAMIN CAUNT, CHAMPION 1842.]

As a record of times and manners, and modes of travel, we shall give a
sketch of how and in what company the representative of _Bell’s Life
in London_, then, _quâ_ the Ring, the only sporting “oracle,” was wont
to make his way to distant battlefields, ere the steam steed had
rendered the mail coach, the “Highflyer,” the “Red Rover,” the “Age,”
_et hoc genus omne_, obsolete as public conveyances:――


As “Sheffield, or within 100 miles thereof,” was the mysterious
“fixture” for the big tourney, on Saturday evening, at half-past
seven, we threw ourselves into the Glasgow mail, on our route to
Doncaster, between which town and Selby we had the “office” the affair
was to be decided. Adventures in stage-coaches have often afforded
topics for amusing detail; but we confess, from the laborious duties
which fall to our lot to perform, private as well as public, every
week of our lives, the last day, or rather the last night, of the week
is not the one we should select as that most propitious to collect
materials (if such materials were wanting) for filling a column in our
ensuing publication. In taking our place in the mail, therefore, we
looked forward rather to the enjoyment of an occasional snooze than to
the hope that we should discover any subject on which to dilate at a
future period, whether as to the character of our fellow-travellers,
the general appointments of the “drag,” or the peculiarities of the
coachmen or guards――of the former we had four, and of the latter two,
in the course of the journey――and these we will at once dismiss, by
stating, at the outset, that they did their duty admirably――taking
care, as “in duty bound,” to seek the usual mark of approbation by
farewell hints in the common-place terms of “_I leave you here,
gentlemen_”――in other words, “_tip_” and “_go_”――a laconic mode of
address which by all travellers is well understood, however coolly
appreciated when spoken at an open door on a cold frosty night, as
that night of Saturday was, and at a moment when you may perhaps have
been dreaming of the “joys you left behind you.” Quietness and repose
being our first study, we soon placed our hat in the suspending-straps
at the top of the mail, and our travelling-cap over head, and then,
quietly reclining in the corner with our back to the horses, waited
for the “start” from the yard of the “Bull and Mouth.” We found one
old gentleman had taken his seat before us, who subsequently followed
our example in taking the same side of the coach with ourselves, and
was not less careful in guarding himself against the chilling
influence of a hard frost. A third gentleman soon after joined us, and
thus, “_trio juncta in uno_,” we were whirled round to the Post
Office, St. Martin’s-le-Grand, whence we shortly commenced our journey
at a slapping pace. On reaching Islington, a fourth passenger, of
colossal size, filled up the vacant seat. Few words, if any, were
spoken; and the only interruption to the monotony of the night’s
travel was the frequent popping out and in of the last-mentioned
gentleman to comfort his “inward man” with “drops of brandy,” with
which he so perfumed our “leathern convenience” on his return that if
we were as sensitive as some Frenchman of whom we have heard (who
dined upon the effluvia of the good things he could not otherwise
enjoy) we should certainly have been “pretty jolly” before he took his
leave of us at peep of day. His departure gave occasion for the first
indication that our companions were gifted with the power of speech.
Their words were few, and these only had reference to the “spirited”
propensities of the gentleman who had just vacated his seat. On this
there could be no difference of opinion, and consequently no
argument――so that we soon relapsed into the appearance at least of
sleep, which we maintained with great perseverance till a brilliant
sun shining through the ice-covered windows called forth a remark on
the fineness of the morning. This, to our surprise, for we thought
ourselves _incog._, was followed by a remark of recognition from the
third gentleman who had entered the coach at the “Bull and Mouth,” and
who, alluding to quick travelling, recalled to our mind some feats of
this sort in which we had been engaged in the course of a twenty
years’ connection with the Press. The ice once broken, conversation
commenced, with apparent satisfaction to us all, the venerable
gentleman on my right joining, and contributing as well as exacting
his proportion of information on all manner of topics――public men and
public measures, and the public Press, forming prominent subjects of
remark, upon all of which our friend on the right seemed agreeably
conversant. We soon discovered that our opposite neighbour was going
to Leeds, to and from which town he was a frequent traveller; but
respecting the other we could form no opinion. Regarding ourselves our
secret had been divulged, and we stood forward the confessed
“representative of _Bell’s Life in London_.” Sporting of various
descriptions opened new sources of gossip, and here we found “the
unknown” as much at home as ourselves. It came out, in fact, that he
had been a breeder of racehorses, and a patron of the Turf for
pleasure, but not for profit――that he had been steward at Newmarket,
and that, in fact, he knew all the leading Turfites of the age, and
was familiar with all the recent important events on the Turf. All
this led us to surmise that he was “somebody,” but who, we confess, we
did not attempt to speculate. We found him a most pleasant associate,
and with that we were content. Upon the subject of our own trip to
Doncaster we were silent, for we considered that was “nothing to
nobody.” The Ring as connected with our British sports was but
slightly alluded to――and against the objections that were made arising
out of the late fatal issue of the combat between Swift and Brighton
Bill, we argued it was a casualty purely the result of an accident,
which might have occurred on any other athletic competition in which
no personal animosity existed, and wound up by saying that there was
one unanswerable argument even to the opponents of prizefighting, that
as by them the principals were invariably considered worthless and
deserving of punishment, in becoming the instrument of punishing each
other, they were only fulfilling the ends of justice, without the
necessity of legal interference. We referred, of course, to the recent
painful exhibition of the frequent use of the _knife_, and the strong
remarks which the increasing extent of this treacherous mode of
revenge had called from the judges; but upon these points our unknown
friend, as we take the liberty of calling him, did not seem disposed
to break a lance, and the subject dropped. At last we reached
Grantham, where our fellow-travellers forewarned us we should have an
excellent breakfast, and certainly one served in better taste or in
greater profusion we never enjoyed. Here we met in the same room the
Quaker member for Durham (Mr. Pease), on his way to the north, between
whom and “the unknown” there was a friendly recognition, but we still
made no effort to lift the veil by which he was enshrouded. On again
taking our seats in the mail, we were alone with the old gentleman,
our Leeds friend having mounted the roof, so that we had it all to
ourselves. The chat was as pleasant to us as before――new topics were
broached, and the description of the localities through which we
passed――the “Dukery” (a sort of concentration of ducal seats),
&c.――afforded us both amusement and information. Now, for the first
time, when conversation flagged, on watching the physiognomy of “the
unknown,” we imagined there was a meaning smile on his countenance,
which seemed to say, “This fellow does not know to whom he is
talking,” and we confess we began to try back and see whether we had
said anything to which exception could be taken; and more especially
whether anything had dropped from us whence the intent of our journey
could be collected; for we began to suspect we had been talking to a
_beak_, who was going down expressly to spoil sport, and who was
chuckling within himself at the disappointment we were sure to incur.
But all was safe――we had kept our secret, and from anything that had
dropped from us everything was as “right as the day;” indeed we
dismissed the thought of treachery from our mind, and we are now glad
we did so, for it would have been most unjustly adopted; for, although
a _beak_ of the first magnitude was in truth before us, we are
persuaded he had no sinister feeling towards us or the sport we
anticipated. But we have spun our yarn longer than we had intended,
and will come to the _dénouement_ at once. We now rattled into the
clean and quiet town of Doncaster with the customary flourish of the
horn, and reached the “Angel” safe and sound. As we had collected that
our companion was going no further, we were satisfied our doubts as to
his real character would soon be removed; they were, sooner than we
expected; for scarcely had he stepped forth when “MY LORD!” was
congratulated on his safe arrival. My lord! thought we, and following
his example, our first effort on stretching our cramped limbs was by a
respectful touch of our _tile_ to acknowledge the honour we had
enjoyed――an honour, by-the-bye, which confirmed us in the good old
maxim, “Where ignorance is bliss ’tis folly to be wise.” An answer to
a simple question soon put us in possession of the “great secret.” It
was to a noble Baron who was about to preside at the Pontefract
sessions we were indebted for a pleasing relief to a tedious journey;
and while we acknowledge his lordship’s kindness and urbanity, permit
us to add that there was not a sentiment uttered by him in our
presence to which we do not heartily respond. We are sure it will be
gratifying to our _milling_ readers to hear that although the fight
which has given occasion for this episode was announced to take place
in the district of Pontefract, formerly represented by a _milling_
member,[12] neither our noble companion nor any of his sessional
coadjutors offered any interference.

At Doncaster we had our “_tout_” (we hope he will excuse the use of a
professional title), for whom we immediately sent, but he was
profoundly ignorant of the all-important place of rendezvous――a fact
at which we rejoiced, as it was clear the necessary secrecy had been
observed. However quiet at Doncaster, at Sheffield, Nottingham, and
all the surrounding towns, even to Manchester and Liverpool, all was
bustle and commotion. The Fancy, of all degrees, were on the alert,
and the roads, on Sunday evening, leading to Doncaster, were thronged,
not only with pedestrians, including no small proportion of
“hard-ups,” but with vehicles of every imaginable description――flies,
phaetons, gigs, and fish-carts, all laden to dangerous excess, and
with a perfect disregard to the qualities of the horses engaged in the
service; it seeming to be an admitted principle that on such occasions
the _tits_ were not only “warranted sound and free from vice,” but
masters of any indefinite proportion of weight. As Doncaster was the
grand _débouche_ through which the cavalcade must necessarily pass
towards the “fixture,” the innocent inhabitants were soon enlightened
respecting the approach of some extraordinary event, the character of
which was quickly divulged. The whole night long the rattle of wheels,
the pattering of horses’ feet, and the shouts of the anxious throng,
proclaimed the interest which was felt, and the wild spirit which was
abroad. “The Selby road!” was the cry; and on crossing the Don, at the
foot of the town, a short turn to the right threw the nags into the
right direction, to the no small gratification of the collector at the
turnpike gate, although rather to the discomfiture of many who had the
“bobs” to “fork out;” but fights are of rare occurrence nowadays, and
for such a luxury expense is no object.

Askerne, or Askeron, a neat little village seven miles from Doncaster,
on the Selby road, celebrated for its sulphurous spring――which rises
from a fine piece of water called Askerne Pool, and which is much
visited by patients afflicted with rheumatism and other diseases――was
the first grand halting-place, and here, at the “White Swan,” had
Bendigo, under the _surveillance_ of Peter Taylor, of Liverpool, taken
up his abode. In and about this house an immense multitude had
assembled. Caunt had travelled further afield, and at the “Hawke
Arms,” a new inn about two miles further, had pitched his tent,
attended by young Molyneaux, the black, his honoured parent, and
divers other staunch and sturdy friends. The ring was formed in a
field a short distance from the road, about half way between the
“Swan” and the “Hawke,” by the Liverpool Commissary, and all looked
well. Soon after ten o’clock we made our appearance at the “Swan” in a
post-chaise, and drove up to the motley group in front of the house.
Our appearance was no doubt suspicious, and from the scowling looks of
some of the “hard-ups” with whose private signs we were unacquainted,
we were evidently regarded with more fear than affection. At last,
recollecting that we had seen Izzy Lazarus down the road, and knowing
that he is regularly installed as a publican in Sheffield, we asked
for him, in order that he might be our cicerone to his friends. The
“poy” soon made his appearance, being a full stone heavier than when
he left town, and recognising us, he made known the agreeable
intelligence that “’twas t’editor of Bell’s Loife in Lunnon”――an
announcement so unexpected, and apparently so agreeable, that when we
descended from our trap we verily believe the sudden appearance of a
hippopotamus would not have excited more astonishment. “What,” cried
one, “is that t’editor of Bell’s Loife? Well, I’m dom’d if I didn’t
take un for a gentleman!”――while another declared he “thought it were
summat worse, for he took un for a _beak_, or summat o’ that koind.”
Our opinion was not asked as to our notions of these critics; but
certainly had we been put to our oath we should have said they were
some of the “unwashed from the Hardware Country,” who had come thus
far to perform their ablutions in the Pool of Askerne――a ceremony
which the dust of the roads, and the hasty manner in which they had
performed their toilets preparatory to their “stopping up all night to
be up early in the morning,” rendered requisite.

We did not wait to bandy civilities, but proceeded direct to the
dormitory of Bendigo, whom we found, like a bacon sandwich,
comfortably encased between two slices of flannel, vulgarly called
blankets. It was the first time we had the honour of an interview, and
we made our salaam with due reverence, while the object of our embassy
was duly announced by Peter Taylor. Bendigo appeared uncommonly well,
and was in high spirits. He is a rough, handy-looking fellow, very
muscular, and as we were informed weighed but 11st. 10lb. His seconds,
we were informed, were to be Taylor and Nick Ward, and, judging from
his manner, he seemed to have booked victory as already secure. To all
present we enjoined the expediency of getting early into the ring, as
there was a gentle whisper before we left Doncaster that the
constables were on the alert. From the “Swan” we proceeded to the
“Hawke,” where our presence was not less a matter of surprise. We soon
obtained an introduction to Caunt, who was assuming his fighting
costume. He expressed his joy at seeing us, but proceeded _sans
cérémonie_ with the adornment of his person. His father sat by his
side, and if having a gigantic son is a source of pride he has
sufficient to render him doubly so, for the hero of the day proved to
be a fine young fellow, two-and-twenty years of age, standing six feet
three inches in height, and weighing fifteen stone and a half,
apparently active, strong, and full of confidence. Comparing him with
Bendigo, it was a camelopard to a nylghau; and yet Bendigo was the
favourite at five and six to four――a state of odds which seemed
unaccountable when the disparity in size was considered. Having here
also urged the wisdom of taking time by the forelock, we returned
towards the ring, which by this time was surrounded by a most numerous
and heterogeneous crowd, many of whom carried sticks of enormous size,
and presented aspects which to eyes polite would have been far from
inviting. We knew, however, that “rough cases often cover good
cutlery,” and we were not disposed to form our opinion from the
outside alone, and more especially when we were aware that many of
these hardy ones had toddled the whole way from Sheffield or
Nottingham, or places equally distant, to witness the prowess of their
favourite champion.

The adage of “the cup and the lip” was in this case, as in many others
before, again illustrated, for just as we were about to enter the
field some half-dozen horsemen rode up, and in an authoritative manner
forbade, not the banns, but the fight, in terms, however, so
persuasive and agreeable that it was impossible to be angry: in fact,
there were so many doubtful-looking sticks performing evolutions in
the air, and so many grim visages watching those evolutions, that
their worships (and they proved to be veritable J.P.’s, attended by a
posse of constables well mounted) evidently thought that the _suaviter
in modo_ was the safest game, and therefore, while they indicated
their determination to preserve the peace, they assured the mobocracy
they would not do more, provided the combatants “mizzled out of the
West Riding.” Some were for bidding defiance to legal authority so
weakly supported, but Jem Ward, who now came up, assured their
_beakships_ that due respect should be paid to their behests, and with
this assurance a mutual feeling of confidence was established.

The men were now in their respective carriages in the main road,
waiting for the “office,” when Jem Ward, who assumed the friendly
character of director, after consulting with persons well acquainted
with the localities, determined that the next move should be to
Hatfield, about seven miles distant, and within a short run of
Lincolnshire. This he publicly declared to be the final resolve, and,
sending a horseman to the Commissary and the men, started forthwith
for his destination, to prepare a suitable and unobjectionable spot.
He was attended by Young Langan, who carried Bendigo’s fighting-shoes,
Hackett, who was to have been Caunt’s second, and a numerous cavalcade
of charioteers and horsemen, who reached the “Bell” at Hatfield in
quick time. Had his arrangement been adopted all would have gone off
well, but unfortunately there were too many masters and too little of
system. A new leader sprang up in the person of Grear, the sporting
sweep of Selby, who, being perfectly well acquainted with the
localities of the country, as well as anxious to take the fight nearer
his own quarters, led the way towards Selby, followed by a prodigious
crowd, and, from some misunderstanding, by the combatants in their
carriages. The new commander gave hopes that the ring might be formed
before they reached the Ouse, which divides the West from the East
Riding, but although several attempts were made it was no go, for the
constables kept up with the vanguard, and the passage across the Ouse
became indispensable, many of the company in the rear――horse and foot
as well as charioteers――falling off dead beat. Those who were able to
keep up their steam, however, crossed the bridge over the Ouse into
Selby pell-mell, to the no small astonishment of the inhabitants, and
the crowds of market people who were assembled with their wares. One
old lady, almost petrified at such a sudden incursion, in great
agitation inquired what had brought so many “gentlemen” into the East
Riding. “Oh,” said a wag, “there’s a rebellion in the West, and we’re
all driven over the river.” “Lord help me,” cried the old lady, “I
live at Ricall, and ye’ll eat us all up!”

Grear, undismayed, pushed on, and knowing every inch of the country,
did not halt till he got nearly four miles beyond Selby, when he
turned down a romantic lane to the left, opposite Skipworth Common,
and in a large field a few removes from the main road, near the bank
of the river, the ring was, with great labour, formed; and the crowd,
which had received fresh accessions from the town of Selby and
surrounding country, collected round it. There were but few of the
original followers able to reach this distant point, and thousands
were thus deprived of the object of their long and wearisome journey,
as well as dissatisfied with a move which, had Ward’s directions been
obeyed, would have brought them nearer home, with a more certain
chance of proceeding to business without interruption.

“What cannot be cured must be endured;” and Ward, as well as his
unfortunate companions, had only to console themselves with the cold
consolation of having been made “April fools.” Among others to whom
the change was productive of unforeseen enjoyment were several members
of the Badsworth Hunt, who came up in scarlet, headed by Captain B.,
one of the right sort, who backed Bendigo at six to four, with a
well-known sporting whip, “wot drives the London mail,” and whose
mackintosh cape formed no disagreeable recommendation to the Captain,
by whom it was borrowed at “shent. per shent.” interest. Having taken
breath, all prepared for action, and the ring was beaten out with as
much effect as so sudden and unceremonious an assemblage would permit.
The men entered the ring about half-past four o’clock, Bendigo taking
the lead, attended by Peter Taylor and Nick Ward; he was in high
spirits, but on calling for his spiked shoes, it was “all my eye,” for
they had unfortunately been sent on to Hatfield, and thus he had the
disadvantage of adopting less suitable “crab-shells,” a circumstance
which did not seem, however, to disturb his equanimity. Caunt then
came forward, waited upon by Young Molyneaux and Gregson. On
_peeling_, as we have before stated, their condition seemed admirable,
and the flush of expected victory animated their “dials.” Two umpires
and a referee having been chosen, all was ready, and then commenced


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On setting to, the gigantic size of Caunt, as
     he stood over his antagonist, excited general surprise,
     and, as a natural result in such disparities, produced
     a feeling of sympathy towards the smaller man; but
     Bendigo displayed perfect self-possession, and
     commenced manœuvring without delay. He dodged backward
     and forward several times, with a view of drawing his
     man, having his right ready for a fly as he came in,
     but Caunt was not to be had at that game――when Bendigo,
     making a feint with his right, let go his left and
     caught him a tidy smack on the left ogle. Caunt
     instantly closed, and a struggle ensued, in which the
     superior strength of the “big one” was sufficiently
     apparent, and Bendigo, finding he had no chance at this
     work, went down.

     2.――Caunt was now on his mettle, and on coming to the
     scratch went straight in to his work, hitting out left
     and right; Bendigo got away, but napped a nasty one or
     two. Steadying himself he caught Caunt a crack on the
     side of his head with his left. Caunt did not choose to
     stand these pops, but rushing after his shifty
     antagonist, caught him in his arms, and threw him after
     a short struggle.

     3.――Both men came up steady, with no great harm done.
     Bendigo again pursued the dodging system, and, after a
     little in-and-out work he succeeded in planting his
     left on Caunt’s “’tato trap,” and drew _first blood_.
     Caunt felt indignant at this liberty, rushed to his
     man, literally lifted him up in his arms, and forcing
     him against the stake, gave him such a hug that, after
     a severe struggle, he got down, Caunt falling heavily
     upon him.

     4.――Bendigo showed symptoms of distress from the
     Bruin’s hug he had received in the last round, but,
     keeping at a distance till he had recovered his wind,
     he became as lively as ever. After some time devoted to
     sparring, Bendigo, evidently having no desire to get
     within grasp of his man, let fly with his right, but
     did not get home. A little more time being devoted to
     play, Caunt let fly left and right, but his blows did
     not tell. Bendigo, on the get-away system, at last
     brought himself to a steady point, and caught Caunt a
     tremendous crack on the cheek, which opened “mouth the
     second,” and drew claret in abundance. Caunt instantly
     rushed to work; a severe rally followed, in which
     several hits, left and right, were exchanged. In the
     close Caunt again had it all his own way, and in the
     end threw Bendigo and fell on him. When both men were
     picked up it was seen that their nobs had been
     considerably damaged; Caunt bled profusely from his
     nose and a cut under his left eye, while the side of
     Bendigo’s pimple was swollen from a visitation from
     Caunt’s right, but their seconds soon brought them in
     “apple-pie order,” and they were ready when “time” was
     called.

     5.――After some sparring, Caunt, who took a distaste to
     Bendigo’s system of popping and shifting, went in right
     and left, and at once closing, seized his man as if in
     a vice, holding him on the ropes till nearly strangled,
     amidst cries of “Shame!” After a violent struggle by
     Bendigo to get away, he was at last thrown; Caunt fell
     heavily on him.

     6.――From this to the 11th round the fighting was very
     quick on both sides, Caunt leading off left and right,
     Bendigo meeting him as he came in with severe jobs, and
     then getting down to avoid――a shifty mode of fighting,
     far from agreeable to the spectator, but rendered
     almost indispensable from the great inequality in the
     size of the men. In the closes Bendigo had not a
     chance, but his pops at Caunt as he rushed to the
     charge told dreadfully on his head, which he gave to
     get what he expected to be a home hit on his adversary,
     but in which he was nearly every time disappointed.

     12.――Both as fresh and ready as ever――Bendigo, from his
     generalship the favourite; still Caunt was bold as a
     lion. Bendigo now changed his system, and finding he
     often missed the “head-rails” of his opponent, he
     commenced peppering right and left at the body, the
     whacks sounding like the music of a big drum. Cries of
     “Go in, Bendigo!” at length induced him to get closer
     to his man, and he popped in a stinger with his left
     under the right eye. Caunt instantly closed, and a
     violent struggle for the fall succeeded, when both
     fell.

     13.――Bendigo led off well with his left; but Caunt was
     for close work, and rushing to his man, hit right and
     left, and grappled, when, catching Bendigo in his arms,
     he carried him to the ropes, and there held him with
     such force as almost to deprive him of the power of
     motion. The spectators, disgusted at this mode of
     fighting, cried out “Shame!” and exclaimed, “Thou big
     ugly twoad, dost thou call that foighting? whoy, the
     little ’un would lick thee and two or three more such
     if thee’d foight.” Caunt was not, however, disposed to
     listen to these hints, and stuck to his man like wax,
     till at last fears were entertained that Bendigo would
     be strangled, and a cry of “Cut the ropes!” burst from
     all directions. This suggestion was adopted, and the
     ropes were instantly cut in two places, when down went
     both, Caunt uppermost. The mob then rushed to the
     stakes, and the most dreadful confusion
     followed――umpire and referee and all forced into a
     dense mass. Still the interior of the ring was
     preserved, and cleared, and an attempt was made to
     repair the ropes.

     From the 14th to the 38th round the greatest confusion
     prevailed. Bendigo persevered in his getting-down
     system after he received the charge of Caunt, and
     popped him in return; he had had enough of Caunt’s
     embraces, and studiously avoided them.

During this portion of the battle a magistrate made his appearance, if
possible to put an end to hostilities, but he was “baying the moon,”
and he was forced to retire, no doubt feeling that amidst such a scene
the dignity of his office would not be properly vindicated. About the
50th round a wrangle arose from an allegation that Bendigo had kicked
Caunt as he lay on the ground. Caunt claimed the fight. An appeal was
made to the referee, who declared he saw nothing that was avoidable,
and the fight proceeded up to the 75th round, during all which time
the crush was overwhelming. Bendigo’s hitting was terrific, but still
Caunt was game to the backbone, and although heavily punished, fought
with him, and when he caught him gave him the advantage of his
“Cornish hug.” Both men were alternately distressed, but the powerful
hitting of Bendigo made him a decided favourite; in fact, he showed
but little appearance of injury, although he had received some heavy
body hits, and was somewhat exhausted by Caunt’s hugging and hanging
upon him; still he rallied, and was well on his legs.

In the last round, on “time” being called, both men came ready to the
scratch; when Caunt prepared for his rush, Bendigo slipped back, and
fell on his nether end, “without a blow.” This all his friends
ascribed to a slip, but Molyneaux, the second of Caunt, cried “Foul!”
and claimed the battle, evidently anxious to save his man from the
“fire.” An appeal was immediately made to the referee, who seemed to
be a stranger to the laws of the Ring; and on being enlightened as to
the fact of “going down without a blow” being deemed “foul,” he
decided that Bendigo had so gone down, on which Molyneaux
instantaneously threw up his hat and claimed the battle.

An indescribable row followed, the friends of Bendigo declaring he had
gone down from accident, owing to his substitute shoes being without
spikes. Bendigo was indignant, and ready to fight, but it was all U.P.
Wharton would not throw a chance away, and took his man out of the
ring, while Bendigo seized the colours, and in turn claimed a win.

The scene that followed beggars description. Caunt, who was conveyed
to his carriage, was brought out to renew the fight; but this he
declined, and being placed on a horse, he was pulled off, and but for
the protection of his friends would have been roughly handled. He had
to walk to Selby, whence he was conveyed back to the “Hawke Arms,”
where his wounds were dressed and every attention paid him. He was
dreadfully punished, but still strong and vigorous.

The fight lasted one hour and twenty minutes.

No sooner had the astute “Morocco Prince” snatched his verdict, and
got his man away, as he was entitled to do, than we discovered, on
reentering the ring――from which we had been glad to retire during the
disgraceful disorder that followed the appeal――that the umpires had
never been asked if they differed as to the “foul” at all; in fact,
Bendy’s umpire declared he had been separated from the referee and
shut out of the ring in the confusion, so that the issue depended upon
the judgment of the referee, who, in such an uproar, added to his
inexperience, had indeed a most difficult duty to fulfil. Of course,
according to the then new practice, a lawyer’s letter was immediately
posted to the stakeholder warning him not to part with the stakes
until the matter had been thoroughly sifted, as both parties claimed
them.

It must be admitted that Bendigo, in the course of this battle,
exhibited extraordinary powers of punishment; his hits were terrific,
as Caunt’s condition after the battle testified, his head and body
being dreadfully shattered, but still, from the specimen thus
afforded, we should not regard Bendigo as a fair stand-up fighter; he
was shifty, and too much on the get-away-and-get-down system. With
Caunt, however, it must be admitted there was every excuse for this
course, for with four stone extra to cope with in weight, and six
inches in height, it required no common nerve and caution to escape
annihilation. Caunt, who claims the “Championship,” is anything but a
well-scienced man; he hits at random, and has no idea of self-defence.
His great attributes are game and strength, which he possesses in a
pre-eminent degree. Throughout the fight there was not a single
knock-down blow, which, when Caunt’s length and weight are considered,
is the strongest evidence that the big one lacked the gift of hitting
at points, or, as John Jackson expressed it, “judging time and
distance accurately.” When we look back at the recorded battles of
Mendoza, Jackson, Dutch Sam, Gully, and Randall, and remember the
fights of Spring, Crawley, and Jem Ward, the pretensions of Caunt to
the Championship must point the moral of the Ring’s decline. Pulling,
hauling, squeezing, and hugging, the grand offensive manœuvres of Big
Ben’s style of boxing, would have been scouted as a disgrace to all
but pitmen, navvies, and provincial “roughs.”

Bendigo, after the battle, proceeded to Selby, where he remained for
the night. He appeared little the worse for the encounter, so far as
hitting was concerned. The only marks of punishment were a flush under
the right eye, a swelling under the left ear, some marks of hits on
the lower part of the right shoulder-blade, and sundry excoriations
and abrasions of the cuticle, bearing full evidence of the severe
squeezing and scrapings on the ropes inflicted by the Bruin-like hugs
of his huge antagonist. To us Bendigo expressed his readiness to meet
his giant opponent “anywhere, anyhow, on any terms――to-morrow,
next week, or next month, anything to accommodate the big
chucklehead”――which, as we afterwards knew, was Bendy’s uncomplimentary
but characteristic epithet, not only in speaking of, but in personally
addressing, his gigantic rival.

Much correspondence of the “’fending and proving” order followed this
debateable conclusion. Mr. Lockwood, the referee, however, declared
his adherence to his “decision that Bendigo went down without a blow,”
and thereupon the stakeholder handed over the battle money to Caunt,
with the observation:――“The referee’s decision must be upheld, and if
in his judgment Bendigo went down (he says, ‘in fact, fell to avoid’),
then, whatever might have been his chances――and it is admitted he had
the best of the battle――Caunt is entitled to the stakes, and _pro
tem._ to the title of ‘Champion.’” The next week Bendy was as good as
his word, for articles were entered into for a third meeting, for £100
a side, to come off on the 30th of July; but when £40 a side had been
deposited, a forfeit took place, under the following circumstances:――

The “Deaf ’un,” as Jem Burke was usually called, had returned from
America, in the height of his popularity, and his challenges to “any
man in or out of England,” especially “Mister Bendy,” proved too
strong a “red herring” across the trail for the Nottingham hero to
resist, so he forfeited £40 cash down, to grasp at what proved, for a
time, a fleeting shadow, as the Deaf ’un, after his challenge and its
acceptance, went on a Parisian tour (see the Life of BENDIGO, _ante_,
p. 12); and it was not until Shrove Tuesday (Feb. 12th), 1839, that
Bendigo and Burke had their “cock-shy,” at Appleby, and Bendigo
thereafter received a much disputed “belt” from Jem Ward at Liverpool.

The remainder of 1838, and the whole of 1839, passed without Caunt
sporting his colours in the lists. In August, 1840, we find our old
friend Ned Painter, at Norwich, and honest fat Peter Crawley, in
London, made the channels of the challenges of Brassey and of Caunt.
Ned Painter writes thus, on the last day of July:――

     “MR. EDITOR,――In answer to an observation made in last
     week’s paper, that ‘providing Brassey’s friends will sustain
     their promises,’ allow me to say that ‘corn,’ not ‘chaff,’
     is the answer of Brassey to Caunt. Brassey went to Liverpool
     to make the match with Hampson; when he arrived there
     neither man nor money was to be seen. When Caunt challenged
     the whole world, Brassey and his friends accepted the
     challenge, and to meet Caunt’s wish, sent £25 to Tom Spring
     a week previous to the day appointed. I went myself on the
     very day, but Caunt and his party were invisible. If Caunt
     means a fight, and not a farce, he must go to Leeds or come
     to Norwich, and match at his own expense this time, as
     neither Brassey nor myself were allowed even the £2 for
     expenses promised. I am, Mr. Editor, for work, not mere
     words or wind.

                                                   “NED PAINTER.
     “Norwich, July 30th, 1840.” 

To which Peter Crawley thus practically replied on behalf of Caunt:――

     “SIR,――My having placed £25 in your hands will, I hope,
     remove all doubt as regards Caunt’s money being ready; and
     it remains with the friends of Brassey alone to appoint a
     day, either Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday week, through the
     medium of your paper, to meet at my house, to draw up
     articles and put down their dust; and unless this be
     attended to, for my part I shall consider they do not mean
     business. I have taken the responsibility on myself of
     detaining the money a little longer; that would give Brassey
     time to join his friends at Norwich, which, I understand, is
     all that prevents the match being made now.

     “I am, &c.,                                    “P. CRAWLEY,
                                 “‘Queen’s Head and French Horn,’
                                   Duke Street, West Smithfield.
  “August 21st, 1840.”

All difficulties were now smoothed, and a match for £100 a side was
made, to be decided on the 26th October, 1840. As the deposits were
made good, and the day approached, the interest in sporting circles
rose to an intense height, and at the last deposit Tom Spring’s
“Castle” was literally stormed by eager crowds.

As a relief from these prosaic matter-of-fact proceedings, we will
here enliven our page with a few rhymes in the shape of――


  “AN HEROIC EPISTLE FROM BRASSEY TO BIG CAUNT.”

   To thee I send these lines, illustrious Caunt!
   Of courage tried, and huge as John of Gaunt,
   To thee my foolscap with black ink I blot,
   To tell the big ’un Brassey fears him not,
   And that in battle, should the fates allow,
   He means to snatch the laurels from his brow,
   At all his boasted pluck and prowess smile,
   And give him pepper in superior style.

   Yes, gallant Caunt, next Tuesday will declare
   If you or I the Champion’s belt shall wear;
   And be assured, regardless of the tin,
   I’ll go to work, and do my best to win,
   Prove that in fight _one_ Briton can surpass ye,
   And if you ask his name, I thunder――_Brassey_!

   What proof of milling prowess did you show
   In your two scrambling fights with Bendigo?
   When of your foeman’s punishment aware,
   You roughly squeezed him like a polar bear,
   Nearly extinguished in his lungs the breath,
   And almost hugged him in your arms to death――
   Such a base system I pronounce humbugging;
   Don’t call it fighting, Caunt, I call it hugging,
   And if bold Brassey with that game you tease,
   The bear may soon be minus of his grease,
   And for a practice cowardly as foul,
   Receive a lesson that may make him growl.
   But bounce I bar――plain dealing is my plan,
   And in the ring I’ll meet you man to man,
   And do, most certainly, the best I can.

   May no base beak, or trap with aspect rude,
   Upon a comfortable mill intrude――
   A mill between not enemies, but friends,
   And upon which a lot of blunt depends;
   A mill, I trust, which, as in days of yore,
   Will honest fighting to the ring restore;
   A mill which, whosoe’er may win the same,
   Will show the British boxer’s genuine game,
   Unkind aspersions on the Fancy crush,
   And put accurs’d knife-practice to the blush――
   A practice which, with bold and fearless face,
   In bloody letters stamps our land’s disgrace!
   But let that pass, while we, like boxers bold,
   Shall manly contest in the ring uphold,
   And settle matters, not with slaughtering knives,
   But well-braced muscles and a bunch of fives.
   What tho’ in battle with some Fancy lad
   An ogle should in mourning suit be clad?
   What tho’ profusion of straightforward knocks
   Should for a while confuse the knowledge box?
   Why, these are trifles which a cur may scare,
   But teach good men hard punishment to bear;
   And as they pass this earthly region thro’,
   All men will have a clumsy thump or two,
   And there’s no doubt ’twill lessen their complaining
   To meet hard knocks to get them into training;
   But Time, my worthy, warns me to desist,
   So for awhile farewell, my man of fist;
   Of your conceit on Tuesday I will strip ye――
   On Tuesday next “I meet you at Philippi;”
   Till then believe me resolute and saucy,
   A foe without one hostile feeling――
                                                 “BRASSEY.”

Six Mile Bottom, Cambridgeshire, distinguished in former times by the
contests of dons of the olden school, under the patronage of men of
the highest rank in the kingdom, was named. Although inferior in stamp
and action to bygone heroes, the present competitors were not less
great in their own estimation, and certainly quite as great in
bulk――for Caunt stood 6ft. 2in., and weighed 14st. 7lb., and Brassey,
two inches shorter, weighed 12st. 1lb. (a standard which, according to
the best judges, is sufficient for all useful purposes in the P. R.,
all beyond that being deemed surplusage). In point of age they were
pretty much upon a par, and in the prime of life, Caunt having been
born in March, 1815, and Brassey in the month of January in the same
year.

The opinion of Bendigo as to the merits of the two men was naturally
sought, and he, without hesitation, gave the “palm” to Brassey, whom
he pronounced the better tactician, if not the gamer man. As
provincial champions they were held in high estimation――Brassey at
Leeds, Bradford, and those districts, and Caunt at Nottingham,
Sheffield, and the surrounding country. In London, however, their
pretensions as scientific men were viewed with little favour――and, in
fact, in that respect their acquirements were but of an inferior
character――as their sparring displays with the accomplished Tom Spring
sufficiently demonstrated. Still, although “rough,” they were deemed
“ready,” and a slashing fight was anticipated.

Brassey went into training under the auspices of Ned Painter, of
Norwich, and Caunt claimed the attention of “the Infant” (Peter
Crawley), by whom he was placed “at nurse” in the neighbourhood of
Hatfield. More competent mentors could not have been selected; and all
that judgment and good advice could effect was accomplished――for it
was impossible for men to have been brought to the “post” in better
condition, or with a stronger feeling of personal confidence. The
articles specified that the belligerent meeting was to take place
halfway between Norwich and London, but by mutual consent (although
Crawley won the toss for choice) the locality we have mentioned was
eventually agreed upon――thus combining a double object of
attraction――the mill and the races――and being alike convenient to the
training quarters of the combatants.

On Monday both men neared the point of rendezvous, Brassey being
installed at the “Queen Victoria,” Newmarket, and Caunt at Littlebury,
in Essex.

In the former town, too, the Commissary had lodged his _matériel_ as
early as Saturday, being provided with new and substantial stakes for
the purpose――a precaution which the herculean proportions of the men
rendered judicious.

As on all these occasions the betting was influenced by local
prejudices; and while at Leeds, Bradford, and their vicinities, the
“Yorkshire tyke” (Brassey) was the favourite at five to four, in
Sheffield, Nottingham, Newmarket, and London Caunt had the call at six
and seven to four, and finally at two to one and five to two, at which
price large sums were laid out.

With a view to prevent interruption, and to gratify the “sporting
nobs” of Newmarket, it was stipulated in the articles that the men
should be in the ring between eight and nine o’clock a.m.――an
arrangement which proved most judicious, although it shut out a
numerous class to whom early rising and long trots of an autumnal
morning are not agreeable. The whisper, which was anything but soft,
of the forthcoming event, soon extended far and wide; and the arrivals
from distant quarters at Newmarket proved that the office had been
very extensively circulated and promptly obeyed――as the unusual muster
of fighting nobs on Newmarket Heath, on the Monday, including all the
_élite_ of the _corps pugilistique_, sufficiently evinced. During the
night the contributions from the provinces increased; all the coaches
passing through the town were loaded, and the clatter of fresh
arrivals in various equipages proved the interest which had been
excited.

Unfortunately a fine day had been succeeded by a night of heavy rain,
and the drenched appearance of the early birds, as they shook their
feathers, fully sustained the established rule that there are few
human amusements without alloy, or, as Sir G. Cornewall Lewis
philosophically put it, “Life would be tolerable were it not for its
pleasures.” Still, among the Fancy, these vicissitudes were of little
moment, and were submitted to with becoming philosophy. The morning
was not more propitious than the night, but there was, nevertheless,
no lack of bustle in Newmarket; in fact, hundreds were seen in busy
preparation for “the start,” and vehicles of every description were
called into requisition, while all classes, from the Corinthian to the
humble stable-boy, were full of lively anticipation. The troop of
equestrians which went forth showed the excitement that prevailed,
while the carriages, gigs, and carts which followed produced a
cheerful commotion in the direction of the appointed fixture, which
was about six miles from the town.

A hostile declaration of a reverend parson of Cheveley, on the Monday,
led to an apprehension that an interruption was not unlikely. Indeed,
we believe it was intended, but happily his reverence, by some
_unfortunate accident_, was put on the wrong scent, and proceeded in
an opposite direction, towards the borders of Suffolk, where, attended
by a posse of special constables, he waited with creditable patience
for the expected arrival of the “misdoers.” He watched, however, in
vain; in the interim the belligerents had settled their differences
elsewhere, to his infinite mortification, as well as to the imminent
danger of his health, from so long and unprofitable an exposure to the
warring elements. On his return to Cheveley, his forlorn aspect
induced strong expressions of commiseration; but we are inclined to
doubt the sincerity of those by whom they were uttered, who obviously
thought the worthy divine should not have forgotten the old maxim,
“Charity begins at home,” where, in all probability, he would have
found abundant opportunity for the exercise of his Christian virtues
without wasting them idly on the “desert air.”

An agreement having been made that both men should be in the ring
precisely at eight o’clock, by that hour the lists were completed, and
were quickly surrounded by the coming throng, who formed a circle of
ample dimensions round the all-important arena, which every moment
increased in density, and included in its motley features several
foreigners of distinction; a large contribution from the University of
Cambridge (who came in style in drags and fours, all “lighted up” in
such profusion that many were disposed to think, from the halo of
smoke which fumed from their fragrant havannahs, an engine had broken
loose from some distant railroad); a vast concourse of the Turf
aristocracy, and not a few of the right sort, who had posted from
London to participate in the amusements of the day. The remainder, to
the extent of 2,000 or 3,000, was of that mingled character which it
would be difficult to particularise, many of them being so disguised
in their north-westers and storm-defying protectors as to give them
the advantage of perfect _incognito_, combined with personal
protection. We did hear of a stray magistrate or two being present,
yet for this we cannot vouch; but we must remark, if the fact were so,
it showed their good sense. This we do know, that one or two proved by
their conduct “none are so blind as those who will not see;” and upon
the appearance of the parson of Cheveley at the magisterial divan in
Newmarket on the same day, after the fight, to deplore the hoax of
which he had been made the victim, his vicissitudes produced a good
deal of fun, and not a little commendation of the ingenious concocter
of the “secret despatch” to which he had fallen so simple a victim.

Brassey was first on the ground; and as the rain fell in torrents
impatience was manifested for the arrival of Caunt. Unhappily,
however, he did not reach the cheerless scene till within five minutes
of nine. Come he did, however, at last, and the thrill of pleasure
soon dissipated the melancholy forebodings of disappointment; for it
was feared that Brassey would have been allowed to walk over the
course and claim forfeit. An inner circle of the privileged was soon
formed by those who chose to “qualify” by taking out “certificates” at
5s. each from the Commissary. For the accommodation of these a
quantity of straw had been spread a few yards from the ring, but such
was its saturated state, from the continued rain, that it afforded
little protection, and carriage seats and gig cushions were in general
request, often with little regard to the laws of _meum_ and _tuum_.
Never was the modern invention of waterproof wrappers more prized; and
when we witnessed the aristocratic groups thus recklessly reposing on
the slimy soil we could not withhold the expression of our delight at
finding the spirit of olden times still unsubdued, notwithstanding the
inroads of pantilers and teetotallers. We recognised among the mass
many old soldiers, who good-humouredly remarked it was but a memento
of the past, and reminded their young friends the time might not be
far distant when even such inconvenience would be a luxury compared
with what they would have to endure in maintaining the fear-nought
reputation of John Bull on the “tented field.” Beyond the privileged
stood rows of perpendicular spectators, and behind them again were the
carriages and other vehicles, covered with not less anxious gazers.

At last, soon after nine o’clock, the heroes of the day made their
appearance; Caunt under the care of Peter Crawley, and attended by
Dick Curtis and a Liverpool friend as bottle-holder and second;
Brassey escorted by Ned Painter, and officially accompanied by Jem
Hall and Johnny Broome. On entering the lists Caunt, who wore a large
Welsh wig, approached Brassey, and offered to lay him a private bet on
the issue of the contest; but Brassey regarded this as a piece of
bounce, and turned from him. The umpires and referee having been
chosen, the yellowmen――for both sported the same colours――were tied to
the stake, and all prepared for action. On stripping, the gigantic
frame of Caunt struck the uninitiated with surprise. His superior
height and weight left no room for nice calculations, and the fate of
his adversary was already foretold; his broad back and muscular
developments had a most formidable aspect, while his long arms and
proportionate supporters showed him as a giant among _pigmies_, in
which light Dick Curtis, and some of his little friends who stood
beside him, could alone be regarded. There was, however, something
ungainly in his huge frame, and more of awkwardness than symmetry in
his configuration. Brassey, although less, was still “a man for a’
that,” and if not in juxtaposition with such a Goliath would have been
regarded as an excellent specimen of the Grenadier fraternity. His
figure was muscular and his limbs well knit, exhibiting appearances of
strength and vigour not to be despised, while his mug displayed
fearless determination. The preliminaries having been adjusted, at
twenty-five minutes after nine “business” commenced.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――No sooner had the seconds retired to their
     corners, on leaving the men at the scratch, than Caunt
     rushed to his man and threw out his arms, left and
     right, with the quickness and vigour of a just-started
     windmill; his kind intentions were, however, evaded,
     and he missed his blows, especially a terrific
     upper-cut with his right, which, had it reached its
     destination, would have “told a tale.” Brassey in like
     manner was wild, and missed his blows, but finding
     Caunt closing upon him, he hit up with his right, and
     on closing instantly went down.

     2.――Caunt again hit out left and right, but without
     precision. He made his right slightly on Brassey’s nob,
     when the latter rattled in left and right, like Caunt,
     missing, and again went down. It was pretty obvious
     that Brassey was fearful of the Russian hug of _ursa
     major_, and had made up his mind to the falling system,
     which, however obnoxious to the spectators, was
     evidently his only safe game.

     3.――“Steady,” cried Dick, “and hit straight.” Caunt led
     off right and left, and succeeded in planting his left
     on Brassey’s forehead, but he had it in return. Brassey
     got to him and delivered a tremendous left-hander on
     his cheek, and was as quick with his right on his
     nozzle; the claret flew in abundance, and the big ’un
     was posed. He hit out wild, left and right, and missed,
     while Brassey got down. (Loud cheers for Brassey. The
     spectators were electrified by the effect of these
     blows. A gaping wound ornamented Caunt’s right cheek,
     and his nose emitted the purple fluid, which Dick
     quickly mopped up with his sponge.) This decided the
     first event――_first blood_ for Brassey. (The Cauntites
     looking queer.)

     4.――Caunt came up by no means improved in beauty. He
     led on as before, wild left and right; but his
     deliveries wanted precision. Brassey fought with him,
     but, like sticks in an Irish row, their arms were the
     only receivers, and little mischief was done. Brassey
     got down grinning.

     5.――Caunt planted his left on Brassey’s eye, but missed
     his right, which, had it reached its destination, would
     have been a poser. It went over Brassey’s shoulder.
     Brassey, finding he could not well stand the
     overwhelming rush of his antagonist, got down.

     6.――Brassey popped in his left, and escaping the
     visitation of Caunt’s left and right, pursued his
     tumbling system, while Caunt laughed, and pointed at
     him with contempt.

     7.――Caunt, more successful, caught Brassey left and
     right on the nob, when Brassey went down, but Caunt’s
     blows did not seem to tell.

     8.――Caunt delivered his left and right, but so wildly
     as to be ineffective, and Brassey went down, throwing
     up his legs and knees in the rebound.

     9.――Caunt, as usual, opened the ball with a wild rush
     right and left, catching Brassey on the forehead with
     his right. Brassey hit left and right, but was stopped,
     and went down, Caunt with difficulty escaping treading
     on him as he stepped over him.

     10, 11, 12.――All of the same character, Caunt doing no
     great execution, and Brassey invariably getting down.

     13.――Caunt hit out of distance with his right, when
     Brassey caught him on the smeller with his left, again
     drawing his cork. Caunt, stung, hit out heavily with
     his right, and caught Brassey on the back of the ear.
     Brassey went down.

     14.――Caunt, the first to fight, planted his right on
     Brassey’s left eye; Brassey fell. (First knock-down
     blow claimed, but doubtful, as the ground became
     inconveniently slippery.)

     15.――Caunt missed one of his tremendous right-hand
     lunges, and Brassey went down.

     16.――Caunt dropped heavily with his right on Brassey’s
     ribs, who fought wildly, but again caught Caunt with
     the left on his damaged cheek; more blood, and Brassey
     down.

     17.――Brassey in with his right on Caunt’s ogle, and
     went down.

     18.――Caunt, in his wild rush, hit Brassey left and
     right on the pimple, and on his going down, as he
     stepped over him, scraped his forehead with his shoe,
     peeling off a trifle of the bark.

     19.――Caunt, more steady, planted his left on Brassey’s
     dexter peeper, and hit him clean down with his right.
     (_First knock-down blow_ unequivocally declared for
     Caunt.)

     20.――Caunt delivered his left heavily on Brassey’s
     snout, and his right on the side of his head. Brassey
     made play, but missed, and went down. On being lifted
     on his second’s knee, he bled from mouth and nose.

     [The friends of Caunt, who had been silent up to this,
     regarding the issue of the battle anything but certain,
     now again opened their potato traps, and offered 2 to
     1, which was taken.]

     21.――Caunt delivered another heavy body blow with his
     right, which made a sounding echo. Brassey rushed to a
     close, and clung with his legs around Caunt’s thighs.
     Caunt tried to hold him up with his left while he hit
     with his right, but he found this impossible, and flung
     him down with contempt. It was here clear that if once
     Brassey suffered himself to be grasped in a punishable
     position by his opponent it would be all over.

     22, 23, 24, and 25 were all pretty much in the same
     style――the hitting wild and ineffective, Brassey either
     clinging to his man or throwing himself down.

     26.――Another heavy blow on the ribs from Caunt’s right
     told smartly on Brassey’s corporation. Brassey
     attempted to close, but Caunt threw him heavily with
     his head on the ground.

     27, 28, 29.――Not much done, Brassey going down every
     round, after slight and wild exchanges.

     30.――Caunt hit Brassey down with one of his swinging
     right-handed hits on the side of his head, which made
     his left eye twinkle again. (3 to 1 offered and taken
     on Caunt.)

     In the next three rounds there were some heavy
     exchanges left and right, but Brassey pursued his
     falling tactics.

     34.――Tremendous counter-hitting with the right, and
     equally heavy exchanges with the left. Both down on
     their knees, from the stunning severity of the
     deliveries. (Caunt’s beauty improving. A splendid
     likeness of the “Saracen’s Head” without his wig.)

     35.――Again did Caunt nail his man on the nose with his
     left, and the claret came forth freely.

     From this to the 53rd round there were some heavy
     exchanges left and right. To all appearance, the
     punishment was most severe on Caunt’s face, whose left
     cheek was cut, as well as his right, but the heavy
     deliveries on the left side of Brassey’s head, as well
     as his ribs, had evidently weakened him, although he
     still came up as game as a pebble. In his frequent
     falls, Caunt occasionally could not avoid falling on
     him, and his weight was no trifling addition to his
     other punishment. It is but just to state, however,
     that Caunt fought in a fair and manly style, and
     avoided everything like unfair advantage.

     In the 55th round the ground became so muddy that the
     men, from fighting in the centre of the ring, could
     scarcely keep their legs, and Brassey went down without
     a blow. This was claimed, but rejected by the referee,
     who cautioned him, however, against giving such another
     chance away.

     56.――Caunt planted his left heavily on Brassey’s
     winker, but Brassey, in return, hit him on the jaw with
     his right, and making up his mind for further mischief,
     repeated the blow with terrific effect a little below
     the same spot, Caunt countering at the same moment, and
     with the same hand. The collision was dreadful――both
     fell in opposite directions――Caunt as if shot by a
     twenty-four pounder, end Brassey all abroad.

     Here was a decided change; Caunt was evidently
     unconscious, and was with difficulty held on his
     second’s knee. His head rolled like a turtle in
     convulsions. Curtis, however, steadied his tremulous
     pimple, administered a slight dash of water, and on
     “time” being called he was enabled to go to the
     scratch, but with such groggy indications that we doubt
     whether he knew if he was on his head or his heels.

     57.――Brassey now endeavoured to improve his advantage,
     but instead of steadily waiting to give his man the
     _coup de grace_, he rushed in, and bored Caunt through
     the ropes, and he fell on his back, while the force of
     Brassey’s fall on him was stayed by his own chin being
     caught by the upper rope, on which he hung for a
     moment.

     58.――Caunt recovered a little, but Brassey again rushed
     in, hitting left and right, and in the struggle both
     down, Brassey uppermost.

     59.――Caunt steadied himself, and went in to fight. Some
     heavy exchanges followed, and Brassey went down, but
     Caunt was far from firm on his pins. It was now seen
     that Caunt’s right hand, from its repeated visits to
     Brassey’s head and ribs, was much swollen; his left,
     too, showed the effects of repeated contact with the
     physog. of his antagonist. This, in the following
     rounds, led to a good deal of contention, on the ground
     that Caunt had unfair substances in his hand; but he
     showed it was only paper, and threw it away, although
     entitled to the use of any soft material to steady his
     grasp.

     The rounds which followed, to the 100th, offered but
     little variety; both men became gradually exhausted,
     and it required all the care and encouragement of their
     partisans to rouse them to action. Each was assured
     that victory smiled upon him, and that it only required
     another effort to make all safe. Brassey came up
     manfully round after round; but although he
     occasionally stopped and hit, the pops of his opponent,
     who now and then saved him the trouble of falling by
     hitting him down, told with increasing effect. Caunt
     repeatedly tried to hold him in the closes, with the
     view of fibbing; but Brassey was too leary, and got
     down without this additional proof of kind intention.
     In some of his tumbles, however, Caunt fell heavily on
     him, and once more, in trying to evade him, scraped his
     foot on his nose, a casualty almost unavoidable from
     his sudden prostrations.

     The weakness of Brassey gradually increased, while
     Caunt evidently got stronger on his legs; and although
     his right hand was gone, he continued to hit with it.
     He was entreated to use his left, which he did three
     times in succession in one round on Brassey’s muzzle,
     till he dropped him. Such was the prejudice in favour
     of Brassey, however, from the vigour with which he
     occasionally rallied, that it was still hoped he might
     make a turn in his favour, and if encouraging shouts
     would have effected that object, he was not without
     stentorian friends. Caunt, too, had his anxious
     attendants; and all that cheering could do to rouse his
     spirits was heartily afforded him.

     From the 90th to the 100th round poor Brassey came up
     weak on his legs, and either fell or was hit down, but
     to the last made a manly struggle against superior
     strength and weight. In the 100th round Broome said he
     should fight no more, and Crawley stepped into the ring
     to claim the battle; he was, however, called out, and
     Brassey came up once more, but he was incapable of
     prolonged exertion, and being hit down with a
     right-handed smack on the head, he reluctantly
     submitted to the calls of his friends to give in, and
     all was over. Caunt was proclaimed the conqueror, after
     fighting _one hundred and one rounds_, in _one hour and
     thirty minutes_.

     REMARKS.――We have seldom recorded a fight in which we
     experienced more difficulty to render the details
     interesting. It will be seen that in ninety minutes one
     hundred rounds were fought, deducting the half-minute
     time, often prolonged to nearly a minute by mutual
     delay in coming to the “scratch” when “time” was
     called; therefore, the average time occupied by each
     round did not much exceed twenty seconds. There was no
     attempt at stopping (except in a few instances by
     Brassey), nor any of those scientific manœuvres which
     give interest to such an exhibition. Caunt was
     invariably the first to fight, but led off with nothing
     like precision, repeatedly missing his blows and upper
     cuts, many of which, had they told, might have been
     conclusive. Brassey seemed to be fully aware of this
     mode of assault, and generally waited till he got
     within Caunt’s guard, and thus succeeded in
     administering heavy punishment. This point once gained
     he lost no time in getting down, feeling quite
     confident that in close contact he would not have had a
     chance. This, although far from a popular mode of
     contest, is certainly excusable considering the
     inequality of the men in height and weight, and the
     only surprise is that the lesser man should have
     endured so much before he cried “enough.” The repeated
     visitations to his ribs from Caunt’s right, or
     “sledge-hammer,” were searching in the extreme, and led
     to the belief that three of his ribs had been broken,
     although subsequent examination proved that he was only
     labouring under the effects of severe contusions and
     inward bruises. In like manner the right-handed
     deliveries behind his left ear, on the ear itself, and
     on the left eye and jaw, as well as the left-handed
     jobs, were so far from _jocular_ that we were not
     surprised the _vis comica_ had ceased to be displayed
     on his “dial,” and when to these visitations are added
     his repeated falls, with the weight of Caunt
     occasionally superadded to his own, and this in such
     rapid succession, the only surprise is he should have
     held out so long. Caunt in his _modus operandi_ evinced
     a sad ignorance of the art. Like the yokels of old
     before the principles of mechanism were discovered, he
     has to learn the proper application of his strength, of
     which, did he possess the requisite knowledge, he might
     bid defiance not only to such a man as Brassey, but
     even to the caperings of an avalanche. He is not, like
     most men of his size, slow――on the contrary, he is too
     quick; and for the want of judicious deliberation, like
     a runaway steam-engine without a controlling engineer,
     he over-shoots his mark. This, if it be possible, he
     ought to correct, and while he husbands his strength,
     where he does apply it, he should measure not only his
     distance but the tactics of his opponent. Had he waited
     for his man, instead of leading off with a rush, he
     must have brought Brassey down every round, for nothing
     could resist the force of his heavy metal if properly
     applied. Strange as it may appear, on examining both
     men on Wednesday morning, the punishment on the part of
     Caunt was greater than that of Brassey, and viewing
     both frontispieces and saying, “Look on this picture,
     and on this,” our opinion would have been, “Caunt has
     received the greater and more effective punishment.”
     Added to this, his hands, and especially the right,
     were essentially _hors de combat_, while Brassey’s were
     uninjured. Upon the whole, therefore, although Caunt is
     the victor, and entitled to praise, Brassey, as the
     vanquished, deserves almost an equal degree of credit,
     if not of profit. That this is the feeling of others
     was demonstrated at Newmarket after the battle, for
     there was not only £30 collected for him by voluntary
     contributions, but a promise of still more liberal
     consideration was held out, and in the end fulfilled.

On the Monday following, at Peter Crawley’s, “Duke’s Head,”
Smithfield, the battle money was paid over to Caunt, in the presence
of an overflowing muster of the patrons of British boxing. Brassey was
present, and confessed himself fairly conquered. A subscription was
made to console him for his honourable defeat, and £40 presented to
him as a reward for his valiant conduct, some merriment being excited
by one of the donations being announced as from “the parson of
Cheveley.”

Caunt, in a short speech, stated that he once again claimed the
“Championship of England,” and was ready to make, then and there, a
match for £100 a side with any man, to fight within fifty miles of
London. Nick Ward, he added, had challenged him, and “he hoped he had
pluck enough to prove that his challenge was not mere bounce.”

Jem Ward lost no time in responding to Caunt’s remarks on his brother
Nick, as follows:――

     “MR. EDITOR,――The friends of Nick Ward have consulted, and
     consider (as his efforts in the Ring have been but few, and
     as you, whose judgment, from long experience, is entitled to
     great weight, have expressed an opinion that Nick Ward would
     never be a first-rate man) that Caunt, who lays claim to the
     Championship, should, as a set-off to his superiority of
     weight and position, give odds to make a match. Nick Ward,
     without bouncing, is willing to fight Caunt if he will
     deposit £150 to Ward’s £100.

                                                    “JAMES WARD.
     “Star Hotel, Williamson Square, Liverpool.
          “November 12th, 1840.”

The preliminaries were arranged without delay, and at Caunt’s benefit,
at the Bloomsbury Assembly Rooms, in the following week, a deposit was
made, and the next week articles drawn for the men to fight for £100 a
side, within two months, not more than sixty miles from London.

On February 2nd, 1841, in the seventh round and twelfth minute of the
fight, Caunt lost this battle by delivering a foul blow under
irritation of feeling at the shifty tactics of his opponent. (See Life
of NICK WARD, _post_.)

Of course the matter could not rest thus――that is, if, as many
surmised would not be the case, “brother Nick” could muster courage to
face once again his gigantic opponent.

In pursuance of appointment, Caunt and his friends met Nick Ward and
Co. at Young Dutch Sam’s, the “Black Lion,” Vinegar Yard, Brydges
Street, on Thursday, the 18th of February, 1841, to draw up articles,
which set forth that――

     “The said Benjamin Caunt agrees to fight the said Nick Ward
     a fair stand-up fight, in a four-and-twenty-foot roped ring,
     half-minute time, according to the New Rules, for one
     hundred pounds a side, half-way between London and
     Liverpool; the place to be decided by toss at the last
     deposit; neither place to exceed twenty miles from the
     direct line of road, unless mutually agreed upon to the
     contrary. The fight to take place on Tuesday, the 11th of
     May. In pursuance of this agreement twenty pounds a side are
     now deposited. A second deposit of ten pounds a side to be
     made on Thursday, the 25th inst., at Mr. Swain’s, the
     ‘Greyhound,’ Woodside, Hatfield. A third deposit of ten
     pounds a side at the ‘Black Lion,’ Vinegar Yard, on
     Thursday, the 4th of March. A fourth deposit of ten pounds a
     side at the ‘Bell,’ Hatfield, on Thursday, the 11th of
     March. A fifth deposit of ten pounds a side at the ‘Black
     Lion’ aforesaid, on Thursday, the 18th of March. A sixth
     deposit of ten pounds a side at the ‘Cherry Tree,’ Kingsland
     Road, on Thursday, the 25th of March. A seventh deposit of
     ten pounds a side at Jem Ward’s, Williamson Square,
     Liverpool, on Thursday, the 1st of April. An eighth deposit
     of ten pounds a side at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, on
     Thursday, the 8th of April; and the ninth and last deposit
     of ten pounds a side at Young Dutch Sam’s, the ‘Black Lion,’
     Vinegar Yard, on Thursday, the 22nd of April. The said
     deposits to be made between the hours of eight and ten
     o’clock, or the party failing to forfeit the money down. The
     men to be in the ring between twelve and one o’clock, or at
     an early hour if mutually agreed upon, or the money down to
     be forfeited by the party absent. Two umpires and a referee
     to be chosen on the ground; the decision of the latter, in
     the event of dispute, to be conclusive. In case of
     magisterial interference the stakeholder to name the next
     time and place of meeting, unless a referee shall have been
     chosen, to whom that duty shall be assigned. The fight to
     come off on the same day if possible; but the money not to
     be given up till fairly won or lost by a fight. The ropes
     and stakes to be paid for by the men, share and share alike.
     Neither man to use resin or other powder to his hands during
     the combat. The party winning the toss for choice of place
     to name the ground seven days before fighting to the backers
     of the party losing the toss.”

The parties, after signing, shook hands with great good humour, and
joined in drinking the general toast, “May the best man win!” Caunt
expressed much mortification at the assertion which he said had been
made that the cause of his loss of the late fight was attributable to
design rather than accident. He protested that he acted from the
ungovernable impulse of the moment, irritated by Ward’s going down at
the moment he was within his reach. He said, further, that he would
profit by his experience, and be specially careful to avoid a similar
“accident.” The backers of Ward offered to take six to four on the
issue; but odds were refused.

The deposits duly made, Young Dutch Sam, who acted on Nick Ward’s
behalf, won the toss for choice of ground, and named Stratford-on-Avon
for the place of meeting. The selection of Shakespeare’s birthplace
proved judicious, as the proceedings from first to last passed off
without interruption. We may perhaps note that one inducement of Ward
to the choice of Stratford-on-Avon might be that there, in July, 1831,
his brother Jem closed his brilliant career by defeating Simon Byrne
at Willycuts, three miles from the town.

Caunt reached Stratford on Monday afternoon, in company of Tom Spring,
and made the “Red Horse” his resting-place. Nick Ward, accompanied by
his brother, put up at the “White Lion.” Every inn in the place was
crammed to overflowing, and many who were unable to procure beds at
any price returned to Warwick or Leamington, and some even to
Coventry, necessitating a return journey the next morning. We must, in
justice to the many followers of the four-square Ring, state that the
utmost order and regularity prevailed in the town throughout the
evening, and that hilarity, joviality, and good temper prevailed among
the partisans of both men, a fact which we would commend to electors
and political factions.

All were astir early, and there was a strong muster of Corinthians of
the first water――indeed, the “upper crust” was unusually well
represented by numerous hunting men from the “shires,” who, by liberal
expenditure, gave the good, hospitable fellow-townsmen of the immortal
Will every reason to be grateful for the selection which had been
made; and they, on their part, showed their sense of the obligation
conferred by their civility and the moderation of their charges.

The scene of action was in a field at Long Marsden, on a farm
belonging to a Mr. Pratt; and thither the Commissary proceeded to make
his arrangements, and thither also the immense cavalcade of
equestrians and charioteers, as well as innumerable groups of
pedestrians, took their way in due time. On the last occasion the
unlucky “footpads” were thrown out entirely, but on this they had
undoubtedly the best of it, for they, by means of short cuts and
familiar paths, shortened their pleasant journey, while those who were
on four legs――or worse, on wheels――were compelled to scramble and jolt
over roads of the most villainous description, in which the most
imminent risks of spills or a break-down were only avoided by care and
good luck. In fact, many of those who endured the miseries of both
roads declared, that the sixteen miles between the Andover road and
Crookham Common, with all its horrors, was surpassed by the shorter
journey from Stratford to Long Marsden.

The spot was admirably selected, and the ropes and stakes pitched upon
a piece of sound, elastic turf that delighted the _cognoscenti_. The
immense multitude, as they arrived, arranged themselves in a most
orderly, methodical manner. The day was beautiful, the country around
green, fresh, and odoriferous with the blossoms of the may. Everything
was conducted in a style to ensure general satisfaction.

Caunt made his appearance first, with an oddly assorted pair of
seconds as ever handled a champion in the P.R. They were old Ben
Butler, his uncle, well known in after times in the parlour of the
“Coach and Horses;” a man well stricken in years, and a cross-grained
old curmudgeon to boot. With him appeared Atkinson, of Nottingham, a
9½ stone man, whose disparity of size with the man he was supposed to
pick up excited the risibility of old ring-goers. Benjamin himself,
however, seemed particularly well satisfied, and remarked laughingly,
in reply to a jocose observation of a bystander, “Never thee
mind――_I’m_ not goin’ to tummle down; he’s big enow for me!” Had the
fight which ensued been of the desperate character of Ben’s late
encounter with Brassey, the ill-assorted pair could about as much have
carried Colossus Caunt to his corner as they could have carried the
Achilles in Hyde Park. Nick had with him, as on the former occasion,
Harry Holt and Dick Curtis, certainly the two ablest counsellors on
the Midland, Northern, or any other Circuit. Tom Spring, who was in
friendly attendance upon Caunt, addressed an emphatic warning to the
big one to keep his temper, cautioning him not to play into the hands
of his opponent by allowing himself to be irritated by his shifty
dodges. Caunt listened with a grim, self-satisfied smile, and nodded
his head, as much as to say he was not going to be caught this time.
Each man, in reply to a question, declared he “never felt better in
his life,” and their looks justified the assertion. Caunt was a little
“finer drawn” than at their previous meeting, and weighed, when
stripped, exactly 14st. 6lb. He never went to scale so light
before――indeed, it was not an excessive weight for a big-boned man
measuring 6 feet 2½ inches. He had, however, a narrow escape in his
training, for, on the Sunday week previous, in his walking exercise,
he trod on a stone, and turned his foot aside with such suddenness as
to strain the muscles of his leg and ankle so severely that he was
unable to walk for several days, exciting the serious apprehensions of
his friends; with rest and constant surgical care, however, he
overcame the mischief, and was as well as ever. Ward looked to us a
trifle too fleshy. He weighed 13st. 6lb., 10lb. more than when he
fought in February.

Some time previously a subscription had been raised to produce a
“Champion’s Belt,” to be given to the victor on this occasion, and to
be hereafter transferable, should he retire from the Ring or be beaten
by a more successful candidate for fistic honours. This belt, under
the superintendence of a committee, was completed, and now for the
first time was held forth as an additional incitement to bravery and
good conduct. Previous to the commencement of the battle, Cicero Holt,
the well-known orator of the Ring, and second of Nick Ward, approached
the scratch, and silence being called, held up the belt, pronouncing
that in addition to the stakes this trophy had been prepared by a
number of liberal gentlemen, as a spur to the honest and manly feeling
which it was desirable should ever pervade the minds of men who sought
distinction in the Prize Ring. “Honour and fair play,” it was their
opinion, should be the motto of English boxers, and it would be their
proud gratification to see this belt girded round the loins of him,
whoever he might be, who entitled himself in spirit and principle to
the terms of that motto. They were influenced by neither favour nor
affection, nor by prejudice of any kind; all they desired was that the
best man might win, wear this trophy, and retain it so long as he was
enabled to maintain the high and distinguished title of Champion of
England. On resigning, or being stripped of the laurels of
Championship, it would then be his duty to transfer this proud badge
to his more fortunate successor, and thus a prize would be established
which it would ever be the pride of gallant Englishmen to possess, and
its brightness, he trusted, would never be tarnished by an act of
dishonour. It was to be finally presented, he said, when complete, at
a dinner to be given at Jem Burn’s, where the subscription originated,
on Monday, the 31st instant.

The belt was then exhibited to the gaze of the curious; it is composed
of purple velvet, and lined with leather; in the centre are a pair of
clasped hands surrounded by a wreath of the Rose, the Thistle, and the
Shamrock, entwined in embossed silver; on each side of this are three
shields of bright silver, at present without inscription, but on these
are to be engraven the names of all the Champions of England which the
records of the Fancy preserve, to conclude with the name of the
conqueror on the present occasion. The clasps in front are formed of
two hands encased in sparring-gloves. It is due to state that this
belt is altogether very beautifully executed, and highly creditable to
the motives and good feeling to which its origin is attributable. Its
inspection afforded general pleasure, and the oration of “Cicero” was
received with loud cheers. Caunt, on taking it in his hand,
significantly said to Nick Ward, “This is mine, Nick,” to which Ward
replied, “I hope the best man may win it and wear it.”

These preliminaries, so novel in the P.R., having been concluded, the
colours of the men were entwined on the stake, and umpires and a
referee having been chosen, no time was lost in preparing for action.

The betting at first was 5 to 4 on Ward, though we never could
understand the quotation, and did not see any money posted at the
odds. At twenty minutes to one all was ready, and the champions toed
the scratch for


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――The men faced each other with an expression
     of good humour on their countenances that could hardly
     be expected by those who knew how they had expressed
     themselves at former meetings. Caunt’s rough lineaments
     bore a grin of satisfaction, that seemed to say he had
     his wishes gratified. Ward, though he also smiled, it
     was a vanishing smile, and he looked eagerly and
     anxiously at his antagonist. Ward’s attitude was
     scientific and well guarded, his left ready for a
     lightning-shot, as he poised himself on his left toe,
     with his right somewhat across, to parry the possible
     counterhit. Caunt stood erect, as if to make the most
     of his towering height, but a trifle backward. Ward
     moved about a little, as if measuring his distance, and
     then let go his left. It was not a determined hit, and
     did not get home. Caunt dashed out his left in return,
     but Nick stopped it prettily. However, as he meant it
     for a counter, his friends were pleased at his
     quickness, and cheered the attempt, especially as he
     almost instantly followed it with a lunge from the
     right, which just reached Ward’s neck. The big one now
     bored in for a close, meaning mischief. Ward bobbed his
     head aside, delivered a slight job, and was down on his
     knees. It was clear that Nick meant to fight in the
     evasive style of their former encounter, but it was
     also clear from Caunt’s coolness that he was likely to
     have more trouble over this day’s business, and we
     heard no more about odds upon Ward.

     2.――The men faced each other as before, no harm as yet
     having been done on either side. Caunt now began
     manœuvring in rather an ungainly manner; but as some of
     his movements suggested a plunge in, Nick was resolved
     to be first, and let go his left on Caunt’s mouth, who
     heeded not the blow, but dashed out left and right. The
     blows were wild, but his right reached Ward’s cheek;
     and Caunt was pulling himself together for heavy
     punching, when once more Ward slipped his foot, and was
     on both knees. Caunt threw up both hands, and gave a
     sort of guttural “Hur, hur!” as he looked at the
     cunning face of his opponent, then walked to his own
     corner. The big one’s friends were delighted at this
     proof of caution, and cheered lustily.

     3.――Ward came up with a keen and anxious look at his
     opponent. Ben nodded, and flourished his long arms like
     the sails of a windmill. He seemed ready to let Ward
     lead off and then take his chance of going in for the
     return. Ward drew back at arm’s length, and Caunt hit
     short more than once, but Nick did not get near enough
     for an effective return. Caunt, with a grim smile,
     almost rolled in, sending out left and right as he
     came. His right just reached Ward’s head, who hit up
     sharply and then slipped down, as though from his own
     blow. It was a very questionable get-down, but there
     was no appeal.

     4.――Nick seemed to feel that he was by no means taking
     the lead, and he was told that unless he hit, and kept
     Caunt employed in defending himself, he would bore in
     on him continually. The advice was doubtless sound, but
     it wanted more pluck than Nick possessed to put it in
     practice. Nick hit out with his left, but not near
     enough, and Caunt stopped him, amid some cheering;
     Caunt paused, as if expecting Ward to come closer, but
     he did not, so he let fly, and in a sort of ding-dong
     rally gave Ward a tidy smack on the nose; Nick jobbed
     him heavily three or four times, then dropped so close
     to Caunt that they both rolled over, the big one
     falling heavily on Nick. On rising blood was seen
     oozing from Ward’s nose, and the first event was
     awarded to Caunt, amidst the cheers of his friends, and
     to the astonishment of Ward’s backers.

     5.――The faces of both men were flushed from the blows
     received, and Caunt, who was anxious to be at work,
     went in at once, left and right, again catching Ward
     upon the nose, and increasing the appearance of claret.
     Ward made no return, he was too anxious to get away,
     and on Caunt grappling him, he got quickly down, Caunt
     stumbling forward and falling over him.

     6.――The rounds were too short and hurried to admit of
     much in the way of description. Caunt, still eager to
     be at work, tried his left, but was stopped.
     Counter-hits with the left followed, but though Nick
     was a fine counter-hitter, he never exhibited any great
     relish for that mode of fighting――the most telling in
     its effects and most exciting to witness of all
     practised in the P. R. Caunt lashed out with his left,
     and on Nick’s cleverly avoiding the smash, rushed to
     in-fighting. Nick, however, pursued his plan of getting
     down, but Caunt came heavily upon him. Although up to
     the present time Caunt had not done much execution, yet
     he was certainly getting the best of the fight, and he
     maintained his improvement in his style of hitting,
     substituting straight hits from the shoulder for the
     overhanded chops which had formerly marked his
     attempts.

     7.――Ward tried to regain the lead――if he had ever had
     it――and let fly with his left, but he had not
     sufficient courage to go close to his man, and once
     again the blow fell short. He stopped Caunt’s attempt
     at a return with his left, which came pretty heavy and
     quickly, and on the latter’s rushing in for close work
     Nick dropped on his knees. There was no blow struck in
     this round, and Caunt, who was about to deliver, wisely
     restrained his hand, and with his deep, short laugh,
     shook his finger menacingly at Ward as he knelt, and
     walked away.

     8.――Up to this period no material damage had been done
     on either side, few of the hits having more than a
     skin-deep effect. Ward still preserved his elegant
     attitude, and tried his left, but did not get home, and
     Caunt hit short at the body with his right. Nick now
     steadied himself for mischief, and, after a short
     pause, threw his left with the quickness of lightning,
     and caught Caunt over the right eyebrow, on which it
     left a gaping wound, from which a copious crimson
     stream flowed over the undamaged optic and down his
     cheek. Caunt hit out wildly, left and right; Ward, in
     retreating, fell on his knees, and Caunt tumbled over
     him.

     9.――Atkinson was seen to be busily engaged in stopping
     the flow of claret from Caunt’s eyebrow when “Time!”
     was called. At the sound Caunt jumped up vigorously,
     and continued the contest with a figurehead anything
     but improved by the crimson stain which marked its
     right side. Nick smiled at his handiwork, waited for
     his man, and as Caunt came plunging in, met him with a
     heavy hit from the left on the cheek, opening an
     ancient wound originally inflicted by Brassey, and
     starting a fresh tap of claret. Caunt was stung by the
     hits, and dashed in left and right; but Ward adhered to
     his dropping tactics, and again fell on his knees,
     amidst strong expressions of disapprobation.

     10.――Ward again tried his left, but was unsuccessful;
     Caunt came in, and after a couple of slight exchanges,
     left and right, Nick got down.

     11.――Caunt came up nothing daunted, stopped an attempt
     with Ward’s left, and made a terrific rush, which if as
     clumsy as the elephant’s was almost as irresistible.
     Nick retreated, stopping left and right, till he fell
     under the ropes, amidst cries of dissatisfaction, Caunt
     dropping on him.

     12.――Ward stopped Caunt’s left and right, and almost
     immediately dropped on his knees, and while in that
     position instantly hit up left and right, delivering
     both blows heavily; that from his right, on Caunt’s
     ear, from whence blood was drawn, was evidently a
     stinger. Spring, who witnessed this, exclaimed against
     so cowardly a practice, and observed that the blows of
     Ward were obviously foul, inasmuch as Ward had no more
     right to hit when down on his knees than Caunt had a
     right to strike him in that position. The umpires,
     however, did not interfere, and the referee cautioned
     Ward to be more circumspect in his conduct.

     13.――Caunt, lively as a young buffalo, rushed to the
     scratch the moment time was called, and immediately
     made play. Nick, as usual, retreated, when Caunt
     endeavoured to close, but Nick in his cowardly way
     dropped on both knees. Caunt’s right hand was up, and
     he was unable to restrain the falling blow, but it fell
     lightly, and although “down” no claim was made. (Spring
     and Atkinson both cautioned Caunt to be more careful,
     for, however unintentional, if he struck his opponent
     when down the consequences might be serious.)

     14.――Caunt led off, and caught Nick on the side of his
     head with his left, and repeated the dose on the
     opposite side with his right. Nick popped in a touch
     with his left on Caunt’s nasal promontory――Caunt missed
     a terrific hit with his right, and Nick went on his
     knees to avoid punishment.

     15.――Caunt, who was now evidently provoked by the
     cowardly game of Ward in getting down in every round,
     the moment he came to the scratch rushed to him, and
     endeavoured to get him within his grasp in such a way
     as to be enabled to fall with him. Unluckily, however,
     instead of catching him round the body he caught him
     round the neck, and, in this manner, lifting him off
     the ground, for a short time held him suspended. He
     then let him go, but did not succeed in giving him the
     _scrunch_ he contemplated. Instead of this, he hit the
     back of his own head against the stakes, and incurred
     an ugly concussion.

     16.――Caunt came up full of life and frolic, and was
     first at the scratch. Nick made play with his left, but
     Caunt stopped and got away. Caunt hit short with his
     right, and after a short pause right-hand hits were
     exchanged――Nick at the head, Caunt at the body. Caunt
     immediately closed, and caught Nick’s pimple under his
     arm, but Nick slipped down, and looked up as if
     expecting to be hit.

     17.――Trifling exchanges, when Nick again provokingly
     slipped on his knees.

     18.――Caunt led off, planted his left slightly, and Nick
     down on his knees. Caunt looked at him derisively and
     laughed, exclaiming, “It won’t do to-day, Nick.”

     19.――Caunt still fresh as a four-year-old, and first to
     the scratch, Nick evidently fearful of approaching too
     near. Caunt made a feint, with his left, and then
     delivered a tremendous round right-handed blow on the
     base of Ward’s ribs; the blow was too high, or it might
     have told fearfully. Nick let go his left, and Caunt
     jumped back, but again coming to the charge Ward
     retreated. Caunt following him up again seized him with
     a Herculean grip round the neck, lifted him clean off
     the ground, and then fell squash upon him.

     20.――Some tolerably good exchanges, in which Nick hit
     straightest, but immediately went down――Caunt pointing
     at him with contempt.

     21.――Nick tried his left and right, but missed, his
     timidity evidently preventing his getting sufficiently
     near to his man. Caunt again seized him, lifted him up,
     and fell upon him, but lightly.

     22.――Caunt hit short at the body with his right, and
     tried his left, which was stopped. Counter-hits with
     the right, ditto with the left, when Nick went down.

     23.――Ward planted his left heavily on Caunt’s mug, and
     opened his previous wounds; this he followed with a
     touch from his right on the ear. Caunt rushed wildly to
     the charge, but Nick, as usual, tumbled, this time
     rolling over away from Caunt.

     24.――Caunt rushed forward, and delivered his left and
     right on Ward’s nob, the first on his nose, the second
     on the side of his head; Ward’s nose again trickled
     with the purple fluid. Nick went down on his knees,
     amidst shouts of disapprobation.

     25.――Caunt delivered his left on the head and right on
     the body, with stinging effect, and Nick went down.

     26.――Nick again had it on his nose from the left, and
     dropped on his knees. Caunt, who had his right up with
     intent to deliver, withheld the blow, and walked away.

     27.――Nick slow in approaching the scratch, and Caunt
     impatient to be at him. Holt cautioned Caunt not to
     cross the scratch till his man reached it. Caunt let
     fly with his right, and again caught Nick heavily on
     the body, following this up with a smart touch from his
     left on the mazzard. Nick again went down on one knee,
     and, while in that position, struck Caunt with his
     left. Caunt stooped, nodded, and laughed at him, as he
     looked up in his face. Nick also nodded and laughed.
     “We’ll have a fair fight to-day, Nick,” said Caunt.

     28.――Good counter-hits with the left, when Caunt once
     more grasped Ward, and held him up; but Ward slipped
     from his arms, and got down.

     29.――Ward slow, when Caunt planted two right-handed
     hits on Ward’s jaw and neck. Ward slipped down on one
     knee, but Caunt refrained from striking him, although
     entitled to do so by the rules of the Ring.

     30.――Caunt lost no time in rushing to his man, and
     planted his right heavily on the side of his head. Ward
     hit widely left and right, and went down on his face.

     31.――Ward evidently began to lose all confidence, and
     fought extremely shy. Caunt rushed in, caught his head
     under his arm, and although he might have hit him with
     great severity, he restrained himself, and let him
     fall.

     32.――Ward came up evidently counter to his own
     inclinations, being urged forward by his seconds. Caunt
     caught him left and right, and he fell to avoid further
     punishment.

     33.――Caunt gave a lungeing slap with his right on
     Ward’s pimple, when Ward dropped on both knees, and
     popped his head between Caunt’s knees. He seemed
     disposed to poke in anywhere out of danger’s way, and
     any odds were offered on Caunt.

     34.――Caunt rushed in to mill, but Ward had obviously
     made up his mind to be satisfied, and down he went
     without a blow.

     35, and last.――Ward was “kidded” up once more by his
     second and bottle-holder; but it was clear that all the
     King’s horses and all the King’s men could not draw him
     to the scratch with anything like a determination to
     protract the combat. Caunt let fly right and left at
     his mug, and down he went for the last time. His
     brother ran to him, but it was all up; and as the only
     excuse for such a termination to the battle, Nick
     pretended that his ribs were broken from the heavy
     right-handed hits of Caunt, and that he was incapable
     of continuing the contest. Caunt was thus proclaimed
     the conqueror, and “THE CHAMPION OF ENGLAND,” amidst a
     general cheer, and expressions of contempt towards
     Ward――so strongly emphasised that the usual collection
     for the losing man was omitted by Holt, who shook a hat
     with a few halfpence he had himself dropped into it,
     and then put them in his pocket with a laugh.

     We examined the supposed fracture in his ribs, but
     could discover nothing beyond severe contusions. It
     will be recollected that Brassey closed his labours
     with Caunt upon similar grounds, though perhaps with
     better reason. Nick was immediately conveyed to his
     omnibus, where he became prostrate in mind and body,
     exciting but little sympathy in the breasts of the
     general body of spectators. The fight lasted
     forty-seven minutes. The ceremony of girding Caunt with
     the Champion’s Belt then took place, and it was put
     round his loins, with a hearty wish from those who
     witnessed his unflinching courage from first to last,
     as well as his manly forbearance amidst cowardly
     provocation, that he might long retain it. He
     afterwards went to Ward’s carriage, and offered him all
     the consolations of which he was susceptible, hoping
     that they might hereafter be the best friends, a
     feeling which Jem Ward, who evidently blushed for the
     pusillanimity of his brother, good-naturedly
     reciprocated. Caunt, he said, had proved himself the
     better man, and should always be an acceptable guest at
     his house. We ought to have mentioned that Caunt, on
     quitting the ring, disdained to do so in the usual way,
     but leaped clear over the ropes, a height of four feet
     six, and on his way home ran a pretty fast race against
     a “Corinthian” across a piece of ploughed land for a
     bottle of wine, which he cleverly won.

     REMARKS.――The report of this fight tells its own tale.
     Nick Ward’s conduct completely confirmed the suspicions
     of his chicken-hearted pretensions. He wanted that one
     requisite of all others indispensable to a
     pugilist――courage; and although his science was
     unquestionable, it can only be displayed to advantage
     in the sparring school. As he said himself after his
     fight with Sambo Sutton, he “was not cut out for a
     fighting man;” and the best advice we can give him is
     to retire altogether from the Ring. Caunt, who from the
     first booked victory as certain, sustained his
     character for bravery, and left off as fresh as when he
     commenced, although somewhat damaged in the
     frontispiece. His right eyebrow and cheek were much
     swollen, and the back of his head displayed a prominent
     bump of combativeness from the fall against the stakes.
     His hands were little damaged, but the knuckle of his
     right hand showed that it had come in ugly contact with
     Nick’s “pimple” or ribs. He was much improved in his
     style of fighting since his former exhibitions in the
     Ring; instead of hitting over the guard, as was his
     former practice, he hit straight from the shoulder, and
     having learned to lead off with his left, was enabled
     the more effectively to bring the heavy weight of his
     right into useful play. He still, however, hit round
     with his right, and the most severe blows which Ward
     received during the contest were those which were
     planted on the ribs and side of the head with this
     hand. These blows, with the heavy falls, to which was
     superadded the weight of his antagonist, no doubt
     tended to extinguish the little courage he might have
     possessed. Caunt was carefully seconded by his aged
     uncle and Atkinson, and although, had it been necessary
     to carry him to his corner, they might not have been
     able to afford him the requisite assistance, as that
     necessity did not arise no fault was to be found.
     Throughout the battle excellent order was maintained,
     and there were none of those irregularities observable
     on the former occasion. Jem Ward and his friends
     conducted themselves with great propriety, and
     submitted to defeat as well as to the loss of their
     money with as good a grace as could well have been
     expected. To the amateurs and patrons of British boxing
     the conduct of Nick Ward was most displeasing, and they
     one and all declared that they had never seen a man
     whose pretensions to the Championship had been more
     disgracefully exposed. Caunt came to town the same
     night, accompanied by Tom Spring, and on reaching the
     “Castle” was received with universal congratulations.

Caunt now resolved, after the fashion of our great public performers,
to make a trans-Atlantic trip, to show the New World a specimen of an
Old World champion, and to add another “big thing” to the country of
“big things;” though in this America sustained her eminence by sending
us a bigger champion than our “Big Ben” himself, in the form of
Charles Freeman, of whom more anon.

Ben’s departure was thus announced on the 10th of September,
1841――“Ben Caunt, Champion of England, sailed from Liverpool for New
York on Thursday, taking with him the Champion’s Belt, for which, he
says, any Yankee may become a candidate.”

In the _New York Spirit of the Times_ of November 13th we find this
paragraph:――

     “Caunt, the ‘Champion of England,’ arrived on Monday week
     last in the packet ship ‘Europe,’ bringing with him the
     Champion’s Belt. He has appeared several times at the Bowery
     Theatre, in ‘Life in London,’ being introduced in the scene
     opening with Tom Cribb’s sparring-room. He is an immensely
     powerful man, two or three inches above six feet in height,
     and well proportioned. Caunt’s reputation at home is that of
     a liberal, manly fellow; prodigious strength and thorough
     game have won him more battles than his science, though he
     is no chicken. The following challenge has appeared in some
     of the daily papers: ‘Challenge――To Caunt, the Champion of
     England,――Sir, I will fight you for 500 dollars, three
     months from this date, the forfeit money to be put up at any
     time and place you may name. You can find me at 546, Grand
     Street.――Yours, JAMES JEROLOMON.”

This challenge, of course, was mere “buncombe.” After a profitable and
pleasant tour, in which, as he declared on his return, he met nothing
but hospitality and civility from our American cousins, Ben returned
to England early in 1842, accompanied by a magnificent specimen of
humanity named Charles Freeman, dubbed, for circus and theatre
purposes, “Champion of the World;” and truly, if bulk and height were
the prime requisites of a boxer, Charles Freeman was unapproachable in
these respects.

The first mention of Freeman is in a letter from Caunt, dated from New
York, December 20th, 1841, in which we suspect the hand of some Yankee
Barnum, rather than the fist of burly Ben, may be detected. Caunt
says, “I declared my intention of not fighting in America, but if
anything can tempt me to change my intention, it will be the following
circumstance:――

     “When at Philadelphia I intended taking a Southern tour, but
     an unexpected circumstance brought me back to New York.
     There appeared a challenge in the papers of New York from
     the Michigan Giant to me; my friends at New York went to try
     to make a match with him; they offered to back me for ten
     thousand dollars a side, and sent for me to return as soon
     as possible. There is no match made yet, but it is likely
     there will be soon. I am quite prepared to fight him――he is
     the only man who could draw me from my first determination.
     This Giant is seven feet three inches high, proportionally
     stout, and very active; he can turn twenty-five somersets in
     succession, can hold a large man out at arm’s length, he
     weighs 333lb., and has nothing but muscle on his bones. I
     have all reasons to believe a match will be made. I expect
     to be in England in a short time if the above match is not
     made, when I shall be ready to accommodate Bendigo. You will
     oblige me by inserting some or the whole of the above in
     your valuable columns.

               I remain, Yours, &c.,           “BENJAMIN CAUNT.”
     “New York, December 20th, 1841.”

That there were showmen before Artemus Ward, as ingenious, if not so
“genial” or witty, the reader must allow. The bathos of being ready
for little Bendigo, after disposing of a monster “seven feet three
inches high, and proportionally stout,” and “weighing 23st. 11lb.,” is
overwhelming. The “gag” is sufficiently indicated by another paragraph
from a New York paper, in which the “Michigan Giant” becomes the “New
York Baby,” without any mention of fistic collision between the
so-called “Champions.”

     “The amateurs of the Ring have been on the ‘ki wivy’
     (according to a notorious ex-justice of police) since the
     arrival of the English Champion, Caunt. He has just
     concluded a successful engagement at one of the Philadelphia
     theatres, after having appeared several nights here at the
     Bowery, in ‘Life in London.’ Caunt has put on the gloves for
     a friendly set-to with most of our amateurs at Hudson’s
     ‘Sparring Rooms and Pistol Gallery,’ corner of Broadway and
     Chambers Street; he hits hard, and is as active as a bottle
     imp. But ‘a baby’ has at length been found who promises to
     show both fun and fight, in the shape of a young New Yorker,
     standing seven feet in his stockings, and whose weight is
     three hundred and fifteen pounds. His name is Charles
     Freeman, and he is about the tallest specimen of our city
     boys that ever came under the notice of the ‘Tall Son of
     York.’ He has immense muscular developments, and is well put
     together, with arms and legs strong enough for the
     working-beam or piston-rod of a Mississippi steamboat.
     Freeman has lately returned from a visit through the British
     Provinces, where he was sufficiently successful to lay claim
     to Cæsar’s motto, ‘_Veni, vidi, vici_.’ At Halifax,
     recently, some one sent him a challenge, which was accepted,
     but upon seeing the ‘New York Baby,’ waived the honour of
     meeting him, except with the muffles on. It is, we believe,
     arranged that our specimen youth shall accompany the English
     Champion back to the Old World, where, we’ll lay a pile,
     they’ll be gravelled to match him.”

These pilot balloons were soon followed by the return of the doughty
Ben with his Giant _protégé_, in the month of March, 1842. The
“sparring tours” were carried out by Ben and his Giant partner,
including appearances at provincial theatres, &c., with an
undercurrent of pugilistic challenges and “correspondence” kept up in
the sporting papers, in which the Tipton Slasher challenged the
American Giant, and Bendigo now and then offered terms to Ben himself.
These do not belong to a history of pugilism, and we pass them by,
with a mere reference to our notice of Freeman’s fiasco with the
clumsy Tipton Slasher in another place. (See Life of WILLIAM PERRY,
Chapter IV.)

We may here interject a paragraph to say that the cup which Ben was
wont to exhibit to visitors to St. Martin’s Lane, as the “Champion of
England’s Cup,” was a handsome piece of plate, subscribed for by a
number of Ben’s admirers and friends in Newcastle, Gateshead,
Nottingham, &c., and presented to him at a “spread” at Izzy Lazarus’s,
“Cross Keys,” Gateshead, on the date given in the inscription, which
was as follows: “Presented to Benjamin Caunt, Champion of England, by
his Newcastle friends, as a token of respect for his abilities as a
pugilist and his conduct as a man, July 6th, 1842.”

That Ben kept himself before the public, may be gathered from the
following comprehensive challenge, which we select from several of the
same character, and which served for gossip for the gobemouches in
1843 and 1844:――


     “A WORD FROM THE CHAMPION.

     “To the Editor of _Bell’s Life in London_.

     “SIR,――Seeing a challenge from Bendigo this week, I shall be
     happy to meet him on his own terms, £200 a ride (in which I
     heartily hope he will not disappoint me). I will meet him at
     my own house, on Tuesday evening next, to stake not less
     than £20 as a first deposit. Should this challenge not be
     accepted, I will fight Bendigo, Tass Parker, and the Tipton
     Slasher, once each within six months, for £200 a side, and
     shall be prepared to deposit £60――viz., £20 each match――as
     the first deposit, any time at my house, or at Tom Spring’s,
     the Castle Tavern, Holborn. Should this not be ‘a go’ within
     four months, I shall beg most respectfully to decline the
     Ring altogether.

                                                       “B. CAUNT.
     “January 21st, 1844.”

By many it was thought that the severe accident which had occurred to
Bendigo, and occasioned a forfeit by him of £75 to Tass Parker, had
placed another contest between him and the ponderous Ben out of the
question. This did not, however, prove to be the case. At a sporting
dinner at Owen Swift’s, at which, besides a full muster of
Corinthians, Tom Spring, Peter Crawley, Jem Burn, Frank Redmond, Tom
Oliver, Dan Dismore, Bill Jones, and many of the “professionals” were
present, the matter of the Championship was formally discussed.

Therein, with the consent of Caunt, Bendigo was matched to fight him
for £200, Caunt’s subscription belt, and the Championship, and the
Tipton Slasher staked £10 as a first deposit to fight the winner. How
the first of these events did come off (unsatisfactorily), and how the
second did _not_ come off at all, are fully recorded in the lives of
BENDIGO and of WILLIAM PERRY. Suffice it here to say that Caunt lost
his third battle with Bendigo by falling without a blow. (See Chapter
I., page 28, _ante_.)

A fearful catastrophe, by which the Champion suffered a heavy domestic
bereavement, occurred during Caunt’s temporary absence from London on
a visit to some country friends in Hertfordshire.

By a fire which suddenly broke out at the “Coach and Horses,” St.
Martin’s Lane, of which Caunt was at this time the landlord, two of
Caunt’s children, and the servant by whom they were attended, were
burnt to death. The facts of the case will best be gathered from a
condensed report of the evidence at the coroner’s inquest, held at the
Board Room of St. Martin’s parish, on the Thursday following the
melancholy event.

The jury having viewed the bodies of the unfortunate victims, the
first witness called was Mrs. Anne Tomlins, who identified the bodies
as those of Ruth Lowe, aged 18 years, Martha Caunt, aged 9 years, and
Cornelius Butler Caunt, aged 6 years, the two latter being the
children of Benjamin and Martha Caunt, and the former a cousin of Mrs.
Caunt.

Susanna Thorpe was next examined: She said she came to town on Sunday
last, on a visit to Mrs. Caunt, who was her cousin. Mrs. Caunt and
herself were in the bar when the clock struck two on Wednesday
morning, shortly after which they both went upstairs to bed. Ruth Lowe
and the children had gone to bed some hours previously. Mr. Caunt
being away in the country, Mrs. Caunt asked witness to sleep with her.
Witness consented to do so, and had already got into bed herself, when
she heard Edward Noakes, the cellarman, who slept upstairs, give an
alarm. Mrs. Caunt had not got into bed when this happened, and she
immediately opened the door, and found that the furniture in the
middle room, on the second floor, was on fire. Witness got out of bed,
and went downstairs with Mrs. Caunt to call for assistance. Witness
saw fire and smoke in the middle room as she crossed the landing to go
downstairs.

Coroner: Does it occur to you how the fire originated there? No, sir.
I was in that room just before I went to bed. I went to fetch my
nightdress, which I had left on a chair near the window, having slept
in this room on the three previous nights. I had a common candlestick
in my hand when I went into the room. There were two beds in the
apartment. I passed them both, but not closely, and I have no
recollection of any circumstance which might account for the origin of
the fire.

Corroborative evidence was given by Edward Noakes, the cellarman and
waiter, by Sarah Martin, the barmaid, and by Dominic Carr, sergeant of
police.

John Short, conductor of the fire escape stationed by St. Martin’s
Church, proved having attended with his machine immediately after the
alarm was given. He first directed the machine to the second floor
window, through which he entered. He found no person in this room, and
as the fire prevented his getting further, he came down, and having
thrown up the top ladder, reascended to the parapet. He tried to make
an entrance through the parapet window, but the flames and smoke at
this time shot through with such violence that all his efforts were
unavailing, and he again descended. He heard no cries coming from the
attic window while he was there.

The coroner briefly charged the jury. It was a most deplorable case,
but he apprehended, after the testimony they had had from the various
witnesses, the jury would have little difficulty in arriving at a
conclusion.

The jury, after consulting for a few moments, found “that the deceased
parties were suffocated in a fire, the origin of which they had no
evidence before them to determine.”

Caunt did not return from the country till the following morning. His
feelings may be more easily conceived than described. Both himself and
his wife were so deeply affected as to excite the commiseration of all
classes.

The last appearance of our ponderous hero in the P.R. was one that
adds no leaf of laurel to his pugilistic biography. Some absurd family
quarrels (Nat Langham had married a relative of Mrs. Caunt), together
with some petty trade jealousy, (Nat being the popular landlord of the
“Cambrian Stores,” Castle Street, Leicester Square, hard by Big Ben’s
“Coach and Horses”), gave rise to all sorts of unpleasant
personalities on more than one occasion. Nat, though a civil and,
except professionally, non-combative sort of fellow, having over and
over again expressed his opinion that Caunt had no pretensions to
pugilistic honours beyond the possession of unwieldy bulk and clumsy
strength, and further, that “he couldn’t hit him (Nat) in a month of
Sundays,” the feud, aggravated by crabbed old Ben Butler and Mrs.
Caunt, assumed the bitterness of a family feud, and finally Ben
proposed and “Ould Nat” accepted a challenge to settle this
“difference of opinion” in the manner and form prescribed by the fair
rules and regulations of British boxing. The articles were formulated
on the 16th of May, 1857, by which, and a deposit of £10 a side, the
parties agreed to stake £200 a side in instalments, the battle to come
off on the 23rd of the ensuing September. It is regrettable to find
that the “feud of kindred” received yet another proof of its exceeding
intensity over all ordinary quarrels among strangers. At the second
deposit Nat (he was going out of town) actually left his £10 with the
final stakeholder a week before it was due, whereon Caunt and Co.
appealed to the “letter of the articles,” which declared that the
“said deposits should be made at the times and places hereinafter
mentioned,” and claimed forfeit of the money down; although the “final
stakeholder, to whom all deposits should be paid over in time for
insertion in _Bell’s Life in London_” had actually given notice to
“uncle Butler,” (Caunt being away at Brighton,) of the previous
deposit of the money in his hands. This quibbling plea was, however,
repudiated by Caunt himself, as will be seen below, and the match went
on:――

     “MR. EDITOR,――I respectfully ask that you will admit into
     your columns this declaration on my part: That my match with
     Langham is the result of a dispute that can only be settled,
     so far as I am concerned, by an appeal to the fists. That
     the articles will be strictly abided by on my part, and that
     so far from throwing any impediment in the way of the match
     it is my anxious desire to bring it to an issue in the Ring.
     Thus far, I beg my friends will take my assurance of
     ‘honourable intentions.’ Were they but aware of the personal
     nature of the affair, such assurance would not be needed;
     but, as many must necessarily be unacquainted with its cause
     of origin, it is due to my own character to take the course
     I have now done in writing to you an emphatic statement of
     my intentions, which I solemnly assert are unalterable,
     until that result comes to pass which shall prove either me
     or my antagonist the better man.

                                    “Yours, &c., BENJAMIN CAUNT.
     “‘Coach and Horses,’ St. Martin’s Lane, London,
     May 27th, 1857.”

To which the editor adds:――

     “Ben has also paid us a personal visit, and repeated the
     statements contained in his letter, and in addition has
     given up all claim to the forfeit, which, from the first, we
     believe was not his own doing.”

The atmosphere thus cleared, all went on serenely, the _bona fides_ of
the match, which had been sorely doubted and even ridiculed in
sporting circles, being now placed beyond dispute. If “there is only
one step from the sublime to the ridiculous,” however many gradations
there may be before arriving at the last step but one, we think the
reader will agree that it was taken by Caunt in the affair we will now
briefly relate. In the month of June Tom Sayers (see Life of SAYERS,
_post_) beat the “Old Tipton Slasher” (Wm. Perry) in a battle for the
Championship and the “Belt,” from all claim to which Caunt had years
before publicly retired. Among the challengers of Sayers’s remarkable
position as a 10-stone Champion we find――_risum teneatis,
amici?_――Caunt, although then engaged in articles with an 11-stone
man. Ben shall here speak for himself:――

    “_To the Editor of_ ‘BELL’S LIFE IN LONDON.’

     “SIR,――Unaccustomed as I am to public challenging, long laid
     upon the shelf as I have been, it may perchance startle the
     sporting world to learn that Ben Caunt is once more a
     candidate for the Championship. Win or lose with Langham, I
     challenge Tom Sayers for £200 a side and the Championship,
     the contest to take place within six months of my
     forthcoming fight. My money is ready at your office, and I
     trust that this offer will be accepted, in order that the
     world may be as speedily as possible undeceived with regard
     to the merits of the much-vaunted new school of British
     boxing.

                              “Yours obediently, BENJAMIN CAUNT.
     “June 18th, 1857.”
     “NOTE.――Caunt has left £10 in our hands to prove he is in
     earnest.”

This Waterloo Day flourish of trumpets was followed the next week by
the fearless little Tom covering Big Ben’s “tenner,” announcing that,
if his match with Caunt did not go on, he was prepared to meet his
other challenger, Tom Paddock. The “lame and impotent conclusion” of
Caunt’s challenge is soon told. Ben proposed that Sayers should come
to his house (of course as a “draw”) to draw up articles, &c. Tom
didn’t see it; and as he was engaged in the provinces making hay while
the sun shone, he offered to sign articles, if transmitted to him, and
duly post the needful with the editor of _Bell’s Life_. This, on the
other hand, didn’t suit Ben’s fireside, and so the incongruous affair
ended in smoke. Meantime Paddock had a severe accident, which put his
right hand _hors de combat_, and a disabling illness followed. Ben now
announced his departure for “sea breezes and strict training,” and Nat
did the same, which brings us to the 22nd day of September, 1857.

As we have already remarked, the match from its first inception was
considered so extraordinary, not only from the great disparity in the
size of the men, but from the supposed irreparable state of Nat’s
constitution (he having, as was known to many, sought the advice of
the principal physician of the Brompton Hospital for Consumption),
that the public generally looked upon it with distrust and suspicion,
and up to the very last deposit sporting men refused to believe that
it would ever come to a fight. Indeed, so strong was this impression
on the minds of many, and not a few of them influential patrons of the
P. R., that they pooh-poohed the whole affair, absented themselves
from the houses where deposits were made good, and also from the fight
itself. Great therefore was their disappointment, and no less their
disgust, when they learnt that not only had the men met, but that they
had actually fought a battle which was certainly as well worth seeing
as almost any modern battle between big men.

Those with whom we conversed appeared to hold but two opinions on the
subject. Either one or the other of the men would be apprehended and
held to bail, or there would be police interference on the day. At one
time, indeed, so infectious is suspicion, we began to participate in
the general distrust, and awaited expectantly the bursting of the
bubble, by the news of a domiciliary visit from Sir Richard Mayne, or
some of his satellites, to one or other of the rival houses; both
Caunt and Langham announcing flying visits to their respective
hostelries on more than one occasion. Up to the eleventh hour this or
some other obstacle was confidently predicted. On the Monday, however,
it was known that arrangements had been agreed on by Dan Dismore on
the part of Nat Langham, and Jemmy Shaw and Ben Butler on the part of
Ben Caunt, to hire two steamboats between them, one for first and the
other for second-class passengers. It was also arranged that the boats
should rendezvous at Tilbury, and that the men and their friends
should proceed to the same place by the 7.50 a.m. train on the
eventful morning. In the course of Monday, however, it seems that
apprehensions arose in the minds of Nat’s friends that it would be
unsafe to start from Tilbury, and they telegraphed to the owner of the
boats to change the venue and muster at Southend. They did not seem to
think it necessary to communicate with Caunt or his uncle, concluding
of course that they would be at the London terminus at the time
arranged, and that then everything could be settled. At the time
appointed Ben Butler and Young Ben (Caunt’s son) were at Fenchurch
Street, but Caunt did not show, and we thought of course he had
adopted some other means of conveyance. At Tilbury, however, Uncle Ben
and Jemmy Shaw came to us, and said that Caunt expected the boat at
Tilbury, and had not heard of any alteration. Here again our
suspicions arose that some casualty had happened, and that there would
be no fight. Ben’s friends could give no reason for his not being at
the appointed station in the morning, and all seemed quite nonplused.
To add to other difficulties there were no signs of young Fred Oliver,
who, as the deputy of Old Tom, had charge of the ropes and stakes,
although he had distinct notice on Friday at what time the expedition
was to leave London. This state of things cast a gloom on the
travellers, many of whom had serious thoughts of returning to town. On
persuasion, however, they made up their minds to “see it out,” and as
the train could not be stopped, all resumed their seats and sped on to
Southend, hoping to find Caunt there, or, at any rate, to hear some
tidings of him. On reaching this spot all at once made their way to
the pier head, but not a word could be heard of the ex-Champion, or of
the ropes and stakes. Butler at once went on board one boat (that
reserved for first-class passengers), while Dan Dismore remained on
the pier to supply tickets for the voyage.

The party now repaired on board the second-class boat, where Nat was
found installed, waiting impatiently for the appearance of Caunt, of
whom nothing could be heard; Dan Dismore also came on board this
vessel.

It was now nearly twelve o’clock, and all began anxiously to look for
the half-hour, at which time the next train was due at Southend, by
which it was, of course, expected that Ben would come. Half-past
twelve, one o’clock arrived, the train had been in some time, but
still there was no appearance of Ben on the pier. At length an
emissary was sent ashore, and he ascertained that Caunt and the ropes
and stakes had been embarked on board an opposition tug, singularly
enough called the “Ben Bolt,” at Tilbury, and that they were on the
way to join the flotilla as quickly as possible. It was two o’clock or
nearly so before the “Ben Bolt” hove in sight, with “’tother Ben” on
board. By a quarter-past two o’clock, everything being settled, the
office was given, and an experienced pilot conducted the flotilla,
which now numbered four steamboats, besides innumerable small craft,
to the proposed scene of action, within a very short distance of the
spot where Tom Sayers and Aaron Jones settled their differences.
Against a strong ebb of course progress was very slow, and it was past
three before the first vessel arrived off the point. The ropes and
stakes were at once sent ashore, and Fred Oliver with due diligence
proceeded to erect the ring. Poor Old Tom was sadly missed, and many
expressions of regret were uttered at his continued ill health. The
number of persons present was extremely large, but of Corinthians
there was a lamentable absence, arising, no doubt, from the
before-mentioned suspicions as to the men’s intentions. As soon as the
arena was ready, the combatants, who were evidently all agog to be at
it, tossed their caps into the ring, Nat being the first to uncover
his canister, Ben being not two seconds behind him. Both looked hard
and healthy, but their mugs bore distinct traces of their being
veteran boxers. Ben, of course, looked the older man, his not handsome
dial being as brown as mahogany, and looked as hard as a
nutmeg-grater. Nat’s phiz was smoother, softer, and of a lighter tint,
and there was a hue of health upon it that we had not seen there for
many a day. They shook hands, but it was evident that the ceremony was
against the grain. As four o’clock was fast approaching, it was hinted
that no time ought to be lost, and the men at once proceeded to
accomplish their toilettes. Nat Langham was assisted by the Champion
(Tom Sayers) and the accomplished Jack Macdonald――certainly the best
second out――while Ben Caunt was waited upon (we cannot say picked up,
for he never once was down throughout the fight) by Jack Gill, of
Nottingham, and Jemmy Shaw, who, between them, could never have
carried him to his corner, had occasion required it, in the time
allowed between the rounds, indeed they must have inevitably have
carried him a limb at a time. How he could have been persuaded to
select two such assistants we are at a loss to conceive. Jack Gill
could not have had much experience in his new vocation, and Jemmy Shaw
will excuse us for saying that, however staunch a friend and good
fellow he has proved himself in other ways, his stature and
proportions by no means qualify him as a porter to either Gog or
Magog, should those gigantic worthies need to be picked up from a
horizontal position.

At a quarter to four the seconds proceeded to knot the colours on the
centre stake――a blue, with white spot, for Langham, orange with a blue
border for Caunt. The betting on the ground was trifling in the
extreme; nothing was laid between the men, and but small sums at 5 and
6 to 4 on Caunt. As to Nat’s training, he went first to Dover and then
to Stockbridge, in Hampshire, where by steadiness and perseverance he
got himself into extraordinary fettle; to our eye, he looked bigger,
stronger, and healthier, though of course somewhat older, than when he
fought either Harry Orme or Tom Sayers. And now, having brought our
men to the “post,” we will start them for


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On toeing the scratch the disparity between
     the men was of course extraordinary. Ben Caunt, barring
     his mug, was a study for a sculptor. His massive frame
     and powerful legs and arms――the former set off to the
     best advantage by pink silk stockings and well-made
     drawers――presented a sight worth going some distance to
     see; and as he stood over old Nat any one would have
     agreed with Jerry Noon, who declared that it was
     “Chelsea Hospital to a sentry-box” in his favour. He
     smiled good-humouredly, and had clearly made up his
     mind to win in a trot. Nat was, as usual, clear in
     skin, and neatly made at all points. His shoulders and
     arms were well covered with muscle, and for an
     encounter with a man of his own size he looked all that
     could be desired; but as to his being a match for Ben
     Caunt it seemed too absurd to be credited, and few, we
     think, expected to see him “perform” with anything like
     effect. His attitude, as of yore, was perfection, and
     his dangerous left was playing about close to his side
     all in readiness for one of his neat deliveries as Ben
     came in. Caunt stood just as he ever stood, very square
     on his pins, his brawny arms almost straight out before
     him, which he ever and anon moved backward and forward
     with all the deliberation of a couple of pendulums. He
     had come, however, not to spar, but to fight, and after
     very little feinting he went up to Nat, who retreated
     towards the ropes, and Ben at length lunged out left
     and right, just catching Nat with the former on the
     ribs, and Nat was down laughing.

     2.――Both very quick to time. Caunt walked after Nat,
     sawing the air with both fins, and as he got close he
     sent out his left, but Nat, quick as lightning, shot
     out his left on the kisser, drawing _first blood_ from
     Ben’s upper lip and got down.

     3.――After a little dodging Nat feinted, and then let
     fly his left straight on the jaw. Slight exchanges
     followed on the side of the wig block, and Nat was
     again down out of harm’s way.

     4.――No time cut to waste, Caunt went to his man and
     poked out his left, just catching Nat on the chin, and
     Nat dropped.

     5.――Nat fiddled Ben to within distance, and then popped
     his larboard daddle on Ben’s jaw, a cracker; this led
     to heavy exchanges, Caunt getting on to Nat’s forehead
     above the left peeper, and receiving on the cheek; Nat
     fell.

     6.――After one or two passes the men got close, and very
     slight exchanges took place, when Nat got down by a
     roll over.

     7.――Caunt stalked up to Nat, swung his mauleys slowly
     round, and then dropped the left on Nat’s left cheek,
     Nat nailing him prettily at the same time on the left
     eye; Nat down clumsily, Caunt carefully stepping over
     him.

     8.――Caunt again approached Nat, and lunged out his
     left, Nat countering him quickly on the right peeper.
     Ben got home on the left cheek, and Nat fell.

     9.――Nat dodged about for an opening, and then got
     sharply home on the left cheek. Caunt returned very
     slightly on the side of the nut, and Nat was down.

     10.――Both sparred a little for wind, but soon went to
     close quarters, when, after a very slight exchange on
     the forehead, Nat sought Mother Earth. The 11th round
     was precisely similar, Caunt missing with both hands.

     12.――Nat, after a few passes, got within distance and
     shot out his left as straight as a dart on Ben’s conk,
     inflicting an ugly cut on the bridge, and drawing more
     claret. The blow had double force from the fact that
     Ben was coming in at the time. He, nevertheless, bored
     in, and had Nat down at the ropes.

     13.――Nat again timed his man judgmatically with his
     left on the proboscis, and slipped down from the force
     of the blow. He recovered himself, however, and after a
     little sparring got sharply on Ben’s potato-trap. Ben
     retaliated, but not effectively, on Nat’s cheek, and
     Nat fell.

     14.――Nat feinted, and dropped smartly on the snorer. He
     tried again, but missed, and in getting away slipped
     down.

     15.――Langham missed his left, and slight exchanges
     followed at the ropes, where Nat got down, Caunt again,
     in the most manly way, refraining from falling on him,
     as he might have done as he was going down.

     16.――Ben took the first move, and got home, but not
     heavily, on Nat’s jaw. They then sparred a bit, and on
     getting close Caunt lunged out his one, two, on Nat’s
     left cheek, but the blows appeared to have no steam in
     them. Nat popped a straight one on the left brow, and
     dropped.

     17.――Slight exchanges, no damage, and Ben bored his man
     down at the ropes.

     18.――Nat let fly his left, but Ben was too far off.
     Ben, however, went to him, and slight exchanges took
     place, Nat on the mark and Caunt on the side of the
     head, and Nat down.

     19.――After slight exchanges, Ben got home sharply on
     the back of Nat’s brain pan, and Nat fell.

     20.――No time lost. They walked up to one another, and
     at once let fly, Caunt on Nat’s forehead, and Nat on
     the left brow. Nat down.

     21.――Good exchanges, but Nat straightest, getting
     another good one on Ben’s conk, and renewing the
     crimson distillation. Caunt touched Nat’s forehead, and
     Nat down without a visible mark of punishment.

     22.――Caunt rushed at Nat, who being close to the ropes,
     slipped down. An appeal of “foul” was made, but not by
     the umpires. The referee, however, sent Nat’s umpire to
     him to caution him.

     23.――Nat fiddled and dodged until Caunt drew back his
     arm, when pop went the left on Ben’s cheek. Exchanges
     followed, Nat getting on Ben’s left peeper, and Ben on
     the brow, and Nat down.

     24.――Slight exchanges; Ben on the forehead, and Nat
     down.

     25.――Nat missed his first delivery, but in a second
     effort caught Ben on the body, Caunt retaliating with a
     swinging round hit on the cranium, and Nat down.

     26.――Sharp exchanges; Nat on the kisser, and Ben on the
     side of the canister, and Nat down, Ben as usual
     stepping over him, but asking him why he “did not stand
     up and have a round.”

     27.――Ben went to his man, and began business by lunging
     out both hands, but he missed, and Nat popped his left
     on the whistler. Ben, however, returned on the cheek,
     just drawing claret, and Nat down.

     28.――Ben again succeeded in reaching Nat’s cheek with
     his right, drawing the ruby, and Nat fell.

     29 and 30.――After trifling exchanges in these rounds,
     Nat got down, much to the annoyance of Ben, who,
     however, preserved his good temper, and merely
     remonstrated with his cunning opponent.

     31.――Nat dodged, and popped his left sharply on the
     mazzard, received the merest excuse for a blow, and
     dropped.

     32.――In this round the exchanges were very slight, but
     Nat’s were straightest. As usual, he was down.

     33.――Nat crept in, let go his left on Ben’s lip, which
     he cut, and Nat fell on his back from the force of his
     own blow.

     34.――Ben, whose warbler was bleeding, rushed at Nat
     furiously, and regularly bored him down.

     To go into details of the next few rounds would be
     merely a repetition of what we have already written.
     Nat feinted, dodged, timed his man with the greatest
     precision whenever he moved his arms, and, although his
     blows did not seem very heavy, they still were always
     “there, or thereabouts,” and poor old Ben’s mug began
     to be all shapes. The manly fellow, however, never
     grumbled; he went straight up to be planted upon, and
     although he occasionally got home a body blow or a
     round hit on the side of Nat’s knowledge box, still he
     left no visible marks. Once or twice Jemmy Shaw claimed
     “foul,” on the ground that Nat fell without a blow; but
     Nat was cunning enough to keep just within the pale of
     the law. There was not one round in which he did not go
     down, and Ben invariably walked to his corner. In the
     43rd round Ben got the first knock-down blow on Nat’s
     forehead. In the 48th, he bustled in with desperation,
     but Nat met him full in the mouth, and then on the
     snorter, with his left, drawing the crimson from each,
     Ben returned on the top of the forehead, and Nat got
     down.

     49.――Nat crept in craftily, and popped a little one on
     the snuffer-tray, and this led to a tremendous
     counter-hit, Caunt on the cheek, and Nat on the jaw
     very heavily, drawing more ruby. Nat fell, his nut
     first reaching the ground, and Ben staggered to his
     corner, evidently all abroad. By great exertions, and a
     little extra time, his seconds got him up to the
     scratch. Nat, however, was not in a much better state.
     Both were severely shaken.

     50.――Nat on coming up, was evidently slow, but, to the
     surprise of every one, showed no mark of the hit in the
     last round, while Ben’s kisser was considerably awry,
     and he was scarcely himself. Now would have been
     Langham’s time, but he had not strength to go in. After
     a short spar, Ben got on to Nat’s jaw, staggering him;
     Nat returned sharply on the left eye and nozzle. After
     heavy exchanges on the body, Nat fell.

     51.――In this round Ben just missed Nat as he was
     falling, and caught the stake very heavily with his
     left, which was thereby rendered useless, or nearly so.
     From this to the 60th and last round there was nothing
     to call for particular notice. Nat pursued his
     defensive tactics, and his pop for nothing when there
     was a chance. Still, however, old Ben kept swinging his
     dangerous limbs about, and every now and then got
     heavily on Nat’s body and left shoulder, and
     occasionally on the top of his head. Nat fell every
     round, but oftentimes be had to do it so quickly, owing
     to the close proximity of Ben, that he fell most
     awkwardly for himself, and must have been shaken
     severely. He gradually got tired, and Caunt, whose dial
     was much cut about, was evidently puzzled what to be
     at. At length, in the sixtieth round, after a little
     sparring and a slight exchange, they stood and looked
     at one another, and rubbed their chests. Neither seemed
     disposed to begin, and it was pretty clear that each
     had the same end in view――namely, to protract the
     battle until it was dark. Each, doubtless, felt that he
     was unable to finish that day, and did not feel
     disposed to throw a chance away by going in, and
     getting an unexpected finisher at close quarters. After
     standing several minutes, Dan Dismore came to us and
     said it was a pity that men who had been such close
     friends should proceed any further with hostilities,
     and suggested that it would be much better if they
     forgave and forgot their quarrel, and shook hands. We
     coincided with Dan in his kindly opinion, and he then
     took upon himself to go into the ring and suggest some
     such arrangement, and in doing so he said he would
     gladly give £5 out of his own pocket to see them bury
     their animosity there and then, and draw their stakes.
     Caunt said he was willing if Nat was, and after a
     little consideration Nat held out his mauley, which was
     cordially shaken by Ben, and then Langham went with
     Caunt into the corner of the latter, where he shook
     hands with Ben Butler, and also with Caunt’s son. Dan
     Dismore now left the ring, and on the referee asking
     him what had been done, Dan said, “It is all over; it’s
     settled.” The referee inquired whether they intended
     drawing altogether, and Dan said again, “It’s all done
     with; there will be nothing more done in it;” or words
     to that effect, but we believe these were Dan’s exact
     expressions. The referee at once, on hearing this,
     expressed his pleasure at so amicable an arrangement,
     and on the men quitting the arena he also left the ring
     side, his office of course ceasing, and on the faith of
     Dan’s statement he at once gave up what bets he held.
     After being some time on board the boat, however, he
     was somewhat staggered at being accosted by one of
     Nat’s Corinthian patrons and Jack Macdonald, who told
     him that Nat was quite astonished when they had
     mentioned to him that a draw had been agreed to, and
     had declared that such a thing never entered his head.
     He thought Dismore merely wished them to draw for the
     time being, and that the referee would name another day
     in the same week to fight again. The referee replied
     that his impression certainly was that an arrangement
     had been made to draw stakes, or he should not have
     vacated his post, and this application on Nat’s behalf
     took him so much by surprise that he did not know how
     his position was affected. It was a case that had never
     occurred before, and he must think it over. Nat’s
     backer said he also was impressed at the time with the
     notion that everything was arranged, and had left the
     ring side with that belief, but still he thought the
     referee had the power to name another day, as Nat had
     been no party to any final arrangement. At the railway
     station, on the arrival of the boats, the referee
     called both the men together, and asked them in the
     presence of each other what they had understood on
     leaving the ring. Caunt said he understood they were
     friends again, and were to draw their money, while Nat
     repeated the statement that had been conveyed to the
     referee by Jack Macdonald. Caunt seemed quite taken
     aback, as did also his friends. Dan Dismore now came
     up, and repeated the statement that he had previously
     made, to the effect that he had recommended the men to
     shake hands and be friends, and that he had certainly
     said he would give £5 out of his own pocket to see the
     matter settled. They had shaken hands at his
     recommendation, and at the time it certainly had been
     his impression that they would not fight again. He
     declined, however, to take upon himself the
     responsibility of saying that either man had actually
     said anything about drawing stakes. The referee was now
     completely nonplused, and said, at that time, and in
     such a crowd, he could not undertake to give an opinion
     either way. He then suggested that the men and their
     friends should meet at the Stakeholder’s office the
     following day to discuss the matter, when all were
     calm, and had had time to think over the affair.

Owing to the low state of the tide when the fight was over, and the
narrowness of the causeway to the boats, a great deal of time was lost
in embarkation, and not a few of the travellers obtained mud baths at
much less price than such a luxury would have cost in Germany. The
consequence of the delay was, that the 8 o’clock train was missed, and
there being no other until 9.30, the travellers, weary, muddy, and
wet, but tolerably well satisfied with their entertainment, did not
reach the Metropolis until twelve o’clock.

The following morning the referee took the opportunity of laying the
case before a Corinthian patron of the art, who, although no longer a
frequenter of the Ring side, was for many years one of the staunchest
attendants. That gentleman, after thinking the matter over for a few
minutes, said he was of opinion there could be no doubt as to the
course of the referee. There had been, he said, no appeal to him to
stop the fight――there was no reason for his interference, as he could
see both men perfectly, and he had stated there was sufficient
daylight for eight or ten more rounds. The men had shaken hands in the
ring, and, putting Dismore and his statement out of the question as
unnecessary adjuncts to the case, he was of opinion that the men, by
voluntarily quitting the ring without any appeal being made by
themselves or their umpires, had clearly taken the whole affair out of
the referee’s hands, and altogether deprived him of any power in the
matter.

At the appointed hour both men and their friends were in
attendance――Nat all but scatheless, while Ben had an ugly cut on his
nose, and his left peeper was partially closed. He had also other
severe marks of punishment on various parts of his dial, and his hands
were much puffed. Both men made their statements. Caunt repeated that
he fully believed Nat had agreed to draw stakes when he shook hands
with him and his uncle, or he should never have consented to leave off
fighting, as there was still daylight for ten or a dozen rounds. He
was then warm, and felt confident he could have won. He was as strong
as ever on his legs, and was convinced that Nat had done all he knew.
Langham, in reply, denied that this was the case. He understood that
Dismore only proposed a postponement until another day, as it was not
likely they could finish that evening. He shook hands with Caunt and
his uncle because he did not think he ought to leave the ring without
performing that ceremony. Dan Dismore repeated the statement he had
already made, adding, that he certainly was not authorised to say they
had agreed to draw their money, whatever his own impression might have
been. He was of opinion then that it would have been a proper course,
and that opinion he still entertained; and he would willingly give £5
or £10 out of his own pocket to see them shake hands and make up their
differences. Tom Sayers, who was also present, said he had left the
ring with the idea that his principal had agreed to draw the money,
and he had no idea until some time afterwards that Nat had
contemplated a renewal of hostilities. The referee, after hearing both
sides, said that he had thought the matter over very carefully, and
had come to a conclusion in his own mind, before consulting the
gentleman above referred to, and he was glad to find that conclusion
coincided with the opinion of his adviser. The men had taken the
matter quite out of his hands. They had made an arrangement between
themselves, had shaken hands and left the ring without asking his
opinion, or appealing to him in any way, although he stood close to
the ropes and stakes at the time they were shaking hands, and what
other conclusion could he arrive at than that they had amicably
settled their differences? That a misunderstanding had arisen as to
future arrangements was to be regretted, but he had no power whatever
to name another day. If his advice were asked it would be that they
should shake hands, but if they did not choose to do this, they must
agree upon another day and place between themselves. Nat at once
proposed fighting again on Saturday, to which Caunt objected. He said
he was now stiff, and his hands were injured, and required time to get
round. He believed a bone in one of his fingers was broken. As he had
before said, he could have finished it the same night, but he should
decline agreeing to fight again at present. Nat then asked what he
proposed, to which Ben said he proposed that on the next occasion Nat
should stand up and fight like a man. He could not fight a man who was
always on the ground. A good deal of angry discussion followed, Ben
Butler again going beyond the bounds of decorum, while Caunt remained
perfectly quiet. Nat was, of course, incensed at being baulked of his
rights, as he considered them, but still there was no prospect of an
arrangement. At length Nat asked Caunt to give him some portion of the
stakes, as an inducement to draw, a proposition indignantly scouted by
Caunt. This was the last offer. The men were then informed that the
referee had given his decision, that he could not interfere, and it
remained for them to agree between themselves upon a time and place.

Having gone so fully into details of this affair, it will be
unnecessary for us to make many remarks either upon the respective
styles of the combatants or the untoward result of the battle. Caunt,
from first to last, showed not the slightest improvement in his style
of fighting; nor was it likely that after a life of ease, and of
abstinence from athletic exercises (if from nothing else) the case
could have been otherwise. His position was unartistic. He held his
arms too high, and never displayed the least head or judgment in his
efforts to get at his shifty opponent. He was always too quick and too
anxious to be doing something, and thereby threw away many chances,
and so put himself at the mercy of the crafty Nat, who seldom or never
failed to avail himself of Big Ben’s incautiousness. Unartistic as he
was, however, no one will deny that Caunt upheld the character he has
invariably borne of a manly upright boxer, disdaining to avail himself
of repeated opportunities, which many persons would unscrupulously
have adopted, of falling on an opponent when he dropped in the not
very manly manner that Nat, on many occasions, certainly did. From
first to last Ben never lost his temper. He received all Nat’s props
with the greatest _sang froid_, smiling upon him, and sometimes
shaking his head at him for his shiftiness. As to Caunt’s game, there
never was, and never can be, a question. He was punished most
severely, and yet he never once flinched or showed signs of not liking
it. The only remark he condescended to make from time to time in his
corner was, that Nat had done all he could, and that he must be
getting weak. He did not wish to win by a foul, and on several
occasions when his seconds desired to appeal he said he would rather
try to win on his merits. In addition to the punishment on his mug, he
contrived to seriously injure both hands. Of Nat Langham it is not
necessary to say much. As we have before remarked, he was fitter to
fight than we thought he ever could be, and was as confident as if all
had been settled. There was all the old cunning and extraordinary
quickness with his left, and, if possible, he had improved both in his
powers of timing his props and his judgment of distance. He, like
Caunt, never for a moment flinched from his receipts, which, on many
occasions, must have been anything but agreeable; and, so long as he
stood on his pins, he faced his man with unruffled indifference.

That he went down on many occasions in a suspicious manner cannot be
denied, and that this occurred on some few occasions when he was not
in danger is equally true; but he almost invariably kept just within
the pale of the law. Several times he was hit, and hit severely, and
when Jemmy Shaw appealed to the referee as to his falling, on most
such occasions he received a gentle tap, just sufficient to save him;
still he persevered in the practice much too constantly to admit of
our stating that it was a fair stand-up fight on his part. His friends
contend that when a man is opposed to such superior weight and
strength he is justified in resorting to such shifts to enable him to
withstand his opponent, but this we deny. The rules of the Ring say
distinctly “it shall be a fair stand-up fight,” and if a man cannot
vanquish an opponent of heavier metal than himself by fair means, he
has no business to make a match with him. Nat knew perfectly well
Caunt’s superiority in height and weight, and Caunt was perfectly
justified in his observation that this knowledge ought to have
deterred him from match-making except on the usual terms. That Nat’s
shifty tactics arose from cowardice would of course be a ridiculous
suggestion. Every one who has seen him fight knows that a braver man
never pulled off his shirt, and no one we ever saw enter a ring has
impressed us with so just an idea of what may be accomplished by
science and judgment; but still we cannot help repeating a remark we
have over and over again made――we do not and cannot admire the hit and
drop system. It is not consonant with the principles on which, and on
which alone, we can uphold British boxing. the fight lasted one hour
and twenty-nine minutes.

The floodgates of newspaper letter-writing were opened by this
undecided encounter. It is needless to say that the controversy ended
in much ink-shedding and a draw of the £400 staked, leaving the
debateable question of “getting down to finish the round” much where
it previously and subsequently stood.

From this period Caunt may be said to have finally retired from the
Ring, though he still kept his house, the “Coach and Horses” (now the
“Salisbury Stores”), in St. Martin’s Lane. The parlour here was a
general resort of aspirants for pugilistic honours and their patrons,
Ben busying himself in bringing forward and occasionally backing or
finding backers for men, among whom may be named Bob Caunt,[13] his
brother, David Hayes (thrice beaten by Murray), Perry, the Black, who
beat Burton, of Leicester (January 20th, 1846), George Gutteridge
(beaten by Nat Langham, September 23rd, 1846), and others.

Caunt was also well known as no mean performer at pigeons, on the
various club grounds near the Metropolis and in Hertfordshire. Having
caught a severe cold in a long day’s match at “the doves,” in the
early part of 1860, it settled on his lungs, and coupled with late
hours, and the free living inseparable from his calling as a publican,
gave the powerful pugilist his final knock-down blow on the tenth day
of September, 1861.

  “Strength too――thou surly and less gentle boast
   Of those that loud laugh round the village ring――
   A fit of common sickness pulls thee down
   With greater ease than e’er thou didst the stripling
   That rashly dared thee to th’ unequal fight.”
                                                BLAIR’S “GRAVE.”


     [11] Caunt’s last battle, as closing his Ring career, may be
     properly considered to have been that with Bendigo,
     September 9th, 1845; the silly exhibition with Nat Langham
     in 1857 being a mere _hors d’œuvre_.

     [12] John Gully, Esq., of Ackworth Hall. Elected M.P. for
     Pontefract, 1832.

     [13] “Brother Bob,” a lumpy, civil, but uncouth-mannered
     rustic, weighing 12 stone, and 5ft. 1O½in. in height, may be
     dismissed in half-a-dozen lines. He was beaten in his first
     battle by Nobby Clarke, a clever but chicken-hearted big
     ’un, in 7 rounds, occupying a short quarter of an hour,
     October 22nd, 1844, in the Kentish Marshes. He next, after
     five years’ interval, met Burton, of Leicester, who polished
     him off in 48 minutes, during which 23 rounds were fought,
     April 17th, 1849, at Balsham Road. Bob’s last appearance in
     buff was during a tour in America, where, at Harper’s Ferry,
     May 7th, 1847, he struck his flag to Yankee Sullivan, after
     7 rounds, in which 12 minutes were passed, for a stake of
     1,000 dollars.




CHAPTER III.

JAMES BURKE (KNOWN AS “THE DEAF’UN”).

1828-1843.


No one who reads with attention the chequered career of James Burke
will deny that “The Deaf’un” deserves to rank as one of the most
honest, courageous, hardy, simple-minded, and eccentric fellows who
ever sought praise and profit in the Prize Ring. Jem was the son of a
Thames waterman who plied at the Strand Lane stairs. Left at an early
age to the charge of a widowed mother, young Jem betook himself to the
amphibious calling of “Jack-in-the-Water,” at the stairs where his
father once plied with his “trim-built wherry.” At the time of which
we write, before steam-boats, with their gangways and ugly
dumb-lighters (the latter to give way yet later to a noble embankment
with its broad granite-stepped landing places) had superseded the
“caus’eys,” and “old stairs,” from Wapping to Westminster, the
favourite and popular mode of transit of the dwellers in Cockaigne to
Lambeth, to the glories of Vauxhall with its _al fresco_ concerts and
30,00 (additional) lamps; to Cumberland Gardens, with its trellised
tea-boxes, and “little gold and silver fish that wagged their little
tails;” to the Red House, Battersea, with its gardens and pigeon
shooting; to “Chelsea Ferry,” with its elm-bordered promenade and
Soldiers’ Home, and to the numerous places of riverside resort, was by
“oars or sculls,” plied by the brawny arms of the “firemen-watermen,”
one of the most laborious and deserving fraternities who devoted their
well-earned and well-paid services to the pleasure-seeking public who
patronised the broad highway of the Thames. The popularity and
consequent prosperity of the stalwart “firemen-watermen” (for most of
them wore the handsome coat and badge of, and were retained by, one or
other of the great London Insurance Offices, and were the only
organised body for the extinguishing of fires and saving of life)
extended to the humble “Jack-in-the-Water,” whose duty consisted in
wading bare-legged into the rippling tide, dragging the sharp nose of
the wherry on to the paved causeway, or by its pile-protected side,
and there steadying it, while the “jolly young waterman” politely
handed his “fare” over the rocking “thwarts” of his smart, light boat
to his or her cushioned seat in the “stern-sheets.” For his services
in thus holding on, and thereby securing the balance of the staggering
land-lubbers, for a pair of “sea-legs” were never included in the
cockney’s qualifications, “poor Jack” seldom went unrewarded by one or
more “coppers,” for we had not then come to the “age of bronze.” This
humble and weather-beaten calling was by no means an unprofitable one
to a hardy, handy, and industrious lad, such as young Jem Burke
undoubtedly was.

  [Illustration: JAMES BURKE (“THE DEAF’UN”).]

The date of Jem’s birth was Dec. 8th, 1809, in the closing years of
the “war of giants,” and in his earlier days London was alive with war
excitement; with processions on the Thames of the gilded and bannered
barges of the Corporation and the public companies, with gaily painted
pinnaces, shallops, and house-boats, aquatic fireworks and
illuminations, and galas in honour of our victories in Portugal and
Spain; to say nothing of frequent grand doings along the then bright
river on all sorts of City “gaudy” days. It was moreover the line of
procession on the 9th of November and other times when my Lord Mayor
went in state to Westminster; and of continually recurring wager
matches of skill and strength for prizes given by citizens, public
bodies, and aquatic clubs, for the encouragement of the Thames
watermen “between the bridges.” All these have vanished with the
crowds who enjoyed them. The “fireman-waterman” is as extinct as the
dodo. The half-penny or penny steam-boat of an utilitarian age has
“improved him off the face of the earth,” and the picturesque silver
Thames runs a paddle-churned _cloaca maxima_ of the great towns in its
upper course, by the stately buildings of our Palaces of Parliament
and Palatial Hospital, sweeping by where once Strand Lane stairs
offered itself as a convenient outlet for “taking the water,” along a
spacious embankment, with its leafy avenues, bordered by lofty
stone-built public edifices. Far different the Thames by which the
young Deaf’un earned his “crust,” and added to the poor comforts of a
widowed mother. Then the merry-makings we have above alluded to made
the miscalled silent highway a lively and populous show-scene, to the
profit of such snappers-up of unconsidered trifles as our “poor Jack,”
whose Christian name was Jem. As to the “schooling” of our hero――for a
hero he unquestionably was――it amounted to that sort of general
knowledge which could be picked up in that “university” which Mr.
Samuel Weller declares to be the best for sharpening a boy’s wits――the
streets. The Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge as yet was
not; the “schoolmaster” was altogether “abroad,” in the wrong sense;
and the Briarean School-board had not yet “comprehended all vagrom”
boys and girls, and taught them the “three R’s” in spite of their
teeth. “Reading, ’riting, and ’rithmetic” not being in the curriculum
of young Jem’s “’varsity,” he was perfectly innocent of those
accomplishments, despite Dogberry’s assertion that to “read and write
comes by nature,” though at figures, we can certify from our own
personal converse, the Deaf’un had, on special occasions, an almost
intuitive aptitude. His knowledge too, upon out-of-the-way subjects,
was occasionally surprising; he had much “mother-wit,” a quaint
felicity of expression, a sly touch of humour, and a quiet stolidity
of look and manner, the outcome of his infirmity of deafness, which
amused the hearer, from the apparently unconscious humour with which
his comical notions were set forth. Of Jem’s physical powers and
muscular endowments, the story of his Ring performances in after years
will sufficiently speak.

Thus the young “Jack-in-the-Water,” like Topsy, “grow’d,” and we need
not say he was well furnished in these respects to take his own part
in the very rough “battle of life” to which he was from his earliest
infancy introduced.

That the future Candidate for the Championship, born and bred in those
“fighting days,” when Gully and Gregson, Belcher and Cribb, were on
every tongue, should have yearnings to “improve his gifts,” as the
goody-goody books express it, was but a natural sequence to what
philosopher Square calls “the eternal fitness of things.” Hard by the
Strand Lane stairs stood a well-frequented public-house, known as “The
Spotted Dog,” the landlord of which was an ex-pugilist of no mean
renown, hight “Joe Parish, the Waterman.” What wonder, that Joe’s
judicious eye noted the good “points” in the sturdy little
“Jack-in-the Water’s” build and disposition, and that he befriended
the boatman’s orphan, patting his head as he warmed his chilled hands
by the tap-room fire, where he dried his always damp and scanty
clothing, and, as the Deaf’un himself has told us, saying, “You go
straight, Jemmy, and we’ll see if you won’t be a topsawyer among ’em
yet”? This early patronage by Joe Parish, as we shall see hereafter,
continued down to Burke’s latest days, a fact creditable to both
parties.

A passing remark on the pugilistic eminence of watermen may here be in
place. Jack Broughton, the Father of the Ring, was a waterman; as also
was Lyons, who beat Darts for the Championship in 1769; while, passing
over many boxers who plied the oar, the names of Bishop Sharpe,
Harris, “The Waterman,” Harry Jones, and the Deaf’un’s “guide,
philosopher, and friend,” Joe Parish, occur to us. No wonder, then,
that on the 5th of February, 1828, young Jem Burke, under the wing of
old Joe, was by the ring-side at Whetstone, near Barnet, an admiring
spectator of the eccentric battle which there and then took place
between a couple of dwarfs; one a Welshman named David Morgan, a
vendor of shrimps and shell fish well known in various sporting and
other public-houses, and the other Sandy M’Bean, a Scotch professor of
the Highland bagpipes and the “fling.” After a ludicrous display of
bantam game, Taffy was declared the conqueror, the second of the canny
Scot carrying him out of the ring _vi et armis_, in spite of his
protestations that he “wasna beaten ava’,” though the poor little
fellow had not the ghost of a chance.

And now there was a pause, and a purse of £14 being collected, Ned
Murphy (who had already fought M’Carthy, and a commoner or two),
presented himself as a candidate for the coin. Our hero (who,
doubtless, knew something of the challenger), eager of the opportunity
of showing the stuff he was made of, at once, with the approval of Joe
Parish, stepped into the ropes, and threw down his cap as a reply. No
time was wasted in elaborate toilettes, and the ring being cleared,
all eyes were bent on the “big fight” of the day, which, on this
occasion, was presented as the afterpiece. Mister Murphy was so
cock-sure of the money, and so eager to win, that he went off at score
to polish off “the boy” for his presumption. Not only was his gallop
stopped by some clever straight ’uns from the resolute young Jack,
helped by an occasional upper-cut as he went in, but he, in turn, was
fain to stand out, and retreat to “draw” his opponent. Young Jem,
however, was not to be had twice at this game, and Mister Murphy not
quite liking the look of the job, began to fight for darkness, which
was fast coming on. Harry Jones, who was picking up Murphy as a “pal,”
seeing the dubious state of affairs, stepped up to the referee and
asked a “draw.” The men had now fought 50 rounds in the like number of
minutes, and were quite capable, if they were of the same sort as the
last dozen, of fighting 50 more; so the Young’un was persuaded to
“whack” the stakes, and make up matters over a pot and a pipe at “The
Spotted Dog,” by which arrangement Mr. Murphy got the “half a loaf”
which is proverbially “better than no bread,” while the young
“Jack-on-the-water” was in the seventh heaven of delight, not only at
his success (for he felt he must win), but at the possession of
several golden portraits of His Majesty George the Fourth, of a value
which to him seemed to vie with the fabulous treasures of Aladdin’s
cave.

Jem was now “a card,” not only at the Strand Lane _soirées_, but was a
free and accepted brother at all the sporting cribs in the hundred of
Drury, Wild Street, the pugnacious purlieus of Clare Market, and among
the “porterhood” of Covent Garden. Those were rough times, and among
other rough entertainments the “rough music” of the butchers of Clare
Market was not the least popular. Their marrow-bones and cleavers were
always ready to “discourse” loud, if not “sweet music,” upon occasions
of a wedding, a birth, or a christening among their own fraternity, or
when any popular or well-known inhabitant took unto himself a wife.
Foremost in these charivaris was one Tom Hands, who further had the
reputation of being “sudden in quarrel,” and with him and the Deaf’un
there had passed a sharp round or two at one of these uproarious
gatherings, which had ended in their being separated by their friends.

On August 14th, 1828, Ned Stockman and Sweeney were matched to fight
at Old Oak Common; the affair being arranged at a dinner at Alec
Reid’s, at Chelsea. The ring was pitched, the expectant crowd
assembled, and “time” was called. Peter Sweeney showed in battle
array, but where was the “Lively Kid”? and echo answered “where?” He
didn’t show at all, and a forfeit of the stake being then and there
declared, his representative urged as a reason for what Sweeney called
“making a fool of the public,” that Stockman “preferred his match with
Harry Jones” (in which he was deservedly thrashed on September 16th,
1828). As the day’s draw thus proved a blank, and the meet could
hardly separate without sport of some kind, a whip was made for an
impromptu fight. The hat went round, and the cash being gathered by
Alec Reid and the renowned Frosty-faced Fogo, a hint from one of the
Clare Market Guild of Kill-Bulls that Tom Hands would like to cross
hands with Jem Burke, there and then, if the namesake of “the author
of The Sublime and Beautiful” dared face him, was at once seized with
avidity. A shout went up from a hundred lungs as the burly butcher,
his hair shiny with grease, and his cheeks red as a peony, drew his
blue smock over his head and proceeded to divest himself of his upper
clothing; nor was “poor Jack” without friends. Behind him stood Joe
Parish and Alec Reid; Hands being seconded by Sweeney and a Clare
Market amateur. The fight was a sad exposé of Tom Hands’ want of skill
in the opening, and lack of what a slaughterman never should be
deficient in――pluck. The Deaf’un, who looked hard as iron and solid as
the trunk of a tree, fought the first three or four rounds on the
retreat, jobbing the butcher fearfully, and bleeding him from every
vein of his fleshy jowl; then, having got him down to his own weight,
he reversed the process, and fought him all over the ring so
effectively that in the 10th round, 17 minutes only having elapsed,
Hands’ second threw up the sponge in token of defeat, the butcher
being terribly punished, while the Deaf’un was scarcely marked.

Indeed the effects of this encounter could not have seriously affected
him, seeing that, on the day but one afterwards, namely on August
16th, the Deaf’un was again on Old Oak Common, to witness the battle
between Mike Driscoll and Pat M’Donnell. This affair disposed of, a
new Black offered himself “under distinguished patronage,” as the
advertisements say, to box anyone for “a purse.” The Deaf’un, always
ready, slipped modestly into the ring, announcing to Mike Brookery,
the M.C. on this occasion, that he should like to be “introduced” to
Massa Sambo for the next dance. The affair was a mere farce. The black
had but one qualification, that of a first-rate receiver; as a
paymaster he was nowhere. After rushing in head down a dozen times,
and getting upper cuts and sound right-handers on the ear innumerable,
he rolled down for the last time at the close of thirty-three minutes,
declaring “Me can’t fight no more,” and the purse was handed to the
Deaf’un.

In 1829, the Deaf’un, who was now regularly enrolled in the _corps
pugilistique_, was with a sparring party in the Midlands, where, in
the month of March, the great contest between Jem Ward and Simon Byrne
was to come off near Leicester. The reader will find this fiasco,
known as “The Leicester Hoax,” in its proper place in our second
volume. On the 10th of March, 1829, an immense gathering from all
parts of the kingdom was assembled at Leicester; and the great event
having ended in smoke, and Bill Atkinson, of Nottingham, having beaten
Joe Randall, in the ring prepared for the big’un’s, the day being yet
young, a purse was collected. For this a big countryman named
Berridge, of Thormaston, offered to “try conclusions.” The Deaf’un
joined issue, and a smart battle ensued. The countryman was so
overmatched that after 22 minutes, in which 11 rounds were got
through, each ending by Berridge being hit down or thrown, his backers
took him away, and Burke walked off with the 10 sovereigns.

Burke was now matched with Fitzmaurice (an Irishman nearly 13 stone,
who subsequently defeated Brennan and Tim Crawley), for £25 a side, to
come off on Epsom Racecourse in May; the _rencontre_ was prevented by
police interference, and the affair postponed to June 9th, 1829.[14]
That day being appointed for the fight between Ned Savage and Davis
(the Black), at Harpenden Common, near St. Alban’s, it was arranged
that the Deaf’un and Fitzmaurice should follow those worthies. It was
fortunate for the travellers who went to see the first-named fight
that the Deaf’un and Fitz. were in reserve, for the affair of Savage
and the bit of ebony proved “a sell;” and so the second couple were on
the turf in good time, and in a well-kept and well-ordered ring. Young
Dutch Sam and Gaynor, who had come down with Savage, volunteered to
second Fitzmaurice. On standing up Fitz. loomed large in height and
length, but a survey of the sturdy Deaf’un, his firm attitude and
compact strength, brought the betting to even. We shall not attempt to
detail the fight, which extended to no less than 166 rounds, fought
under a burning sun, and lasting two hours and fifty-five minutes.
There was some clever stopping in the earlier portion of the battle on
the part of the Deaf’un, but he could not reduce the strength of
Fitzmaurice, and he himself became exhausted. After the 70th round the
fight became a question of endurance; the Deaf’un at the end of the
rounds lying on his stomach on the turf to get wind, declining to be
picked up by his seconds, kicking up his heels in a comical manner,
and declaring himself “all right,” in reply to their anxious
inquiries. On these occasions Young Dutch Sam and Gaynor, knowing the
“blown” condition of their man, cunningly kept prolonging the “time”
between the rounds, Fitzmaurice generally getting down, and the
Deaf’un almost always rolling across, over, or beside him. About the
150th round both men were nearly incapable of delivering a hit, and
Fitz. was more than once out of time, but the Deaf’un went in again,
and so condoned the offence. At last, at the end of the time
mentioned, Fitz. fell in his own corner from a left-handed poke; the
sponge was thrown up, after as game and scrambling a fight as could
well be imagined, and the Deaf’un was hailed the victor. Burke in a
few minutes walked to his carriage, while poor Fitz. was conveyed to
Wildbore’s, the “Blue Boar,” St. Alban’s.

At the Deaf’un’s benefit, on the following Wednesday week, Fitzmaurice
was unable to put on the gloves as promised, but Young Dutch Sam did
so. Although the Deaf’un was certainly a foil to show off the
brilliancy of Sam, that accomplished boxer was somewhat mortified at
the improved style of Burke, who more than once gave him an opening in
order to send in a clever return; keeping his temper so unruffled that
loud applause followed his exertions. Indeed not a few of the “knowing
ones” expressed their opinion that the Deaf’un would yet puzzle some
of the “fashionable” 12-stone men.

About this time, as we learn incidentally from the report of his next
battle, the Deaf’un met with a serious accident――a rupture――for which
he received surgical treatment, and was compelled to wear a truss.
Nevertheless, we find him in August under an engagement to fight Bill
Cousens, who is described in _Bell’s Life_ as a fine, fresh young
Chichester man (who had already beaten Tom Sweeney and “the Cheshire
Hero”), on the 25th of August, on which day they met at Whetstone. Tom
Oliver and Frosty-faced Fogo were the M.C.’s, and we are told the
“crowd was considerable. Swells and scavengers, drags and dust-carts,”
conveying the motley groups to the scene of action. Cousens was
seconded by Tom Oliver and a “Sussex friend,” Burke by Ned Stockman
and Sweeney. The weather was again intensely hot. Cousens had the
advantage in length of reach and height, and a trifle in weight.
Cousens, though receiving most punishment, had it all his own way in
throwing, and several times gave the Deaf’un such desperate falls,
that the battle was supposed to be at an end; but the Deaf’un’s hardy
frame seemed to resist all vicissitudes, and he came again and again;
on one occasion, about the middle of the fight, so flooring Cousens
that the odds went round to 2 to 1 on the Deaf’un. In the 95th round,
Cousens got the Deaf’un on the ropes, and kept him there until the
stake and rope gave way. The Deaf’un would not leave off, though
advised to do so, when Reuben Martin stepped into the ring and threw
up his hat in favour of Cousens, and the Deaf’un was withdrawn from
the ring, after fighting 101 rounds in two hours and three minutes.
The reporter says, “it was stated that Burke was suffering from the
effects of a rupture.”

That this was not, at that time, of a very serious nature may be
inferred from the fact, that the Deaf’un finished up 1829 by balancing
this, his only defeat, with yet another victory. On December 1st all
the pugilistic world was on the move into Sussex to witness the great
(second) fight between Ned Neale and Young Dutch Sam for £220 to £200,
which came to nought, owing to the arrest of Neale on his way to the
battle-field on a warrant issued by Mr. Chambers. Sore was the
disappointment and loud the complaints of the hundreds who had left
London on this hog-shearing expedition, as they surrounded the
admirably formed ring at North Chapel, Sussex, and were told that
there would be “no fight,” as Messrs. Ruthven and Pople, two “active
and intelligent officers,” as the penny-a-liners styled them, had
grabbed Neale, and were so strict in their attentions that they had
declined to lose sight of him; indeed, they had at once carried him
off in a postchaise to the great Metropolis. Harry Holt stepped
forward, and addressing “the inner circle and boxes” (the latter
represented by several four-in-hand drags and hired wagons), proposed
“a collection.” Sam also presented himself amidst applause, rattling
some coin in a hat. The money-matter was soon arranged, a big
countryman named Girdler stepping into the ropes, and laying claim to
the guerdon against all comers. In a few seconds the well-known, hardy
mug of the Deaf’un was seen as he made his way through the crowd, and,
amidst some cheering, declared that “he didn’t minds a shy at that
chaps, if he did lose his sticks,” while Girdler, who had many country
friends, said with a grin, “He knowed all about Mister Burke, and
didn’t care a varden for ’un.” To give éclat to the affair, Jem Ward
and Fogo offered themselves to second the Deaf’un, whereon Young Sam
and Cicero Holt volunteered to wait upon the countryman.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Girdler was certainly, as Sam said, “big
     enough for anything,” and when be threw his hands up,
     did it in a style that showed he was not the mere yokel
     he had been supposed. The Deaf’un looked as serious and
     as stolid as a pig in a pound, and as solid as a stump
     of a tree. He nodded at his opponent, and pointed down
     to the scratch, to which Girdler at once advanced, and
     the Deaf’un went a step back smiling. Girdler let fly
     his left; it was a little too high, but just reached
     the Deaf’un’s nut, who returned on Girdler’s cheek
     sharply; heavy exchanges, in which Burke hit oftenest
     and last, and both were down on hands and knees. (6 to
     4 on the Deaf’un.)

     2.――The Deaf’un trying to get his distance hit short
     with the left; Girdler stopped his right, and popped in
     a sounding crack with his own right on the Deaf’un’s
     ribs, who broke away. (“Bravo!” cried Holt, “do that
     again for me.”) The Deaf’un grinned, licked his lips,
     and looked down slyly at his opponent’s feet. “Don’t be
     gammoned,” cried Young Sam. The advice came too late.
     Girdler rushed in, Burke popped his head aside, and the
     blow went over his shoulder, the countryman at the same
     instant receiving such a straight one in the mouth,
     followed by another over the left eyebrow, that he was
     brought up “all standing,” while the Deaf’un slipped
     down from his own blows. There was no mistake about the
     claim of first blood.

     3.――In went Girdler like a bull at a gate. The Deaf’un,
     not clever enough to prevent him getting on a sort of
     pole-axe, hit on his impenetrable nob, from which we
     think the countryman’s knuckles suffered most. Burke
     hit up, but couldn’t this time stop his man, who bored
     him to the ropes, and got him down in a scrambling
     rally.

     4.――Girdler again first; but this time Burke stopped
     him with one, two, and a ding-dong rally ensued, in
     which Girdler was first on the grass, blowing like a
     porpoise.

     5, 6, 7, 8.――Sam cheering on his man, who answered the
     call cheerfully, but always got two for one in the
     rally, and in the 8th round fell over the Deaf’un’s leg
     on his face so violently that Ward cried out to Holt to
     take his man away. “Take your man away,” retorted Holt;
     “he can’t beat mine in a week.”

     9.――Girdler came up game, but went in without any aim
     or precision; the Deaf’un propped him again and again,
     and at last ran in and threw him a burster. (Cheers for
     the Deaf’un.)

     10, 11, 12.――A one-sided game. Girdler down at the end
     of each round against his will, and beaten by his own
     exertions.

     13, 14, 15.――Girdler merely staggered up to be hit, and
     finally went down fearfully punished.

     16.――Girdler came once more and made a wild rush; the
     Deaf’un stepped aside, and sending in his one, two, on
     the side of the countryman’s head, he fell over anyhow.

     17.――Cries of “take him away!” from the Londoners; but
     Girdler would not have it, and was indulged with one
     more round, which ended in his being floored in the
     hitting; whereupon Holt stepped across the ring and
     beckoned the Deaf’un, who at once crossed and shook
     hands with his brave but almost insensible antagonist.
     Time, 89 minutes.

The immense assembly now dispersed, the roads being soon alive,
especially that which led towards Chichester and London. On one of the
four-in-hands was seated “White-headed Bob” (Ned Baldwin), then in the
full sunshine of aristocratic patronage. Bob had spent the overnight,
or rather the morning, at the Monday masquerade, then in vogue at “His
Majesty’s Theatre,” in the Haymarket, and donning a most remarkable
suite of grey moustaches, whiskers, and beard, the resemblance to the
then Duke of Cumberland was perfect. As the populace recognised the
counterfeit of the unpopular Duke, the fun was uproarious. Pulling up
at the “King’s Arms,” mine host hurried out with a decanter of sherry,
a waiter following with champagne. H.R.H. cried out, “No, thankee,
waiter, the Duke will take something short!” The schnapps was
supplied. “I’m glad to see ye, my people,” said His Royal Highness,
“but d――――e if I like this stopping of fights; when I come next this
way I’ll give you a turn, and if there’s no one else to fight, I’ll
make one in a fight myself! Drive on, coachee!” And off went His Royal
Highness in what the poet Bunn called “a blaze of triumph.”

The topsawyers of the top-weights of the day set their public
appearances at too high a figure for the poor, unsophisticated Deaf’un
to obtain any hearing for his modest proposal to fight any 12 or 12½
stone man for £25 a side, so he sparred at benefits and at the fairs
and tennis courts, and hung about looking for a job until September,
1830, when Gow, who had beaten Ned Savage in December, 1829, offered
himself to the Deaf’un’s notice, and articles were signed for a
meeting on October 5th. The toss being won by Gow, he named Woolwich,
and thither all parties repaired. There, however, they found
Superintendent Miller, of the Thames Police, with sundry row-boats,
and off they moved into Essex; but they could not shake off the
anti-milling Miller, who, calling on a couple of beaks, pursued the
excursionists towards Leytonstone, reinforced by the “Essex lions.” A
council was held, which decided that as the game was “U.P.” in Essex,
a retreat to Temple Mills across the border into Middlesex was the
only chance of a quiet meeting. A “horrid whisper” went round that
Superintendent Miller had a warrant from the magistrates at
Snaresbrook, and that two active constables were already on the track.
Jack Carter, changing coat, hat, and handkerchief with the Deaf’un,
with the quickness of a clown in a transformation scene, took the
Deaf’un’s seat in a one-horse chaise, while both of the men made the
best of their way towards Temple Mills. The ruse succeeded. Carter was
yet a mile from the Essex frontier, when up rode a couple of mounted
men, quickly followed by a posse of the amphibious Thames constables,
and called upon the driver of the gig to “Stop, in the King’s name,”
which he loyally and dutifully did, and away poor Carter was haled
before the nearest beak, and his capture officially announced to the
worshipful functionary. The culprit was brought forward. “James
Burke,” said the awful representative of Majesty, reading the warrant,
“it is my duty to commit you for a contemplated breach of the peace
within this county of Essex――――” “Excuse me, sir,” interposed Jack,
“my name isn’t Burke at all, and why these here gentlemen――――” “Then
what is your name?” “I can save your worship trouble,” said
Superintendent Miller. “I know this man well; his name is Jack Carter,
and if I’d been at hand I shouldn’t have mistaken him.” “You are
discharged, fellow,” exclaimed his worship, indignantly, and away went
Jack, with a low bow to his crestfallen captors. At the bridge at
Temple Mills the pursuit ceased, and all got over the river Lea.

The fight that now took place presented no features worth recording.
The Deaf’un, who had always a touch of eccentricity, on this occasion
appeared in the ring in a grotesque and original costume. His “nether
bulk” was encased in a pair of green baize drawers, profusely bound
and seamed with yellow braid, and with flying yellow ribbons at the
knees, below which his sturdy pedestals were encased in a pair of
bright striped worsted stockings and laced highlows. Although the day
was waning, Burke managed to polish off his job before dark, Gow never
getting a lead during 22 busy rounds, at the end of which his second,
Birmingham Davis (who, as will be seen afterwards, fought the
Deaf’un), claimed the fight for Burke, Gow not answering to the call
of “Time.”

In the interim, before this affair with Gow, a curious incident
illustrates the readiness of the Deaf’un, who was then always in
training, to “do business at the shortest notice.” Bob Hampson, of
Liverpool, visited London, where his fame as the conqueror of one Jack
Pye, and subsequently of Wm. Edwards, at Bootle, and Bill Fisher, at
Milbray Island, had gone before him. Bob offered himself, at £25 a
side, to the notice of Burke; who expressed himself ready, as the
Liverpool carpenter wanted to return northwards, to meet him at an
early day as might be convenient. Two fights were “on the slate” for
the 26th of the current month, one between Sam Hinton and the Bristol
baker (Mike Davis), the other between the youthful Owen Swift, and an
East End Israelite, of the name of Isaacs. To these the Deaf’un and
Hampson were added, and all were satisfactorily got off at Harpenden
Common on the same day.

Hampson, with these credentials, was the favourite at 6 and 7 to 4.
Indeed, the chance of the Deaf’un looked by no means “rosy,” yet he
never lost heart or confidence. Hampson came down to St. Alban’s under
the wing of Tom Spring; to whose care he was recommended by no less a
person than Jack Langan, Spring’s former foe, but now fast friend.
Hampson came on the ground with Tom Oliver and Harry Jones as his
seconds, the Deaf’un attended by Fitzmaurice (a former opponent) and
Ned Stockman.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――As the men stood up Hampson did not impress
     the London connoisseurs favourably, either as to his
     boxing skill or his capability for rough work and
     endurance. He looked leggy, stood wide, and fidgeted,
     rather than manœuvred, in an anxious and hurried
     manner, while the Deaf’un, who was the picture of
     sturdy health, stood firmly facing him, eyeing him
     sharply, and only just moving so much as to prevent his
     opponent from stealing a march on him either to right
     or left. The Liverpool man, after some dodging, let fly
     his left and caught Burke a tidy smack on the cheek,
     but got a return on the mouth from the Deaf’un’s left,
     which more than balanced the account. A brief spar,
     when Hampson again was first, and reached the Deaf’un’s
     nob. This led to a smart exchange of blows, Hampson
     delivering several snowy hits on Burke’s dial, which,
     however, left hardly a visible mark, while the
     Deaf’un’s returns seemed to paint and flush the
     countryman. In the close Hampson got the Deaf’un’s head
     under his left arm cleverly, and hit up, but he
     couldn’t hold him, and Burke lifted him over and threw
     him an awkward side fall. (Cheers for the Deaf’un, but
     no offers.)

     2.――Hampson again let off with the left, but was met
     with a counterhit, and Burke forced a rally; some sharp
     half-arm hitting at close quarters, in which the
     Deaf’un showed most strength. In the close both down.

     3.――Hampson came up bleeding from the mouth and nose,
     and Burke seemed to have damaged his left hand. Hampson
     hammered away, and hit for hit was the order of the
     day. The men closed, and after a struggle both were
     down. (Even betting.)

     4.――A short round. Hampson led off, but his blows left
     scarcely a mark, and after a break and some manœuvring
     Hampson slipped down.

     5.――Counterhits with the left. Burke the best of the
     exchanges. Hampson the quicker fighter, but Burke the
     steadier and harder hitter. A long rally and no
     flinching till Hampson fell on his knees; Burke walking
     to his corner.

     6.――Hampson dodging about and feinting with the left,
     the Deaf’un solid as a post, but moving his arms
     defensively. Hampson got in a smack with his left,
     which the Deaf’un countered, but not effectively. More
     weaving work, hit for hit, a close, Hampson thrown
     heavily. (6 to 4 on Burke.)

     7.――Hampson seemed a little lame, and sparred for wind;
     Burke waiting. The Liverpool man, as before, let fly
     with the left, and reached Burke’s head just above the
     left eye, stopping the Deaf’un’s return neatly, amidst
     applause. The Deaf’un shook his wig-block and grinned.
     Hampson tried it again, and got such a return from
     Burke’s right in his ribs that he fell on his knees,
     but was quickly up again, and renewed the round in a
     lively manner, until the Deaf’un closed and threw him
     over his hip by a heave. (Applause.)

     8.――Hampson came up blowing and coughed two or three
     times. He was evidently shaken by the last throw. He
     however kept in good form and led off. Burke shifted a
     little and retreated, but, biding his time, met Hampson
     with a fearful jobbing hit on the mouth that staggered
     him; Hampson returned to the charge and hit away
     wildly, and once and again the Deaf’un nailed him. This
     was not done without damage, for Hampson caught him
     with his right on the ear such a wax-melter, that if
     the Deaf’un could have been cured by that process he
     might have heard better for some time afterwards. A
     close embrace, in which neither man could get a hit,
     ended by Burke pulling Hampson down; both on the
     ground, blowing like grampuses.

     9.――The last struggle had told most upon Hampson. He
     was distressed, while the Deaf’un might be described as
     “much the same as usual.” Hampson pointed to the
     scratch as they met, Burke shook his head, grinned,
     toed it, and then made half a step back as Hampson
     tried a feint with his left. Hampson once more led off,
     and there were some sharp exchanges. The Deaf’un nodded
     to Stockman as he got away, and Hampson did not follow,
     saying, “He can’t hit me hard enough, Mister Neds.” “I
     believe you, my boy,” replied the Lively Kid. Hampson
     again got on Burke’s nob, receiving a rib-roaster.
     Hampson was first down.

     10.――Hampson made play, but the Deaf’un met him, and
     hit for hit was once more persevered in until Burke
     threw Hampson after a short wrestle.

     11.――The Carpenter showed marks of severe punishment,
     and the Deaf’un’s cast-iron frontispiece was ornamented
     with some crimson patches and bumps. Hampson was
     evidently less inclined to go to his man, and worked
     round him _à la distance_. The Deaf’un, with a comical
     grin, in turn pointed down to the scratch with his
     right hand forefinger; Hampson seized the opportunity,
     as he thought, and hit straight at Burke’s head, who,
     quick as lightning, countered with his left on
     Hampson’s jaw. “Bravo!” cried Stockman, “I’d have told
     him to do that, only he can’t hear me.” The men were at
     it again, when Burke drove Hampson on the ropes and
     chopped him with the right. Hampson rolled down (7 to 4
     on Burke).

     12, 13, 14, 15.――Hampson came up game, and fought for a
     turn, but his confidence was gone, and the Deaf’un
     timed him, now and then putting in an ugly one, and
     ending the round by getting Hampson down.

     16-20.――The Deaf’un still declined to lead off, but
     always had the best at close quarters. In the last
     named round Hampson dropped on his knees in the
     hitting, and the Deaf’un threw up his hands, bowed
     comically to the spectators, and walked to his corner.
     (Cheers.)

     21.――Hampson, encouraged by his friends, fought
     vigorously, and at one time seemed to have got a turn;
     in the close the Deaf’un was under. (Shouts for
     Hampson.)

     22.――Hampson appeared to have got second wind; he
     manœuvred round his man, and delivered one, two,
     neatly. The Deaf’un laughed and shook his head, but was
     short in the return. “That’s the way,” cried Harry
     Jones, “he’s as stupid as a pig. Hit him again, Bob,
     he’ll stand it.” Hampson did so, but the Deaf’un
     countered, and then went in for close work. Hampson
     could not keep him out, and was forced back on the
     ropes, where the Deaf’un hit him heavily until he got
     him down anyhow.

     23.――Hampson much shaken by the last round; Burke
     waiting. “Why don’t you go in, Jem?” shouted Reuben
     Martin, “it’s all your own.” The Deaf’un nodded, and
     did as he was bid. The advice was not good, for Hampson
     nailed him sharply right and left, and in a rally Burke
     over-reached himself, missed his right, and slipped
     down.

     24.――Some amusement was created by the Deaf’un’s
     evident attempt at _gammoning_ distress, to induce his
     opponent to come on. Hampson, however, fought shy.
     After some sparring they got closer, and again
     give-and-take was the order of the day, the
     _pepper-box_ being freely handed from one side to the
     other. Hampson was thrown, but not heavily.

     25.――The tide was turned against Hampson. He retreated
     before the Deaf’un, who now assumed the offensive, and
     in a rally the Liverpool man was fairly hit down in his
     own corner.

     26-40.――In all these rounds it was clear that Hampson’s
     defeat was a mere question of time. In the 40th round
     he was thrown heavily, and his friends proposed to give
     in for him; he, however, refused, and came up for the
     41st round, when Burke hit him on to the rope, and then
     let him get down, walking away to his own corner.
     Hampson’s backer stepped into the ring and desired the
     sponge to be thrown up, saying it was useless to expose
     a brave man to further punishment. Time 44 minutes. The
     Deaf’un crossed the ring, shook hands with his
     opponent, and then indulged in a sort of hornpipe-step
     in his own corner, putting on his clothes with little
     assistance. Hampson was carried to his carriage,
     severely punished, complaining that he lost his power
     of wrestling from an injury to his leg in the 5th
     round.

     REMARKS.――This battle tells its own tale. The Liverpool
     man’s friends had much overestimated Hampson’s
     scientific attainments, and equally miscalculated his
     opponent’s cunning defence, backed as it was by
     extraordinary powers of endurance, indomitable pluck,
     and cool courage. “Hampson was, up to a certain point,
     the cleverer man, but, that point passed, his chance
     was gone, and he was beaten by toughness, readiness,
     and strength. The Deaf’un by this battle has shown
     himself a dangerous competitor for any 12-stone man on
     the list. He is now the winner of seven fights, mostly
     with big men, and must not be meddled with by any mere
     sparrer. However flash and wide-awake he may think
     himself, he will find the Deaf’un knows a thing or two
     that will astonish him when it comes to real work. The
     200 and 300-pounders, though ‘great guns,’ will do well
     to take our hint.” These last remarks, which we
     transcribe from a contemporary sporting paper, show the
     good opinion which Burke was fast gaining among the
     most competent judges of boxing merit. Of course the
     200 and 300 pounders mean the men who fixed £200 or
     £300 as the price for a Ring appearance.

We have just seen that our hero fought and won two sharp battles
within three weeks, and we have now to record yet another arduous
conflict within the three weeks next ensuing, namely, on November
16th, 1830, on which day he met Tim Crawley at the well-fought field
of Whetstone, for a stake of £50.

Mister Timothy was a stalwart Milesian coalwhipper, aged twenty-three,
hard upon six feet in height, and balancing 13 stone, and though no
relation to “Peter the Great,” was only a shade less than the fighting
weight and stature of that ponderous ex-champion. Tim was “presented
at the Castle,” not of Dublin, but in Holborn, by a distinguished
Hibernian field-officer, who intimated to Tom Spring his readiness to
post the “needful” for Tim in a trial with any man Spring might
select. There was the Deaf’un, rough and ready, “standing idle in the
market place;” and as he said, when he was asked as to when he would
be ready if a match were arranged, “Well, you see, Misters, I’se ready
at any time――the sooner the better――but where’s the moneys to come
from? I’ll put down five of my own, buts――――” a well-known member of
the Stock Exchange struck in immediately, “and I’ll find the second
five, and perhaps some more, if it’s wanted.” So the articles were
there and then drawn, and Tuesday, the 16th, set down.

East Barnet was the fixture, and on the appointed morning, despite a
heavy storm of wind and rain, a numerous cavalcade thronged the roads
from Finchley and Southgate to the rendezvous. Crawley came down in a
brand-new white upper-benjamin, on the swell drag of his military
patron. Tim was radiant, if the weather was gloomy, and assured his
friends that “He thought mighty little of Misther Burke’s
foightin”――(Tim had seen his battle with Hampson)――“if all he could do
was what he did with that tumble down carpenther from Liverpool. By
jabers,” he added, “I’m the boy that’ll tache him quite another sort
o’ fun.” The storm increased in violence, the time was come, and all
were waiting with what patience they could command. Crawley alighted
from his vehicle and claimed the stakes, when Reuben Martin hastened
up breathless and covered with mud, to announce that the Deaf’un would
be there immediately. The Deaf’un had left Soho in a hired gig; the
horse had proved a “bolter,” and after a gallop along the Finchley
Road, and up a bye-lane into which he had been turned, had smashed the
gig and deposited the Deaf’un and his pal in a clayey ditch, the
former pitching on his head with no other damage than a mud-bath. The
Deaf’un now hove in sight, attended by Welsh Davis (afterwards called
“Birmingham”) and Ned Stockman; Crawley had the services of Harry
Jones and an Irish “friend.” The colours were tied to the stakes, the
ring whipped out, and amid a pelting shower of rain the men stood up
for


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Crawley stood over the Deaf’un by at least
     three inches, and topped him in weight by about a
     stone. He was, indeed, a fine muscular specimen of
     humanity, though some critical anatomists pronounced
     him too thick about the shoulder-blades, and,
     therefore, what is technically termed “shoulder-tied,”
     a defect which detracts both from the distance and the
     quickness of a man’s blows. The Deaf’un’s solid,
     trunk-of-tree look, was by this time familiar to all
     ring-goers, as he stood with his comparatively short
     arms, the left slightly in advance, and the right
     across covering his side and mark. Crawley lost no time
     in letting his adversary know his “little game,” for in
     he went, swinging out his left arm rather than hitting
     straight, and following it with a lunge with the right,
     both of which would have been ugly visitations had they
     got well home; but the first was stopped, and the
     second only just reached the Deaf’un’s ribs as he
     shifted ground; Crawley followed up his charge with
     more round hits, or rather misses, in exchange for
     which the Deaf’un, getting within his guard, hit up so
     sharply, the right on Tim’s eye and the left on his
     mouth, that he paused a moment before he renewed his
     hitting out. The Deaf’un had broke away, and now led
     Mister Tim a short dance round the ring, during which
     he propped the big ’un several times. Crawley lost his
     temper, and made a furious grab at Burke with his open
     right hand, catching him round the neck, when, to the
     surprise of all, the Deaf’un, throwing his arms round
     Crawley’s waist and butting him in the breast with his
     head, heeled him and threw him a clear back fall,
     adding his own weight to the concussion, which would
     have been far more serious but for the fact that the
     ground was about the consistency of a half-baked
     Yorkshire pudding. (2 to 1 on Burke.)

     2.――Crawley came up with his face painted the colour of
     the sign of the “Red Lion,” and the claim of first
     blood for the Deaf’un was admitted. Tim was, however,
     nothing daunted, and smiled contemptuously at his
     opponent, who nodded his nob in reply. At it again went
     Tim, in the style which we at a later day recognised as
     peculiar to Ben Caunt, whom Crawley (though better
     looking and not so tall) much resembled in his bust and
     mode of hitting. The onslaught was again but partially
     successful, the Deaf’un hitting up at close quarters
     with unusual precision, while Mister Tim pummelled
     away, often at the back of Burke’s head, neck, and
     shoulders, until they closely embraced, when the
     Deaf’un got his man down somehow.

     3.――Crawley came up strong on his pins, but already
     much disfigured. His left eye was nearly closed, his
     lips swelled and bleeding, and his cheek-bones and
     forehead full of “bubukles, and knobs, and whelks;” yet
     he went to work as before. After a stop or two, the
     Deaf’un again got his length, and sent in a smasher on
     Crawley’s damaged kissing organ, but could not escape
     such a right-handed “polthogue” from Tim’s
     bunch-of-fives on the top of his head as sent him
     staggering across the ring, amidst the shouts of the
     Emerald party. Crawley tried to follow up his
     advantage, but the Deaf’un recovered himself, was “all
     there” after a few exchanges, and finished the round by
     slipping through Crawley’s hands as he tried to grab
     him at the ropes.

     4.――A short round. Burke’s nob again visited; a rally
     in favour of the Deaf’un and both down.

     5, 6, and 7.――Very similar. Crawley showing increasing
     signs of punishment; the Deaf’un’s left ear
     tremendously swelled, and some blue marks about his
     frontispiece. In a rally Crawley missed his right and
     struck it flush against the stake. Burke was undermost
     in the last-named round.

     8.――Crawley, a deplorable spectacle, rushed in and got
     jobbed severely; in the close Burke threw Crawley
     heavily. Tim had no pretence to wrestling skill, and
     his right hand seemed almost _hors de combat_ from
     contact with Burke’s granite skull and the oaken stake.

     9.――Crawley nearly dark in one window, and the other
     with the shutter half-up. The Deaf’un now went in in
     turn. He allowed Crawley to get on his favourite right
     at the ribs, jumping aside at the moment with a quick
     step, and sending his own right as a return smash into
     poor Tim’s frontispiece. Ding-dong till both out of
     breath and Crawley down.

     10-25.――The whole of these rounds were too much alike
     to deserve particular description. They varied only in
     which of the men finished the round by being first down
     at the close, and in this Crawley scored a large
     majority. In the 25th round Crawley’s remaining
     daylight became so nearly darkened that his last chance
     seemed gone. General Barton asked him to leave off, but
     he refused, saying, “Sure, yer hanner, an’ I can bate
     that fellow yet.” So he was indulged in seven more
     short rounds, and then, at the thirty-third, being in
     total darkness, his backers withdrew him after a
     slogging battle of 30 minutes only!

     REMARKS.――Each time the Deaf’un appears in the ring, he
     surprises us by his manifest improvement. True, Crawley
     turned out a perfect novice, still the Deaf’un’s style
     of hitting, stopping, and getting away from a powerful
     and determined assailant was a clever demonstration of
     the art of defence; while the way, when the time came,
     in which he adminstered pepper with both hands at close
     quarters was something astonishing. Burke walked to his
     conveyance; he declared himself little hurt by
     Crawley’s body blows. Poor Tim was carried to his
     patron’s drag, and was soon conversable. He declared,
     no doubt with truth, that he “Couldn’t for the life of
     him make out how he was bate, at all, at all, no more
     nor a babby.” Some of the fancy suggested that the
     great Irish champion, Simon Byrne, with whom Jem Ward’s
     fiasco of Leicester was yet rankling in the public
     mind, might find his match in the Deaf’un; but this was
     not yet to be.

The sky had how cleared and the wind abated, when some fun was
promised by a proposed fight between two well-known eccentric
characters in the fistic world. These were no other than the facetious
Tommy Roundhead, the trainer, and in after-time the “Secretary” to
Deaf Burke, and the renowned Frosty-faced Fogo, D.C.G. (Deputy
Commissary General), C.P.M. (Chief Purveyor of Max), and P.L.P.R.
(Poet Laureate to the Prize Ring), for all these honours had been
conferred on him by the Press. These illustrious wights had it seems
differed (so it is rumoured) about the etymology of a Greek verb, the
use of the digamma, or the literary attainments of Jack Scroggins; and
in one branch of the disputation Tommy had not only asserted his own
superiority in prose and poetry to the Laureate, but had offered to
back Scroggins against him in writing blank verse or hexameters. Fired
at the insult, the Frosty-faced’un tipped Tommy such a volley of
_black (letter) chaff_ that the latter declared himself quiet
dumb-founded and _nonplushed_; so he offered to post five bob, and to
fight Fogo in the same ring as Burke and Tim Crawley, just to settle
the knotty dispute. Frosty’s official duties having ceased with the
exit from the ring of the two principals, the Deputy Commissary
stepped into the middle of the ring, and “thrice called aloud for
Richmond” (we beg pardon, Roundhead). Before, however, he was “hoarse
with calling” Roundhead, Tommy appeared, ready stripped to the waist,
hopping through the mud like a pelted frog. Shouts of laughter greeted
his entrée to the ropes, and at once he of the Frosty-face, hearing
his defiance answered, began (unlike the Homeric heroes) to divest
himself of his panoply, and would have been quickly in his natural
buff suit, had not the ring filled with curious inquirers, anxious to
learn the cause of this unusual commotion. The matter explained, the
_literati_ (represented by the ring-reporters), the University
wranglers, and the aristocracy of the P.R., decided unanimously and
with one voice (remember it was “raining cats and dogs”) that it would
be derogatory for so distinguished a votary of Apollo to descend from
Parnassus to roll his laurelled brow in Middlesex mud. “Forbid it,
Phœbus, and ye Muses nine!” exclaimed Cicero Holt, then, descending to
plain prose, he added, “Come, shove on your toggery, Frosty-face,
you’ll catch cold, you old muff;” and, suiting the action to the word,
he tried to thrust the “pen-hand” of the irate bard into the ragged
sleeve-lining of his “upper Ben.” The task was impracticable. “There’s
five bob down, and I’ll have a round for it,” cried the Fancy Orpheus.
“Oh, d―――― your five bob, Frosty, we’ll make that right,” cried
half-a-dozen voices. At that moment poor Frosty beheld with dismay the
greasy sleeve of his old coat torn clean out at the shoulder, and his
own naked arm protruding from the yawning rent. He felt like

    “That bard forlorn,
     By Bacchanals torn
   On Thracian Hebrus’ side,”

so he cried for quarter; and being reassured that he would be
indemnified for the five bob, and “leave the ring without a stain on
his character,” as the police reporters have it, he was appeased,
pocketed the affront (and the five shillings), and straightway, with
assistance, returned to his chariot (a South Mimms farmer’s cart), in
charge of his true-blue stakes, his ditto beetle, staples, tent-pegs,
and neatly-coiled cordage. As for Tommy Roundhead, after calling the
gods to witness his readiness to do battle, he waxed less pugnacious,
and quickly “lost stomach for the fight” when he was told the
victorious party (to which his principal and he belonged), had a
dinner waiting at the “Blue Boar,” of which he was invited to partake.
The rain had now come on again, and as Apollo was appeased, no one
cared to expose himself any longer to the anger of Jupiter Pluvius,
and all who had the means, got as quickly housed as possible; the
pedestrians plodding their weary way through slush and mire to their
humble homes, the equestrians rattling home to their more luxurious
domiciles.

Hampson challenged the Deaf’un to fight for £50, within 30 miles of
Liverpool, but the affair fell through.

The Deaf’un now came out with a challenge to any 12-stone man and
upwards (bar Jem Ward), dating from Reuben Martin’s, in Berwick
Street. This was promptly answered on the part of Birmingham (Welsh)
Davis, who declared his £100 ready, if necessary. The match was,
however, made for £50 a side on December 16th, 1830, “to fight within
four months.” In _Bell’s Life_ of December 26th, 1830, we read, _à
propos_ of a discussion of the merits of heavy weight exhibitors at
the benefits at the Fives Court, and the sparring of Ned Neale, Young
Dutch Sam, Tom Gaynor, &c., “The Deaf’un was transformed into a swell,
but had not lost his civility, as do too many of his calling. He was
never known to utter an oath or an offensive word to any one, and has
established the character of a good-natured, well-meaning fellow.” Of
how few men in most positions in life could this be written truly!

February 22nd, 1831, was the day, and Baldwin having won the toss for
Davis, named Knowle Hill, near Maidenhead, the spot where he
(White-headed Bob) beat George Cooper. Baldwin had forgotten that Sir
Gilbert East had “departed this life,” and that his place was filled
by an anti-millarian justice. Davis, with Arthur Matthewson and
Perkins, the Oxford Pet, reached Maidenhead on Monday, and there also
arrived Jem Burn, Reuben Marten, Burke, _cum multis aliis_. At an
early hour Tom Oliver and Fogo were on the move to Knowle Hill with
their _matériel_, when they spied three mounted men in the distance.
“My mind misgives me sore. By the pricking of my thumbs, something
wicked this way comes!” quoth Fogo. The horsemen approached. “S’help
me,” said Tom Oliver, “they’re beaks to a sartinty; I don’t like the
Jerusalem cut of the first one.” And Tom was right. Up rode Sir
Maurice Ximenes. “My good men,” said Sir Maurice, “if you don’t want
to get into trouble you’ll clear out of both Berkshire and Wilts.
Myself and these two gentlemen have determined to suffer no breach of
the peace in our jurisdiction. Go back at once to your party and tell
them so.” Tom

   Scratched his left ear, the infallible resource
   To which most puzzled people have recourse.

“In course, yer worshup,” said the Commissary, “nobody would think of
goin’ agenst yer worshup’s orders.” And he turned the head of his nag
towards whence he came, muttering something very like a witch’s prayer
for the Semitic nose and Israelitish carcase of his worship. All now
were in motion for the Bush Inn, Staines, and, arrived there,
Shepperton Range, in Co. Middlesex, was decided on. Burke, Reuben
Marten, Stockman and company were on the ground in good time, but
Davis was delayed by the overturning of his post-chaise between
Windsor and Egham, through the clumsiness of his driver. It was,
therefore, full two o’clock before he arrived, when no time was lost
in preliminaries. Burke was seconded by Stockman and Reuben Marten,
Davis by Harry Jones and Perkins. The colours being tied to the stake,
and umpires and referee chosen, at the cry of “Fall back! Fall back!”
and the crack of the ringkeepers’ whips, all settled themselves down,
and the men began


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Both men set to in good form, and covered
     their vulnerable points well. Davis looked brown,
     strong, and hardy, his trade of a coachsmith being one
     well calculated to promote muscular development. The
     Deaf’un was paler than usual, though he looked bright
     and confident. There was a sly looseness about the
     Deaf’un’s action that seemed intended to induce the
     Brum to go in. Davis tried a nobber with the left, but
     Burke got away smiling. More shifting and Davis let go
     his right at the Deaf’un’s ribs, and his left at his
     head; the former Burke caught on his elbow, the latter
     got home sharply, and exchanges followed. The Deaf’un
     broke away, counter-hits and a close, in which the
     Deaf’un gained the fall. A most determined first round,
     with as much fighting as half a dozen first rounds of
     our modern sparring professors.

     2.――Davis bleeding from the nose and a cut on the left
     cheekbone. The Welshman got on a heavy smack on the
     Deaf’un’s eye, which twinkled and blinked again. Burke
     shook his head and hemm’d twice or thrice. “He don’t
     like it,” cried Harry Jones, “do it again.” Davis tried
     to do so, but was stopped neatly. Mutual stopping and
     shifting, until the Deaf’un balanced accounts by a
     straight’un on Davis’s left ogle that seemed to
     electrify him for the instant. Both men now got at it
     ding-dong. Davis staggered once or twice from the heavy
     hits, but recovered and went on again. At last Burke
     drove Davis into his corner and hit him down. (First
     knock down for the Deaf’un.)

     3.――Davis flushed, but still strong, fresh, and active.
     Deaf’un hit short to draw his man, and then sent in a
     cross counter as Davis hit out with his left. A rally.
     Davis fought fast and furious; a close and Davis under
     in the fall.

     4.――Heavy hitting and a bustling round. Jack as good as
     his master, and not a pin to choose. Towards the close
     Burke’s heavier metal told, and both were down,
     blowing; Davis undermost.

     5.――Fast work and bellows to mend. A terrific round.
     Counter-hits; give and take and no mistake; Davis
     determined to get the lead, and Burke resisting his
     assaults like a brick wall. At last Davis closed, but
     after a brief struggle the Deaf’un flung him a clear
     cross-buttock, poor Davis’s legs whirling in the air
     like the revolving spokes of a coach wheel.

     6.――Davis slow from his corner, but did not appear to
     be so much shaken by the last round as was expected.
     This was a very short bout. Davis retreated, and the
     Deaf’un went in; exchanges, and Davis down in his own
     corner.

     7.――The Deaf’un, sly as a ’possum, would not go over
     the scratch, but kept throwing out first one elbow,
     then the other, with a funny little jerk, and looking
     his adversary all over with a kind of self-satisfied
     grin on his stoneware mug, as much as to say, “Let’s
     see what you are going to do next,” to which poor Davis
     certainly did not seem able to give any practical
     answer. He, too, shifted from side to side, then taking
     courage from despair, in he went, Burke jumping back
     from his first delivery, and each of their left hands
     coming “bash,” as a bystander expressed it, in the
     other’s face. Some more left-arm hitting, both men as
     game as pebbles, Burke’s broadsides the heavier, and
     poor Davis over on his beam ends.

     8.――On being righted, and got once more on an even
     keel, Davis yawed and rolled not a little. Still the
     Deaf’un stood off, waiting for his opponent to make
     sail for close quarters, which he did, and again they
     were yardarm and yardarm. It was not for long; away
     fell Davis, reeling under the weight of the Deaf’un’s
     shot, and went over among the bottles in his own
     corner.

     9.――It was surprising to see how readily Davis
     recovered from what appeared almost finishing hits.
     There was much advice-giving in Davis’s corner, and
     “Time” was more than once called before the Welshman
     was out of the hands of his seconds. The round was very
     short. Davis once again went in, and this time got on a
     stinger on the Deaf’un’s left ear, and a round one in
     the bread-basket. A scramble, and both down.

     10.――Davis on the totter, but he steadied himself and
     got home his right on Burke’s body; good counter-hits.
     Davis got Burke on the ropes, but he extricated
     himself, and closing threw Davis.

     11.――Davis hit short and stepped back. The Deaf’un did
     not follow. Some little time spent in sparring; both
     blown. At last the men got together, and Davis, finding
     he must do some hard fighting, went in hand over hand.
     Burke was with him and got him down in the hitting
     under the ropes. Burke walked to his corner while the
     Lively Kid performed a fancy step, leaving Reuben to
     make a knee. (Cries of “Take him away!” from the
     Londoners.)

     12.――Davis came up all abroad. His knees seemed to
     shake under him. Still he steadied himself as well as
     he could, and hit out. Burke merely stepped in and hit
     him down with one, two.

     13.――It was all over with Davis. He walked up to the
     scratch with an unsteady step, and stood there quite
     bewildered. The Deaf’un faced him. Some one in Davis’s
     corner cried “Don’t hit him!” The Deaf’un stepped over
     the scratch and caught hold of his right hand, Davis’s
     seconds rushed forward, received him in their arms, and
     conveyed him to his corner. Time, _twenty-seven
     minutes_.

     REMARKS.――Burke is all to nothing the better fighter at
     points. The battle was never in doubt after the first
     few rounds. Experience, coolness, and readiness, and a
     good deal of work without much show, marked the
     Deaf’un’s tactics throughout. More than once he played
     off his favourite manœuvre with effect. This consists
     in throwing himself in a loose and careless attitude,
     and looking at his man’s feet, or anywhere but in his
     face, when, if his adversary takes the bait and comes
     in, he suddenly lets fly, and seldom fails to
     administer a couple of punishing blows, or at least a
     damaging counter-hit. David Davis, who, we learn, has a
     long time worked in London as a coachspring maker, and
     who beat Manning in the short space of 24 minutes on
     Wolverhampton race-course in December, 1828, has now
     been beaten by the Deaf’un in 27 minutes. The Brums
     were deceived by the reports of Bill Cosens, who never
     ceased disparaging the merits of the Deaf’un, whom he
     boasts of having “beaten easily,” though he has several
     times shuffled out of a second engagement with him.
     Davis returned to Birmingham on Wednesday week, after
     showing at the Deaf’un’s benefit, and the giving up of
     the stakes at Reuben Marten’s, on the following
     Tuesday. Davis’s chief visible hurts were
     these――injured left hand and discolouration of the
     eyes.

One Blissett, a 14-stone man, and a butcher by trade, having crept
into favour with himself and his fraternity by some bye-battles, and
defeating Brown (the Northampton Baker), was matched against the
Deaf’un, not a few of the “kill-bull” brotherhood hoping to reverse
the verdict in the case of Hands, who was still a popular favourite
among them. In this affair the Deaf’un again posted the first “fiver,”
this time out of his stake with Davis, whereon Tom Cannon, on the part
of Mr. Hayne, promised the rest of the stake of £25, and the day of
battle was fixed for the 26th of May. The betting began at 6 to 4 on
the Deaf’un. Burke went into training at the “Crown,” at Holloway, and
Blissett took his breathings at the “Black Horse,” Greenford Green.
There was a good muster of the sporting public on the ground at Colney
Heath, Blissett coming on the ground in style with a four-in-hand,
sporting a crimson flag and black border, the Deaf’un a green-and-orange
handkerchief. When stripped, Burke appeared in a fancy pair of white
drawers of a glazed material, trimmed and bound with green ribbons,
and tied with green bows at the knees, where they were joined by a
pair of blue-and-white striped stockings. Blissett weighed 13st.
12lb., and stood 6ft; the Deaf’un 12st. 8lb., and stood 5ft. 8in.


     THE FIGHT.

     We shall give but a general sketch of the rounds of
     this one-sided affair. In the first round Blissett, who
     displayed more sparring ability than was expected,
     began by planting heavily on the Deaf’un’s eyebrow,
     which he cut, and thus gained the first event amidst
     the uproarious cheers of his admirers. Soon after,
     however, the scene was changed, for the Deaf’un,
     getting under his guard, gave him several such severe
     body blows, that the big one, who certainly carried too
     much flesh, literally staggered and caught the top rope
     with his hand, while the Deaf’un had his opponent’s
     head at his mercy, until, recovering himself, Blissett
     forced a wild rally, in which he bored the Deaf’un
     down, without doing much mischief. In the following
     rounds Blissett, who was already piping, tried to lead
     off, but generally either missed or was stopped, while
     the Deaf’un, every now and then, got in a rattling hit
     on the mouth, eyes, or nose, in pretty equal
     succession. Before the 10th round was reached, Burke
     had not only got his man down to his own weight, but
     forced The fighting, or the reverse, at his own will,
     getting slyly inside and under Blissett’s hands, and
     hitting up at half-arm with punishing effect. After two
     or three more rounds of furious and wild fighting on
     the part of Blissett, he fell off, and in the 13th
     round the Deaf’un closed, lifted him, and threw him
     heavily. In the 14th and 15th rounds Blissett, after
     receiving a prop or two, literally got down amidst some
     hissing. Despite Young Dutch Sam’s urging him on, the
     big one now fought shy; indeed he was frightfully
     punished about the head.

     In the 17th and 18th rounds Blissett, after a hit or
     two, turned away and fell on his knees and hands; and
     when he fell in the 19th and last round from a coming
     blow, Sam threw up the sponge, and the Deaf’un was
     hailed the victor amidst loud cheering. Time, 44
     minutes.

Blissett was conveyed back to town, and the Deaf’un, having dressed,
assisted to beat out the ring for the next fight, in which Young
Richmond (a smart bit of ebony only 18 years of age, son of the
renowned old Bill), was defeated by the afterwards celebrated Jack
Adams, a _protégé_ of Jem Burn.

Burke now laid by for a time, part of the interval from a boating
accident, in which he badly injured the cap of his knees, which
detained him in a hospital for several weeks. That this was serious we
may conclude from the fact, that the writer was more than once told by
the Deaf’un, in after years, that, “Though you can’t see nothing,
misters, I often feels my leg go all of a suddent.” There was, in
fact, a partial anchylosis, or stiffening of the joint.

In May, 1832, at a dinner at Tom Cribb’s, in Panton Street, Spring,
the ex-champion, Josh Hudson, Ned Neale, Jem Burn (his old antagonist,
Ned Baldwin, had just dropped the reins and quitted his box at the
“Coach and Horses,” St. Martin’s Lane), and other leading pugilists
were present. The after-dinner conversation, of course, ran on the
past exploits and future prospects of the Ring. The remarkable group
of pugilists――which included Jem Ward, Peter Crawley, Jem Burn, Ned
Baldwin (White-headed Bob), Shelton, Tom Cannon, Ned Neale, Young
Dutch Sam, Alec Reid, and Bishop Sharpe, the successors of Tom Spring,
Langan, Bill Neale, Ned Painter, Josh Hudson, Oliver, and
Hickman――had, before 1832, each fought his last fight, and “the slate”
was positively clear of any engagements among the “heavies.” Among the
guests was a cavalry officer, whose regiment being ordered for India
(“short service” and “home leave on urgent private affairs” were not
then in fashion), expressed his regret to jolly Josh Hudson, that he
believed the race of “big ’uns” was extinct, and that he should “never
see the like again” of those present. Josh, of course, coincided, but
when the soldier added, that he would gladly give “a note with a
strawberry-tart corner” to see such a mill, old Jack Carter, who had
come in with the dessert, “put in his spoke,” and asked Josh whether
he couldn’t “find him a job,” as he was ready and willing, and felt
himself man enough for any second-rater who would make a good fight
for a little money. Jack added that he had only the day before seen
Burke rowing at Woolwich, being well of his bad knee, and complaining
of the “deadness” of everything, and that they had come up to town
together.

“Where there’s a will there’s a way.” The soldier had no time to
spare, and was prompt; the men promised to be at the “Old Barge
House,” Woolwich, on the morning of the 8th of May, meeting on the
previous day at Josh’s “Half-Moon” tap, to make final arrangements.
Tom Oliver, who was present, was officially engaged, also Jack Clarke;
Dick Curtis and Frank Redmond volunteered to pick up the Deaf’un, and
all was smoothly settled.

There was a select muster, with an unusual sprinkling of swells, on
that pleasant morning of the merry month of May in the Woolwich
Marshes, near the “Old Barge House,” round the newly painted stakes
and a new set of ropes, &c., recently presented to Tom Oliver by the
F.P.C. (Fair Play Club), through the hands of Tom Belcher. The men
were punctual. Carter was waited on by Barney Aaron and Sol. Reubens
(who had lately fought Tom Smith, the East End Sailor Boy). Old Jack
certainly looked “hard,” and also, as Barney added, “brown and stale,
like a well-kept loaf.” He, however, stripped “big,” and showed the
outlines of the once boasted “Lancashire hero,” the opponent of
Spring, Richmond, Cribb (in a turn-up), Shelton, and Jem Ward. He was
neatly got up, but showing unmistakable marks of age, as well he
might, for Jack was now entering his 43rd summer, having been born in
September, 1789. The Deaf’un, too, was in good trim, deducting the
ugly defect of a stiff knee――a serious drawback when opposed to
length, weight, and height. Of these, however, the cheerful Deaf’un
made no account, and was as lively and quaint as a Merry Andrew, in
his grotesque green and yellow kickseys, and striped coverings of his
sturdy pedestals.

The fight, though displaying courage, offered little in the way of
science. For the first four rounds Carter bored in and drove the
Deaf’un against the ropes, where he tried in vain to hold him for a
“hug,” the Deaf’un hitting up sharply to the damage of Carter’s
figure-head, and then getting through his hands with little damage.
The Deaf’un was certainly out of order somewhere in the victualling
department, for towards the middle of the short fight he retched and
was violently sick from his exertions in a throw. This revived the
hopes of the Carter party, against whom the game was evidently going.
It was, however, but a passing gleam; the Deaf’un shook off his qualms
of indigestion, rattled in without standing for any repairs, old Jack
became stiff as a wooden image, then groggy as a sailor three sheets
in the wind, and finally, at the end of the 11th round, went down “all
of a heap,” and declared he “could fight no more,” at which conclusion
it took him only 25 minutes to arrive.

The ring cleared, Josh announced to his patron that he had, foreseeing
that the big ’uns might, one or the other, “come short,” provided an
after-piece, by then and there getting off a “little go;” said “little
go” being the match between Izzy Lazarus[15] and Jem Brown (the
go-cart man). This was indeed a rattling and active fight, until,
after an hour’s sharp milling, in which capital “points” were made by
both men, the Thames police landed from their galleys and compelled a
move, at the same time informing them that “it was no use crossing the
river, as they should follow them up or down, either to the City-stone
at Staines, or to Yantlet Creek.” In this hopeless state of affairs it
was proposed to divide the original £10 stakes and the added purse,
which was assented to by the Napoleon, of Go-cart men, and his
Israelitish opponent, who had had, no doubt, quite enough of each
other “at the prishe.” The “swell” division bowled back to the great
metrop., well pleased with their day’s outing, though the drop fell
rather suddenly on the second pugilistic performance.

The Deaf’un for some months confined himself to the business of an
exhibitor and teacher of the art, superintending the sparring rooms at
the “Coach and Horses,” and demonstrating at Reuben Marten’s on
certain nights in the week. He might also always be depended on (which
many men not so good as he were not) to lend a hand in aid of any poor
pug in distress or difficulty.

Towards the close of 1832 the Deaf’un formed part of a professional
party (organised by his late opponent Jack Carter), who visited
Manchester, Liverpool, Bradford, and other towns, to enlighten the
Lancashire and Yorkshire tykes upon the true principles and manly
practices of the art of self-defence, as taught in the best schools of
boxing. These milling missionaries――we have seen less laudable
missions since that day――of course awakened more or less a “revival”
of “fair play,” the study of the gloves, and the legitimate use of the
fist among both the “upper” and “lower” orders. While at Hull an
immense specimen of a gigantic North countryman, of the name of
Macone, having had “a try with the gloves,” thought “he could lick any
of these Lunnoners except Jock (Carter) and he was too old to talk
aboot.” The Deaf’un thought quite differently; so £20 a side was put
down, and, with only a few days’ training, Macone and the Deaf’un
faced each other at Lackington Bottom, near Beverley, on the 8th
January, 1833. “Macone,” says the meagre report of the battle, “stood
6 feet 2 inches, and weighed 15 stone, and had polished off several
big yokels in first-rate style. The Yorkshireman was in first-rate
condition, while the Deaf’un was generally thought not quite up to the
mark. He weighed 13 stone (a little too heavy) and stood 5 foot 8.” Of
the battle we have scanty particulars, yet the reporter adds, “it was
such a fight as would not have disgraced the days of Cribb and
Belcher. Burke had to do all he knew to obtain a victory over his
large opponent, who turned out the bravest of the brave, and took his
gruel without a murmur, until he could no more stand up to receive.”

We have here, for the sake of keeping the chronological order of the
Deaf’un’s fights, followed on with his “crowning triumph” over the
mighty but unskilful Macone, and shall here “hark back” a few months,
just to show how ready Jem Burke was to “negotiate” with any boxer who
might be “getting mouldy for want of a bating.” His old adversary
Cosens appears to have thought that the Deaf’un’s accident had laid
him “on the shelf,” for he kept from time to time firing off
challenges, in Pierce Egan’s and other sporting papers. Here is one of
them, which certainly savours of “gag,” especially as the writer was
then upon a sparring tour, and in the same paper advertises a
“benefit” at Brighton:――

     “The Editor of _Life in London_.

     “SIR,――I wish to inform Deaf Burke, as he takes upon himself
     the ‘Championship of England,’ that I am ready to fight him
     again. Should he think proper to do so, I will meet him at
     the ‘Wheatsheaf Inn,’ Chichester, within a fortnight, and
     make a match for £50 a side, to come off within one or two
     months, as he may prefer.

     “Hunston, January 24, 1832.                    WM. COSENS.”

Immediately beneath this epistle we read as follows:――

     “SIR,――I understand that Josh Hudson sent something like a
     challenge to me in your paper last Sunday. If he means
     fighting I will meet him at the ‘Coach and Horses,’ St.
     Martin’s Lane, on Monday evening next, for from fifty to one
     hundred a side.

     “St. Martin’s Lane, May 22, 1832.             JAMES BURKE.”

This affair of Hudson’s was a mere “flash-in-the-pan.” Josh’s day was
decidedly gone by, while the Deaf’un, whose birth dated but five years
previous to Josh’s first ring-fight, was in the prime of youthful
strength and vigour.

Another of Burke’s challengers at this time, a Welshman of the name of
Bill Charles, “loomed large” in the Principality and the West of
England. He had twice beaten Jem Bailey, of Bristol, and polished off
several rural commoners, and recently (June 4, 1832) conquered a local
favourite, Tom Trainer (much under his own weight). From this triumph
the _soi disant_ champion’s bounce became so intolerable that
Trainer’s friends clubbed their resources, and resolved to back the
Deaf’un, as a fit and proper man, a very _Orlando_, to floor this
braggart _Charles_; but unfortunately this portion of _As You Like It_
was not rehearsed in Taffy-land, the “Lunnon cove” not being to
the liking of Charles’s friends. Burke went down to Newport
(Monmouthshire) to make the match; but the Welshman’s backers (like
Aminadab’s servant when he opened the door, on the chain, to the
bailiff) seem to have taken alarm at the formidable appearance of the
Deaf’un, and Mr. Charles replied, on behalf of his patron, “Master
hath seen thee and he doth not like thee;” preferring to forfeit a
small deposit. Burke offered to fight “the Welsh Champion” half-way
between Abergavenny and Newport, or near Bristol, or at Monmouth Gap,
for £50 or £100 a side, but the affair went off, and Burke returned to
London――matchless.

On the retirement of Ward from the Championship, among the crowd of
pretenders to the title, the Deaf’un certainly had the fairest claim,
having fought his way up, refusing no opponent, and disposing of every
competitor, save one, and he afterwards declined to risk a repetition
of the contest, upon transparent quibbles.

At a meeting at Tom Spring’s, in a pugilistic palaver, wherein matches
were discussed, examined, and the _pros_ and _cons_ agreed and decided
on, the Deaf’un, in his peculiar style, suggested, that he would like
a match with Young Dutch Sam, “becos he was so clevers,” or Simon
Byrne, “becos he was big enoughs,” or, in fact, with anybody that
“tought himselfs champions.” At first Young Sam seemed disposed to
take up the glove, but on reflection he said, “Burke was too heavy for
him by more than a stone and a half. That was giving too much away.”
Shortly afterwards a well-known Irish Colonel coming in, declared his
readiness to back Byrne against the challenger, and a meeting was
appointed for the following Tuesday at Spring’s. On the day named
Simon’s “needful” was tabled; but alas! the poor Deaf’un was obliged
to acknowledge his failure in enlisting any kind friend to back him,
as “they were all out of towns when he called on ’em. But,” continued
he, “to shows as I means fightins there’s a soverins of my owns to
begins with――let Byrne’s friends cover thats, and on Thursday week I
hopes I’ll make it tens, an if not――why, I’m de fools.” Two gentlemen
present, admiring Burke’s pluck, added a sovereign each, making three,
which were covered by Spring for Byrne. _Bell’s Life_, speaking of
this meeting, says: “It is to be hoped that Burke will not lack
supporters; he may not possess the gift of the gab, but he wants none
of the requisites of a British boxer; he is honest, brave, and
confident; and from his past good character, as well as the prompt
humanity he lately showed in rescuing fellow-creatures from danger at
the risk of his own life (we allude to his saving two children, who
were buried in the ruins of some houses in Essex Street, Strand), it
would be discreditable to see such a man lost for a trifle. It is
always in the power of many to assist one, and here is an opportunity
for those who wish to patronise the old British game of boxing upon
honest principles which should not be overlooked.” The week after this
appeal Burke found his friends (he did not call upon those who were
“out of town,” he told us), and the match was made for £100 a side, to
come off on the 30th May, 1833.

A singular circumstance occurred to the Deaf’un on his way home from
Spring’s on the night when the occurrences took place which led to
this anecdote of Burke’s good qualities. A fire was raging in Long
Acre, in a poor and populous neighbourhood, at which Burke especially
distinguished himself, and was honourably mentioned for his courageous
exertions, rescuing a great deal of humble property at no small
personal peril.

As we propose to give but a brief sketch of the ring career of Simon
Byrne, as a pendant to the present memoir, we shall not here break the
thread of our story, but proceed at once to the details of this
unfortunate contest.

“The Irish Champion” was backed on this occasion by “all the talent.”
Jem Ward, Ned Neale, Tom Spring, and Jem Burn were, to use a
professional phrase, “behind him,” and he had at his command all that
money and skill could do for him. On arriving in town from Liverpool,
Simon’s weight exceeded 15 stone, and this mountain of flesh he had to
reduce and did reduce to 13st. 4lbs. With this view he was at once
sent off to Ned Neale’s, at Norwood, and, under his skilful
superintendence, by hard work and sweating, this reduction was
effected; but not, we are convinced, without impairing his natural
stamina, for Byrne’s habits in Ireland were, so said rumour, far from
abstemious. Burke, on the contrary――for the Deaf’un was never a slave
to liquor――had only to improve his condition by good air, sound food,
and healthful exercise, of which he took at Northfleet, under the eye
of the veteran Tom Owen, a full share both on and off the water, much
of his time being spent in rowing. Burke on the morning of fighting
weighed 12st. 4lbs., the weight which Captain Barclay declared, when
combined with science, to be heavy enough to box Goliath himself. We
ought not to omit that Tom Gaynor generously took Burke under his
wing, and guaranteed his training and personal expenses.

No Man’s Land was fixed upon for the battle, in consequence of an
undertaking on the part of Mr. Coleman, of the Turf Tavern, St.
Alban’s, to raise £25, to be equally divided between the men. On
Wednesday evening, May 29th, the night before fighting, both men
reached St. Alban’s in good spirits, and both confident as to the
result. Burke was the favourite in the betting, as he had been, more
or less, since the match was made; the odds varying between 5 to 4 and
guineas to pounds. The arrivals at St. Alban’s were not numerous on
Wednesday, but on Thursday morning there was unusual bustle, and as
the day advanced the crowd of vehicles was such as to recall the olden
times of the ring. The piece of turf chosen for the encounter was
smooth as a bowling-green; in fact, nothing could have been more
suitable to the purpose, or better calculated to have afforded a good
view of the contest, but for the irregularity which prevailed among
the throng, who, in spite of all entreaty, crowded round the ropes and
stakes during the battle, and, by the most disgraceful confusion, not
only shut out the view of the combatants, but distracted the attention
and excited the fears of the spectators by a succession of fights and
squabbles. The men arrived on the ground soon after 12 o’clock. The
Deaf’un was all jollity, and full of antics, having disfigured his
Grimaldi countenance with white patches, for the amusement of the
yokels, at whom he kept making wry faces all the way from his
quarters; in fact, had he been going to a fair instead of into the
P.R. he could not have been in higher spirits. Byrne was more staid,
but still was cheerful. He was the first to enter the ring, attended
by Tom Spring and Jem Ward; he was loudly cheered. Burke soon
followed, accompanied by Tom Gaynor and Dick Curtis, and was received
with equal marks of favour. A good deal of time was lost in settling
preliminaries, during which the Deaf’un continued his playful tricks,
much to the astonishment of Byrne, who exclaimed he did “not think the
man was in his right sinses.”

On stripping, it was obvious that Burke, in point of muscularity, was
decidedly superior to Byrne, especially in the arms and shoulders; he
was also in the best condition. Byrne looked well, but there was a
softness about his shoulder-blades which showed he was still too
fleshy. He stood about an inch and a half over Burke, but,
nevertheless, did not seem to have much advantage in the reach; upon
the whole, the connoisseurs gave the preference to the Deaf’un, who
was health personified. The men were conducted to the scratch at about
half-past one, and immediately commenced


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Both threw themselves into defensive
     positions; the Deaf’un grinning most confidently, and
     slyly looking at his antagonist. Byrne made one or two
     feints to draw his man, but Burke waited steadily for
     him. They then changed their ground. Byrne again made a
     feint, and after the lapse of some time, both cautious,
     Byrne let fly with his left. Burke countered heavily,
     and caught Byrne on the mouth, while he had it himself
     on the nose. Burke snuffled, and Byrne cried “First
     blood.” “No,” said Burke, and wiping his finger on his
     nose, withdrew it unstained. Another short dodging
     pause, when Byrne again let go his left, which dropped
     on the old spot; while Burke as quickly returned on the
     mouth; and again did the cry of “first blood” resound
     from all quarters; and, on inspection, the crimson was
     seen on Byrne’s lips, and on Burke’s proboscis, at one
     and the same moment. First blood was claimed for Burke,
     but disputed; and we understand the umpires and the
     referee decided it was a tie――giving neither the
     advantage. Some good counter hits with the left
     followed, and in the close, after an awkward scramble,
     both went down, without any decided advantage. On
     getting up both showed claret, Byrne from the nose and
     mouth, and Burke from the nose. Burke also showed the
     mark of a hit on the right brow.

     2.――Long sparring. Burke waiting for Byrne to begin,
     being well on his guard. Both offered, but did not
     strike. At last Byrne popped in his left on Burke’s
     mouth, while Burke’s left, in the counter, went over
     his shoulder. Burke looked slyly down at Byrne’s body,
     as if intending to make his next hit there, but
     stealing a march, he threw in his left on Byrne’s
     mouth. Byrne was, however, awake, and countered. Mutual
     dodging. Burke stopped Byrne’s left cleverly; and after
     more sparring, Burke exclaimed, “Isn’t this beautiful,
     Simons?” while Gaynor said “his man was certain to win,
     and should be backed against any man in England.” Burke
     tried his right, but missed, and the men rushed to a
     rally. Heavy hitting took place, and in the close Byrne
     had the advantage, giving the Deaf’un the crook, and
     falling heavily on him, but on getting up it was
     obvious the hitting was on a par, as both had received
     some ugly clouts. These two rounds occupied 17 minutes.

     3.――Burke stopped Byrne’s left in good style, and
     waited for the renewed attack. Both cautious. Burke
     again stopped a left-handed stinger, and succeeded in
     throwing in his own left on Byrne’s mouth. This brought
     them to a rally, and the hitting left and right was
     lively and pretty. In the close there was some good
     in-fighting in favour of Byrne, but in the struggle for
     the throw both went down slovenly, Burke under.

     4.――Counter-hits with the left, when Byrne threw in a
     tremendous whack with his right on the back of Burke’s
     head; had it been in front the effect might have been
     conclusive. Burke, at the same moment, caught him in
     the ribs with his right. A rally followed, in which
     hits were exchanged; and, in the close, Burke was
     thrown. On getting up, both showed additional claret
     from their smellers, and Byrne had evidently had a
     refresher on his left ogle.

     5.――A good rally, commencing with left-handed counters;
     both napped it. Byrne stepped back, and as Burke came
     he gave him the upper-cut with his right, and closing
     threw him heavily. Loud shouts for Byrne; and Jem Ward
     asked the Deaf’un how he liked that. The Deaf’un
     laughed, and shook his head, observing, “Very good,
     Misters.”

     6.――The knuckle of Byrne’s right hand now began to
     swell――the consequence of its terrific contact with the
     Deaf’un’s canister in the fourth round. Pretty
     counter-hits with the left, ending in a rally, in which
     both hit away left and right. In stepping back from his
     own blow, Burke fell on his corobungus, and first
     knock-down was claimed, but not allowed, as it was
     clearly a slip.

     7.――Counter-hitting with the left. Burke again made
     some pretty stops. The men fought in a rally to the
     corner, where Byrne caught Burke under his arm, and
     fibbed, but not effectively, and ultimately threw him,
     falling heavily on his _corpus_. “He can do nothing but
     throw,” cried Curtis; and the Deaf’un was up, and as
     jolly as ever.

     8.――Heavy slaps, right and left; both had it on the
     nob. Burke was driven against the ropes, and Byrne
     fought well in. Burke butted,[16] and in the end got
     down, Byrne on him.

     9.――Both cautious. Byrne again trying the feint, but
     Burke well on his guard. At last Byrne let fly his
     left, but Burke was with him, and returned it heavily.
     In the close, Byrne tried for the throw, when Burke
     hung by his arms round his neck. At last Byrne hit him
     a tremendous blow with his right on the body, and they
     both went down together.

     10.――Both resined their hands,[17] and set-to as fresh
     as daisies. Byrne dropped in a slight muzzler with his
     left, which was followed by counter-hitting, and a
     severe rally. Byrne missed a terrific upper-cut, which
     would have told a fearful tale, and fell. Both
     exhibited considerable marks of punishment on getting
     on their seconds’ knees.

     11.――Short counter-hitting with the left, followed by a
     determined rally, in which the nobbers left and right
     were severe. In the close Byrne down.

     12.――Burke threw in a stinging hit with his right on
     Byrne’s ribs. A weaving rally followed, which was
     concluded by Byrne’s getting down, amidst the jeers of
     the Deaf’un’s friends.

     13.――Byrne popped in his left. Burke tried to counter,
     but missed. A wild rally, in which Burke was driven to
     the corner of the ring, and fell; Byrne tumbling on him
     with his knee, it was said, in a tender place, whether
     designedly or not we could not judge.

     14.――Byrne had a suck at the brandy-bottle before he
     commenced; when the Deaf’un rattled in, and gave him a
     heavy round hit with the right on the body, and went
     down from the force of his own blow.

     15.――Counter-hitting with the left. Burke active on his
     pins. Byrne missed a right-handed hit, and fell, we
     suspect rather from design than accident.

     16.――Burke popped in his left and right, two stinging
     hits. Byrne returned with the left, closed, and threw
     him.

     17.――Burke now had recourse to “drops of brandy,” and
     Byrne, who had shown symptoms of distress, seemed to
     have got fresher. Counter-hitting with the left, both
     catching it on the chops, and showing more pink. A
     short rally. Byrne fought well in; and in the close,
     both down, the Deaf’un under.

     18.――The fight had now lasted 45 minutes. Long
     sparring, and both slow in their operations. Burke, in
     his usual cunning manner, looked down as if studying
     the movements of Byrne’s feet, and popped in a whack
     with the left on his body; a manœuvre which he tried a
     second time, with equal success, with his right on the
     ribs. Burke stopped a left-handed hit, but caught
     another nasty one from Byrne’s right on the neck; it
     was a round hit, and missed the butt of the ear, for
     which it was intended. A short rally; when Byrne tried
     for the fall, but in swinging round was himself thrown.

     19.――Burke showed feverish symptoms in his mouth, which
     was extremely dry. Long sparring, and pretty stops on
     both sides. Burke threw in a heavy smasher with his
     left on Byrne’s mouth, and followed it with tremendous
     heavy hit with his right on the ear. Byrne made a
     rejoinder with his left on the Deaf’un’s nose, and
     turned quickly round on his heel. “How do you like
     that?” cried Ward. Both ready, and on their guard;
     Burke evidently waiting for Byrne to commence; but
     incautiously putting down his hands to wipe them on his
     drawers, Byrne, as quick as lightning, popped in a
     snorter. Loud laughter at Burke’s expense. Burke rushed
     to a rally, and some severe hitting right and left
     followed, Byrne receiving a cut over his left eye.
     Byrne administered the upper-cut, and in the close,
     went down.

     20.――One hour and 20 minutes had now elapsed.
     Counter-hitting with the left, but not much execution
     done. In the close, both down. Byrne’s right hand
     seemed to be of little use to him.

     The same style of fighting was persevered in, with
     little advantage on either side, till the 27th round,
     by which time one hour and 47 minutes had elapsed; and
     the crowd had so completely closed in round the ropes
     as to prevent the distant spectators from witnessing
     the progress of the fight.

     In the 27th round, after counter-hits with the left on
     both sides, at the head, Burke popped his left heavily
     on Byrne’s body. Byrne rushed to a rally, and Burke,
     retreating to the ropes, received a heavy hit in the
     head, which dropped him. The first knock-down was here
     universally admitted.

     In the 29th round Burke was thrown heavily, his head
     coming with tremendous force on the ground; and in the
     30th, Byrne, catching him against the ropes, gave him
     some severe body blows with the right, and finally
     threw him. While lying on his face, Burke was sick, and
     threw up some blood; his friends looked blue.

     31.――Burke came up weak, and rather groggy. Byrne
     rushed in, and hit him heavily on the ribs, and in the
     close again threw him. Byrne now became a decided
     favourite, and was evidently the fresher man.

     In the 35th round, two hours having elapsed, Byrne
     again caught Burke at the ropes, and in the
     in-fighting, gave him some severe punishment, while
     Burke butted. Burke thrown.

     36.――Byrne pursued the same system of boring his
     opponent to the ropes, and peppered at him while in
     that position. In trying for the fall, Byrne held Burke
     up by the neck for some time, trying to fib with his
     right, but not effectively; but at last Ward gave him
     the office, and he let him go, falling heavily upon
     him.

     37.――Burke sick, but still resolute. From this to the
     43rd round Byrne seemed to have it his own way, and
     Burke was so much distressed that his friends began to
     despair of success. Tom Cannon now jumped into the
     ring, followed by several others, and considerable
     confusion prevailed. Cannon had been backing Burke, and
     evidently came to urge him to renewed exertion. He
     loudly exclaimed, “Get up and fight, Deaf’un; do you
     mean to make a cross of it?” A person who was equally
     interested on the other side struck at Cannon, and
     ultimately got him outside the ropes. In the interim,
     Burke went to work, bored Simon down against the ropes,
     but fell outside himself, while Simon was picked up
     within the ring.

     In the five following rounds both fought in a wild and
     scrambling manner, equally exhausting to each; and in
     the 49th round, Burke, who had summoned all his
     remaining strength, rattled away with such fury that
     Simon at last went down weak. Here was another change,
     and Burke again became the favourite. From thenceforth
     to the 99th round, repeated changes took place. On one
     occasion the hat was actually thrown up to announce
     Byrne’s Victory, from the impression that Burke was
     deaf to time, as he lay, apparently, in a state of
     stupor; but, to the surprise of all, Curtis again
     brought his man to the scratch, and he renewed the
     contest with unshaken courage. From the state of
     Byrne’s hands, which were dreadfully puffed, he was
     unable to administer a punishing blow; and round after
     round the men were brought up, surrounded by their
     partisans, who crowded the arena, and by sprinkling
     them with water, fanning them with their hats, and
     other expedients, endeavoured to renew their vigour. To
     attempt a description of each round, from the uproar
     which prevailed, would be impossible. Burke, whenever
     placed before his man, hit away right and left, at the
     body and head, and always seemed to have a good hit at
     him, although his left hand was almost invariably open.
     In the 91st round Simon gave him a heavy fall, and fell
     upon him; and it was here considered that the Deaf’un’s
     chances were almost beyond a hope. Still he continued
     to come up at the call of his seconds, and each round
     exhibited a determined display of manly milling; both
     hit away with resolution, and the men were alternately
     uppermost. At last, in the 93rd round, Byrne exhibited
     such symptoms of exhaustion that the shouts of the
     friends of Burke cheered him to fresh exertion, and,
     rushing in wildly, he hit Byrne down, and fell over
     him. This made such a decided change for the worse in
     Simon, and for the six following rounds he came up so
     groggy, that he was scarcely able to stand, and rolled
     before the Deaf’un like a ship in a storm. Bad as he
     was, he continued to meet the Deaf’un with his left,
     and to do all that nature would permit. Burke, however,
     proved himself to have the better constitution, and
     continued to pepper away till the last round, when
     Byrne fell senseless, and was incapable of being again
     lifted on his legs. Burke, who was also in the last
     stage of exhaustion, was immediately hailed as the
     conqueror, amidst the reiterated cheers of his friends.
     The fight lasted exactly 3 hours and 16 minutes and at
     its conclusion, Gaynor proclaimed that Burke was
     “Champion of England.” Ward, who was in the ring
     attending to Byrne, exclaimed “Walker,” but whether he
     means to dispute Burke’s claim to that distinction
     remains to be seen. Byrne was carried to his vehicle,
     while Burke, with difficulty, was able to walk from the
     ring. The scene that prevailed in the ring for the last
     hour was disgraceful, and shut out from the spectators
     a view of the most part of the fight. It would be
     difficult to say which side was most to blame, for in
     fact each man had his party, who were equally busy in
     their interference. It is but justice, however, to say
     that the men themselves received fair play, and that
     there was nothing done towards them which called for
     censure.

     REMARKS.――Upon the character of this protracted fight
     we have few observations to make. The length of time
     which two men of such size continued to attack each
     other, and to pour in a succession of blows, without
     any decided effect, proves that, as compared with the
     olden members of the ring, they did not possess those
     punishing qualities which are essential to an
     accomplished boxer; and that they have earned little of
     that admiration which, in former times, was excited by
     the slashing execution of big men. Burke evidently
     possessed more cunning than Byrne, and often took him
     by surprise by threatening the body when he meant the
     head, and _vice versa_. The early injury to Byrne’s
     right hand was a decided disadvantage, and had he
     fought more at the body, from Burke’s sickness, it was
     considered the result might have been different. Taking
     the battle as a whole, however, it certainly entitled
     the men to the greatest praise, and placed them on
     record as boxers of the highest courage and
     extraordinary powers of receiving. But for the disorder
     which prevailed, we have no doubt the contest would
     have elicited universal astonishment, especially
     towards the finish, when the adversaries rushed to each
     other repeatedly, and hit away with unshrinking courage
     and perseverance, never going down without a mutual
     dose of pepper. As the battle drew toward a close,
     Byrne missed many of his left-handed counters, and in
     the 98th round received such a stinging hit with the
     right on his temple, that on coming up for the last
     time, it was clear his chances were gone by. The
     Deaf’un rushed in to finish, and, being still
     “himself,” had only to hit out and end his
     extraordinary labours.

The men, after the fight, were re-conducted to their respective
quarters at St. Alban’s, and were both put to bed. Byrne was bled by a
surgeon, but continued in a state of stupor. His punishment seemed to
have been severest on the left side of the head; his left eye was
completely closed, while his mouth and face generally were much
swollen. In the body, too, there had been many blows, especially on
his left side. He received every possible attention, and a gentleman
who had been extremely kind to him in his training remained with him
the whole night. Burke was by no means so great a sufferer, although
he bore severe marks of hitting, and his arms, from the shoulders to
the wrists, were black with stopping. To his heavy falls his sickness
was principally attributed. As a proof that he was “all right,” as he
said, after lying in bed a few hours, he got up and dressed, and went
to town the same night, and showed at Tom Gaynor’s, where he received
the congratulations of his friends, and talked of throwing down the
gauntlet to all England as soon as he recovered.

In the same paper we find that poor Byrne’s state had become very
precarious on the day after the fight; that his head had been shaved,
and leeches applied to the bruised parts. It was thought by his
friends that his mind was deeply affected by his defeat, and that he
suffered as much from this feeling as from bodily injuries. On the
Saturday night intelligence was received in town that the poor fellow
was much better, and it was hoped out of danger, but these hopes,
unfortunately, were not destined to be realised, for we find in the
next number of _Bell’s Life_, the following remarks:――“Poor Simon, on
the Saturday after the mill, became so much better that he was
apparently quite himself, and expressed his thanks for the attentions
he had received. He said, ‘if he died, of which he had a presentiment,
his death would be more attributable to the irregularity of his mode
of life before he went into training, than to any injury sustained in
the fight.’ His mind, however, was evidently deeply affected by his
defeat, and he frequently declared he would rather have died than been
beaten; and, indeed, such was his increasing nervous agitation, that
in the course of the evening he again relapsed into insensibility,
from which he did not afterwards recover. On Sunday morning an express
was sent off to London for Spring, who had been called to town on
business. He immediately obeyed the summons, and on arriving at St.
Alban’s, and finding the precarious state in which Byrne was, at once
sent for Sir Astley Cooper, who humanely proceeded without delay to
the house where Byrne lay, and entered into consultation with the
gentleman who was in attendance. Sir Astley at once saw that the case
was hopeless. He, however, administered such remedies as he thought
best, and remained with the poor fellow until his death, which took
place at half-past eight in the evening. It was believed by both
medical men that the symptoms of the unfortunate man were aggravated
by his depressed state of mind at his defeat. There was also a strong
belief that the reflection of his having been instrumental to the
death of Sandy M’Kay also preyed upon his spirits, as he expressed a
presentiment of his own death. From the first moment of his entering
the ring, it was observable that his countenance wore an aspect of
deep care and thought, and when Burke was distressed, he regarded him
with evident feelings of commiseration. While he fought with manly
courage, and never shrank from danger, it was clear he was not
following the suggestions of his nature. He was not, in fact, a
quarrelsome man, but on the contrary, seemed animated by the most
kindly disposition, and was alike mild in his manner and his language.
Burke, also, although a rough, unpolished man, evidently had no
feeling of animosity towards his unfortunate antagonist; the only
object he had in view was to obtain victory. In fact, no two men ever
entered the ring whose sentiments towards each other were so
thoroughly devoid of malice, and whose object was so entirely wrapped
up in the desire of fame; the one being influenced by a wish to wipe
out the prejudices excited most unjustly from a former defeat, and the
latter by anxiety to excel in a profession which from his boyhood was
the darling object of his ambition. With all his roughness, however,
Burke has given traits of an excellent disposition he has on more than
one occasion risked his own life to save the lives of others. He is
also strictly honest and sober, and altogether his character stands so
high that this alone has led to his obtaining backers.”

The inquest was held on Byrne on the Monday after the fight, before
Mr. Blagg. Some of the witnesses deposed that the men were often
carried to the scratch; and that towards the conclusion of the battle
they did not think they could have gone up alone.[18]

Mr. Kingston, a surgeon of St. Alban’s, who attended the deceased,
stated that he bled him, and applied leeches to his head; that there
was concussion of the brain, but that the deceased was occasionally
sensible. Witness attended him constantly until his death. On a _post
mortem_ examination he found a great deal of extravasated blood about
the left side of the head. The brain and dura mater were also
distended with blood. The heart, liver, and intestines were perfectly
healthy. Deceased was a fine, muscular man, and witness attributed his
death to the congested state of the brain, combined with prolonged and
violent exertions, and the mental suffering under defeat.

The Coroner: “Then deceased came by his death from the blows?”――Witness:
“In my opinion, had the deceased been the victor instead of the beaten
party there would have been a chance of his recovery. There was not
sufficient injury on the head to account for death.” The Coroner
attempted to find out the names of the time-keeper and referee, but
without avail, and at length summed up, and the jury returned a
verdict of “Manslaughter against Deaf Burke as principal in the first
degree, and Tom Spring, Jem Ward, Dick Curtis, and Tom Gaynor, and the
umpires and referee as principals in the second degree.” The coroner
then made out his warrant for the committal of the parties against
whom the verdict was returned.

The body of poor Simon was buried at St. Alban’s, on the Tuesday after
the inquest. He was 32 years of age. An appeal was made by the Editor
of _Bell’s Life in London_ for the poor fellow’s widow, which was
headed by himself with five guineas, and to this, the same week, the
Deaf’un, Spring, Ward, Gaynor, and Curtis each added a similar sum,
and in a very short time the sum of £262 was raised for the
unfortunate woman.

THE TRIAL.――On Thursday, July 11th, 1833, the trial of Spring, Ward,
Gaynor, Curtis, and the Deaf’un took place at Hertford Assizes. On the
previous day, when Mr. Justice Bailey charged the Grand Jury, he
alluded to the case in a humane and impartial manner, and the Grand
Jury found a true bill against all the parties concerned. On the
Thursday morning, Burke and Dick Curtis, who had surrendered, were put
to the bar before Mr. Justice Park, and pleaded not guilty. As Spring
and the other two accused did not surrender at first, the trial of
these men was proceeded with. Witnesses were first called who proved
that the fight had taken place, after which Mr. Kingston, the surgeon
who had attended Byrne up to the time of his death, was examined. He
described the _post mortem_ examination, and the appearance of the
body, in similar terms to those which he had used before the Coroner.
He next said the fulness of the vessels of the brain might be caused
in various ways, by blows, or falls, or excitement. After three hours’
fighting such an appearance might be produced; the exertion might have
caused it without a blow. He did not find the vessels of the brain
more distended where the bruises were than in the other parts; the
cause of death was the congested state of the brain.

Examined by Mr. Justice Park: “Then, finding the vessels in the same
congested state all over the head, as you have described, should you
attribute that appearance more to general exertion than to blows or
external violence?”――Witness: “The exertion the deceased underwent
would have been sufficient of itself to have caused this appearance. I
cannot say that the blows he received were the cause of death, either
in the whole or in part. That was the conclusion to which I came on
the _post mortem_ examination.”

Mr. Justice Park, after hearing this statement, addressed the jury,
and said, “Gentlemen, that makes an end of the case. The indictment
charges that death was occasioned by blows and violence, whereas it
appears the deceased died from other causes. The prisoners, therefore,
must be acquitted.” The jury immediately returned a verdict of “Not
guilty,” and Burke and Curtis were discharged from custody. Messengers
were then despatched to inform Spring, Ward, and Gaynor of the result,
and they then surrendered and were placed at the bar. No evidence,
however, was offered against them, and a verdict of “Not guilty”
relieved them from their anxiety.

On the Thursday following the trial, a congratulatory dinner took
place at Tom Spring’s, at which a subscription was commenced towards
defraying the expenses of the defence. At the suggestion of a
gentleman who presided, a subscription was also opened, which, in a
short period, amounted to the sum of 100 guineas, for the purpose of
presenting a service of plate to the Editor of _Bell’s Life in
London_, as a token of the respect in which he was held, not only by
the men who had recently undergone their trial, and whose defence he
had conducted, but also for the manner in which he invariably
advocated the cause of fair play, and had always been foremost in the
cause of the distressed, the fatherless, and the widow. The service of
plate was presented to Mr. Dowling at a subsequent meeting at Tom
Spring’s.

Soon after the termination of the proceedings against Burke, a
challenge appeared in the Dublin and London papers from O’Rourke,
“Champion of Ireland,” for a meeting on the Curragh of Kildare; but
Burke’s friends properly objected at such a juncture to his fighting
in Ireland, the match therefore dropped.

In July a renewed proposal from Young Dutch Sam to fight the Deaf’un
for £500 a side was made over a sporting dinner at Spring’s, and £5
there and then posted; the battle to come off within a twelvemonth.
This ended in talk and a forfeit, as the Deaf’un could not raise such
a sum.

In the month of September, 1833, the air was filled with challenges,
which fell “thick as the autumn leaves in Vallombrosa;” among them one
from some “gentlemen,” who were ready to back an “Unknown, to be named
at the last deposit, against any man in the world,” for £500 to £1,000
a side. Whereupon Jem Ward accepting the proposal for £500, and
declaring his readiness to make the match, the challengers were
silent, and the “Unknown” remained thenceforth unseen and unheard of.

In September, 1833, a paragraph appeared in London and provincial
papers, to the effect that Deaf Burke would persist in his claim to
the Championship, whereon Ward wrote as follows:――

     “_To the Editor of_ ‘BELL’S LIFE IN LONDON.’

     “SIR,――Should the patron of the ’unknown’ candidate for ‘the
     Championship’ agree to allow his man to fight for £500 a
     side, my friends are ready to back me for that sum. Failing
     a match being made with him, I am ready to give any other
     customer a chance, and for his accommodation will fight for
     any sum, from £300 to £500 a side. I am, Sir, your most
     obedient servant,
                               “JAMES WARD. Champion of England.
     “Liverpool, Sept. 18, 1833.”

The Editor having submitted this epistle to “the Deaf’un,” observes,
“that individual desires us to say, that ‘he’s ready to stands nps for
the title for a hundreds, but as for tousands, and that sorts o’
rediklus tings, he can’t say nuttins about ’em.’” Another challenge
elicited the subjoined from Ward:――

     “_To the Editor of_ ‘BELL’S LIFE IN LONDON.’

     “SIR,――I have long contemplated leaving the Ring altogether,
     and would not offer myself again to your notice, had you not
     inserted a challenge for the Championship, accompanied by a
     tempting stake; to which challenge I gave a suitable reply,
     stating at the time my readiness to fight the Unknown for
     £500, or a smaller sum――say £300 or £400 a side. I am not
     only willing to fight for the above sums, but to allow the
     Unknown three months to deliberate upon it.

     “I perceive that Deaf Burke calls himself ‘Champion of
     England,’ and offers to make a match with me for £100 a
     side. Considering that I am in business, such a sum is not
     worth contending for, especially as a considerable portion
     of it must be expended in training and other incidental
     expenses. If Deaf Burke means fighting me, I will
     accommodate him for £200 a side, and no less. Should this
     not meet his views in a reasonable time, my intentions are
     to retire from the Ring _in toto_; to that the Unknown and
     Deaf Burke will know what to do.

                              JAMES WARD, Champion of England.”
     “Liverpool, October 2, 1833.

The Deaf’un seemed now doomed to the sickness of “hope deferred.” He
was too good for any of the 12-stone men except the Champion, whose
price, even lowered to £200, was still too high for him. Numerous
letters passed and repassed between O’Rourke and Burke; and on one
occasion O’Rourke dragging in the name of Ward, Jem offered to stake
£300 to O’Rourke’s £200 and fight him in Ireland. To this O’Rourke
made no response, and soon after sailed for America. Ward then offered
to meet Burke £300 to £200; but even at these odds the Deaf’un could
not find backers, at which we need not be surprised when the
comparative merits of the men were weighed in the balance.

Burke, who had certainly, in addition to his great powers as a boxer,
a fund of native and quaint comicality, now utilised his talent as a
public exhibitor of models of statues from the antique, for which his
athletic development well fitted him, alternating them with displays
of the Art of Self-defence. In these tours, wherein his attendant or
agent in advance was the well-known Tommy Roundhead, the trainer (whom
the Deaf’un dubbed his “Secretary”), Burke visited Wales, Bristol, and
the West, and subsequently the Midlands and the North. An incidental
notice in a newspaper published in “the Potteries” gives us a peep at
the Deaf’un on his travels.

“A VOICE FROM THE PITCHER COUNTRY. DISAPPOINTMENT OF THE POTTERY
FANCY.――On Saturday last Tommy Roundhead, the _avant courier_ of Deaf
Burke, arrived in Hanley, and cast anchor at Mr. Hawes’s, Angel Inn,
in the Market Place. On making his business known, the worthy host
offered him the use of the large room in which Tom Spring and Big
Brown exhibited previous to Brown’s fight with Phil Sampson, at
Bishop’s Wood. Roundhead immediately got his handbills printed, and
the walls covered with well-displayed posters, announcing that on
Monday and Tuesday evenings, ‘Deaf Burke, Champion of England, and
Harry Preston, Champion of Birmingham, would take a benefit and
exhibit the manly art of self-defence; the whole to conclude with a
grand set-to, previous to Preston’s return to Birmingham to fight
Davis for one hundred guineas.’

“Tommy gave out that Burke and Preston would arrive at Hanley at noon
on Monday. During the day, but especially in the evening, the ‘Angel’
was crowded. Several indications of impatience were exhibited at the
non-appearance of the men; but in the evening, when the last coach
arrived from Birmingham, and there was no tidings of the ‘Deaf’un,’ an
universal burst of disgust went through the rooms. They all turned
upon Roundhead. Tommy got on his pins, and attempted to explain that
he left Burke on the Thursday at Atherstone, and that he had come to
Hanley, by Burke’s express desire, to engage a room for him and
Preston to spar in. He had written to Burke, at Arthur Matthewson’s,
and could only account for their non-appearance on the score that his
letter had not reached them. The grumblers vehemently vociferated,
‘Stow your patter, it’s a hoax――it’s no go, Tommy.’ A regular
‘flare-up’ had very near taken place, but, by good words and
persuasion, silence was restored, and the company dispersed
peaceably.”

From what follows, it will be seen that that very shifty
gentleman――Harry Preston――was the real cause of the apparent breach of
promise.

     “The cause of this disappointment is explained by a letter
     we have received from Birmingham; from which it appears that
     Preston and the Deaf’un had a fall out at Arthur
     Matthewson’s, which, after lots of chaff and a deposit of a
     sovereign a side, was to be decided by a fight the next
     morning, but on the Deaf’un going to the scratch Preston
     ‘would not have it.’ Some further chatter followed, in which
     Preston offered to fight Burke if he would reduce himself to
     12 stone. This the Deaf’un declined, but offered to fight
     him £120 to £100, or £60 to £50. This would not suit Harry’s
     book, and thus the matter ended. The Deaf’un’s next trip is
     to Liverpool, and from thence to Scotland, where he is to
     join Bob Avery in Glasgow. Poor Tommy Roundhead has been
     undeservedly censured in this matter.”

That the Deaf’un had considerable pantomimic powers may be gathered
from the fact that he was engaged by the experienced manager of the
Manchester Theatre, to play _Orson_ in the Christmas piece of
“Valentine and Orson” at the Sheffield Theatre.

Thus wore away the year 1834. At Tom Spring’s Anniversary Dinner,
January 14th, 1835, which was numerously attended, Burke announced
that he was about to take a farewell benefit on the ensuing Wednesday
evening, at the “Coach and Horses,” St. Martin’s Lane, previous to his
starting for America, to fight the Irish Champion, O’Rourke, or any
other man in the United States or Canada who might fancy him. He had
come to this determination, he said, because, although ready and
willing to fight Ward for £200, Ward, after proposing to fight for
that sum, raised his price to £300, and then, finding even that large
stake was likely to be obtained, valued himself at the still higher
sum of £500, which was utterly beyond the reach of his (Burke’s)
friends. For his own part, all he wanted was the glory of the title
for which he was the candidate, and, to show that he was not afraid of
any man breathing, he would fight even for £5; his friends were still
ready to back him for £200 against the Champion, Ward. This speech,
given in Burke’s sincere but blunt style, excited warm applause, and a
pledge was given that his benefit should be well attended.

It was then suggested that the title of Champion of England ought not
to depend on the capricious will of the person by whom it had been
obtained, putting the sum at which he would risk its loss so high as
to prevent the possibility of fair competition. Ward had gradually
risen in his own estimation from £200 to £500, and he might, with as
good a grace, if it depended on himself, say he would not fight for
less than £1,000 or £10,000, and thus retain an honour to which other
men might be entitled. This opinion seemed to meet the almost
unanimous concurrence of the persons present, among whom were Spring,
Jem Burn, Ned Neale, Young Dutch Sam, Dick Curtis, Owen Swift, Smith,
Young Spring (Harry Wood, of Liverpool), and others, and a great
number of amateurs and liberal supporters of the Ring. After some
discussion, the following resolution was moved and seconded:――

    “Resolved――That, in future, the _maximum_ stake at which the
     Champion of England shall be considered bound to accept a
     challenge shall be £200; and that if he refuse to fight for
     this sum, he shall be considered as no longer holding the
     title of Champion.”

A gentleman proposed as an amendment that the sum should be £250, but
this was negatived by a large majority, and the original resolution
was carried with acclamation.

It was then moved and seconded――“That if Jem Ward refuses to fight
Deaf Burke for £200, he shall no longer be considered Champion of
England, but that Burke shall assume the title, until bound to yield
to a man of greater merit.” This resolution was also carried
unanimously.

These resolutions are certainly in the spirit of common sense, and if
Ward’s situation in life placed him above the necessity of considering
himself any longer a member of the Ring, it was no more than fair――as
in the case of the veteran Tom Cribb and his successor Tom
Spring――that he should retire; a step which certainly could not have
stripped him of any of the honours to which he had previously entitled
himself.

The disappointed Deaf’un now repaired to Liverpool, and departing
thence, like another Childe Harold, “he sung, or might, or could, or
should, or would have sung”:――

  “Adieu! Adieu! My native shore
     Fades o’er the waters blue;
   The night-wind sighs, the breakers roar,
     Load shrieks the wild sea-mew.
   Yon sun, that’s setting o’er the sea,
     We’ll follow in its flight;
   Farewell awhile to it and thee――
     My native land――Good night!

  “With thee, my bark, I’ll swiftly go,
     Athwart the foaming brine,
   Nor care what land thou bear’st me to,
     So not again to mine.
   And if in Western land I find
     A worthy foe in fight,
   My conquering brow with bays I’ll bind――
     So, native land――Good night!”

And so “Childe Burke” did, after a pleasant tour, in which he always
spoke as receiving warm welcome and hospitality from the Americans;
although, as we shall presently see, upon the unanswerable testimony
of their own papers, the _perfervidum ingenium_ of certain emigrant
Hibernian rowdies proved the prudence of Burke’s friends when they
declined a contest on the Curragh of Kildare.

After a brief stay in New York, where he was well received, Burke did
not find any regular “professional” inclined to test his pugilistic
capabilities, and, after duly acknowledging the good spirit in which
he had been received, he announced, that, in compliance with “a
vaunting challenge in a New Orleans paper, in which O’Rourke was
stated to be resident in that city, and ready to meet any man in the
world,” he, the Deaf’un, had determined on a southward trip, and to
drop down on Mr. O’Rourke on the scene of his glory. As the Deaf’un
always meant what he said, and, himself unconscious of foul play, did
not suspect it in others, he sailed for the city of swamps and
slavery.

He had reckoned, in his simplicity, that a stranger would have fair
play, as with Englishmen, but soon found out his egregious mistake. As
we desire the character of an impartial historian, we shall merely
extract the account of this affair from the _Charleston Courier_ of
May 13th, 1837 which gives the account under date of New Orleans, May
6th:――

     “FIGHTING RIOTS, &c.――For some two or three days past, large
     numbers of our population have been thrown into considerable
     excitement by handbills posted up in bar-rooms and at the
     corners of the streets, that a pugilistic combat was to take
     place yesterday between two celebrated prize-fighters, Deaf
     Burke, an Englishman, and O’Rourke, an Irishman. The fight
     between the rival champions, as they style themselves, took
     place at about one o’clock, at the forks of the Bayou Road.
     Some two or three rounds were fought, which resulted
     particularly to the advantage of neither of the
     belligerents. The second of O’Rourke, happening to come
     within hitting distance of Burke, received a severe blow
     from the Deaf-man himself. Whether this was right or wrong,
     not being at the fight, we know not. At any rate it was the
     signal for a general scrimmage, in which the Irishmen joined
     the O’Rourke party, and handled Burke and his friends with
     fists and sticks made of anything but dough and molasses.
     O’Rourke’s second was settled down by a settler from Burke’s
     own fist, when the Deaf-man, thinking his heels better
     preservatives of his face and feelings than his fists, took
     the leg-itimate course adopted by all men and animals when
     assaulted by a superior force.

     “Matters were now coming to a fine pass. Burke was followed
     by crowds of Irishmen with shillelaghs, dray-pins, whips,
     and what not. A friend, on seeing him pass, handed him a
     bowie-knife, and another gave him a horse, with which he
     made good his escape.

     “Of the different riots which took place at the scene of
     action we were not witnesses. Some say there was foul play
     on the part of O’Rourke’s friends, and especially by his
     second, and that it was intended long before the fight took
     place that Burke should get a thrashing by foul or fair
     means. The man who handed Burke the knife was cruelly beaten
     by the infuriated friends of O’Rourke: it is reported, and
     we fear with much truth, that he was killed.

     “O’Rourke’s friends bore him about our streets in triumph
     yesterday afternoon in a coach drawn by themselves.

     “On the arrival of the different parties in town, inflamed
     with liquor and ready for any disturbance, many affrays
     occurred. During the whole afternoon, large numbers of
     malcontents, principally Irishmen, were congregated in the
     vicinity of the Union House, and Armstrong’s, opposite the
     American Theatre. Several serious and disgraceful fights
     took place, in some of which the rascally mob beat and
     otherwise maltreated a number of innocent and unoffending
     individuals. A large number of arrests were made.

      “The reports in town of the loss of lives, and of the
      results of the wild spirit of anarchy and confusion which
      existed in the afternoon, are so various, so contradictory,
      that we cannot comment upon them. The whole affair was
      disgraceful in the extreme.

     “The Washington Guards were ordered out at eight o’clock
     last evening by the Mayor to quell any disturbance which
     might arise. As late as two o’clock this morning everything
     was comparatively quiet.”

Thus it would seem that the affair ended in a complete Irish row, in
which the lawless habits of “the Knights of the Shillelagh” put all
fair play at defiance. We hope we are not open to a charge of national
prejudice, but would fairly put the question, “Would such
ruffianism――and ruffianism is always cruel and cowardly――be possible
among a people imbued with the fair-play practices and the principles
inculcated by regulated pugilism?”

Some anxiety was caused in London by a rumour in a New York paper,
that the Deaf’un had received his “quietus” not with “a bare bodkin”
but an “Arkansas tooth-pick;” much relief therefore, was felt by them
on finding from the Charleston papers that he was still in the land of
the living, and had returned to New York; not finding his life safe
among a set of men who considered a challenge to their “Champion” as
an individual, a national insult, to be wiped out by assassination.

That he had returned in safety was shown by scattered notices in the
New York papers, from which we gather that one O’Connell, who, like
his namesake on this side the Atlantic, was “an out-and-out big
potato,” had challenged the Deaf’un for 500 dollars and “the honour of
ould Ireland,” to a fistic tourney. This Burke had accepted, and
Elizabeth Town Point was named as the field of battle. A sheriff’s
notice, in anticipation of another Irish riot, compelled a change of
ground to Hart’s Island, which was reached by a steam excursion, and
here the affair came off without interruption. What follows is from
the _New York Herald_:――

“The ‘Prize Ring,’ as it is emphatically called, is not without its
merits, and although we regret and detest these exhibitions――when as
exhibitions merely――our duty as chroniclers of passing events compels
us to make public what otherwise we should bury in oblivion. Among the
ancients these spectacles were frequent, and cherished by the
government of the people indulging in them; and it is yet doubtful
whether they do not in some degree tend to benefit the community
at large. There is a feeling of courage――of proud, manly
self-dependence――accompanying the champions of the Ring, that
otherwise would not be elicited. The manly stand-up fight is surely
far preferable to the insidious knife――the ruffianly gang system――or
the cowardly and brutal practice of biting, kicking, or gouging, now
so prevalent. The ancient Romans conquered and civilised half the
world, and it is to them we owe the gladiatorial spectacle of the
Prize Ring――modified by modern civilisation, but yet retaining
sufficient of its origin to portray the manners and habits of the
people among whom it has taken root. The British people are
particularly fond of this exhibition, and there are some good
consequences attending it. The street broil or hasty quarrel is
deprived of half its ferocity. Three or four or more do not fall upon
and beat a single individual. None but gangs of ruffians can commit
such deeds. The single man when struck down by his opponent is
permitted to rise and put himself, as it were, in something like
equilibrium with his opponent. Stamping upon a man when down――biting,
kicking, and other such ‘courageous’ displays are entirely exploded;
and when the party combating cries ‘hold, enough,’ no bowie-knife
enters his vitals, or proves the superior courage of his opponent by
depriving him of existence. With all its disadvantages, therefore, and
demoralising tendency, as contended, and perhaps truly so, it may be
doubted whether the spirit emanating from it may not be productive of
benefit among the lower classes. The knock-down blow is surely
preferable to private assassination, or even to the open taking of
human life by means of deadly weapons. Quitting these reflections, let
us give our account of the fight itself.

“At nine o’clock the steamboat left the ferry (Catharine Street), with
about three hundred passengers, and those of a very select kind, owing
principally, perhaps, to the high price demanded for tickets――three
dollars, which speedily rose to four and five dollars, and even at
that price could not be procured. The destination was Hart’s Island,
where the passengers were landed and the preliminary measures to the
‘set-to’ adopted. A twenty-four feet ring, according to the articles
of agreement, was formed, and an outside one to prevent any
interruption to the pugilistic efforts of the combatants. The ring
being completed, and the seconds proclaiming ‘all ready,’ the two
champions made their appearance――O’Connell, as the challenger, threw
his hat first in the ring, which was quickly answered by Burke; the
men then peeled for the battle.

“On stripping, the great disparity between the two men was apparent.
Burke presented an iron frame, in which all surperfluous flesh seemed
excluded. His broad and extended chest, his outward turned knees, that
take off from beauty to add so much to muscular power, his muscular
and well-knit lower limbs left no doubt on the minds of the spectators
that no common skill or bodily strength would be sufficient to
overpower or vanquish the possessor. O’Connell stripped to greater
advantage than was expected. His upper frame is large and muscular,
but it wants compactness and tension. His sinews hang loose, and his
frame is far from being well banded together. In his lower
conformation this defect is still more striking; this is his weak
point, and must ever incapacitate him from becoming a redoubtable
competitor in the Prize Ring. ‘All ready’ being proclaimed by the
respective seconds (Abm. Vanderzee and Alexander Hamilton officiating
for O’Connell, and Hatfield and Summerdyke for Deaf Burke), the
opponents previously shaking hands, put themselves in attitude for the
onset.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――The men came up, each equally confident. Some
     sparring took place which only tended to show in a more
     striking point the disparity of the pugilists. The
     quick eye of Burke immediately discovered that he had
     the game in his hands, and he accordingly forebore any
     active exertion, threw his body open, which O’Connell
     immediately caught at, and implanted two heavy
     blows――one immediately beneath the ribs, and the second
     on the loins of his adversary. Burke received this
     infliction without the slightest variation of muscle or
     feature――and in return put forth a feeler (left hand)
     which dropped O’Connell at his full length. Some of
     Burke’s friends cheered――this was instantly stopped by
     the umpires, who requested that, let the fight
     terminate how it might, no ebullition of the feelings
     of either party should be suffered to take place. All,
     upon this appeal, were immediately silent.

     2.――Both men were equally confident. O’Connell smiled,
     as much as to say “I stoop to conquer.” Burke made
     play; O’Connell struck a well-meant left-handed
     compliment to Burke’s knowledge-box, which was prettily
     stopped. Burke returned with right, in part husbanding
     his strength; the blow told slightly on O’Connell’s
     bread-basket――a wrestle――O’Connell down. First blood
     was here claimed by each party. The umpires decided
     that both sported the claret simultaneously――thus
     deciding all wagers on this matter.

     3.――Burke appeared brooding mischief. O’Connell struck
     a random blow and lost his guard, when Burke
     immediately put in his tremendous right-handed blow,
     which taking effect under the ear of O’Connell, floored
     him as if struck by lightning.

     4.――Time being called, O’Connell courageously rose to
     the scratch, but had scarcely left his second’s knee,
     when he fell as if through weakness. The fight was here
     claimed by the friends of Burke; the umpires, however,
     decided “not lost,” and the fifth round commenced.

     5.――O’Connell tried a new mode, and went boldly into
     his man. He succeeded in planting a pretty severe
     body-blow on Burke, closed for the wrestle, but was
     thrown――he fell slightly, however.

     6.――Burke piped a trifle. O’Connell made a rush――got
     well in for the close, but the superior strength of
     Burke shook him off. O’Connell seemed spent, was
     entirely off his guard, and Burke could easily have
     concluded the fight by any blow he chose to have put
     in; but, seeing the disabled state of O’Connell, Burke
     unclosed his fist, and with the back of his open hand
     struck O’Connell in the breast, which dropped him as a
     man might be supposed to push down a child. A low
     exclamation of approbation, impossible to repress, ran
     through the spectators at the manliness of this
     conduct.

     7.――O’Connell seemed to be gaining strength, and fought
     this round most manfully. It was evident, nevertheless,
     that his faulty method of delivering his blows could
     never win him the day. Three severe blows were
     delivered by Burke in succession, on the head, chest,
     and loins of O’Connell, who made a sort of headlong
     rush, closed with Burke, bore him towards the ropes,
     and was thrown heavily in the wrestle.

     8.――Hatfield, the second of Burke, here said, “He’s
     finished, polish him off.” O’Connell came up
     staggering――Burke made a feint, and prepared to strike
     a finisher. From humanity, however, he did not deliver
     his blow――O’Connell closed――a short rally took place,
     and O’Connell was thrown.

     9.――O’Connell showed some game, but it was evidently of
     an expiring effort. He faced his man, made a blow,
     which fell short, and was met by Burke with a terrible
     facer, which set the claret flowing in a rapid stream
     from O’Connell’s nostrils. All was over.

     10.――Time was repeatedly called. O’Connell rose but
     could not stir a step towards his man. Burke said, “I
     wish to fight honourable――I will not strike him――does
     your man wish to fight any more?” O’Connell’s second
     immediately gave in the battle, and Burke was declared
     the conqueror.

     A word or two respecting the rival combatants:
     O’Connell never was or can be capable of figuring with
     credit as a fighter. He wants bottom, activity, and
     science――three things which are indispensable in the
     formation of a boxer. From the third round he had not
     the slightest chance of winning――it was a doubloon to a
     shin-plaster, and no takers. The day was peculiarly
     propitious, and the company of a very respectable
     description. Those who conducted this affair deserve
     all praise. Not the slightest disturbance of any kind
     took place. It was what the Prize Ring ever ought to
     be――an exhibition of manly and courageous contest.”

We need add nothing to this “round, unvarnished tale,” written by a
literary gentleman who had never before witnessed a prize-fight. In
Burke, his Irish opponent found, notwithstanding his foul treatment at
New Orleans, a brave and humane antagonist; and that, despite the
contaminating effects of bad example, the Deaf’un preserved in the New
World the high and generous qualities he exhibited in his own country.
Cant, cruelty, and cowardice have crushed out the courageous
confidence in the unarmed fist as the weapon in hand-to-hand
encounters, and the American populace trust for victory to the
bowie-knife and the revolver, when man opposes man to settle their
personal differences “in a higher phase of civilisation.” (?)

As the patrons of the Ring are, such will its professors be, holds
good as an axiom in pugilism as in every other science. A few
unprejudiced and enlightened Americans, seeing the horrors and
savagery of Irish-American rowdyism, entertained the milling
missionary, and strove to propagate his principles, but were in a
minute and powerless minority among a multitude of howling saints and
savages――for extremes meet in this as in all other things. To these
friends and sympathisers Burke bade an affectionate farewell, after a
handsome benefit, and arrived at Liverpool on the 25th of June, 1838.

During the Deaf’un’s absence some pretentious “big ones” had been
coming into prominent notice. Bendigo, Ben Caunt, and Brassey had
become famous, and not a few of their several partisans thought either
one or the other more than a match for the Deaf’un. It was whispered,
too, and too truly, that his rupture had been aggravated by an
accident, and that his habits in America had not been such as would
improve his constitution or stamina. Indeed, some of those deepest in
Ring mysteries declared his reappearance in the Ring more than
questionable. The gallant fellow himself had no such misgivings, and
lost no time in so telling his countrymen.


     “THE CHAMPIONSHIP OF ENGLAND.

     “_To the Editor of_ ‘BELL’S LIFE IN LONDON.’

     “SIR,――When I was in Yankeeshire I heard a great deal about
     ‘would-be champions’ challenging any man in England. ‘While
     the cat’s away the mice will play;’ and thus the little fry
     took advantage of my absence to bounce and crow like cocks
     in a gutter. I hastened back to take the shine out of those
     braggadocios; and to put their pretensions to the test, I
     beg to state that I am now ready to fight any man in England
     for from One Hundred to Five Hundred Pounds; and as my old
     friend Jem Ward has retired from the Ring, if he will add
     his Champion’s belt to the prize, and let the best man wear
     it, he will give new energies to the Ring, and, I trust,
     afford an opportunity for deciding the long-contested
     question, ‘Who is Champion of England?’ I bar neither
     country nor colour――age nor dimensions; and whether it be
     the Goliath Caunt, or his hardy antagonist Bendigo, or any
     other man who ever wore a head, I am his customer, and ‘no
     mistake.’ My money is ready at Jem Burn’s, the ‘Queen’s
     Head,’ Queen’s Head Court, Windmill Street, Haymarket, at a
     moment’s notice; but I will not consent to a less deposit
     that £25 at starting. If I find the race of old English
     boxers of the right kidney is extinct, I shall go back to
     America, where an honest man need never want ‘a friend or a
     bottle.’

                                                    “DEAF BURKE.
     “Windmill Street, Haymarket, July 29, 1838.”

As we have already recorded in our memoir of Bendigo, the Nottingham
hero lost no time in accepting this challenge, and stated he had
placed £100 in the hands of Peter Crawley to make the match.
Unfortunately for the Deaf’un’s reputation, he had, through his
intimacy with Young Dutch Sam, become entangled in a vicious
companionship, as the humble “pot-companion” and gladiatorial buffoon
of a clique of dissolute young noblemen and swells, the last expiring
parodists of the school of which “Corinthian Tom” and “Jerry Hawthorn”
were the models. By these and their companions he was carried off to
France, on the pretext of training and seconding Owen Swift in his
second fight with Jack Adams, and much obloquy was cast on him
unjustly, under a supposition that he had run away from his
engagements. A “Paris Correspondent” transmitted the following:――

     “PARIS, June  14.――The Deaf’un arrived in this city on
     Sunday, under the _Mentorship_ of Sancho Panza, from Seven
     Dials, a ‘buck’ of the first water. He met Swift on the
     Boulevard des Italiens, and was so affected at the interview
     with this interesting _exile_, that the water came from his
     eyes like the _jet d’eau_ in the Temple Gardens. As the
     speediest mode of acquiring an acquaintance with the French
     language, he lives entirely on _fricandeau de dictionnaire_.
     He has already won the affections of a grisette by his very
     natural imitation of the statue of Cupid. He afterwards
     tried the _Venus de Medici_, but that was a decided failure.
     He has been favourably received by the patrons of British
     Sports in the French capital, but it is feared he cannot be
     presented at the Court of Louis Philippe, in consequence of
     his having neglected to present himself at the Drawing-room
     of our lovely young Queen. In a visit to the _Jardin des
     Plantes_, he thought he recognised a young brother, but on
     closer inspection he discovered it was only the chimpanzee.
     He appears to be regarded with as much curiosity in Paris as
     Soult was in London, and expected the old Marshal would have
     given him ‘a Wellington reception,’ but hitherto the gallant
     veteran has not recognised him as ‘a companion in arms.’ His
     presence has already had an influence on the fashions, and
     ‘_pantalons à la Burke_’ have made their appearance in the
     Palais Royal, while ‘_gantelets à la Deaf’un_’ are noted as
     a novelty in _Le Courrier des Salons_.”

We have already noticed in our memoir of Bendigo that the Deaf’un did
not return from his continental trip until, after training Owen Swift,
and seconding him on the 5th of September, 1838, he again sought the
shores of England, lest he should receive the “polite attentions” of
the French authorities for his share in that “scandal,” as the Paris
correspondent of “My Grandmother” styled it. The staunchness of poor
Burke’s “summer friends” was now tested. They had withdrawn the £100
placed in Jem Burn’s hands, but, after some negotiation, the match was
made, Burke posting £100 to Bendigo’s £80, and on the 29th of
February, 1839, the rivals met. The full details of the Deaf’un’s
defeat may be read in pp. 16-22.

The reflection is here unavoidably thrust upon us, that the so-called
“friends” of an athlete, if they by their own loose habits seduce him
into similar irregularities, are his worst enemies. What is sport to
them is ruin to him. Temperance, regularity of living, open air
exercise, and severe attention to the wellbeing of every bodily
function that goes to build up health――the _mens sana in corpore
sano_――can never be neglected without ruinous consequences; and thus
fell the brave and imprudent Deaf’un, the victim of the follies of
those the world miscalled “his betters.” A few quatrains on his
downfall shall find a place here.

   THE LAMENT OF DEAF BURKE.

   Well, ’tis strange, precious strange, arter what I have done,
   That in my late battle I shouldn’t have won;
   I vow and protest, on the word of a bruiser,
   I scarce can persuade myself yet I’m the loser.

   I have always so well in the Ring gone to work,
   That my backers proclaimed me “inwincible Burke;”
   And then for a lad of my courage and game
   To be floored by a novice――by Jove! ’tis a shame.

   I hang down my head, quite dismay’d and perplex’d.
   And when folks ax me questions, of course, I am wex’d,
   For, instead of consoling me under my loss,
   They insiniwate plainly the thing was a cross.

   They swear, for a man who has stood so much fight,
   To be whopp’d in ten rounds was impossible quite:
   That I couldn’t be he, it was plain to discern,
   Wot floor’d Carter and Crawley, O’Connell and Byrne.

   They vow of their bets upon me they’ve been robb’d,
   That I show’d no good point, but stood still to be jobb’d,
   That no punishment sharp was produced by my blows,
   And Bendy did with me whatever he chose.

   Hard words for the Deaf’un, and cruel the sting,
   To one who ne’er acted amiss in the Ring――
   To him who was always alive to a mill,
   And in thirteen prize-battles was conqueror still.

   I boldly appeal to my slanderers whether
   I was ever the covey to show the white feather?
   And Bendigo’s conduct I cannot think right,
   When he stripp’d me of something that lost me the fight.

   That he acted unfairly I do not advance――
   He was perfectly right not to part with a chance;
   Still I say, but for this, whosoever may scoff,
   He would not have easily polished me off.

   And may I again never put on a glove,
   If once more I don’t fight him for money or love;
   And my stick I will cut in the Prize Ring, by Jove!
   Ere the belt shall be worn by a Nottingham cove.

   And shall poor Deaf Burke be consign’d to the shade?
   No, tho’ I’m defeated I am not dismay’d,
   And in a fresh contest I’ll do what I can,
   To take the conceit from this bounceable man.

   When victory smiles on a pugilist’s front,
   He has lots of supporters and plenty of blunt;
   But if luck turns against him, my eyes! how they rave,
   And stamp him a cross cove――a thundering knave!

   Into me some choice worthies keep pitching it home,
   For sporting the _statutes_ of Greece and of Rome;
   Is it fair, I would ax, to inflict this here slap,
   Because I’m a sort of a classical chap?

   And some swear ’tis time I was laid on the shelf,
   For I grows _’ristocratic_――too sweet on myself;
   Now I wenture most humbly to make an appeal,
   If I’m to be blam’d for behaving genteel?

   In France and New York I have sported my tanners,
   And no wonder a polish I have got on my manners;
   Now, I begs to inquire whether winner or loser,
   Must a man be a blackguard because he’s a bruiser?

   No, to tip the purlite I will still do my best,
   For everything wulgar I scorn and detest;
   My pipe I’ve discarded like most other stars,
   And now I smoke nowt but Hawanna cigars.

   And I dare say some folks may consider it strange,
   That I’m courting the Muses by way of a change,
   And thus in _Bell’s Life_ to my feelings give went,
   In a copy of werses I’ve called “The Lament.”

   Be this as it may, here I’m ready and willing
   This Bendy again to encounter at milling,
   And perhaps if I once get him into a line,
   Tho’ the first chance was his’n, the next may be mine.

That “next chance,” as Edgar Poe’s raven said, “never, never, never
more” came to the turn of the Deaf’un, so far as regarded a meeting
with Bendy, although he issued sundry invitations and offers. In
March, 1840, occurred the accident to Bendigo, narrated at page 25,
which struck the Nottingham hero from the list of “wranglers” for the
Championship, and hereupon Burke again came to the front with a
challenge. This was quickly responded to by Nick Ward, the younger
brother of the renowned Jem. The match was made for the modest sum of
£50 a side, and the day fixed for Tuesday, the 22nd September, 1840.
The battle, which took place at Lillingstone Level, Oxfordshire, will
be found in detail in the Life of Nick Ward, Chapter V. of the present
volume.

Poor Burke’s day was gone by; unconquered in heart, his impaired
physical powers failed him, and he fell before youth, activity, skill,
and length. As we have mentioned in our memoir of Nick Ward that the
stakeholder received notice of action for the stakes, it is but just
to give the following vindication of the Deaf’un’s conduct as reported
in a contemporary journal:――

     “THE DEAF’UN HIMSELF AGAIN!――The Deaf’un took a benefit at
     the Bloomsbury Assembly Rooms on Tuesday evening, and,
     notwithstanding his late defeat, found a goodly number of
     friends, and ‘a strong turn’ in the financial department.
     The sets-to, although many of them between commoners, were
     amusing and effective, and conducted with great spirit and
     vigour. Among the most popular was that between Owen Swift
     and Maley, in which the quickness and scientific deliveries
     of the former were happily illustrated. At the conclusion
     the Deaf’un mounted the stage to ‘wind-up,’ but
     unfortunately, Caunt having forfeited his promise to appear,
     he was only opposed to a new beginner called ‘The Cumberland
     Youth,’ whose inexperience left the star of the night
     nothing to do but flap him at pleasure. The Deaf’un, after
     smoothing down his bristles with his dexter digits, and
     clearing his throat by sundry ‘hems,’ delivered himself of
     the following oration, which we took down as nearly as could
     be verbatim. ’Gemmen――I have dis here to say. I’m werry sory
     as Caunt has not come to sets-to wid me according to his
     promises, for he gave me his words of honours as he would
     attend; but dats de way wid dese here mens――when dey gets to
     the top of de trees, dey do nothing to help a poor fellow as
     is down; but dey had better minds what dey are abouts, or
     they’ll be as bad as Jack Scroggins, and look for a
     _tanners_ when they can’t find it. Gemmen――I mean to say as
     I do not thinks as I was fairly beat by Bendigo, and I am
     prouds to say as I am not widout friends what tink de same,
     and as are ready to back me for a cool hundreds against him,
     or Nick Wards, or Jem Bailey. Bendigo is wery bounceable
     now, as he says he has licked me; but I says he took an
     unfair advantage in regard of my belt; but dats neither one
     ting nor toder; and if he has friends, if he’s a man, he’ll
     give me anoder chance, and till he does, I shall always
     thinks as he has won de belts widout any right to it. I went
     to Sheffields and Nottinghams to make a match wid him, and
     now let him show equal pluck and come to London to make a
     match wid me――my pewters is always ready (applause). Dat’s
     all I’ve got to say. Gemmen, I thank my friends and patrons
     for coming here to-night (coughing); but I’ve got something
     here (pointing to his throat, and the poor fellow appeared
     overflowing with gratitude) which won’t let me say no
     mores.’――It is not very creditable to the _élite_ of the
     Fancy to have abstained from setting-to for the unfortunate
     fellow; for, although his ignorance may have led him to
     assume too much, the motto of all professed pugilists should
     be ‘forget and forgive;’ and ‘if a man’s in distress, like a
     man to relieve him.’”

In the years 1841-2, the magistracy and police, stimulated into
abnormal activity by a sort of clerical crusade against the Ring “and
all its works,” set the powers of the law in motion against pugilists
and their patrons, and “all persons aiding and abetting in riotous and
tumultuous assemblages calculated to produce a breach of the peace,”
by issuing warrants, holding them to bail, and indicting them at the
quarter sessions of the county wherein the same took place. Among the
zealots of this Puritanical campaign against the amusements and
relaxations of the people, the Rev. Joshua Cautley, curate of
Broughton, in Bedfordshire, distinguished himself with the fervour of
Ralpho, the squire of Sir Hudibras; though he, fortunately, escaped
the cudgellings, rotten eggs, and stocks, which in rougher times
befell his prototype. In an evil hour the Deaf’un came in contact with
this clerical suppressor of “anti-knife” congregations, under the
serio-comic circumstances we are about to narrate.

On the 9th of February, 1841, at Holcut, in Bedfordshire, an orderly
assemblage surrounded a well-arranged inner-and-outer ring, within the
latter of which Ned Adams, of London, and Dick Cain, of Leicester,
were contending. At a critical period of the battle, the curate of
Broughton, the Rev. Joshua Cautley, who was not, as all the “rurals”
surrounding the ring well knew, either a magistrate in the commission
of the peace, or in any way legally authorised to interfere, appeared
at the ring-side in an excess of peace-preserving furor, and not only
attempted to take Adams into custody (without any warrant), but cut
the ropes with a knife, and behaved otherwise in an outrageous manner.
He was afterwards aided by a police constable (John M’Hugh), and by
the arrival of the Rev. Edward Orlebar Smith, a Justice of the Peace
for Bedfordshire, previous to whose appearance on the scene certain of
the country people present had certainly ejected Parson Cautley from
the ring. The Rev. Justice of the Peace, as it appears, then put his
fellow clergyman and himself on the right side of the law by
reading――at a distance, and amidst immense confusion and the
continuance of the battle――the Riot Act. The result of all this was
that the zealous Parson Cautley procured, upon affidavit sworn by
himself, the constable, and the Rev. Mr. Smith, the indictment of
thirteen persons (six of them being his own neighbours) at the ensuing
Bedford Quarter Sessions. The pugilists indicted were James Burke,
Owen Swift, Edward Adams, and Richard Cain, Thomas Brown (the
respected landlord of the “Swan,” at Newport Pagnell, who was there in
charge of his post-horses and four-in-hand), Messrs. Mark Cross,
William Maley (a solicitor), Joseph Goodwin, George Durham, Edward
Dawkes, James Morris the younger, Martin Hughes (who died during the
proceedings), and Richard Walter Chetwynd, Viscount Chetwynd, Baron
Rathdowne. The indictment charged, in its first count, “that they, the
defendants aforesaid, on the 9th day of February, 1841, in the parish
of Holcut, in the county of Bedford, did then and there, together with
other evil-disposed persons, whose names are unknown to the jurors
aforesaid, unlawfully, riotously, and tumultuously assault Edward
Orlebar Smith, clerk, one of the Justices of the Peace for the said
County, and John M’Hugh, one of the constables of the Peace for the
said County, and, then and there, did, in contempt of our said Lady
the Queen and her laws, to the great terror, alarm, and disturbance of
all the liege subjects of our said Lady the Queen thereabouts
inhabiting and residing and being, passing and repassing, to the great
damage of the said Edward Orlebar Smith and John M’Hugh, and against
the peace of our said Lady the Queen her crown and dignity.” The
second count in this formidable document, repeating the names and
verbiage, included the same charges against the defendants for riot
and assault on the person of the Rev. Joshua Cautley. The third count
varied by specifying James Burke as the assailant of the Rev. Edward
Orlebar Smith (whom he never touched in any way). The 4th, 5th, 6th,
and 7th counts merely varied in the names of the parties assaulted, by
substituting “Smith” for “M’Hugh,” and “Cautley” for “Smith,” as the
persons on whom “with force and arms,” the same defendants “did then
and there beat, wound, and ill-treat, and do other wrong, to the great
damage of the said E. O. Smith,” &c., &c., “and against the peace of
our said Lady the Queen her crown and dignity.”

Any one not used to the formal wording of legal documents may well
share the astonishment of the Deaf’un when this astounding rigmarole,
being furnished to his legal advisers (Mr. Vincent Dowling and Mr.
Serjeant Dowling), was read and explained to him. His truthful and
indignant denials of all the serious delinquencies laid to his charge
in this farrago of legal fictions were most amusing. Perhaps the way
in which these were thrown into rhyme, by what old Jacob Tonson, the
bookseller, used to call “a competent pen,” will convey some idea of
the Deaf’un’s objections and denial of the charges:――


   ADDRESS OF DEAF BURKE TO THE GRAND AND COMMON JURIES OF BEDFORD.

   Pull’d up by _beaks_, before you here I shows,
   For what offence, I’m blistered if I knows;
   Fam’d thro’ the universe for feats of fists,
   Before you stands Deaf Burke, the pugilists.
   Yes, honest jurymen, with heart of steels,
   I make with confidence my proud appeals,
   My case upon its simple merits try――
   Let me have justice, and no fears have I.

   I ask of you as upright jurymen,
   In what have I offended――where and when?
   Why of the throng should Burke the scapegoat be
   Or Reverend Cautley’s wrath descend on me?
   As to the _mill_, I own that I was there――
   All went on peaceably, and all was fair;
   Arm’d with high courage, strong in heart and limbs,
   The men were at the _scratch_ in gallant trims.
   And smiling confidence was on their brows,
   When Parson Cautley first kick’d up a rows,
   And by an effort, frivolous as weaks,
   Back’d by a rural _traps_, and Smith the _beaks_,
   Sought, and perhaps he deem’d that he was right,
   To rush into the ring and stop the fight.

   What if the Riot Act was read――Alas!
   The Deaf’un couldn’t hear it if it was!
   And as far as I’m concern’d it is a facts,
   It might have been a sermon or “the Acts;”
   But as to swearing, or a hint to drop,
   Out of the ring I pitch’d him neck and crop,
   Tho’ towards a parson I feel reverence due,
   Josh Cautley states the thing that isn’t true.
   But let that pass――the issue I’ll not shirks――
   Convinc’d your fiat will acquit Deaf Burkes;
   Proclaiming that from testimony strong,
   The pugilist was right, the parson wrong.

   I’ve studied, sirs, since my career began,
   To prove myself through life an honest man――
   Humble my origin, my lot obscure,
   I never came the artful dodge, tho’ poor.
   I ne’er gave way to lewdness, nor to lush,
   Nor did an act for which I’ve cause to blush.
   True, I ne’er figur’d as a man of letters,
   But yet I know’d my duty to my betters.
   And never deem’d, however mean my station,
   Swearing and swaggering pleasant conversation;
   Yet, I confess, I lov’d in boyhood prime,
   To hear of boxing in the olden time;
   Of feats perform’d by those heroic men――
   Mendoza, Humphries, Johnson, and Big Ben,
   Jem Belcher, Gregson, tough Tom Cribb, and Gully,
   Whose hard-earn’d laurels time can never sully.
   Fir’d by their deeds, I cried, “Who knows but Burke
   May in the Prize Ring some day go to work,
   And proud of pluck that never warm’d a curs,
   Prove at the scratch an ugly customers?”
   Ripe for a chance I fearlessly defied
   The sturdiest bruisers by the waterside;
   And for the love of glory, not of tin.
   To many a hardy cove I’ve pitched it in.
   But on my fistic feats I will not dwell,
   What I have done let “Fistiana” tell.

            *     *     *     *     *

   These are my triumphs which I now record,
   Tho’ floor’d by Cousens, Bendigo, and Ward;
   And even with these I fearlessly declares,
   I did my best, and acted on the squares;
   And tho’ defeated on the field of fights,
   I died true game, and show’d no feather whites.
   Now, gentlemen, as I stand here before ye’s,
   I’ve told a round and plain unvarnished storys――
   I love fair English boxing as my life,
   But dread the _Arkansas_ blade and _bowie_-knife;
   Those weapons deadly, cowardly, and keen,
   Which in a Briton’s hand should ne’er be seen,
   But which if _beaks_ conspire the ring to crush
   Will make the blood of many a Briton gush,
   And driving manly fair play from our Isle,
   Stamp us a nation of assassins vile!

   Now, gentlemen, no longer I’ll intrudes,
   But, as I’m bound in duty, will concludes;
   And, as you seem all honest mens and true,
   What you deem right I’m certains you will do.

On Monday, the 14th of March, the Deaf’un, who had been generously
bailed by a couple of Bedford tradesmen, surrendered to his bail, as
also did eleven others. The Rev. Mr. Cautley, Mr. Orlebar Smith, and
“a cloud of witnesses,” policemen, and others. Tom Spring, in friendly
consideration of the Deaf’un’s incapacity of hearing, stood by him as
_amicus curiæ_, and kindly interpreted the proceedings. It should be
stated that in his examination before Lord Charles F. Russell and the
grand jurors, the Rev. Joshua had stated that “Burke had endeavoured
to force him out of the ring, and had seized him by the leg to throw
him over the ropes.” Of this the Deaf’un (who certainly was never in
the ring at all) was nervously anxious to exculpate himself. What was
his surprise then to learn that “no evidence would be offered on that
point,” and that “the general charge implicated all present in the
same guilt.” Eventually (Viscount Chetwynd having removed the trial of
his indictment into the Court of Queen’s Bench, on the ground that he
could not get an impartial trial in Bedfordshire) the trials were
postponed, and the whole of the defendants were held to bail to appear
at the summer assizes; to them a ruinous expense and miserable
suspense, and the great satisfaction of their Christian prosecutors
and the profit of sundry attorneys; and thus ended the first
“field-day” of “the battle of Bedford.” Other separate indictments,
however, were proceeded with, against Messrs. Brown, of the “Swan,”
Newport Pagnell, George Durham, Edward Dawkes, and Mark Cross, for
“refusing to assist the constable in the execution of his duty.” Mr.
Brown, after evidence by M’Hugh, the Rev. Joshua Cautley, and Mr.
Smith, that in reply to being so called upon, he replied (being seated
on the box of his coach) “that he had to mind his horses,” was found
guilty. The other defendants then, having pleaded “guilty,” were
sentenced each to pay a fine of forty shillings, and costs, and to
enter into recognisances themselves in £40, and two sureties in £20
each, “to be of good behaviour for one year.” The fines were paid, the
sureties given, and the defendants liberated from that charge. In July
the unlucky defendants again surrendered, when their trial was again
postponed to await the result of the _certiorari_ by which the
aristocratic defendants (Viscount Chetwynd and Mr. Maley, the
solicitor) had removed their cases to the Court of Queen’s Bench.
These having failed, in the ensuing November, Burke and his fellow
victims of the law’s delay were placed at the bar. In the interim we
find in the _Bedford Mercury_:――

     “PRIZE FIGHT AND LORD CHETWYND.――Lord Charles Russell laid
     before the Court a statement showing the position of the
     prosecution against Burke and thirteen others, for a riot at
     a prize fight at Holcut, in this county, and did so to know
     whether the prosecution should be proceeded in. Already an
     expense of £50 had been incurred, and probably between £80
     and £90, exclusive of witnesses, would be further required.
     By a writ of _certiorari_ Lord Chetwynd had traversed the
     case to the Court of Queen’s Bench, to obtain the privilege
     of not pleading on the trial in the usual way by holding up
     his hand. The other parties accused had not been aware of
     the object of the course taken by Lord Chetwynd, and were in
     the same position as they were before traversing to the
     superior court. The county was at a great expense, and the
     defendants must have been at double the expense. His
     lordship also laid before the Court a correspondence between
     Lord Chetwynd and that gentleman, expressing his regret at
     what had occurred. Mr. Smith was not satisfied with the
     correspondence, and the opinion of the Court was that the
     prosecution should be continued, having begun it.

     “From this we infer that the Rev. Mr. Smith is not satisfied
     with the apology tendered by Lord Chetwynd, and that to
     satisfy his feelings, the county and the defendants are to
     be involved in a still heavier outlay. To those who were in
     no respect consenting to Lord Chetwynd’s determination, this
     seems a measure of cruelty for which we were not prepared;
     but it would seem that after having already entered into
     recognisances to appear and take their trials, and having
     strictly and respectfully complied with that undertaking,
     from whence they were relieved by no act of their own, they
     are again called on to put in fresh bail in the Court of
     Queen’s Bench at Westminster, some of them living in distant
     parts of the kingdom. This may be necessary in form of law;
     but surely, even the Rev. Mr. Smith can have no wish to add
     to the hardships of the defendants, who were, and are still
     ready to submit to take their trials at the proper season.”

This wretched persecution thus dragged its weary length into the
following year, 1842, when negotiations for a compromise having been
made between the Crown solicitors and those of the defendants, Mr.
Gurney, on the part of “Burke, Adams, Cain, and others,” said he was
instructed to withdraw their plea of “not guilty,” and to accept a
verdict for the Crown against his clients.

Mr. Andrews thereon, on the part of the magistrates, thought the
defendants had pursued a very proper course, and the prosecution was
withdrawn; so that this expensive performance of “Much Ado about
Nothing,” ended by Messrs. Cautley and Smith “taking nothing by their
motion,” the defendants being put to a heavy expense, and an outlay of
some hundreds of pounds (raised by benefits and public subscriptions
of the admirers of British boxing, and the sympathisers with the
unfortunate victims of Puritanical persecution) to the profit of
lawyers. At the opening of these assizes Baron Gurney made the
following significant remark, with which we will conclude these
instructive legal proceedings for the suppression of pugilistic
encounters: “His lordship, in discharging the grand jury, said, that
although the number of cases in the calendar was not greater than was
usual at the spring assizes, yet he regretted to see that the
character of many of the offences was of a most aggravated
description, and that there was no less than six charges of
_maliciously cutting and wounding_ in the calendar. His lordship said
that this offence of using deadly weapons in personal quarrels
appeared to be very much on the increase, that it was a disgrace to
the character of the country, and that it must be put down.”

In May, 1842, the Deaf’un was matched with the Tipton Slasher (William
Perry), but at the fourth deposit, which was appointed to be made at
Owen Swift’s on July 7th, when “Time” was called, and Burke’s
“needful” ready, no one appeared on behalf of the Tipton, and Burke
was thereon declared entitled to the forfeit of the £15 down. Johnny
Broome, as the representative of Perry, afterwards made his
appearance, but Burke’s friends declared the business closed, and
refused to reopen the affair. And thus ended the Deaf’un’s last
attempt to get paired with either of “the big ’uns,” who at this
period preferred their questionable claims to the tarnished honours of
the “Championship.”

  “Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen.
   Fallen from his high estate,”

poor Jem now became the plaything, but never the parasite, of a knot
of men about town, supplementing their questionable patronage by
giving lessons in boxing, and conducting the room at his early
patron’s (Joe Parish, the waterman and pugilist) who, for many years
after his removal from Strand Lane, kept the “Lion,” at the corner of
Newcastle Street, Strand. The Deaf’un――and we met him often――was
always respectable in appearance and respectful in manner, and out of
his small means supported an aged mother and a humble home.

In his nightly adventures in the vicinity of the Haymarket, Burke was
frequently brought in contact with a big outsider, Bob Castles, well
known at the “playhouses” (not the theatres), in the vicinity of
Leicester Square, at “Goodred’s Saloon,” Jack Rowbottom’s “Finish,” in
James Street, The Elysium, Mother Emerson’s “The Waterford Arms,” and
the numerous nighthouses that then infested and infected the purlieus
of Piccadilly, and disgraced and degraded the very name of a sporting
house. Bob was a great boaster, and on the strength of having stripped
twice in the P.R. (once in August 20, 1827, when he beat Bill Bailey
at Portsmouth Races, and again on April 2, 1828, with Paddy Flynn, at
Colney Heath, when he got “the value of a bating”), he was a sort of
“professional” guide to roysterers out on the spree, and a bully for
those who might hire his services. Bob was, moreover, a great talker,
and, to use a Pierce-Eganism, “flash as the knocker of Newgate.” This
worthy never missed an opportunity of making the naturally
good-natured Deaf’un the butt of his chaff, and even of many rough
practical jokes. On one of these occasions the Deaf’un taking umbrage
at what he supposed to be an interference with some of his “’ticular
frien’s,” quietly warned “Mister Bobs” that if he didn’t mend his
manners “he’d jest punch Mister Bobs’ pimples.” One word begetting
another, and the Deaf’un, considering himself better at an _argumentum
ad hominem_ with the fist than a verbal disputation, dared Castles to
the field; the latter ridiculed the idea, and several of those present
agreeing that a good licking mutually administered might do good to
both of them, a deposit was made to be increased to £50, and that the
veterans should have the opportunity of displaying their courage and
settling their difference of opinion, _secundem artem_, with Nature’s
original weapons. To afford them an opportunity to prepare for their
“trial by battle,” three weeks were allowed for training, and in the
interim the wrathful heroes went under the necessary regimen and
exercises, Burke at the “Five Bells,” Putney, Castles at the pleasant
Hill of Richmond. Monday, June 13th, 1843, was the eventful day.
Castles, as the deposits went on, found no difficulty in collecting
his “coriander seed;” but the poor honest Deaf’un did not find his
friends, however prompt to promise when under the influence of
champagne, so ready when its effervescence had subsided to relieve the
mortified feelings of their _protégé_ by substantial support. Indeed,
he might have miscarried at the time, for, as he told us, he found no
end of difficulty “in raising his winds; all the good ones as used to
do the liberals being gones.” At this juncture Young Dutch Sam kindly
stepped in and posted the “possibles,” but at the expense of several
town visits by the Deaf’un, which consumed hours that would have been
more advantageously devoted to improving his bodily condition. In
truth, Burke had outlived his fistic fame; and, although the hero of
some twenty battles, it was considered that the steel had been taken
out of him, and that his renewed appearance in the milling arena would
be a mere impotent exhibition of departed powers. Despite of the
difficulties he had to encounter, and the low estimate of his
capabilities entertained by many, he sustained the character for
hardihood, steadiness, and cunning tact that served him so well in
days gone by. As to Castles, his height (nearly six feet) and superior
activity were considered strong points in his favour.

At the last deposit it was agreed between Young Dutch Sam and Mr.
Edward Lacey, the host of the “Garrick’s Head” tap――to whom the
fortunes of Bob Castles had been entrusted――that a trip down the river
was the most prudent mode of bringing matters to a conclusion, and for
this purpose the “Nymph,” Woolwich steamer, was duly chartered, and
directed to be moored off Waterloo Bridge on the morning of battle at
eight o’clock. The “skipper” was punctual to his appointment, and soon
after that hour the men and their partisans were safely embarked. Of
the latter the muster was limited, but among them were a few
“Corinthians,” whose appearance belied the conclusion that they had
“risen with the lark,” although we opine they had not placed
themselves in a position to render rising necessary. At a quarter
after eight the craft was under weigh for London Bridge, whence, after
a passing call, she proceeded to Blackwall, and there having taken in
a few of “the right sort,” pursued her downward course. The Deaf’un
was a little crusty on his supposed exclusion from a due share of the
profits of the boat, but in this he was overruled. There was one
point, however, upon which he was inexorable, namely, that, “as he was
outs on a parties of pleasures,” he would “go the whole hogs,” and not
stop short of Gravesend, where he expected to find Young Dutch Sam and
some friends. He had no objection, however, having seen them, to “try
backs, and fight on the roads homes, instead of dropping downs to the
Lower Hopes,” the vicissitudes attending on the last trip to which
locality was still fresh in his as well as our recollection.
Accordingly, to Gravesend the “Nymph” pursued her voyage. Here Sam was
found, but his state of health was such as to render his embarkation
indiscreet. Little time was lost in “putting about,” and finally
dropping anchor at Rainham Ferry, on the Essex shore, nearly opposite
Erith, the belligerents and their followers were quickly landed, and
the coast being clear, the ring was formed on a fine piece of turf
behind the bank, a snug public-house affording the men a convenient
resting-place till all was ready. Of betting on the voyage down we
heard but little, and this at “evens,” the Deaf’un sporting his “last
solitary shilling” on himself.

The Commissary having discharged his functions, aided by Tom Callas,
and provided seats for the limited assemblage of spectators, the
combatants were summoned to the scratch, and forth they came, nothing
loth; Burke attended by Cullen and Jerry Donovan, and Castles by Tom
Reidie and Fuller. On stripping, Burke looked as full in flesh and as
prominent in muscle as when personating Hercules in his celebrated
representation of the Grecian Statues. He stated he weighed 12st.
4lb., and stood 5ft. 8in. Castles was not so heavy, barely weighing
12st.; but he had the advantage in height, being 5ft. 11in; his length
taking from his width, he looked thin, but he was evidently in good
health. There was a speck in one of his eyes, but he said it did not
interfere with his vision, so that there was no fear of his antagonist
getting on his “blind side.” “Richard’s himselfs agains,” said the
great disciple of Shakspeare, and at twenty minutes to two both men
advanced, having previously tied their colours to the stakes (blue
bird’s eye for the Deaf’un, and white bird’s eye for Castles), and
tendering the hand of good fellowship, commenced


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Odds, 5 to 4 on the Deaf’un. A few leary
     dodges, each feeling for an opening, and the Deaf’un
     expanding his chest and stretching his _pounders_ from
     the shoulders, as if to give them freedom and
     elasticity. Castles tried his left, but was stopped; he
     then kept feeling for his man, the Deaf’un waiting, and
     cautious; nearer and nearer till at last they got
     within distance, when wild and slight counter-hits were
     exchanged with the left, then a rush to in fighting; a
     few scrambling hits, but no mischief done, and the
     Deaf’un dropped on his knees. On rising, Castles showed
     a slight discolouration on the right cheek-bone.

     2.――Castles manfully to his work; the Deaf’un quiet and
     waiting; Castles short with his left, and the Deaf’un
     on the alert; heavy counter-hitting with the left, and
     Burke popped in his favourite right-handed hit on the
     nut. More counter-hitting with the left; and in the
     close the Deaf’un was down, and got up blowing.

     3.――Bob, on coming up, showed symptoms of having
     received nobbers on the forehead left and right, and
     the Deaf’un’s eyes twinkled as if they had been asked a
     question. Castles prompt to the call of “time,” and
     Burke steadily but slowly to him. The Deaf’un tried at
     the mark with his left, but it was a mere tap; Bob
     advanced, the Deaf’un retreating till they reached the
     corner, when Bob let fly his left, catching it severely
     in return. A determined rally followed, and heavy hits
     were exchanged left and right; the Deaf’un catching
     Castles a severe right-handed hit on the jaw. In the
     end, the Deaf’un fell on his knees outside the ropes.
     On getting on his “second’s” knees he pointed to his
     right arm, as if it had been shaken in the last round.

     4.――Castles advanced; but the Deaf’un was in no hurry,
     and waited for him; Castles delivered his left on the
     Deafun’s sneezer, and got back; an exchange of heavy
     hits with the left, and Burke again down on his knees;
     he was evidently playing the cautious game.

     5.――Burke’s frontispiece slightly disfigured, and a
     mouse under his left eye; Castles getting within
     distance let go his left, but the Deaf’un hit with him,
     and heavy slogging hits, left and right, followed; a
     break away, and again to business; when, after an
     interchange of hits, the Deaf’un was down, obviously
     stung to some purpose, and Castles displayed claret
     from his nose, and showed marks of heavy nobbing.

     6.――Castles hit short with his left, but getting
     nearer, heavy counter-hits were exchanged, when Castles
     closed with the view to throwing; Burke attempted to
     get down, but Castles held him up by the neck by main
     strength for some time with both arms till he dropped.

     7.――Castles again a little out of distance; the Deaf’un
     waiting, when counter-hits were exchanged, and Castles
     closing, caught his man on the hip and gave him a heavy
     fall, to the dismay of the Deaf’un’s backers.

     8.――The Deaf’un came up slow, and suspicions were
     afloat that “a screw was loose,” in fact it was
     whispered that his rupture was down, and almost any
     odds were offered against him, one gentleman crying 100
     to 1, and no takers; Castles strong on his legs and
     full of vigour. He was too cautious, however, and did
     not go in with sufficient determination; he hit short
     left and right; counter-hits with the left, and a
     lively rally, which ended in Burke going down,
     apparently weak.

     9.――Burke came up blowing like a grampus, and again
     looking at his right arm as if something was the
     matter; he tried a poke at the body with his left, but
     did not get home; heavy counter-hits with the left, and
     some spirited in-fighting; punishing blows were
     exchanged, and in the close, Burke pursued his
     getting-down system.

     10.――Castles came up with a tremendous bump over his
     left eye, which his seconds ascribed to a butt, and
     claimed, but the impression was that as Burke always
     dropped his head when he hit with his left, his head
     had accidentally come in contact with Castles’s
     forehead, but without any intention to butt, and the
     claim was not allowed. No sooner at the scratch, than
     Castles led off heavily with the left; sharp
     counter-hitting followed, and in the close, Burke down,
     Castles on him.

     11.――Castles missed his left, and some severe
     in-fighting followed; the hits were quick and heavy;
     Castles tried for the fall, but Burke hung on him, and
     pulled him down.

     12.――Castles popped in a tremendous pop with the left
     on the Deaf’un’s mug, and repeated the dose; the
     Deaf’un, not to be deterred, returned the compliment,
     and rattling hits followed; in the close the Deaf’un
     went down. Castles showed a gash on the brow, and was
     otherwise seriously damaged in the frontispiece, and
     the spirits of the Deaf’un’s friends were reviving.

     13.――A magnificent rally, in which the exchange of hits
     left and right were really rapid; in the close, Burke
     got down; both were seriously contused, and their
     phisogs anything but free from blemish.

     14.――Burke came up slow at the call of time; Castles to
     him, and led off with his left, but was stopped; good
     exchanges left and right; the Deaf’un looked groggy,
     but stood well up, and exchanged hits till he fell;
     Castles also fell, and was evidently feeling the
     effects of his quick and heavy fighting; both were
     seriously punished.

     15.――Heavy exchanges left and right; and in the close,
     Burke down weak.

     16.――Again did the men go to work with determination,
     although Burke was slow to the scratch; Burke delivered
     a heavy right-handed fling on Castles’s left ear, which
     was much swollen and discoloured, but on Castles
     attempting to close, he went down.

     17.――Bob planted heavily with his left, but the Deaf’un
     stood it like a wood pavement, and dashed to a rally,
     in which heavy jobbing hits were exchanged; Castles
     grappled for the fall, but the Deaf’un, too leary, got
     down.

     18.――Castles missed his left, and the Deaf’un rushing
     in with his head down, Castles caught it under his arm,
     and giving him a Cornish hug, threw and fell heavily on
     him.

     19.――The Deaf’un slow and weak, and five to one offered
     on Castles, who although seriously punished came up
     strong on his legs, with nothing like flinching in his
     demeanour. Castles missed his left, but the Deaf’un met
     him with his left on the nozzle, and drew his cork; a
     sharp rally, in which pretty taps were exchanged; in
     the end, Burke dropped on his knees, but in the act of
     going down, he received a whack on the left brow from
     Castles’s right, which opened a seam, and brought the
     claret in a stream.

     20.――Good stopping, when the men got to a rally, and
     hit followed hit left and right, till Burke fell on his
     knees. Castles had the bark stripped from his snuffler,
     and both displayed such marks of punishment as would
     have satisfied any ordinary appetite, and certainly
     proved that neither was deficient in thorough game.

     21.――Burke’s left eye, which had received a second
     visitation, continued to bleed; Castles no sooner on
     his legs than to business, and delivered his left well
     on the Deaf’un’s nose, drawing his cork; this he
     repeated, when the Deaf’un rushed to a close, but
     Castles slipped aside, and the Deaf’un fell over on his
     head.

     22.――Heavy exchanges left and right, the Deaf’un down.

     23.――The Deaf’un’s right eyebrow following suit with
     his left, both cut, and his nose assisting to form a
     trio; heavy counter-hitting with the left, and pretty
     exchanges with the right; Castles down, bleeding from
     the nose.

     24.――A terrific rally, in which the punishment was
     pretty much on a par; they both slogged away, till
     Burke dropped.

     25.――Another severe round; Burke was not to be denied,
     and the hitting proved that each was determined to
     leave his mark, of which friendly attentions there were
     abundant proofs, as both bled profusely, and displayed
     a succession of severe contusions, while Castles’ left
     eye was fast closing, and the knuckles of his left hand
     were considerably puffed.

     26.――Castles came up dripping claret from sundry
     springs: Burke, slow, waited his approach; Castles led
     off with his left, but was stopped; tried it again, and
     got home, when Burke rushed in with dire intent, but
     missed his blow, and Castles as he passed gave him a
     back-handed slap with his left; Burke down on his
     knees.

     27.――Castles hit short, when Burke rushed in under his
     arm, and Castles, trying to grapple, fell over and
     beyond him.

     28.――Castles, after a little dodging, planted his left;
     Burke countered, and caught him another round hit on
     the ear with his right; although Burke’s arm was said
     to be injured this did not seem to come from a disabled
     member, for it shook poor Castles’s dredging box most
     woefully; in a scrambling attempt at a close, Burke got
     down.

     29.――Castles, bleeding copiously, but still determined,
     led off with his left, but Burke returned left and
     right; Castles, in getting away, fell, and the cheers
     of Burke’s friends gave him new life.

     30.――It was now clear that Castles’ left hand was fast
     going, and from its swollen state it was plain that it
     was incapable of much execution; and the Deaf’un, who
     seemed rather to gain than to lose his strength, was
     the favourite at 6 to 4. The Deaf’un, in no hurry,
     waited for his antagonist’s approach; Castles let go
     his left, and the Deaf’un poked him in return, and
     after some good hitting, the Deaf’un got down.

     31.――The Deaf’un still on the waiting suit; Castles not
     so quick; he found that his heavy slogging hits made no
     impression on the Deaf’un’s iron head; still, after a
     pause, he led off with his left, and after a spirited
     rally, the Deaf’un was down.

     32.――The Deaf’un evidently tired, took his time in
     coming to the scratch, and quietly waited for the
     attack. Castles at last went to work, and heavy hits
     were exchanged, when in the close both were down, on
     Castles being lifted up, although dreadfully punished,
     he said “he felt strong,” and showed no disposition to
     cry “enough;” while Burke was equally dogged in his
     determination.

     33.――A little artful dodging; Castles let go his left,
     but Burke ducked, and got away; Burke in turn rushed
     in, but Castles retreated; he then rattled to the
     charge, but the Deaf’un slipped down on one knee;
     Castles pointed at him with his finger, instead of
     hitting him as he might have done, and exclaimed,
     “that’s Nick Ward’s game, stand up and fight like a
     man;” Burke grinned, shook his bump of combativeness,
     and was carried to his corner.

     34.――The Deaf’un extremely deliberate in his movements,
     and slow to the scratch. Castles not so quick as
     heretofore; after looking at each other and dodging,
     Castles shot out with his damaged left, but was
     stopped; a rally and counter-hits exchanged, when Burke
     again got down on his knees; Castles pointed at him
     derisively, but the Deaf’un “took a sight” with both
     hands, and flourished his digits; Castle walked to his
     corner, mortified at Burke’s dropping, while Burke was
     carried to his.

     35.――Castles’ left hand getting worse, and he did not
     seem inclined to lead off so quickly as heretofore; the
     Deaf’un ogled the damaged fin with great satisfaction,
     and, after a short pause, led off with his left, and
     planting his blow got down on his knees; Castles looked
     “unutterable things,” and, after regarding him for a
     moment, gave him a contemptuous slap on the cheek, at
     which the Deaf’un smiled, as much as to admit he was
     playing “the artful dodger.”

     36.――The Deaf’un a decided favourite, and 2 to 1
     offered on him. He was clearly the stronger man, while
     his left hand was still sound and in working order; on
     getting up he waited quietly for the attack, looking
     slyly down at Castles’ fist; Castles offered to
     commence, but the Deaf’un retreated; a considerable
     pause, when Castles led off: the Deaf’un countered
     heavily, and after a sharp rally, in which some severe
     exchanges took place, the Deaf’un again got down, still
     playing the old soldier.

     37 and last.――The Deaf’un pursued his waiting game, and
     was clearly gaining strength; Castles also paused and
     was in no hurry to begin; the Deaf’un rubbed his chest,
     and then his thatch with both hands, and grinned, as
     much as to say, “I’m in no hurry.” Castles tried a
     feint with his left, but if would not do; the Deaf’un
     was wide awake, and showed that he was determined not
     to throw a chance away. Castles tried his left at the
     body, but the blow was not effectual, at last he let go
     at the Deaf’un’s head, and a brisk rally followed, when
     the Deaf’un finished the round by giving Castles, for
     the first time, a heavy fall. This was the closing act
     of the drama. Castles found his opponent the stronger
     man, and, from the state of his left hand, feeling that
     he had not a chance, he prudently determined to give in
     at once, declaring that fortune was on the side of his
     opponent, and he had not the power to turn the scale.
     The Deaf’un immediately approached, they shook hands,
     and all was over in _one hour and ten minutes_.

Both men were immediately conducted to the contiguous public-house,
where every attention was paid to them, and where their wounds were
dressed, and their contusions reduced as much as possible. Poor
Castles was heavily punished, his left eye in total eclipse; his face
exhibited not a square inch without a mark, and a deep incision over
the right eye showed the severity of the Deaf’un’s hitting. His left
hand, too, had become perfectly useless; in truth a more perfect
specimen of a courageous and undaunted submission to hard hitting we
have never witnessed――the best evidence that if by nature timid, by
force of mind he resisted all approach to the charge of cowardice, a
species of valour even more creditable than that which mere instinct
and the gift of creation has planted in the carcases of many animals.
Burke had also what he called his “shares;” but with a hardier and
more robust frame than Castles, as well as a head that might vie in
quality with the rind of a cocoa-nut, his sufferings were not so
severe. Yet we doubt whether in any of his former encounters his
receipts were of so severe a character; he confessed he got much more
than he expected, and was disagreeably surprised at finding “Mister
Bobs so dangerous a customers.”

Castles lost this battle principally from his eagerness in the latter
part of the fight, and a want of judgment in not hitting and getting
away. He was too fast, while the Deaf’un cunningly waited and popped
him as he came in, thus giving a sort of double impetus to his
deliveries. Had Castles rattled in with more determination when Burke
was amiss, about the eighth round, the issue might have been
different. Burke felt his position, and had recourse to all the
strategems of an old soldier, husbanding his strength, getting down,
and never attempting to wrestle or unnecessarily exhaust his powers;
by this means he preserved his physical energies, and made the best
use of them at the proper time. Castles, on the contrary, was always
first to the call of “time,” and till the last few rounds “made all
the running,” thereby realising the fable of the hare and the
tortoise. In trying to throw the Deaf’un, too, he diminished his
powers; still, with all this, we are inclined to think, had his left
hand not given way, a result almost inevitable from the frequent
repetition of heavy hits on the Deaf’un’s granite nut, he would have
come off victorious; as it is, with all his faults, he proved himself
superior in pluck and moral courage to most of the modern men of his
weight, and deserved the generous consideration of those who prize
such qualities. The Deaf’un showed unflinching game throughout, and
fighting up-hill as he did, with his right arm seriously, though not
fatally damaged, he proved that “all was not lost that was in danger;”
and that in confiding in his tact his admirers were not trusting to “a
broken reed.”

The battle money was given to Burke at Young Dutch Sam’s, the “Old
Drury Tavern,” Brydges Street.

The re-embarkation followed in good order, and all reached Waterloo
Bridge at seven o’clock――the combatants proceeding under the care of
their friends to their respective quarters. As an appropriate
_pendant_ to the prosaic version of this “crowning victory” we append

   A TRIUMPHANT EPISTLE FROM DEAF BURKE TO BOB CASTLES.

   My sarvice, friend Castles, once class’d with the nobs,
   We’ve finished our fights, and we’ve settled the jobs;
   I founds you a customers ugly and stout,
   And I’m blest if my works wasn’t neatly cut out.

   We’ve both of us passed, and no doubts on’t, our prime,
   And good sarvice we’ve seen in the Rings in our time;
   Fortune’s smiles and her frowns we’ve been destin’d to weather,
   But ne’er, as I knows on, displayed the white feather.

   Your friends chose to say I’d no relish for whopping,
   And censure as currish my systems of dropping,
   Declare by good men such a course was abhorr’d,
   And a leafs I had prigg’d from the books of Nick Ward.

   Now I humbly begs leave at sich nonsense to grin――
   One objects I had, and that there was to win;
   And who’er at my tictacs may fancy a fling,
   Such dodging’s all fair by the Rules of the Ring.

   On strengths and on plucks do men place sole reliance?
   Is nothing allow’d for manoovers and science?
   The systems of getting away would you fetter?
   Why, Bobbys, my tulips, you knows a deal better?

   Too fast with your rush you were constantly in,
   Till I gladly observed you had damaged your fin;
   Now, says I to my pals, you may alter your tones,
   For I see clear as muds that the games is my owns.

   And yet I received of hard hitting a gluts,
   You pepper’d my pimples, and damag’d my nuts;
   I never suppos’d you could come it so rough,
   And well pleased was I when you sing’d out “enough!”

   I’m sure you’ll allow, after triumphs achiev’d,
   I wasn’t so stale as some folks has conceived;
   Who swore that my powers pugilistics were spent,
   And I couldn’t inflict in fresh butter a dent.

   That I’ve not the same powers I’m free to deplore,
   As when I floor’d Byrne and a great many more;
   All out-and-out fancy boys, fearless and free,
   Then the Deaf’un aspired to be top of the tree.

   But lush and late hours, ’twould be folly to doubt,
   For a time wore my frame and my energies out;
   First Bendigo gave me a punishing dose,
   And I then by Nick Ward was consign’d to repose.

   Yet tho’ peaceful the course which for some time I shap’d,
   I felt that my gas had not wholly escap’d;
   My luck once again I was anxious to try,
   And with a true trump to turn out for a shy.

   The rest, Bobs, we knows, and I scorn all self praise,
   And I’d troubles sufficient the needful to raise;
   And, faith, I had almost despaired of a fight,
   When Young Dutch Sams came forward, and made it all right.

   Then we’ll meet at his cribs, Bobs, and go the whole hogs,
   In despatching his malts, his Virginny, and grogs,
   And as the pure drinkables mount to our brain,
   In “luck to the Rings” the bright pewters we’ll drain.

   And I’ll teach you to hact, both abroad and at home,
   The statutes of Greece and the statutes of Rome!
   I’ll teach you, Bob Castles, to understand traps,
   And make you a classical sorts of a chaps.

   And whether clean’d out or well breech’d with the stump,
   In wars or in peaces you’ll find me a trump,
   And whoever agin you foul slanders may hazard,
   Shall have from this mauley a tap on the mazzard.

   Then good-bye for the present――I wish you all _mércies_;
   You see I’m no bad one at tagging of werses,
   And ready at all times for going to vork,
   I’m yours, without any more gammon,
                                                  DEAF BURKE.

This was the last “flare-up” of the Deaf’un’s pugnacious spirit.
Late hours and long fasts, alternated with creaming sillery,
lobster-salads, devilled biscuits, ditto kidneys, and a deluge of
meaner liquors, soon reduced poor Burke to a shadow of his former
self, and he died of consumption on the 8th of January, 1845, in
Francis Street, Waterloo Road. His good qualities were his own, his
vices the grafting of his so-called “betters” in society.


     [14] In _Fistiana_ (edit. 1864), Burke’s fight with
     Fitzmaurice is set down as having taken place on June 9th,
     1834; _i.e._ thirteen months after the Deaf’un’s fatal
     affair with Simon Byrne, and is so placed. It occurred five
     years earlier, in 1829, as above narrated.

     [15] Omitted from the list of Lazarus’s fights in
     _Fistiana_, but inserted under Brown.

     [16] Butting was not yet prohibited, and was frequently
     resorted to when a man wished to escape from the hug of a
     fibbing or wrestling adversary.――ED. PUGILISTICA.

     [17] This is also prohibited by modern rules.――ED.

     [18] This highly reprehensible system of carrying men up to
     the scratch was subsequently entirely done away with, as
     also the system of allowing minute time, another mischievous
     practice, which, by giving men more time, enabled them to
     recover sufficiently to stand and deliver blows long after
     their strength and stamina were exhausted. These alterations
     took place after the fatal fight between Owen Swift and
     Brighton Bill, and were attended with most beneficial
     results. Half-minute time only was allowed by the New Rules,
     and if a man did not _walk to the scratch_ in eight seconds
     after time was called, he lost the fight.




CHAPTER IV.

WILLIAM PERRY (“THE TIPTON SLASHER”) 1835-1857.


Although this ungainly specimen of a boxing athlete first saw the
light, in the year 1819, in the town of “the Black Country” from which
his _nom de guerre_ was derived, he came to London and worked in its
neighbourhood at an early age; for, in the year 1835, he was well
known in the neighbourhood of Battersea Fields and Chelsea as a
“lumping lad” who, despite the drawback of “a K leg,” could hit, stop,
and use his “fives” with formidable effect. In November of that year,
we read in a sporting paper:

     “The admirers of milling in the military village of Chelsea,
     where the ‘saloon of arms’ of Alec Reid is a centre of
     attraction, were all alive on Tuesday, from the arrangement
     of a ‘field day’ to decide the best-man question between two
     pugilistic heroes of the locality. These were Barney
     Dogherty, a sprig from the Emerald Isle, and Bill Perry, a
     young navvy, whose displays with his digits, if not quite
     scientific, are determined and dangerous. Perry was backed
     by a sporting butcher, Dogherty by a circle of his
     enthusiastic countrymen. In weight the Emeralder had the
     advantage of nearly a stone. Each man was waited on by a
     member of the P.R., and the regulations of the Ring carried
     out.

     “The fixture was Wimbledon Common, whither miscellaneous
     groups were seen wending their way at an early hour; but the
     police scouts were wide-awake, and on reaching the intended
     scene of action it was ‘no go,’ and the disappointed crew
     looked as blue as their enemies. A move became inevitable,
     and new ground was taken opposite the ‘Ship’ at Mortlake.
     Here the men set to, but after seven rounds, all in favour
     of Perry, the lobsters were again on the scent, and another
     retreat was made towards Barnes Common. Here also it would
     not do――the pursuers were on the heels of the ‘flying
     dustmen,’ and a helter-skelter sort of march took place over
     Putney Bridge. Here a council of war was held, and it was at
     last agreed to march for Lechmere Common, close to the
     sporting grounds of the Baron de Berenger, in the King’s
     Road. Here all was right――a fresh ring was formed without
     interruption, and the sport was resumed and concluded.

     “On squaring elbows there was a good deal of sparring, and
     Perry dodged left and right. After some heavy exchanges and
     a rally, Barney was down weak. The fight was prolonged for
     six rounds more, during which Perry had it all his own way,
     punishing Barney terrifically; still the poor fellow came up
     as game as a rhinoceros, and would not give in till his
     seconds, seeing he had not a chance, cried ‘enough,’ and his
     friends were all satisfied he had done his best to win.

     “Dogherty turned out to be too stale for active operations;
     added to which he is slow and awkward in his style of
     setting to. Perry is a scientific hard hitter, but with such
     a man as Alec Reed, in his day, he would not have had a
     chance. Still, in the present state of the Fancy, he is not
     to be sneezed at. It was expected a second fight would have
     taken place between Middlesex Ben and the Winchester Pet,
     but the former was ‘shopped.’ Perry can be backed with
     anybody who may envy his honours, and the money will be
     ready at the ‘Lowndes Arms,’ King’s Road, on Tuesday
     evening, where Alec Reed gives sparring lectures for the
     benefit of the rising generation.”

Such is the account of “The Slasher’s” _coup d’essai_, after which he
seems to have found no candidate for his favours for a twelvemonth,
and to have worked his way towards his native place. Here his fame as
a fistic practitioner was pretty generally acknowledged, and a party
of Birmingham boxers, having among their number Ben Spilsbury (not
Charley, who fought Johnny Broome), being in the town of Tipton
exhibiting the art, young Perry put on the mufflers with that
professional. Though the Tipton lad was not so clever as the Brum, he
displayed such determination, and got so well “on” to his man, that an
observation that, “if in earnest,” Mr. Ben would have to play second
fiddle, led to an offer on the part of a Brum to post a “tenner” upon
the experiment. “A friend to sport,” at the request of Perry, covered
the two sovereigns deposited; and as the Christmas holidays were
approaching, December 27th, 1836, was named as the day of battle.
After taking some little liberties with the Tipton in the opening
rounds, for which he occasionally caught a fearful right-handed
visitation, and was rallied down, Spilsbury kept so completely _à la
distance_ as to deprive the contest of all interest, and finally, at
the end of the 19th round, “cut it,” leaving “The Slasher” in
possession of the field and the stakes.

  [Illustration: WILLIAM PERRY (“THE TIPTON SLASHER”)]

After this defeat of Spilsbury, it would appear that the sobriquet of
“The Tipton Slasher” had become the accepted title of William Perry,
for in a local (Staffordshire) paper we find him so described, as
being matched for £25 a side against one Jem Scunner, who is described
as the “Gornel Champion,” a six-foot specimen, weighing 13st. odd, and
therefore a fair opponent in height and weight for our hero. The
report is especially meagre, merely informing us that “the battle
commenced on Tuesday (Nov. 22, 1837), near Gornel, but was not decided
until the following day.” The betting at setting to was 6 and 7 to 4
on the Gornel man. After a few rounds, however, the Gornelites claimed
the fight for their man on the ground of a “foul,” but the referee
would not allow it, and Scunner, by the advice of his friends, would
not go on. A rush to the ring was made, and the referee retired. It
was asserted that Perry fell without a blow. After some wrangling, the
referee ordered that the fight should be renewed on the next day, at
Kingswood, near Wolverhampton. There both men showed at the time
appointed, and lost no time in getting to work. During the first four
or five rounds the Gornel man rushed at the Tipton like a wild bull,
but Perry waited for him, shifted cleverly on his crooked leg, and
delivered straight blows and upper-cuts with such slashing effect that
the Gornelites were utterly paralysed. From this time Scunner betook
himself to out-fighting; but here he took nothing by the change,
except prolonging the fight. At the end of one hour the Gornel
Champion, having been hit down or thrown in five or six successive
rounds, was finally floored in the 31st round, and deaf to the call of
time. Tass Parker, of West Bromwich, and Preston, of Birmingham,
seconded Perry; Surrender Lane and George Gallant, of Birmingham,
waited on Scunner. The match exciting much interest in the Potteries,
Perry, with Parker, became the “lions” of the neighbourhood; the
Fountain Inn, at Tipton, the Slasher’s headquarters, being crowded by
the Fancy of the Midlands at their benefit on the ensuing Monday.

The defeat of Jem Scunner, who had an immense, though undeserved,
local reputation, in a period when the dearth of good big ’uns was
remarkable, spread the fame of the prowess of the Slasher so widely
that he was fain to wield the shovel in laborious obscurity, instead
of flourishing his ponderous mauleys in the 24 foot. In the interval,
“the Deaf’un” had returned from Yankeeland, and――despite his two
successive defeats by Bendigo (Feb. 12, 1839) and by Nick Ward (Sept.
22, 1840)――owing to Bendigo’s accident, and Caunt’s announced absence
in America, boldly claimed the Championship. Johnny Broome hereupon
sought out the Slasher, and calling to his aid some patrons of the
Rising Sun, he proposed a “trial by battle,” to settle the difference
of opinion. Burke’s backers came to the scratch with their rhino, for
a battle to come off in August, 1842, but at the fourth deposit Broome
thought fit to absent himself upon the night of “posting the
possibles” at Owen Swift’s, and the Slasher’s money down was
confiscated to the extent of £15.

The Tipton, as we know, was a mere tool in this affair, as in other
instances, of the over-cunning Johnny Broome, who, like most
self-sufficient sharps, often “cut before the edge.” Johnny had other
views of the “dark horse” which he flattered himself he had in his own
stable, and, as he didn’t find the money, the poor Tipton suffered in
reputation (as Johnny intended he should do) by this forfeit. The
Editor of _Bell’s Life_, too honourable himself to suspect this
double-dealing, observes: “Though Broome was certainly late, this
insistance on forfeit seems very sharp practice; the more so as the
same gentleman who backs Perry actually assisted Burke with his first
deposit. The forfeit, however, has yet to be taken by Burke’s backers,
as he has nothing to do with it beyond their approval, and we may yet
find that the last and remaining deposits will be posted, and ‘the
ball go on.’ We have since received a letter from the gentleman who
put £4 of the first deposit down on behalf of Burke, when the match
was made, stating that he will not consent to the forfeit being
received, and expressing his desire that the match may proceed, as his
only wish is to encourage the manly sports of the Ring.”

But Johnny was determined to be off with the match, as he had not
found Brassey, of Bradford, so “tenderly led by the nose as asses
are,” and he had now in view a grand _coup de poing_, to play off
against the unquestionable “blaze of triumph” achieved by Ben Caunt in
the circus and theatre line, by the introduction of what might be
called the “illegitimate” drama in place of, and to the eclipse of,
the exhibition of “legitimate” British boxing. In this fairly-planned
vindication of the art from mere bulky pretenders, Johnny was
certainly to be praised; but as his choice of a champion was
“Hobson’s,” and limited to such an inferior tactician as the game,
rough-and-ready Tipton Slasher――to oppose immense weight, superior
length and activity, backed by a creditable reserve of courage and
self-possession, and moderate skill in sparring――the enterprise was
certainly ill-judged. Of its progress and issue we shall now have to
treat.

In the year 1842, a sensation was created by the return of Ben Caunt
to England, bringing with him a seven-foot specimen of humanity, of
the name of Charles Freeman. There can be little doubt, from
subsequent events, that Ben brought over his gigantic _protégé_ purely
as a showman’s speculation; and that Freeman, with his immense length,
strength, and bulk, had as little pretensions or inclination to boxing
as any non-combative member of the Peace Society could desire. Ben,
however, seeing how “big things” carried it in Yankeeland――the country
of “big things,” of which he, himself, was certainly one――imported the
“American Atlas” as his sparring opponent; and if he might infer
future success from their first few nights at the Queen’s Theatre, in
Liverpool, when not a seat was to be had in a few minutes from the
opening of the doors, the Lancashire people, at any rate, were willing
to patronise the show.

Freeman, during several months, not only exhibited at the Queen’s
Theatre, Lyceum, Olympic, Adelphi, Victoria, and other theatres, halls
and assembly rooms, where a great feature of the entertainments was a
caricature of boxing by the giant and Big Ben, but the non-sporting
papers were flooded with ridiculous paragraphs, several of them
offensively setting forth the wonderful powers and prowess of the
American gladiator, and in some instances asserting the “scare”
produced among the English prize-fighters by the advent of the New
World Goliath. We need hardly say that Freeman himself was entirely
innocent of this silly braggadocio, which emanated from the Barnum
managers of these performances, and the speculators who at this time
degraded the character of the decadent Ring, and prostituted its true
aim――the encouragement of courage and skill――to their own profit and
plunder. Johnny Broome, then in the full tide of his prosperity,
called a meeting at his house, the “Rising Sun,” Air Street,
Piccadilly, where, after the reading of some of these “puff
paragraphs” about “Championships of England and the World” (Ben Caunt
modestly claiming the first, and liberally presenting his prodigious
pal with the other), it was proposed to bring these pretensions to a
practical test by a challenge for £100 a side from “a novice,” to be
hereafter named by Broome. On the following week, at the adjourned
meeting, Tom Spring presented himself, on the part of Caunt, and
stated the latter to be ready to make a deposit for Freeman. Spring
further said that Freeman had not come to this country with any
intention to fight; his pursuits were quite different; he, therefore,
had challenged no man (this was so; but many of his placards contained
a challenge to any and every man); nevertheless, he had determined not
to refuse this challenge, and, therefore, his money was ready. Harry
Broome, on the part of his brother Johnny, who was from home, covered
the deposit, and the Thursday evening following was named for drawing
up articles, at the “Castle,” for a further deposit, and for naming
“the novice.” Freeman and Caunt were both present, and the crowd
immense. The giant and his mentor, Ben Caunt, arrived late, owing to
an accident on the rail near Weedon. Broome proposed to defer naming
“the novice;” but this being insisted on, or a forfeit claimed,
“William Perry, of Tipton,” was nominated as the “great unknown,” and
the following articles “signed, sealed, and delivered”:――

     “Articles of agreement entered into this 29th of September,
     1842, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, between Charles Freeman
     and William Perry of Tipton. The said Charles Freeman agrees
     to fight the said William Perry, a fair stand-up fight, in a
     four-and-twenty foot roped ring, half minute time, according
     to the New Rules, for £100 a side, on Tuesday, the 6th of
     December, half-way between Tipton and London. In pursuance
     of this agreement, £20 a side are now deposited in the hands
     of the stakeholder; a second deposit of £10 a side to be
     made on Thursday, the 6th of October, at Johnny Broome’s; a
     third deposit of £10 a side on Thursday, the 13th of
     October, at Johnny Walker’s; a fourth deposit of £10 a side
     on Thursday, the 20th of October, at Jem Burn’s; a fifth
     deposit of £10 a side on Thursday, the 27th of October, at
     Tom Spring’s; a sixth deposit of £10 a side on Thursday, the
     3rd of November, at Johnny Broome’s; a seventh deposit of
     £10 a side on Thursday, the 10th of November, at Tom
     Spring’s; an eighth deposit of £10 a side on the 17th of
     November, also at Tom Spring’s; and the ninth and last
     deposit of £10 a side on Thursday, the 1st of December, at
     Johnny Broome’s. The said deposits to be made between the
     hours of 8 and 10 o’clock, p.m., or the party failing to
     forfeit the money down; a toss for choice of ground to take
     place on the night of the last deposit. The men to be in the
     ring between the hours of twelve and one o’clock, or the man
     absent to forfeit the whole of the stakes. Two umpires and a
     referee to be chosen on the ground, the decision of the
     latter in the event of dispute to be conclusive. In case of
     magisterial interference the referee, if chosen, to name the
     next time and place of meeting, or if the referee be not
     chosen then the stakeholder to name the next time and place
     if possible on the same day; but the money not to be given
     up until fairly won or lost by a fight; the winner to pay
     for the ropes and stakes. Should any money be given for the
     privilege of the fight taking place in any particular
     locality, such money, if agreed to be accepted, to be
     equally divided between the men.

                     “(Signed)     “CHARLES FREEMAN.
                                   “JOHN BROOME (for W. PERRY).”

Offers were made to take two to one on the Yankee, but nothing more
than six to four could be obtained. The match excited extraordinary
interest, and set all the Americans in town on the _qui vive_. They
viewed the success of Freeman as a result already almost attained.

After a round of “appearances,” “benefits,” “soirées,” “entertainments,”
&c., to which the well-advertised fact of being “matched” lent
additional attractions, both men went into training, Freeman at Frank
Key’s, the “Duke of York,” Gannick Corner, near Barnet, and the
Slasher in the first place at our friend Jemmy Parsons’s, at Hampton,
and subsequently at Ould Tom Owen’s, at Northfleet, Kent. A
contemporary paper thus announces the coming event on the previous
Saturday:――

     “Freeman has been assiduously attended by his friend Ben
     Caunt, and has been ranging up hill and down dale like the
     celebrated giant Gog, in his ‘seven-league boots,’ with
     staff in hand and followed by ‘a tail,’ which, from the
     length of his fork, generally keeps a respectful distance in
     his rear. Although his nob has been roofed with a shallow
     tile, to diminish the appearance of his steeple-like
     proportions, he still has the appearance of a walking
     monument, to the no small alarm of the squirrels in Squire
     Byng’s park, into whose dormitories he occasionally casts a
     squint of recognition. By his good humour and playfulness of
     disposition he has won all hearts, and has been a welcome
     guest on whatever premises he has cast anchor in his walks,
     which have seldom been less than twenty or thirty miles a
     day. He has been extremely attentive to his training, and
     has been much reduced in flesh, while his muscular
     developments stand forth with additional symmetry. On his
     arrival in this country he carried some twenty-three stone
     ‘good meat,’ but we doubt whether on Tuesday he will much
     exceed eighteen stone. His drawers and fighting shoes have
     been built with a due regard to ease and elegance, and the
     latter have been seasonably aired by being lent to a cat and
     kittens as temporary nurseries. He already sports his blue
     bird’s-eye fogle, and, without vaunt or unseemly bounce,
     seems to think his chances of success are planted on a good
     foundation.

     “The Slasher has been under the care of Johnny Broome, whose
     brother is constantly with him, and was removed on Tuesday,
     for some reason not explained, from Hampton to Northfleet.
     We have not seen him, but he is described as in fine
     condition, and in high spirits. He will weigh, we hear,
     between thirteen and fourteen stone, stands six feet high,
     and is a well-proportioned, muscular fellow (always
     deducting the ‘baker-knee,’ which destroys the perpendicular
     of his pedestal). His flag of cream colour ground, with the
     union-jack in the centre, bearing the words ‘Old England,’
     and the rose, the thistle, and the shamrock in the corner,
     the whole inclosed in a blue border, has been unfurled at
     Johnny Broome’s, and has found numerous supporters on the
     usual terms, ‘a sovereign or nothing.’ The betting within
     the last week has varied; in some places the Slasher has
     been taken for choice, in others Freeman has been the
     favourite at 5 to 4, at which price a good deal of business
     has been done. The final deposit was made at Johnny
     Broome’s, in Air Street, Piccadilly, on Thursday evening, in
     the presence of a goodly muster. Neither of the men was
     present. Betting was slack, 5 to 4 only being offered on
     Freeman; but after some breathing a ‘supposed green,’
     offered 30 to 10 on the Giant, at which Johnny Broome
     snapped, as well as 20 to 10 immediately after from the same
     innocent, who said he had £50 to lay out and was satisfied
     with a small profit. This, however, did not advance Freeman
     much in the betting, for, after a good deal of ‘screwing,’
     higher odds than 6 to 4, and this reluctantly, could not be
     obtained. In consequence of a private agreement between the
     backers of both men, the appointed toss for choice of ground
     did not take place.”

There had long been a complaint in the Fancy circles of the dearth of
“great men;” if “great” be synonymous with “big,” then this was a
“great fight.” How far it deserved that epithet the reader will
shortly be able to decide. The Slasher had never been credited with
scientific qualifications, and “the American Giant” was remarkable
solely for his prodigious bulk and weight-lifting pretensions, never
having fought a prize battle before. The match, we are inclined to
think, arose rather from a desire to put the pretensions of “the
Yankee _critter_” to the test than from any belief that a man could be
found capable of successfully competing with such “a mountain of
humanity;” the more especially as Ben Caunt, the Champion of England,
had signified that he and Freeman were sworn friends, and were,
therefore, unlikely to come in hostile collision. Johnny Broome was
consulted as to whether he could find a man willing to try his hand
with the Giant, and he at once answered in the affirmative, experience
having afforded him opportunities of estimating the game and muscular
qualities of the Slasher, who was perfectly willing to make the
experiment. It was under these circumstances the challenge was given
and accepted. This was the position in which matters stood when the
match was made, and in due course the men went into training, each
taking every pains to improve his stamina and physical qualities. We
may here remark that, in the opinion of competent judges, the mere
fact of Freeman being so much taller and heavier than his opponent was
not regarded as an argument in favour of his real superiority. In
truth, we have seen, and over and over again been led to believe, that
a man standing six feet high, and weighing between twelve and thirteen
stone, with muscular power and activity in proportion, is the _beau
ideal_ of manly perfection; and that anything beyond this is mere
surplusage, seldom, if ever, of any real advantage, as has been
remarked of most of the giants who have been exhibited as objects of
curiosity. We must admit, however, that for his size, we never saw a
man so symmetrical in all respects as Freeman; there was nothing
unwieldy or awkward in his appearance. In point of muscular
development and strength, too, we are persuaded there was not his
equal, and in point of activity and lightness, and springiness of
action, he was not less to be admired; in fact, his early career was
in the equestrian school, where, among other feats, he rode two horses
at once, at the same time balancing a man with his arms above his head
as he galloped round the circus, added to which he was renowned for
the number of somersaults he could throw in succession. In lifting
weights, too, on more occasions than one, he has raised fifteen cwt.
from the ground. With all these appliances, however, there yet might
be a want of animal courage and natural powers of enduring punishment
and fatigue; and in the absence of any criterion upon which an opinion
on these latter points could be formed, considerable doubts were
entertained of the probable issue of his battle with the Slasher, who
was known to possess fearless intrepidity, great bodily strength, some
science, and sufficient height and weight to entitle himself to be
ranked among the most dangerous of our modern millers. Hence the
betting, which seldom exceeded 5 to 4 in favour of Freeman, did not
prove him to have inspired any extraordinary confidence in the minds
of his friends, of whom, from his really unassuming conduct, civil
deportment, and good temper, he had many.

We may here state that the wisdom of not ascribing too much merit to
superior bulk derived confirmation from scientific calculations made
by Mr. Hutchinson, a surgeon of eminence, who made some curious
experiments by means of hydraulic and other instruments to ascertain
the constitutional powers of human beings, founded on comparisons of
the strength of their lungs, by respiration and inspiration, the state
of their pulse, capacity of chest, height, weight, &c. Mr. Hutchinson
submitted both Freeman and Perry to his tests, and the result of his
observation was, that although Freeman’s admeasurement was
extraordinary in every respect, yet, comparatively, when the
dimensions of both men were taken into account, the balance of bodily
power, strength, and endurance was in favour of Perry, who Mr.
Hutchinson considered more calculated to sustain fatigue and
punishment than his gigantic antagonist. Mr. Hutchinson, of course,
admitted that the inference which he thus drew may be defeated by
accidental or other causes; but looking to the mere animal qualities
of the men, such was his conclusion. That his hypothesis was fairly
tried cannot be asserted, for, as will be seen, both men left off, so
far as we were capable of judging from the darkness which prevailed,
pretty much on a par, whether as respects punishment or fatigue.

It will be borne in mind that at the making of the last deposit, the
toss for choice of ground was dispensed with, Spring, on the part of
Freeman, and Broome, on the part of Perry, having determined on the
probable locality. It was felt desirable to preserve the secret as
long as possible, and it was not till Monday that the direction was
generally known, when a trip by the Eastern Counties Railway to the
borders of Hertfordshire and Essex was announced, with an intimation
that a simultaneous departure by the half-past nine o’clock train to
Sawbridgeworth (about seven and twenty miles from London) would suit
all purposes, and prevent any unnecessary bustle at the immediate
scene of action. Notwithstanding the secrecy which had been observed,
however, some few “go-carts” with their motley inmates were seen going
down the road the night before, and thus a hint was given, of which
the police took advantage; and hence, being on the alert, the
attendance of a magistrate was obtained, and much trouble and
inconvenience, as the sequel will show, were experienced. In the
interim both men arrived in town at their respective head-quarters,
Freeman at Tom Spring’s, and Perry at Johnny Broome’s, so as to be
ready for their morning start, and both houses were crowded to excess.

With the dawn all were in motion, and by eight o’clock the London
terminus of the chosen railway was besieged by visitors. Many of these
brought drags, which were placed upon the trucks, while others trusted
to the “chapter of accidents,” which proved to have a very wide range,
for the means of conveyance. Among the first arrivals were the Tipton
Slasher and his friends, who thus took time by the forelock, so as to
be near the point of rendezvous in due season. This division agreed to
alight at Harlow station, as the train did not pull up at
Sawbridgeworth, which was, however, but two miles further, within
convenient toddling distance, and thither all proceeded. On reaching
the fixture a damper was thrown on the prospects of the travellers.
The superintendent of police was found at his post. He had received
orders from London to prevent hostilities, and to this was added the
fact that Mr. Phillips, a Hertfordshire magistrate, was in readiness
to “keep the peace.” In this unpleasant dilemma all waited till the
arrival of the half-past nine o’clock train, in which came Freeman,
Tom Spring, Caunt, and a vast accession of the Fancy. Fortunately
there was a carriage and four horses waiting the arrival of Freeman,
and after a short deliberation it was resolved to move on to Hatfield
Heath, about four miles further, in the county of Essex, and the
“office” being given, away all went in that direction――the great
proportion on their ten toes, for conveyances were out of the
question――and the roads being heavy the pilgrimage was far from
agreeable, especially to “the London particulars,” who were unprepared
for such a journey. For this unexpected tax upon their patience there
was no remedy, and on they went till the desired goal was reached. On
the road there were some few mishaps, but still all were cheered on by
hope. The Commissary lost no time in examining the intended field of
battle, which he found swampy, and far from desirable; but there was
no help for it, and he was about to form a ring when a fresh alarm was
given. The Sawbridgeworth police superintendent and Mr. Phillips, the
magistrate, once more presented their ill-omened countenances, and
plainly declared their determination to prevent the fight taking place
either in Essex or Hertfordshire This was a poser. A council of war
was held――suggestions of all sorts were offered, and a great deal of
time was lost. Cambridgeshire, the adjoining county, was deemed too
distant to be reached in time, and more especially by the pedestrians;
and at last it was determined to “try back,” and return towards
London; Broxbourne, on the borders of Middlesex and Essex, being
agreed on as the point of re-assemblage.

This point settled, a general move took place towards the nearest
stations――the toddlers to Sawbridgeworth, and the charioteers to
Bishop Stortford, there to repack their nags and drags, while the beak
and his co-partner, considering that a move had been made to get out
of their bailiwick, also moved off. On reaching Bishop Stortford a
fresh resolution was formed. “While the cat’s away the mice will
play;” so, as the conservators of propriety were no longer present, it
was urged that the ring might be formed in the place originally
intended, half a mile from the Sawbridgeworth station, not far from
the same field in which Turner beat Scroggins, in June, 1817, and
scarcely more distant from the scene of Oliver’s conquest over
Shelton, in 1820. No sooner said than done; and, in the absence of
those who had promised to avoid the county of Hertford, at half-past
two o’clock all agreed to drop down to the place from whence they
came, with the exception of the Commissary, Freeman, and his friends,
who took the main road in a carriage kindly yielded to them by the
Right Rev. the Bishop of Bond Street, who also hospitably furnished
their larders with a very welcome supply of roast fowls and other
“combustibles,” of which their “inward men” stood beseechingly in
need. In the interim the Slasher threw himself on a bed at Bishop
Stortford, and all who had wisdom took some hasty refreshment. On
again reaching Sawbridgeworth we were informed that the lists were
formed, and a competent guide being found, all set out along the
towing-path of the canal to a very eligible site, about half a mile
off, on an elevated piece of ground admirably calculated for the
purpose. The evening was now fast approaching, for it was nearly four
o’clock, and it was hoped there would be still daylight sufficient to
decide which was the better man. The privilege tickets were
distributed, and in a short time everything was arranged for the
commencement of hostilities.

All being in readiness, Freeman entered the ring in high spirits,
attended by Caunt and King Dick, and was received with loud cheers.
Rumours were now afloat that the Slasher did not mean to come, and
sovereigns even were offered to be laid that there would be no fight.
In the interim horsemen were sent off to Sawbridgeworth station to
urge the approach of the missing man, who it was known had been left
there in charge of Broome. Matters thus remained in doubt for some
time, and great impatience began to be manifested, when it was
announced, to the great joy of the spectators, that the Slasher was
coming――and come at last he did, amidst the encouraging shouts of his
friends. He lost no time in entering the ring, and was immediately met
with a friendly shake of the mauley by Freeman. The Slasher was
attended by Ben Terry and a provincial friend named Tom Parker. No
time was now lost in “trimming” the men for battle, and their
superfluous “feathers” were quickly removed. Both appeared in high
spirits and eager for business. Umpires and a referee having been
chosen, the ring was cleared out, and the “privileged” dropped
contentedly on the damp earth, with such preservatives to their
sitting places as circumstances would permit; but it must be
acknowledged that these were far from satisfactory, owing to the
difficulties to which the Commissary had been exposed in the various
transfers of his _materiel_.

On being stripped and placed in juxtaposition, the towering height of
Freeman presented a most formidable aspect, while the muscular
development of every limb, and the broad expanse of his chest and
shoulders, gave him the appearance of herculean strength. His weight,
without his clothes, we understood was but little above seventeen
stone, for it was remarked that during the last week of his training
he rather diminished than increased in bulk. Still, he was in high
spirits, and moved about with elastic and graceful step. In the
following July he would be 23 years of age. The Slasher also wore a
cheerful smile on his mug, which betrayed the fact that he had already
lost some of his head rails. From his hips up his bust displayed great
muscular power, but being in-kneed, there was less of symmetry in his
figure than in Freeman’s. On throwing himself into position, however,
this was scarcely perceptible, and he may be described as a model of
burly strength. He appeared to be, and said he was, in excellent
condition, and, judging from his cheerful index, there was no want of
self-confidence. His height six feet, his age twenty-three, and his
weight 13st. 4lb.; but notwithstanding the fearful odds against him,
he evidently regarded the coming struggle with gallant indifference.
Of betting there was but little――5 to 3 was offered but not taken, and
the only bet we heard laid was one of 6 to 4 on Freeman.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Precisely at seven minutes after four o’clock the men
     were conducted to the scratch, their fogles having been first
     tied to the corner stake, and having shaken hand with great good
     humour, the seconds retired to their corners. The towering height
     and gigantic proportions of Freeman led all to suppose that he
     would endeavour to fight down his opponent; but, as will be seen,
     this anticipation was not fulfilled. The Slasher stood on the
     defensive and Freeman broke ground, hitting out with his left;
     from this the Slasher retreated, when Freeman followed him
     quickly, popped in his left and right slightly, and the Slasher
     was down. Freeman laughing, and no mischief done.

     2.――The Slasher again to the scratch, when Freeman led off left
     and right; the latter blow got well home, and dropped the
     Slasher. _First knock-down_ blow for Freeman; but no damage done,
     as the Slasher received it when retreating.

     3.――The Slasher made play, and tried his left on Freeman’s body,
     but was stopped. Freeman rushed to him, the Slasher retiring and
     hitting short and wild. Freeman popped in his left and right,
     caught the Slasher in his arms, and threw him with ease.

     4.――The Slasher, on the defensive system, dodged a little,
     delivered his left on the ribs, in getting away he fell, and thus
     escaped Freeman’s return.

     5.――Freeman hit out left and right, but the Slasher ducked his
     head and fell on his knees.

     6.――The Slasher on the dodging system, stepped back; Freeman
     after him to the corner, where there was a wild rally, in which
     hits right and left were exchanged. The Slasher got within
     Freeman’s long arms, gave him a tidy smack with his right on the
     left eye, and got down. (_First blood_ from Freeman’s brow, and
     the Tipton lads uproarious.)

     7.――The Slasher, the first to fight, hit out left and right, but
     was stopped. Freeman slashed away left and right but without
     precision, and after some trifling deliveries the Slasher got
     down.

     8.――The Slasher popped in his left on Freeman’s ribs, and got
     away; Freeman after him, when the Slasher closed. Freeman lifted
     him clean off the ground, but was unable to get his arm loose to
     fib, and after a short struggle the Slasher slipped from his
     grasp and got down.

     9.――The Slasher again led off with his left at the body, and in
     getting away fell from accident or design. [Cries of “foul” and
     “foul” was claimed on the part of Freeman; but the referee did
     not feel himself justified in stopping the fight, and “time” was
     called.]

     10.――The Slasher again tried the artful dodge, rushed in to hit
     with the left at the body; but Freeman seized him in his powerful
     feelers, held him up for a short time, and finding he could do
     nothing at in-fighting fell on him, but not so as to do him any
     mischief.

     11.――The Slasher as lively as a grig popped in his left on
     Freeman’s arm and got away; Freeman followed, gave him one, two,
     left and right The Slasher broke from him, and delivered his
     right on his shoulder; then getting away, fell to avoid.

     12.――The Slasher once more led off with his left, but was short.
     Freeman after him delivered left and right; the Slasher down.

     13.――Freeman popped in his left, The Slasher retreated and fell.

     14.――Freeman again planted his left slightly. The Slasher adhered
     to his retiring system. Freeman followed him to the ropes, and
     after a scrambling exchange of hits the Slasher got down. Freeman
     pointing at him derisively with his finger and laughing.

     15.――Freeman hit left and right, and the Slasher rushed in and
     caught him round the body, to try for the fall; Freeman held him
     up completely off the ground by the neck, then chopped first with
     the left and then with the right; the Slasher hit up left and
     right, and caught Freeman on the mouth with his right; and after
     a short struggle was thrown, Freeman on him.

     16.――The Slasher again tried his left at the body, but was short,
     the blow falling slightly on Freeman’s arm. Exchange of blows.
     Freeman with the left on the nob, and Slasher on the shoulder
     with the right, which sounded, but was of no effect. Slasher, in
     retreating, fell.

     17.――Slasher came up on the defensive, but Freeman hit him down
     with his left.

     18.――Slasher again popped his left at the body, but was hit down
     with a counter-hit from Freeman’s left. Freeman fell on him, and
     foul was claimed by Slasher’s party, but not acknowledged, as it
     was obvious the fall was accidental.

     19.――Slasher hit Freeman on the shoulder with his right, and in
     return caught it left and right as he retreated. Slasher returned
     to the charge with his right, and fell.

     20.――A wild exchange of blows, but not effective, and the Slasher
     slipped down in retreating.

     21.――[Twenty-three minutes had now elapsed, no real damage done
     on either side, and both as fresh as when they commenced.] The
     Slasher popped in his left on the body, and stepped back; Freeman
     after him, hit left and right, and the Slasher fell.

     22.――Freeman delivered left and right; the Slasher was short in
     his return, and again received two pops left and right, and fell.

     23.――Freeman delivered left and right, and Slasher down.

     24.――Freeman led off with his left. The Slasher popped in his
     left on the mark and tried to drop, but Freeman caught him round
     the neck and held him up some time, and then let him fall,
     tumbling over him. (Another claim of foul not allowed.)

     25.――Freeman popped in his right on Slasher’s left eye; the
     Slasher countered on his shoulder, when Freeman caught him with
     his left, and the Slasher was down.

     26.――Freeman again planted his left; and, on Slasher rushing in,
     caught him in his arms, held him for a second or two, and fell on
     him.

     27.――Freeman popped in his left, and dropped his man with his
     right.

     28.――The Slasher hit short with his left, and renewed the dodging
     system, playing round his man. Freeman tried to nail him, but he
     got away, hit out with his left at the body, and fell without a
     return. [Another claim of foul for Freeman, not admitted.]

     29.――Slasher hit at the body with his left and broke away,
     Freeman after him, all for mischief, caught him on the hop, and
     hit him down with his right.

     30.――The Slasher delivered his right on Freeman’s shoulder, broke
     away, and tried it with the left on the body, but was stopped.
     Freeman let go left and right, but the Slasher ducked his nob,
     escaped, and fell.

     31.――The Slasher again in with his left on the ribs and away;
     Freeman after him, caught him on the pimple, and he fell.

     32.――The Slasher hit short left and right, and was hit down with
     Freeman’s left.

     33.――The Slasher pursued his left-handed game at the body, but,
     in getting away, was hit down with a touch from Freeman’s left.

     34.――The Slasher missed left and right, caught it left and right,
     and was down.

     35.――[It now became so dark that it was difficult to see what was
     doing in the ring, and the spectators came closer to the ropes.
     The partisans of the Slasher were extremely uproarious, and one
     of them especially was constantly interfering with the umpires,
     called “time” when it was not time, and was guilty of other most
     offensive and unfair conduct.] The Slasher, as usual, led off
     with his left at the body, but without effect, and in return was
     hit down.

     36.――The Slasher hit short with his left, and was hit down by a
     counter from Freeman’s left as he was getting away.

     37.――Slasher planted his favourite body blow with the left, but
     without producing any visible effect; Freeman did not seem to
     feel it, and he was again down.

     38.――Trifling exchanges with the left, and the Slasher down.

     39.――The Slasher rushed in to make another effort for the throw,
     but Freeman again seized him in his powerful grasp, fibbed, and
     fell with him, but not on him.

     40, 41, 42, 43, 44.――Slasher down in every round, but apparently
     no mischief done, and as far as the glimpse of light left would
     permit, we could discover no distinct mark of punishment on
     either man.

     45.――The Slasher delivered his left at the body and fell, as if
     from the force of his own blow. Freeman fell over him, but
     evidently with a desire to avoid falling on him. [Another appeal
     was made to the referee on the ground of the Slasher falling
     without a blow, but the referee declared it was impossible to
     form a correct opinion, and expressed a strong wish that the
     fight should either be drawn or adjourned, but to this neither
     party would accede.]

     46, 47, and 48.――The Slasher down in each round, and Freeman
     manfully avoiding falling on him.

     49.――The Slasher in with his left on the body, but as he
     attempted to retreat Freeman caught him in his arms, held him for
     some time, occasionally chopping, and at last fell forward on
     him, but too much over to produce any consequence.

     50.――The Slasher showed some fatigue, but came up full of
     confidence. He delivered his left at the body, but did not get
     well home; Freeman caught him left and right, and he went down to
     avoid further mementoes.

     To describe the remaining rounds would be an idle attempt, in
     fact it became so dark that the men were only visible from the
     light colour of their skins and drawers. The Slasher pursued his
     dodging, getting away, and falling system, occasionally making
     his left and right hits at the body and shoulder, and sometimes
     appearing to recoil from the effects of his own blows, but
     without producing any turn in his favour. Freeman hitting left
     and right, and now and then seizing his man, lifting him up, and
     flinging him down, but almost invariably avoiding falling on him;
     in one instance actually making an arch over his carcase, his
     head and legs on the ground, amidst the acclamations of the
     throng. In the last few rounds there was an evident attempt to
     draw Freeman into the Slasher’s corner, round which a desperate
     set of ruffians had collected, who, by the most offensive
     vociferations, endeavoured to intimidate and alarm him. He,
     however, kept his temper, and came up every round cool and
     collected, grumbling only at the Slasher not standing up to
     fight. In the 69th round the Slasher exclaimed, “I’ve got you
     now, old fellow!” but the words were scarcely out of his mouth
     when Freeman hit him down with his left. The darkness, combined
     with a fog, now became so intense that it was impossible to see
     what was doing from one side of the ring to the other. The
     referee declared his utter inability to form any judgment of the
     character of the fight, and, unable to get both umpires to agree
     on the expediency of putting an end to the battle, he jumped into
     the ring, and, getting between the men, declared he would not
     permit them to prolong the contest. At this moment both men were
     fresh and vigorous, and each seemed disinclined to leave his
     chance of victory in doubt, Slasher especially, who said he
     considered he was robbed of the fight, while Freeman laughed, and
     said, if they were permitted to proceed, the result would perhaps
     prove he was mistaken. The referee was, however, peremptory, and
     both men were taken from the ring after having fought _seventy
     rounds_ in _one hour and twenty-four minutes_. They walked away
     as fresh as when they began, with a mutual desire that they might
     renew the combat the next day at twelve o’clock, at such place as
     the referee might appoint, to which the latter assented, as there
     did not appear to be anything in their appearance to justify a
     further delay in the gratification of their desires.

     REMARKS.――It is much to be regretted that this curious encounter
     was not brought to a more satisfactory conclusion, inasmuch as
     the merits of the men still remain undecided; and so evenly had
     their pretensions been balanced in the minds of their respective
     friends that each party declares, had time and circumstances
     permitted, their favourite must have been crowned with victory.
     How far these conclusions may be well or ill founded we will not
     pretend to say; but certainly we feel justified in giving to both
     men an equal proportion of praise, so far at least as their game
     qualities are concerned. It is true, we may be disposed to take
     exception to the “getting down” system which was adopted by the
     Slasher, but then it must be borne in mind he fought at fearful
     odds both as regards weight and length, and could never hope
     successfully to compete with such an antagonist unless by a
     degree of caution and cunning, which with a man of his own inches
     would have been unjustifiable and amounted to cowardice. There is
     no doubt that occasionally his dropping after delivering his
     blows had too much the appearance of being at variance with our
     notion of “a fair stand-up fight;” but then the ground was
     slippery, and he asserts that when he did fall it was from the
     recoil of his own blows or from his being unable to keep his feet
     in endeavouring to avoid the tremendous return which he had
     sufficient reason to expect. That this was provoking to Freeman
     we can well imagine; but, under all the circumstances, we do not
     think it detracts from the game qualities of the Slasher, who
     certainly came up from first to last undismayed, and with a manly
     determination to win if he could. Of his scientific
     qualifications we cannot say much. If he possessed any they were
     reserved for a future occasion. He never attempted to stop the
     blows which were showered on his canister, and throughout
     confined himself to attempts to disable Freeman by body blows
     from his left or round hits with his right. The former
     occasionally reached their destination with sounding effect, but
     we are inclined to believe they fell more frequently on Freeman’s
     arm, which was dropped to catch them, than upon his more
     vulnerable corpus. That some of them might have got home we are
     inclined to believe, but it was clear they did not produce any
     serious consequence, for on examining the Giant’s body
     subsequently we were surprised to find so few symptoms of
     forcible collision on his ribs, while we discovered sundry
     bruises on his fore and upper arm, which showed these had been
     exposed to heavy visitations, and no doubt stopped numerous kind
     intentions which, had they reached their destination, would have
     been far from agreeable. With the right the Slasher was
     unsuccessful, as it generally fell on Freeman’s left shoulder,
     and with the exception of the cut on the left eye, which gained
     first blood in the sixth round, this weapon did not produce much
     damage, for the only other punishment visible was a slight
     scratch and swelling on the under lip, which was produced by the
     upper cut in the fifteenth round. In his attempts to throw, the
     Slasher had not the most remote chance of success, for when the
     attempt was made Freeman lifted him completely off the ground and
     threw him as he pleased, occasionally going down with him, from
     overbalancing himself. Throughout the fight it struck us that the
     Slasher showed no symptoms of distress, except after the struggle
     in which he was suspended between heaven and earth for some time
     in Freeman’s grasp, and was then thrown, Freeman falling on him.
     With respect to Freeman, although a novice in the milling arena,
     it must be admitted that throughout he showed great coolness and
     presence of mind. He never lost his temper, and was only
     indignant that the Slasher would not stand up to receive his
     sledge-hammer compliments. It struck us, however, that with
     immense power he wanted judgment in its application. His left and
     right hits were straight and well directed, but he failed in
     countering with his left, for had he let fly at the same moment
     that the Slasher tried his left at the body, the consequences
     would no doubt have been serious. He too frequently suffered the
     Slasher to lead off and get away, so that in following, his blows
     did not tell with half the effect. Of this there was sufficient
     evidence in the little impression he made, there being no
     material damage discernible on the Slasher’s countenance beyond a
     slight cut on his left brow, and a few contusions which
     afterwards produced discolouration――a black eye included. We
     learn also that he received sundry raps on the head and neck, out
     of sight, which required the aid of leeches to allay
     inflammation. His left hand, too, was a good deal puffed.
     Freeman’s left thumb was also injured, and from the force of one
     blow was actually put out of joint; but the dislocation was
     reduced, and little harm arose from this. There is no doubt that
     many felt astonished, after witnessing so many apparently heavy
     deliveries followed by instant prostration, that more decisive
     consequences were not produced. It must be borne in mind,
     however, that Freeman hit against a yielding object, which of
     course offered little resistance, and fell from the slightest
     concussion. Had the Slasher hit with him, or stood firmly on his
     legs, the effect would have been different; and many of his hits
     were rather shoves or pokes, instead of coming well from the
     shoulder. The tumbling system of the Slasher cannot be pursued
     with impunity, and if it be clearly shown that he falls without a
     blow, there will be less hesitation in condemning him to defeat,
     as he must now perfectly understand the distinction between
     accident and design.

The sports thus most unsatisfactorily concluded, and the excitement
which prevailed having subsided, those of the throng who remained to
the last――for a great number had already taken their departure――began
to speculate on the best mode of getting home. So intense was the
darkness that it was almost impossible to distinguish your best
friend, although close at your elbow; and the calls for Bill, Tom, and
Harry resounded in all directions, with unsatisfactory responses of
“Here; where are you?” and so forth. Then came inquiries as to the
best mode of reaching the station. Some by guess, who thought they had
marked the road they came, ventured to set out on their journey, and
were soon heard floundering in the ditches or swamps into which they
had wandered, and roaring lustily for relief. Others employed the
yokels as guides, and thus they went, in connected chains, pursuing
their devious paths. The Bishop of Bond Street, who had magnanimously
resigned his carriage to Freeman, was foremost among the unfortunates,
and went floundering on through mud and mire, but cheerfully
submitting to all manner of casualties, till he reached the
Sawbridgeworth station, where he was joined by hundreds of others,
some of whom had got into the canal, others into dreary swamps, and
all more or less miserable, but still happy in having escaped the
perils to which they had been exposed. Complaints were loud and
numerous; and verily some of our friends presented piteous specimens
of human misery, with pretty certain prospects of future suffering
from colds and other ills to which flesh is heir. A great number got
off by the six o’clock train, but many had to remain for that which
followed, and did not reach their destination till a late hour. There
were but few carriages on the battle-field, and these were with
difficulty piloted to the main road, and by that route either to the
Harlow station or to the Metropolis. The Slasher with difficulty
reached Sawbridgeworth, where he obtained requisite refreshment; and
Freeman, equally fortunate, got to the Harlow station, and in a room
of one of the attendants found “a good Samaritan,” who attended to all
his wants. He was in good spirits, and but little the worse for wear.
Caunt and Spring paid him every attention. The numerous assemblage
here, half famished, had to send half a mile for the means of
satisfying their appetites, and bread, cheese, and beer were in
anxious requisition; to these a lucky contribution of a Yorkshire ham
and sundry chickens, from the hamper of a swell drag, proved a most
acceptable addition for a party of “the select.”

Before the departure of the train, the Slasher, accompanied by Johnny
Broome, arrived at the station, and the proposed renewal of the battle
on the ensuing day, at twelve o’clock, was discussed. Broome foresaw
the difficulty in which he would be placed to afford due information
of the whereabouts to some of the Slasher’s backers who had gone to
London, and who were more desirous than ever of witnessing the
termination of the contest. At his request, to which Spring did not
object, it was settled that a meeting should take place the next day
at four o’clock, at the house of the referee, to arrange this
important point. The Slasher was unusually bounceable, and asked
Spring if he was disposed to add a hundred to the stakes. A reply in
the affirmative was instantly given, but the challenge evaporated, and
nothing more was done. The arrival of the up-train put an end to
discussion. All were soon embarked, and away they were whisked to
Shoreditch. Freeman arrived at the “Castle” about half-past nine,
where an immense crowd greeted his return; and the Slasher, in the
same way, could scarcely obtain ingress to the domicile of Johnny
Broome of which he is, just now, the “Rising Sun.”

The next day Spring attended, at the time appointed, at the place of
rendezvous, but Broome did not make his appearance till an hour after.
In the interim, with a view to give each man sufficient time to
resuscitate his energies, the referee appointed the following
Thursday, between twelve and one o’clock, for the renewal of the
combat; the “whereabouts” to be communicated to the backers of each in
time to enable them to reach their destination without inconvenience.
On the next morning both men went back to their training quarters to
prepare for the coming struggle. An earlier day could not have been
named without interfering with the arrangements for the mill between
Maley and M’Grath, which was fixed for the ensuing Tuesday between
London and Manchester.

On Wednesday evening Freeman left London in company with Caunt,
Spring, and his trainer, and put up at “The Bull” at Royston, his
movements being kept a profound secret. Broome, for some reason, would
not take his man to Royston, but preferred travelling, with a few
friends only, by an early Eastern Counties train to Bishop Stortford,
and thence posting to Littlebury, Essex, the appointed place for
meeting, though it was privately arranged that Cambridgeshire should
be the _locus in quo_ the affair was to be finished off. That
quietness, and therefore secrecy, was pretty well observed, we may
note that on Wednesday night there were only eight strangers in
Royston, and five only in Littlebury, including Dick Curtis. The
Commissary, and his assistant, Broome, having given the “office” for
Bishop Stortford, a goodly number of the London division came down by
later trains, and the demand for drags, post-horses, or indeed
anything on wheels or four legs, became astonishing. Broome, Slasher,
and party arrived at Littlebury in a carriage with four posters in
more than good time.

Meantime, Freeman and his friends remained quietly at Royston, and it
was not until Thursday morning that the Commissary received a
despatch, directing him to have the ring formed, before twelve
o’clock, at Triplow Heath, Cambridgeshire, on the spot where Bungaree
and Sambo Sutton last fought――eight miles from Littlebury and three
from Royston――where, it was added, Freeman would be present at that
hour. Word of these arrangements was to be sent to Broome. All this
was strictly attended to, and the ring was accordingly formed without
interruption. Thus all looked well; but just before twelve o’clock, up
rode Mr. Metcalf, a neighbouring magistrate, who by “some chance” had
got “a letter,” and who, quitting his “toast and ale,” thought it wise
to interfere. He at once said the fight must not take place on that
spot, and a courier was sent forward to apprise Freeman of the ominous
interruption. Freeman had come in sight of the ring at the moment, and
a general halt took place, a small cavalcade having been formed by a
few of the right sort, who had posted by way of Ware and Buntingford
to Royston, and a respectable troop of mounted yeomen. A consultation
immediately took place, and Haydon Grange, within two miles of the
spot, in the neighbouring county of Essex, over which Mr. Metcalf was
said to have no jurisdiction, was selected. Thither the materiel was
quickly transferred by the Commissary and his assistants, and by one
o’clock all was again “in apple-pie order” on the top of a hill, and
on a spot particularly eligible for the purpose. Care was taken to
provide for the due direction of the Littlebury divison, and a
gentleman provided with Spring’s stop-watch kindly remained on Triplow
Heath to note the time of the Slasher’s arrival, to prevent any
mistake as to the road he was to take. This gentleman remained till
after one o’clock, but no Slasher appeared, although all those who had
come by the same train trotted briskly forward to the new location.
Other scouts were left, but it was nearly two o’clock before any
tidings were heard of the absentee. The ring being perfect, all were
impatiently deploring the loss of time, during which the fight might
have been commenced, continued, and perhaps concluded. During this
unfortunate lapse offers were again made to take 2 to 1 there would be
“no fight,” and some who had passed Broome on the road reported that
he had declared he did not intend to be in the ring till two o’clock.
Spring claimed forfeit, on the plea that the Slasher was not at the
place first appointed between twelve and one, according to articles;
but the referee refused to admit this claim, on the ground that the
ropes and stakes had been removed, and Freeman had not thrown his
castor within them. Had it been otherwise he would have had no
hesitation in agreeing that the claim would have been well founded. At
last the agreeable intelligence was received that Broome had arrived,
and he entered the ring out of breath, asserting that he had been
detained for the want of post-horses, but that he was at Triplow Heath
at seven minutes before one――a statement which the gentleman who
remained on the Heath to meet him positively denied. He then said that
he had only been told the place of fighting on the morning before.
Still the Slasher did not appear; and two o’clock having arrived,
Spring said he would only give five minutes more, and should then
consider Freeman was entitled to the money if the Slasher did not
arrive. Within the time specified Slasher was brought slowly to the
field of battle, having, according to Broome’s account, taken from
seven minutes to one to five minutes after two to come very little
more than two miles. Cheerfulness succeeded wrangling, and all looked
well for the gratification of the throng, who had come far and near to
witness the battle. Umpires were chosen, privilege tickets
distributed, the ring effectually cleared out, and Freeman threw his
tile into the arena――an example which all anticipated the Slasher was
about to follow――when to the dismay of everybody, in marched Captain
Robinson, the superintendent of police, who had ridden a steeplechase
across the country, attended by an orderly. This authority
emphatically announced that he had warrants for the apprehension of
both men, and would not permit the peace to be broken, adding it was
not wise to attempt such amusements in a county in which the character
of the new police for vigilance was at stake; but worse than all, to
secure obedience to his behest, he called upon Tom Spring and Tom
Oliver, in the name of her most gracious Majesty, to assist him in the
discharge of his duty! This was indeed a settler; and to watch the
physiognomies of the two Toms on finding themselves thus suddenly
metamorphosed into constables would have given food for speculation to
the most astute student of Lavater. “Blow my dickey!” exclaimed the
Commissary, “so I’m to act as a special, am I?” “This bangs
Bannagher!” said Spring, looking as black with his right eye as if he
had knocked it against Caunt’s fist. Parley, however, was out of the
question, for Captain Robinson said his own reputation as well as his
appointment were at stake. A belief existing that Captain Robinson
would be content with preserving the peace of his own county, Essex, a
resolution was formed to try Cambridgeshire once more. “Bock agin,
Sandy,” was the cry; and away went the pioneers of the Ring through
the lower part of Royston, on the road towards Bedfordshire, where
fresh ground was sought. But a new beak was started from his lair on
the road, in the form of a Royston banker, who peremptorily said it
should be “no go.” Some disposition arose to question this gentleman’s
authority in Cambridgeshire; but all argument was at an end on the
arrival of Captain Robinson with his assistants. He plainly told the
assemblage that it was in vain for them to attempt getting the fight
off in Hertfordshire, Essex, Cambridgeshire, or Bedfordshire, for he
was empowered to act in all, and must stick by them till night if they
remained. This was conclusive. “To the right about,” was the word, and
away all returned to Royston. There was some talk of stopping all
night, to fight the first thing in the morning, to which the Slasher
said he was agreeable; but a gentle whisper having been given that if
the belligerents stopped longer in that neighbourhood the warrants
might be enforced against them, a general retreat was ordered, and
away the Cockney division scampered――Broome, with the Slasher, back to
Chesterford, from whence they had had their last relay of horses――and
Spring, Freeman, and friends, by Buntingford to London. All were too
late for the trains, and thus many remained on the road all night,
while others did not reach “the village” till a late hour. Again were
hundreds collected in front of Spring and Broome’s houses to know the
result, among whom conflicting accounts were afloat till the authentic
courier arrived and diffused fresh dissatisfaction.

The chances, changes, and fortunes of this incongruous match were thus
sung in some contemporary verses, of sufficient merit to warrant their
preservation.

       THE UNFINISHED FIGHT OF THE AMERICAN GIANT
                AND THE TIPTON SLASHER.

   Freeman, of giant frame! to thee a welcome warm we gave,
   When wafted to the British shores across the Atlantic wave;
   In harmony we saw thee move with gallant champion Caunt,
   As muscular as Hercules, and tall as John of Gaunt.

   We hail’d thee of thy countrymen the model and the flower,
   And modest was thy bearing, though possessed of giant power;
   Against thee Slander never dar’d her poisoned tongue to wag,
   And never was it thine to bounce, to bluster, or to brag.

   You came not to our land the gauntlet down to fling.
   Here to no conquest you aspired within our battle ring,
   But ready to come forward still at Friendship’s special call,
   To take a fragrant pipe of weed and cordial cup withal.

  “But yet I love my native land, and scorn each action base,
   And never _Craven_ act of mine a _Freeman_ shall disgrace;
   Whoever dares me to the fight, by no proud threat’ning scar’d,
   Will find me anxious still for peace, and yet for war prepared!”

  “By Heavens!” cried Johnny Broome, “my pink, tho’ nothing you’re
      afraid of,
   I have a Novice in the Ring who’ll try what stuff you’re made of;
   Deposits shall be duly made, and matters go on snugly,
   And there you’ll meet a customer as rum as he is ugly.

  “One who professes bull-dog game I to the scratch will bring,
   Welcome to whom is punishment as flowers in early spring;
   One who in contest fierce and long, ‘Enough!’ has never cried,
   But rushes forward to his man, and will not be denied.

  “The same to him is Briton bold and Transatlantic foeman,
   With courage at the sticking-place like ancient Greek or Roman;
   Regardless still of body hits, or on the snout a smasher,
   BILL PERRY is the trump I mean, the slaughtering Tipton Slasher!”

  “Bravo! bold Johnny,” Freeman cried, “then to your text be steady,
   Fixed be the time, as well as place, and Freeman’s tin is ready;
   Into condition get your friend as early as you can,
   And trust me I will do my best to floor your Tipton man.”

   The heroes trained as fine as stars, with gallantry untam’d,
   And in December’s dreary month the day of fight was nam’d;
  “Who heeds,” the Slasher cried, “dark days, cold blast, or storm?
   We’ll have sufficient work cut out to keep our systems warm.

  “Tho’ twixt the Giant and myself the difference is great,
   I care not for his stature high, I care not for his weight,
   Nor for his wondrous length of reach does Perry care a whit;
   And where so huge a carcase shows, the easier ’tis to hit.”

   Thus to Big Caunt the Giant cried, “My friend, ’tis time to trot,
   But bear me witness ere we start, this fight I courted not;
   My manly foe, I do not doubt, possesses thorough game.
   But if he falls ’tis he alone and Johnny Broome to blame.

  “Tho’ with your gallant countrymen peace was my only aim,
   Boston, New York, and Washington my prowess can proclaim,
   And never in my proud career white feather did I show;
   Nor ever cut a friend in need, nor shrunk before a foe.”

   December sixth in darkness broke, the dawn was chill and damp,
   And numerous Fancy toddlers betimes were on the tramp;
   Corinthian swells and commoners made simultaneous rush
   To Sawbridgeworth, in Hertfordshire, through muck, and mire, and
      slush.

   But how the beaks in wrath proclaim’d, amid the motley race,
   That no prize fight or milling match should then and there take
      place;
   And how the pugilists themselves looked very down and blank,
   While the spectators made a move both retrograde and flank――

   And how they managed after all to give the traps the slip,
   And hastening back to Sawbridgeworth prepared at once to strip;
   How seventy gallant rounds were fought ’till deepening shades
      of night
   With its extinguisher forbade the finish of the fight――

   And how the assembled multitude with sundry rueful shrugs,
   Homeward retraced their weary way with disappointed mugs;
   And how in Despond’s dismal slough a lot of worthies fell――
   Next week the bard of “London Life” will accurately tell.

   But tho’ no victory was achieved by well intended thumps,
   Both men have proved undoubted game, and turn’d out genuine trumps;
   And all uninjur’d and unscath’d in Tuesday’s battle fray,
   Slasher and Freeman both survive to fight another day.

The referee having been called on to name the next time and place, the
parties interested met at his house the next day (Friday). The Slasher
was present, and expressed an anxious desire to have the fight over;
he declared he had no wish to evade the meeting, and was quite ready
to fight the following day (Saturday). To this Spring replied that as
the Commissary had not yet returned to London with the ropes and
stakes, and as his whereabouts might not be known in time, the
proposal would not be accepted. The Tipton objected to a long delay,
and as Bungaree the Australian and M’Ginty were to fight on the
following Tuesday, it was suggested that both couples should be “asked
out” at the same place and time. It was then found that the backers of
Bungaree and his opponent had selected a locality where it would be
most imprudent for such noticeable men as the Giant and Slasher to
show themselves without certainty of interruption. The Bungaree
division, however, proposed to alter their plans and effect an
amalgamation, by jointly hiring two steamboats for the conveyance of
the men and their friends to the field of battle――that the vessels
should leave London Bridge on the Tuesday morning at eight o’clock,
and proceeding down the river, pick up the “big’uns” at places
appointed; and that, with the view of securing the absence of
undesirable voyagers, two sets of tickets of contrasted colours should
be issued by Spring and Broome only, no person to be admitted on board
except those presenting the one for the downward the other the
homeward voyage.

On the next day, Saturday, Freeman took a benefit, previously
announced, at the Westminster Road Baths, the immense area of the
“Mechanics’ Bath” being crowded to excess. That these affairs, of
which there was too much at this period, were profitable speculations
may be gathered from the fact that exclusive of free admission and
tickets sold elsewhere, £178 was taken at the doors, although the
performers were the humbler outsiders of the Ring, with the exception
of Freeman (who showed, but did not set to, in view of the impending
contest) and Caunt, whom Tom Spring kindly assisted by putting on the
gloves with him. Although Big Ben showed some improvement, his style,
as compared with the accomplished ex-champion of a long bygone day,
could not fail to awaken unpleasant comparisons in the minds of such
men as Mr. John Jackson, old Tom Cribb, and Thomas Belcher, all of
whom were recognised at this gathering Freeman, who stripped, had not
a bruise upon his body, and except a little swelling of the lip and an
injury of the right thumb, bore no marks of the recent encounter.

On Tuesday, December 20th, 1842, at 8 a.m., we embarked on board the
“Father Thames” steamer at the Old Swan Pier, London Bridge, Freeman
having been put on board from a row-boat half an hour previously,
while the vessel lay in midstream, and privately ensconced in the
after-cabin, his immense stature being rightly considered as placing
him in great peril of arrest if exposed to the public gaze. At
Blackwall the Slasher came on board, looking rough and hardy in the
sou’wester and blue frieze of a river pilot. The other combatant
couple, M’Ginty the Scotchman, and Bungaree the Australian, had
quietly embarked at London Bridge. The company on board, about four
hundred in number, was truly representative of the Ring patrons of the
day. A Scotch marquis, two or three scions of the peerage, a
sprinkling of military men, a veteran “salt,” sundry hunting and
university men, doctors, barristers, with some sporting clubbists from
“the sweet shady side of Pall Mall” and the dingy smoking snuggery of
the now resplendent “Limmer’s,” formed the “upper-crust.” The Church,
of course, was not represented, unless we may enumerate the Right Rev.
the Bishop of Bond Street in that category. That facetious worthy was
indeed prominent, and, with the forethought gained by long experience,
had brought on board a capacious hamper, accompanied by a handsome
basket of white willow, which, to the delight of the Corinthians, who
formed “the excursionists” thus “personally conducted,” disclosed at
an after period a wealth of game-pie, pigeon-pie, chickens, ham,
tongue, salad, and the various comestibles for which Fortnum and Mason
are renowned. That the white willow basket was a worthy auxiliary of
the big hamper “goes without saying.” “Schnapps,” in several
square-shouldered and short-necked bottles and flasks, cognac, sherry,
and a battalion of silver and gold-necked champagne, came forth at
intervals in such succession as made us think that the Bishop had
really the supernatural gift boasted by Glendower, “I can call spirits
from the vasty deep,” and that “they do come when I do call them.” But
we are anticipating. The “old familiar faces” of Ned Painter, from
Norwich, Tom Spring, Peter Crawley, Oliver, and Burn were on deck,
together with Adams, Johnny Walker, Langham, Orme, Parker, Johnny
Broome and his brother Harry, Tom Maley, Jemmy Shaw, &c., &c.; while
the “sporting publican” division was represented by Owen Swift, Jem
Cross, Jack Gardiner, Jemmy Moore, “Stunning” Joe Banks, and a host of
“hosts.” On her downward course the “Father Thames” was followed by
several craft, and by the time she arrived at the Lower Hope Point,
about six miles below Gravesend, there was quite a “mosquito fleet” in
sight, not including a “tail” of Gravesend wherries which were
permitted to hang on to her stern tow-rope.

When off Cliffe Marshes, the welcome sounds of “Ease her!” “Stop her!”
“Easy astarn!” sounded from the bridge. All on deck were in a bustle
of delight. The facetious Joe Banks, backed up by jolly Jem Burn,
having, with impressive gravity, informed a group of listeners, the
destination of the craft being as yet a secret, “that the swells below
had arranged with the captain for a trip to the coast of France, as
they were determined to have no more stoppages from beaks nor blues,”
the horrid rumour ran from stem to stern; and not a few were sorely
exercised in their minds as to how a limited knowledge of the French
language, and a slender exchequer, would serve them in a trip to the
Continent, much more bring them back again, should they miss the boat.
Great, then, was the laughter at those who were beginning to believe
in “the sell” when the paddles were backed, the chain-cable run out,
and the smartest of the boatmen hooked their craft on to ropes hanging
from the sponsons of the “Father Thames.” The ground was well chosen,
under the lee of a high ridge of the river bank, in a level
intersected by broad ditches, and approachable only by crossing a deep
drain, bridged by a couple of stout scaffold planks, at each end of
which was a cluster of ring-constables, who secured comparative safety
to the single file of pilgrims, many of whom carried folding-seats
from the steamer, forms, trestles, bundles of straw, baskets, and
other conveniences, to say nothing of two enterprising Israelitish
speculators, who, with dubious steps, staggered over the wooden
bridge, amid the cheers and laughter of the admiring crowd, carrying a
beer-barrel slung on a slight, springy pole. This bridge of Al Sirat
passed, and “the land of promise” reached, the cheerful groups
assembled round the outer rope, while the privilege-ticket holders,
press-men, and officials, seated themselves on the stools aforesaid,
or, with the best waterproof protection procurable, assumed recumbent
positions on the damp and springy morass. The outer circle was soon
after materially increased by a crowd of East Enders, conveyed by
sundry steam-tugs, which, at a very low tariff, conveyed the multitude
to the Kentish _Champ de Mars_.

And now the doughty champions hove in sight from a hovel where they
had been ensconced. The American Ajax had for his armour-bearer Ben
Caunt, and for his page King Dick, who certainly, in this instance,
carried in his little noddle the larger portion of the scientific
knowledge of the trio. The Slasher loomed large, enveloped in a long
white frieze coat, his head surmounted by an Indian fur cap, with a
ferocious wild-cat mask as a vizor, which he wore upon his forehead
over his own hard, grinning physiognomy. Ben Terry and Harry Broome
were his henchmen. On stripping it was evident that Freeman had
increased in bulk by a stone and a half――18 stone 12 lbs. being the
result told by the weighing-chair that morning. His confidence, too,
seemed to have increased in a corresponding degree. The Slasher, on
stripping, looked thinner, and certainly paler than when he last
peeled in Cambridgeshire; but he had lost none of that careless,
“dare-devil” expression for which his countenance is remarkable. A
Scotch sportsman, and backer of M’Ginty, having accepted the onerous
and difficult position of referee, the first battle was brought to the
arbitrament of attack and defence.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――At thirteen minutes after twelve precisely
     the men were conducted to the scratch, shook hands, and
     threw themselves into position, the towering height and
     great bulk of Freeman presenting the same fearful odds
     we have before described. The Slasher dodged round his
     man, waiting for an opening, but he found the Giant
     ready to hit with him, and he had already felt the
     weight of his feelers with sufficient force to have the
     prudence of keeping at a distance. The Slasher tried
     his left and right, but was out of distance. The Giant
     followed him in his _pirouettes_, and at last, getting
     closer, hit out left and right; the former passed over
     the Slasher’s head, but the latter caught him slightly
     on the nut, and the Slasher went down.

     2.――The Slasher again cautious and _à la distance_.
     Freeman followed his dodging manœuvres, and at last
     rushed in to hit, but the Slasher in getting away fell
     without being struck, and got up laughing.

     3.――The Slasher got near to his man and let out with
     his left at the nob, but did not get home. Trifling
     exchanges with the left, the Slasher retreating,
     Freeman at him left and right, just reaching him, when
     the Slasher tumbled down. No mischief done.

     4.――After renewed dodging the Slasher made himself up
     for mischief, feinted once or twice, and then hit out
     with his left. This brought the men to a rally, in
     which favours were exchanged, and the Slasher catching
     it on the nozzle showed first blood. After some wild
     fighting, in which hits were exchanged, the Slasher was
     down.

     5.――Slasher cautious and getting away from the Giant;
     he at last steadied himself, and counter-hits with the
     left were exchanged. The Giant followed up his man to
     the corner, but missed both left and right, and Slasher
     got down.

     6.――Counter-hits with the left, but no sting in them.
     The Giant hit out well with his right, but the Slasher
     dodged and got away. The Slasher was short with his
     left and right, and again got away. He returned to the
     charge, and caught Freeman slightly on the body with
     his left. Freeman returned the compliment on the
     temple, but it was more of a shove than a blow. Slasher
     hit short with his left, ducked, and got away laughing.
     The Giant steadied himself, waited for the attack,
     stopped the Slasher’s left, and caught him a stinger on
     the left ear with his right. The Slasher scrambled down
     in a sort of rally.

     7.――The Slasher planted his right on the Giant’s
     shoulder, and got away; the Giant after him, and after
     exchanging left and right out of distance, the Slasher
     got down.

     8.――Pretty exchanges left and right, and flesh marks
     left. The Slasher tried at the body with his left,
     stooped, and got away. The Giant pursued him, hitting
     wildly left and right. He at last caught the Tipton in
     his arms and chopped him on his head several times with
     his right, but without administering any serious
     punishment. The Slasher slipped down to avoid further
     hitting.

     9.――The Slasher tried his left, was short, and got
     away. The Giant followed him as he dodged round the
     ring, but his blows did not reach their destination.
     After a wild scrambling rally the Slasher got down.
     There was a want of precision in Freeman’s deliveries
     which forbade the hope of execution.

     10.――The Slasher dropped a heavy smack on the Giant’s
     ivories with his left, which, coming in contact with
     his teeth, inflicted a wound on his own finger, that
     bled profusely. He tried it again, but was short, as
     was the Giant in his attempt to return, and the Slasher
     fell on his knees.

     11.――The Giant’s mouth showed the effect of the blow in
     the last round, his lips were swollen a little, and a
     tinge of blood was perceptible. The Slasher led off
     left and right; the former on the ribs, and the latter
     on the shoulder, and rushing in after a struggle, went
     down on his knees.

     12.――The Slasher came up laughing, the Giant looking
     serious; counter-hits with the left. The Slasher
     dodged, and retreated towards the ropes; the Giant
     followed him impetuously, and missed his one two. The
     Slasher dropped, looked up, and laughed.

     13.――The Slasher hit open handed, and retreated; he
     then tried to drop his left on the Giant’s dial, but
     his hand went over his shoulder; he then retreated, but
     finding the Giant rushing in for mischief, he dropped.
     [Cries of “foul,” but the umpires did not interfere.]

     14.――The Slasher got home with his left, and dropped on
     the Giant’s jaw. The Giant returned the compliment on
     the cheek and ear, right and left, when the Slasher
     went down. It scarcely could be called a knock-down
     blow.

     15.――The Slasher led off, and popped his left on the
     Giant’s mouth. The Giant after him, and caught him
     heavily with his right on the ear, which became
     seriously swollen. A rally, in which there were some
     heavy hits exchanged, and in the close the Slasher got
     down.

     16.――The Slasher, as usual, commenced hitting out left
     and right, but did no execution, his blows being wide
     of their mark. Freeman to him left and right, but the
     deliveries were not effective. The Slasher down.

     17.――Freeman popped a heavy smack with his right on the
     Slasher’s neck. The Slasher, stung, rushed in wildly.
     The Giant steadied himself, hit out well with his left,
     and the Slasher dropped.

     18.――The Slasher made play left and right, was short,
     and went down. His second was observed rubbing his
     neck, and there was a little of the _doldrum_
     appearance in his phis.

     19.――The Slasher hit short and only reached Freeman’s
     shoulder with his right. He then fought on the retreat
     to the corner, where he got down.

     20.――The Slasher showed symptoms of blowing. He led off
     in his old wild way, evidently afraid of the return,
     and on the Giant lunging out right and left, he went
     down anyhow.

     21.――Slasher short with his left, and caught it heavily
     from the Giant’s right on the ear; trifling exchanges,
     and the Slasher down.

     22.――The Slasher again short in his deliveries. The
     Giant nailed him left and right, but not with much
     severity, then seized him in his arms and flung him
     down, walking contemptuously to his corner.

     23, 24, 25, and 26.――Scrambling work, and Slasher down
     in every round.

     27.――The injury to the Slasher’s left hand appeared to
     increase, but in this and the two following rounds no
     mischief was done, and he invariably dropped grinning.

     28.――A wild blundering round, in which there was no
     precision on either side――the Slasher slipped down, but
     was up again and renewed the round. After a scrambling
     rally, the Slasher again got down, and slipped
     completely under the Giant’s fork, at whom he looked up
     and grinned.

     29.――The Slasher hit short left and right, and threw
     himself down with a whop to avoid. Freeman laughed and
     shook his head, seeming to consider that it was
     intended to induce him to strike foul.

     30.――The Slasher succeeded in planting a right-handed
     chopper on the Giant’s pimple, and got away. The Giant
     dashed after him, hitting left and right, and then
     endeavoured to seize him, but the Slasher slipped away
     and fell.

     31, 32, 33, and 34.――The fighting wild and indecisive;
     in the last round, the Giant hit the Slasher down; but
     it struck us as rather a push than a blow.

     35.――The Giant in left and right――the Slasher
     retreated――the Giant after him, but it was no go――he
     let fly right and left, and then went down. The ground
     now became extremely slippery for both men.

     36.――Freeman led off, but was short and wild, and did
     not reach his man. Slasher popped in his right on the
     Giant’s shoulder, and in getting away went down.

     37 and last.――Freeman ready, when the Slasher rushed to
     close quarters, struck him on the shoulder with his
     right, but, on the Giant attempting to return, he went
     down without a blow.

     A call was made by the seconds of Freeman on the
     umpires, who disagreed, and on appealing to the referee
     he pronounced “foul;” and, no doubt, had a similar
     appeal been made to him before, he would have given a
     like decision.

     The Giant was immediately proclaimed the winner, and
     was taken out of the ring after fighting thirty-nine
     minutes.

     The Slasher came up again “fresh as paint,” and
     evidently but little injured by the contest. His left
     ear alone showed serious marks of punishment; it was
     much swollen and filled with coagulated blood. The
     finger of his left hand was likewise cut; but the
     contusions on his index were few and of trifling
     consequence. He seemed anxious to renew the contest,
     and denied that he had fallen purposely. The judgment
     had been pronounced, however, and there was no
     recalling it.

     Johnny Broome was evidently mortified, and offered to
     put down a score for the Slasher to fight Ben Caunt,
     “then and there.” Spring said such a proposition
     savoured too much of passion and folly, but said Caunt
     was prepared to fight the Slasher or any man in England
     for from £100 to £500, and the money was always ready
     at his house.

     REMARKS.――This was altogether an unsatisfactory
     contest. The match was unequal, and the difference in
     the size of the men, Freeman having already shown no
     lack of personal bravery, left no room for speculation
     on the issue. Everybody foresaw that the Giant must be
     triumphant, notwithstanding he fought badly. In fact he
     did not hit at points, and missed most of his
     well-intentioned but ill-directed blows from the shifty
     character of his opponent, as well as from his own wild
     and uncertain mode of delivery. He hits round with his
     right, as the Slasher’s ear testified, and his
     left-handed deliveries are more like pokes than
     punishing hits. That he is a game man we have no doubt,
     but he is unwieldy, and possesses too much of “the milk
     of human kindness” ever to become a “star” in the Ring,
     even if his equal could be found. We are inclined to
     think, however, that this will have been his last
     appearance in the P.R., and should recommend him to
     choose some more suitable occupation――although as a
     sparrer, from his great size, he will always be an
     object of curiosity. The Slasher is a mere rough, who
     must be beaten by a well-scienced man. That he would
     have shown to more advantage with a man of his own
     pretensions and size we have no doubt; but with Freeman
     he felt he could not hope to win, and therefore became
     reckless and careless――seeking only how to escape those
     visitations which, had he made a “fair stand-up fight,”
     must have ended in more serious punishment. As it was,
     both escaped with comparatively trifling injuries, and
     remained to witness the subsequent fight. The
     contusions on the Slasher’s ear were reduced by a
     surgeon who was on board the steamer, and after a
     little ablution he was himself again, repeating that
     his going down without a blow was the effect of
     accident, and not of design――an assertion the truth of
     which few who saw the performance were disposed to
     admit.

The ring being cleared, and M’Ginty, the Scotchman, having defeated
Bungaree (John Gorrick), the Australian, after a game battle of one
hour and forty-seven minutes, the voyagers possessed of “return
tickets” re-embarked on “Father Thames;” οι πολλος [oi pollos]
betaking themselves to their tugs, row-boats, and ten toes, as
necessity might compel. Although it was dark ere the boat passed
Blackwall, all were safely landed by seven p.m. at “Old Swan,” highly
gratified with the good order preserved by the ring-constables, and
the perfect arrangements of the managers for this great day’s
“outing.”

As a compliment and a help to Dick Curtis, who, on the Tuesday,
assiduously seconded both the Giant and Bungaree, his benefit was
fixed for the following Thursday, at the Westminster Baths, which were
crowded to excess by all classes, from the Corinthian to the
costermonger. The crowd assembled was scarcely less numerous than at
the Giant’s benefit, and the spirit in favour of boxing certainly more
apparent. We were gratified to recognise Mr. Jackson, Tom Cribb, Tom
Belcher, Tom Spring, Jem Burn, and most of the old originals. Freeman,
the Slasher, and Bungaree showed, but M’Ginty was _non inventus_.
Freeman and the Slasher scarcely displayed a scratch; but Bungaree
showed a few marks of _chasing_ and hammering on the mug, and his left
hand was in a sling, the sinews of the knuckle having been divided.
The setting-to was excellent and abundant, and included a long list of
talented exhibitors. Among others, Johnny Broome and Johnny Hannan
displayed great vigour and determination, and, after a matchless
exhibition of talent, it would be difficult to say which “bore the
bell.” Their exertions were rewarded by thunders of applause. Freeman
and Caunt also elicited the warmest approbation, the Giant sparring
with a freedom and ease that surprised many who were disinclined to
believe in his improvement. The appearance of Tom Spring with the
veteran Tom Belcher――who made his first appearance after a retirement
of fourteen years from the sparring-schools――produced an enthusiastic
sensation, and the set-to between these men afforded the greatest
satisfaction. Belcher, by the beauty of his position, and quickness
and neatness of his stops and hits, reminded us of what were indeed
the palmy days of the Ring. Spring had the advantage in length and
bulk of frame; still, the display was, upon the whole, a finished
specimen of the science of self-defence. King Dick and Owen Swift, the
retired champions of the light weights, wound up the sports, and were
most favourably received.

Johnny Broome then mounted the stage, and announced that the Slasher
would take a benefit in the same popular arena on Monday, January 2,
at which Freeman and Caunt had kindly promised again to appear; and,
by way of opening the New Tear, the Slasher would then be prepared to
make a match with Caunt, at 13st. 4lb., for £100 a side. [This
proposition had been previously made to Caunt, but he had declined.]

Tom Spring immediately mounted the stage, and said Johnny Broome well
knew his challenge would not be accepted, as it was impossible for
Caunt to reduce himself to the weight proposed. Caunt was ready to
fight Slasher or any man in England, from £100 to £500, “catch
weight;” but he (Tom Spring) knew too well the consequence of men
reducing themselves below the natural standard to sanction such a
proceeding. For himself, he could only say that he never fought 13st.,
and never barred weight, country, or colour, for he was satisfied
13st. was weight enough for anything living who meant fighting. He had
stated Caunt’s terms, and if Slasher did not choose to accept them,
there was no harm done.

Broome said he would not have made the proposition had not the Slasher
told him that Caunt himself made the offer.

Thus ended this sensational burlesque on boxing. On the ensuing
Tuesday the “Castle” was crowded to excess, on the occasion of the
giving up of the stakes to the undoubted winner. Freeman, the Slasher,
Caunt, Johnny Broome, Bungaree, _cum multis aliis_, were present. The
Stakeholder, in rendering his due to the victor, observed that he
should refrain from offering any comments on the character of the
fight, but at the same time give Freeman every credit for his
unassuming conduct since his arrival in this country, as well as for
his strict observance in the ring of those principles of fair play
which formed the groundwork of the rules of British boxing. He had
never offered a challenge, but being challenged he could not with
honour decline the invitation, but at the same time he entered the
arena without the most remote hostility towards his opponent. He had
come to this country on a friendly speculation in conjunction with
Caunt, and he (the Stakeholder) believed the match had been made on
the part of the Slasher rather to try the value of the weight of metal
which Freeman carried when placed in competition with the old English
breed, than from any anticipation that so small a craft could compete
successfully with a vessel of such magnitude. The issue had shown that
“the Giant” was too much for “the pigmy,” but as the experiment had
been fairly tried, there was no ground for censure on either side.
After some further remarks on the necessity of union among
professional boxers themselves, a strict adherence to honesty and fair
play, and a due sense of the necessity of propriety in their general
demeanour, he handed the “flimsies” to Freeman.

Freeman immediately rose, and dusting the cobwebs from the ceiling
with his “thatch,” expressed his deep sense of the kind and hospitable
manner in which he had been received in this country. He confessed he
touched English ground with different anticipations, but he was glad
of the opportunity of acknowledging that in England neither country
nor colour made any difference, and that all were alike sure of fair
play. He came in company with Caunt rather to see England than for any
other purpose, and being a little in the “glove fancy,” he thought he
might bring it to account to pay expenses. He never entertained the
idea of fighting, but being challenged, in justice to the United
States, of which he was a native, he felt that he could not do less
than stand by his flag when its character for courage was at stake. He
should have great pride when he returned to Yankeeland in expressing
his grateful feelings for the favours he had received, which were
those rather to be expected by a brother than a stranger.[19]

An appeal was then made for the losing man, and a few pounds were
realised, for which the Slasher returned thanks by giving his pimple
an extra pull forwards.

“The British and American Flags,” with an ardent hope that they might
never be unfurled but as the tokens of peace and union, was drunk with
enthusiasm, and this was followed by the healths of Tom Cribb, Tom
Spring, and Ben Caunt, the two past and present champions of England;
to which was added the health of Johnny Broome, who denied that the
imputations cast upon him of a disinclination to bring his man to “the
scratch” had any foundation. He said he was already £115 out of pocket
by the match, but that he believed the gentleman who had proposed the
match would not suffer him to be the loser.

The year 1842 ended, and 1843 opened for the Slasher with a round of
“benefits” in London, Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool, Dublin, &c.,
organised and engineered by the clever Johnny Broome, who showed his
“golden belt” and intimated the immediate readiness of the Slasher to
meet Caunt on “fair” terms, which, however, were, when they came to
particulars, far from being “fair” in Big Ben’s estimation. A match
with Wm. Renwick, of Liverpool, to fight for £50 on the 22nd of
August, 1843, near Newcastle-upon-Tyne, ended in a severe
disappointment, Renwick being arrested on the previous Saturday at his
training quarters, when the whole of the stakes were down.

Perry lost no time in advertising his readiness for another customer,
barring neither weight, country, nor colour, and Tass Parker, of West
Bromwich, answered his cartel. Tass had just carried his fame to the
summit by his defeat of Brassey of Bradford, after a game and
scientific battle of 158 rounds, occupying two hours and fifty
minutes, in August, 1841, and subsequently receiving £70 forfeit from
Bendigo in June, 1842; the Nottingham champion being arrested at his
brother’s instance, which the suspicious did not fail to attribute to
Bendy “not fancying the job,” which was not the truth. Broome, who
certainly was “nuts” on this match, went straight ahead, and Tass’s
backers were equally fond, so that on Dec. 17th, the fight being fixed
for Tuesday, Dec. 19th, 1843, we find the coming battle thus announced
in _Bell’s Life_:――

     “On Wednesday evening the ‘Rising Sun,’ in Air Street, was
     crowded to an overflow by patrons of the milling school,
     anxious to witness the completion of the stakes for the
     match between these men, which was duly accomplished
     according to articles. It was mutually agreed by the friends
     of both to ‘sport a toe on the water,’ according to modern
     usage, and the ‘Nymph’ Woolwich steamer has been chartered
     for the occasion. She will leave her moorings off Hungerford
     Market on Tuesday morning precisely at eight o’clock, drop
     down to London Bridge, and from thence ruffle the stream to
     Blackwall Pier, from whence she will make her final plunge
     towards the Nore, and we heartily wish her a pleasant and
     prosperous voyage. Tickets are on sale at Owen Swift’s,
     Johnny Broome’s, and Tom Spring’s, and we recommend an early
     application, as the number will necessarily be limited. Tass
     Parker has arrived in town, looking so ‘full of bloom’ that
     he has been backed at 6 to 4, and even 2 to 1. He certainly
     is quite up to the mark, and books winning as a point
     already gained. The Tipton Slasher has been finishing his
     training at Stockbridge, under the watchful eye of Levi
     Eckersley, who pronounces him right well, and fit for the
     battle-field. We had heard that the Slasher had hurt his
     right arm in setting-to with Harry Broome, at Bristol; but
     of this we have no personal knowledge, and learn that the
     blemish has been completely removed. Were it otherwise, we
     should scarcely anticipate that Johnny Broome, who says he
     has had to find almost all the money, would have gone on
     with the match, and he certainly speaks with great
     confidence. Parker has been visible at Owen Swift’s every
     evening since Wednesday, and the Tipton Slasher will be at
     Johnny Broome’s, Air Street, Piccadilly, to-morrow evening.
     That Parker is a most accomplished fighter none will doubt,
     but against this comes the rough and ready tact of the
     Slasher, who combines courage with superior weight. All we
     can hope is, that we shall have a fair and manly contest,
     and that the best man may win.”

How little these expectations were realised, and these good wishes
availed in the event, may be read in the tale we shall now briefly
deliver; for we consider that a detailed account of the shifty and
contemptible farce performed by Parker, which occupied more than two
columns of small print in _Bell’s Life_ of December 24, 1843, would be
mere waste of space in a work like the present. This is more
especially the case when we find that the second and adjourned fight
(which we shall give) was as wearisomely similar in character and
incidents to the first.

Suffice it, then, to say, that the voyage per steamer was safely
carried out, and that the attendance of amateurs and professionals was
immense, notwithstanding the severity of the weather and the dreary
and inhospitable character of the Dartford Marshes, whereon the ring
was pitched. Peter Crawley having consented to preside as referee, the
performance began. In the opening rounds Parker displayed his superior
skill, both in getting on to his man and getting away; but the Tipton
had certainly greatly improved under the skilful mentorship of the
Broomes, and was no longer the mere hardy rough which many yet
considered him. He every now and then waited for, timed, and neatly
stopped his clever and crafty assailant, inflicting severe punishment
with his right upon Parker, who, finding he could not get near enough
to deliver without exposing himself to heavy returns, soon began to
fight shy. Indeed, round after round, after getting in a blow, Parker
resorted to the reprehensible dropping system, not only to avoid
hitting, but also to provoke and irritate his less skilful adversary
and thus tempt him to deliver a foul blow, or, at the worst, to bring
the fight to a “tie,” “draw,” or “wrangle.” In this way sixty-seven
rounds were fought, with no prospect of an approach to the decision of
the battle. At this period――one hour and thirty-four minutes having
been consumed――the Kentish constabulary made their appearance, and
stopped the tedious exhibition. The company, of necessity,
re-embarked, and the disappointed excursionists returned to the
Metropolis.

At a meeting of the men and their backers, at Peter Crawley’s (the
referee’s), to arrange when and how their interrupted encounter should
be concluded, Johnny Broome, on the part of the Tipton, asked a
postponement for three months, and produced the following medical
certificate:――

                          “194, Blackfriars Road. Dec. 25, 1843.

     “This certifies that we reduced a fracture of the fore-arm
     of William Perry on or about the 7th of November, and a
     fracture of the lower jaw on the evening of the 19th of
     December. These serious injuries will require a period of at
     least three months before he can be in a situation to fight
     again.

                             “CHARLES AND JOHN BRADY, Surgeons.”

Parker, after some protestation against so long a delay, was met by
Broome consenting to name that day ten weeks for the renewal of
hostilities. Parker insisting on eight weeks, Broome consented to
“split the difference,” and, finally, that day nine weeks was agreed
upon.

The adjourned battle was fixed for Tuesday, the 27th of February,
1844. Peter Crawley, who had been referee on the first occasion,
declaring he had no further interest in the affair, left it to the
parties themselves to settle their future proceedings. This was done
by Jem Parker (Tass’s brother), on the part of his Birmingham backers,
and Johnny Broome, on behalf of the Slasher. It was decided to engage
a special train on the Brighton line (an experiment which had proved
successful on some recent occasions). The tickets, at 10s. 6d. each,
were secured under the guise of “an excursion;” the departure and
return being arranged with the manager, so as not to interfere with
the order and regularity of the traffic at the London Bridge terminus.

In consequence of the damage received by both men in their previous
encounter, they were early sent into training, Tass Parker at
Finchley, the Slasher near Tring, and, in point of condition, no two
men could have been brought into better trim.

The time appointed for departure was nine o’clock, and before that
hour the terminus-platform was crowded by persons of all classes,
among whom we distinguished many members of the “upper ten thousand,”
some of whom had travelled long distances to be witness of what they
hoped would be a fair and manly mill. All were soon seated, and at a
few minutes to ten the iron-horse puffed and panted his way out of the
station, and after a single draw-up of a few minutes at Croydon, for
the passing of a down train, disembarked its living freight at Horley
(about twenty-five miles from London) at a little before eleven.

The excursionists, immediately on alighting, repaired to the “King’s
Arms” inn, and about half a mile thence, across Horley Common, the
Commissary obtained the use of a field, high and dry, and screened by
a dense belt of evergreen trees from the view of travellers by road or
by the Brighton line. The weather was delightful; but although there
had been a sharp frost during the night, the genial influence of the
sun had produced an unwelcome change in the roads and paths leading to
the field of action, and as all had to find their way to the “fixture”
upon their ten toes, the quagmire through which they had to wade,
however agreeable it might be in softness to their corns, was anything
but favourable to the polish on their trotter-cases, or pleasant to
those who happened not to have the good fortune to be well shod. These
little difficulties having been got over, the greatest good-humour
prevailed, and all waited anxiously for the appearance of the men.

With a view to prevent the inconvenience of the slippery state of the
sward, a quantity of sawdust was obtained, which was liberally spread
at the corners chosen by the men for their resting places. For the
accommodation of the members of the inner ring there was an ample
supply of stools, benches, and trusses of straw; while a few waggons,
after the fashion of times gone by, afforded comfortable
standing-places for those who preferred the outer circle. The new plan
of one person disposing of the tickets of privilege was on this
occasion adopted by Tom Spring, who undertook subsequently to
distribute the proceeds amongst those men who assisted in preserving
order. The plan proved most effective, and it is but justice to state
that all those who paid for the privilege of the inner ring were most
pleasantly located, and were enabled to sit comfortably without the
usual incursion of the “Vandals,” a result productive of the highest
satisfaction. That the partisans of the men occasionally indulged in
chaff we will not deny; but this, however unseemly, did not lead to
any encroachment upon general good order, and in this respect the
expressions of approval were general. Spring, Caunt, Crawley, Jem
Burn, the Greeks (old and young), Barney Aaron, Young Reid, Bill
Jones, _cum multis aliis_, assisted in this desirable plan, and kept
the disorderlies in control.

Shortly before one o’clock, everything being in readiness, the men
were brought to the field, Tass Parker attended by Fuller and Tom
Reidie, and the Slasher by Bob Castles and a Nottingham amateur. The
former sported a flag of blue, with a white spot, and the latter a
stone colour, with a pink spot. On entering the ring, they shook hands
with apparent good humour, and each retired to his corner to prepare.
Then came the important question, the selection of umpires and a
referee. With respect to the former no difficulty was felt, and an
amateur for the Slasher, and Jack Hannan for Parker, were named. The
choice of a referee, however, was not so easily adjusted, and nearly
an hour was wasted in discussing the merits of various persons named
by both parties, each on his own especial behalf objecting to those
offered by his opponent. On the part of Parker it seemed to be
determined to have only one of four persons, and to five or six named
by the Slasher, some of whom were persons of the highest
respectability, a decided objection was made. In this way time
progressively, but unprofitably, advanced, and the greatest impatience
was displayed. At length Johnny Broome, on behalf of the Slasher, said
he was willing that each should select a referee, and that those two
persons should decide by toss which was to act, but this met with as
firm an opposition as anything by which it had been preceded. Johnny
Broome then offered to adopt any gentleman who might be selected from
the surrounding crowd, unknown to either party, but to this there was
again a negative response, and still more time was lost, while the
patience of the throng was put to the severest test from their
inactivity and the chilling blast to which they were exposed. All this
time the men remained wrapped in blankets at their respective corners.
The Slasher now rose from his bottle-holder’s knee, and approaching
Parker, offered to fight without a referee, the fight to be protracted
until one or other gave in, but still the obstinacy of Parker’s
friends was not to be overcome. Finally, after the expiration of an
hour at least, the stakeholder, who was present, stepped into the
arena, urged on by the repeated expressions of discontent from the
surrounding multitude, and having recapitulated the various
propositions which had been made, declared that, unless Tass Parker
and his friends thought proper to agree either to toss for choice of
referee or to fight without one, he should feel it his duty to give up
the stakes to that man who was willing to abide by one or other of
these propositions. The backer of Tass Parker, finding that he had no
alternative, at last agreed that the men should fight without a
referee; a resolution for which the subsequent conduct of his
principal throughout the fight afforded a sufficient reason, for had
any fair and honest referee been in office, there is no doubt that he
must have lost the fight over and over again. The interference of the
stakeholder was hailed with universal approbation, and the men
forthwith proceeded to peel for action, while the “All out!” of the
Commissary and the ring-keepers sent the stragglers to their posts.

The umpires having taken their seat close together, provided with a
time-telling chronometer, and all being removed from the immediate
vicinity of the ring――with the exception of one individual to take
charge of the water, and other refreshments of each combatant――Johnny
Broome for the Slasher, and Parker’s namesake for his _protége_ (a
most wholesome arrangement under the New Rules) business commenced.

Nothing but the force of habit could have made us write the words “The
Fight” at the head of the extraordinary and disgraceful parody on a
stand-up battle which we are now about to describe. It is, however,
only proper to premise that the Slasher must be entirely exonerated
from any personal share in this discreditable libel on the already
falling P.R., and therefore “to put the saddle on the right horse,” we
proceed to our account of


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――The men came up with their hands in good
     position, and after manœuvring for a short time Parker
     let fly his left, which was cleverly stopped. This led
     to a rally, in which very trifling hits were exchanged
     left and right, but as they were out of distance no
     harm was done, with the exception of a slight
     discolouration on the Slasher’s right cheek. Parker, in
     getting away from the Slasher’s rush, fell on one knee.

     2.――Parker again advanced bold as brass, looking all
     over confident, while the Slasher was not less prepared
     for action. After a few dodges, advancing and
     retreating, Parker popped in his left on the Slasher’s
     cheek. The Slasher fought wildly left and right,
     missing some of his hits, but planting his right
     heavily on the ribs under Parker’s left arm. Wild
     exchanges, when, as Parker was slipping on his knees,
     the Slasher caught his head under his arm, held it as
     if in a vice, and hung on him till he fell tumbling on
     him. The exchanges were trifling in their consequences,
     and a little flush on the skin was the only indication
     of punishment.

     3.――Parker came up obviously undismayed by the result
     of the last struggle, and apparently resolved to do his
     best. He tried his left, which the Slasher neatly threw
     aside with his right. The Slasher then advanced,
     hitting left and right wildly, and Parker stepping back
     to avoid execution. Trifling exchanges with the left.
     Parker again away, and watching for an opening to
     advance; dodging left and right, but no hitting. Parker
     stole a march, popped his left in slightly on the
     Slasher’s mouth, and broke away, the Slasher wildly
     after him, hitting left and right, but Parker slipped
     down on his knees and evaded receiving, thus commencing
     his old system. On the Slasher being picked up, blood
     was visible from his domino case, and this event was
     declared in favour of Parker.

     4.――Parker again prepared to lead off, advancing and
     retreating, finding the Slasher ready to hit or stop.
     At last he hit out with his left, which the Slasher
     stopped, and then rushing in left and right he
     administered a trifling upper cut with the latter.
     Parker retired to his corner, the Slasher after him.
     Parker, in ducking to avoid, slipped on his knees, but
     was up again in an instant and popped in his left. The
     Slasher hit out left and right without precision, and
     after a wild, scrambling rally, without mischief,
     Parker slipped down.

     5.――Slasher first up to the scratch, waiting for the
     attack. Parker dodged with his left once or twice, but
     not within distance. At length he got closer to his
     man, popped in his left on the Slasher’s jaw, who
     countered slightly with the left, rushing after Parker,
     who retreated to the corner, where he slipped down to
     avoid, the Slasher dropping on his knees beside him.

     6.――Both ready, but Parker afraid to approach his man.
     The Slasher hit out left and right, but was out of
     distance, and Parker broke away. Parker again dodging
     for an opening, and on getting close up to the work,
     left-handed counters were exchanged, but the
     impressions were trifling. A wild rally, in which the
     Slasher got a slap on the mug, and Parker a heavy hit
     on the ribs from the Slasher’s right. A scrambling
     exchange of hits left and right, when Parker slipped
     down. The hitting was wild, and anything but effective.

     7.――The Slasher’s mug somewhat flushed, but anything
     but serious in its aspect. Parker feinted with his left
     and popped in a pretty crack with his right on the
     Slasher’s jaw, and then broke away. Dodging, but no
     hitting. The Slasher hit out left and right, but was
     short; Parker retreated to his corner; wild but
     ineffective exchanges left and right, and Parker
     dropped on his knees.

     8.――Both at the scratch at the call of time. Parker
     tried his left, but was stopped; advancing and
     retreating. Parker endeavoured to steal a march, but
     was unable to get home, and the Slasher retired
     laughing. Parker again advanced, while the Slasher
     retreated; neither would go near enough to get to work.
     At last they got to a wild rally, missing their hits,
     and Parker retreating. Having reached Parker’s corner,
     the Slasher weaved left and right, but did not plant
     his intended compliments. Parker slipped down, the
     Slasher upon him. Parker’s right was puffed from the
     effect of one of his flying nobbers.

     9.――Offers, but no blows. The Slasher tried his right
     at Parker’s nob, but was beautifully stopped, and
     Parker broke away. Parker advanced ready to hit with
     his left, when the Slasher rushed wildly to him,
     weaving left and right, catching Parker on the left ear
     with the latter. In the scramble which followed Parker
     slipped down, the Slasher upon him.

     10.――Parker’s ear flushed, and his nose following suit
     in a slight degree. Parker advanced, but retreated the
     next moment, and the Slasher went to him. On getting to
     his corner there were slight exchanges with the left;
     the Slasher hit over Parker’s head with his right, and
     Parker dropped.

     11.――Parker slow to the scratch, and on the Slasher
     advancing he retreated to the ropes. A wild exchange of
     hits with the left, when Parker again slipped down on
     his knees.

     12.――No mischief done as yet, although Parker’s flesh
     under the arm indicated the visitations to which it had
     been subject. Attempts left and right, in which both
     missed their blows. Parker broke away, slipped on one
     knee, but jumped up again. Wild exchanges, Slasher
     trying his left and right. Parker, ducking to avoid the
     Slasher, retreated, but again rushed to the charge,
     weaving left and right, ultimately slipping on his
     knees, amidst the cries of “cur.”

     13.――No sooner at the scratch than the Slasher
     advanced; Parker immediately retreated to the ropes,
     the Slasher after him; the Slasher hit out right and
     left, but Tass ducked under his arm, and escaped the
     intended compliments. Parker dropped on one knee, but
     again sprang up and caught the Slasher on the cheek
     with his left. Slasher missed his left and right, and
     Parker fell.

     14.――Parker fought on the retreat: a wild scrambling
     rally to the corner, and the Slasher slipped down.

     15.――Parker advanced and retreated, the Slasher after
     him, to his corner. Wild attempts at hitting left and
     right on the part of the Slasher, but he was out of
     distance, and missed. The Slasher then bored Parker
     down on the ropes, himself falling over outside the
     ring.

     16.――Still no indications of serious mischief. The
     Slasher desirous of going to work, Parker retreating.
     The Slasher weaving left and right; an exchange of hits
     with the latter, and the Slasher again popped in his
     right on Parker’s ear, from whence blood was visible.
     The Slasher closed, forced Parker down on his knees,
     and fell on him.

     17.――Parker on the retreat to his corner, the Slasher
     after him. Exchanges with the left and right, Parker
     getting prettily home with the former. A wild rally,
     both missing their blows, when Parker dropped.

     18.――Slasher the first to the scratch, and full of
     fight; Parker retreated to his corner, the Slasher
     after him. Slasher hit out left and right, but without
     precision. Parker, on his guard, went down without
     attempting to hit.

     19.――The Slasher, as usual, the first to obey the call
     of time. Parker tried his left, but was cleverly
     stopped. The Slasher then rattled to him; Parker
     evidently ready to drop, when the Slasher slipped and
     fell.

     20.――Parker hugging his corner, when the Slasher
     rattled to him, but missed; wild hits left and right.
     Parker popped in his left and broke away. Slasher again
     to the charge, followed his man, caught him a heavy
     whack with his right on the jaw, from the effects of
     which Parker staggered and fell. The first knock-down
     blow for the Slasher.

     21.――Tass’s left stopped, and the Slasher rushed in
     wildly left and right. In the exchanges the Slasher had
     it on the mouth, but again planted his right on his
     shifty opponent’s pimple, when he got down.

     22.――The Slasher the favourite, and offers to back him
     at evens. The Slasher first on his pins. Parker
     retreated, the Tipton after him, hitting wildly left
     and right, when Parker dropped, but jumped up, hit out
     with his left, caught the Slasher slightly, and again
     fell, amid exclamations of disgust.

     23.――Parker slow from his corner, the Slasher to him,
     when, after wild exchanges left and right, with no
     execution, Tass went down.

     24.――Parker came up evidently a dastard in spirit, and
     upon the Slasher rushing to him he slipped down, amidst
     the cries of “cur!” and “coward!” Blood was now flowing
     freely from the knuckle of Parker’s left hand, which
     had in some of the previous rounds come in contact with
     the Slasher’s tooth. From this to the thirtieth round
     Parker pursued the same cowardly game of making a show
     as if he intended to fight, but the moment the Slasher
     went to him to hit left and right purposely dropping,
     and thereby avoiding the mischief which might be
     effected. The Slasher was greatly incensed, turned
     round as if appealing to the spectators, who shouted
     “cur!” and “coward!” with stentorian voices. The
     Slasher’s umpire repeatedly cried “foul,” and nothing
     could have been more decidedly opposed to every rule of
     fair play; but Hannan, Parker’s umpire, did not
     respond. He was silent, but it was not difficult to
     discover which way his feelings inclined. In the
     thirtieth round Parker, after retreating to his corner,
     endeavoured to get down to avoid one of the Slasher’s
     wild rushes. The Slasher endeavoured to hold him up,
     but in vain; down he went, and the Slasher dropped on
     him with his knees. Parker’s backer immediately claimed
     “foul” amidst the derision of all around him. It would
     be an insult to the understandings of our readers if we
     were to pursue our description of the 102 imaginary
     rounds which followed, during which Parker went down
     fifty times at least, the Slasher most forbearingly
     avoiding all temptations to strike or even to fall on
     him so as to afford pretence for a claim of “foul.”
     More than once Tass threw up his feet so as almost to
     kick at his man as he rolled or scrambled over him,
     after missing his one, two. It was in vain that the
     Slasher essayed to nail him left and right. He ducked
     and tumbled whenever there was the slightest chance of
     sustaining a hit, inducing universal marks of disgust
     at his cowardice, and the words “cur” and “coward”
     resounding from all quarters.

     In the fifty-seventh round the Slasher was lucky enough
     to afford him another excuse for a fall, by giving him
     a home slap from the left on the mouth, and laying him
     prostrate, while he pointed at him with derision. The
     real motive for refusing to agree to the appointment of
     an impartial referee now admitted of no doubt. It had
     been foreseen that such a man would have long before
     this settled the point at issue by declaring the battle
     won over and over again by the Slasher. But even the
     absence of such a character did not serve the intended
     purpose. Hannan, who acted as umpire, declared his
     situation to be of a most unenviable description. He
     looked appealingly to all around him, and, satisfied
     that the conduct of Parker was at variance with every
     principle of honour and fair play, he repeatedly sent
     to warn him that if he persisted in the same atrocious
     cowardice he must agree with the repeated claims of his
     co-umpire, who in vain called for his honest and
     impartial judgment. The poor fellow actually trembled
     with vexation at the shouts of derision which were
     directed towards his man, and at length, in the 126th
     round, on Parker going down without the most remote
     shadow of a blow, unless the wind of the Slasher’s fist
     could deserve that character, he involuntarily
     exclaimed, in conjunction with his co-partner, and in
     accordance with the universal exclamations from every
     quarter of the ring, “foul!” This conduct on the part
     of Hannan elicited loud approbation, but in a moment he
     was surrounded by a knot of the most outrageous
     partisans of Parker, who threatened instant
     annihilation if he dared to repeat his just opinion. It
     was in vain we looked for the honest co-operation of
     the real members of the Ring to drive these ruffians
     from the arena――they ruled the roost with unblushing
     impudence, and treated those who cried shame on their
     conduct with insolence and contempt. At last a second
     appeal was made to Hannan, but he was dumb, and nothing
     but a renewal of the fight would satisfy his
     assailants, and renewed the disgraceful scene was, but
     with a perfect anticipation of what must be the
     ultimate result. Many gentlemen, old and sincere
     patrons of fair boxing matches, retired from the
     discreditable exhibition. The backer of Tass Parker
     asserted that he was so weak as to be incapable of
     keeping his legs, while every person who had the power
     of exercising the commonest judgment saw that when he
     thought proper he could stand as firmly on his pins as
     when he commenced. He had not, in fact, received a blow
     which could have, in the slightest degree, impaired his
     vigour, and were his heart in the right place, he was
     just as capable of continuing operations as at the
     commencement of the fight. Hannan having resumed his
     seat, but pale as ashes, and shaking like an aspen
     leaf, the farce was renewed, and for seven rounds more
     Parker got up but to fall in the same dastardly manner
     which had marked his career. In the 133rd round he made
     a show of fighting, and exchanges left and right took
     place. Parker then retreated towards the ropes, the
     Slasher after him. When the Slasher was about to
     commence his wild and indecisive deliveries left and
     right, Parker, finding he could not get away, for the
     last time dropped without a blow, and the shouts of
     “cur” and “coward” were renewed with additional
     indignation. This was too much for Hannan, and
     incapable longer of stultifying himself and the Ring,
     of which he had been, and is, a gallant member, he at
     once agreed with the umpire on the other side that
     Parker had fallen without a blow, and had thereby lost
     the fight. Thus ended this libel on the “manly sports
     of the Ring.” The roughs were taken by surprise, and
     were incapable of stemming the torrent of general
     indignation; but the weak and powerless Parker, in
     order to justify the false opinion expressed by his
     backer, jumped up with the vigour of a lion, and
     rushing to the corner where Johnny Broome stood, having
     possessed himself of the colours which had been tied
     round the stakes, tore his own colours from his hand,
     thereby proving that weakness was the least excuse
     which could be offered for his poltroonery. Everybody
     except the partisans of Parker was rejoiced at the
     termination of this most contemptible display, and
     heartily concurred in the propriety of Hannan’s
     conduct.

The battle, if it may be so called, admits of but few remarks. The
Slasher fought with a wildness and want of precision which enabled
Parker to protract the struggle almost indefinitely; for had he been
lucky enough to give him one or two stingers, his heart, which was not
bigger than a pea, would have forced him at once to shut up; but by
his contemptible shifting and dropping he escaped the visitation, and
thus owed the confirmation of his defeat to his own pusillanimity. It
is stated that the injury to Parker’s right hand early in the fight
had disabled that limb, and that he acted under an impression that as
there was no referee he had a right to protract the battle by any
device, till one or other was incapable of obeying the call of
time――that is to say, that every principle which renders boxing
praiseworthy should be abandoned, and its worse enemies gratified. In
other words, that he might exercise a treacherous strike and drop from
the return. Such an argument would not be recognised by the veriest
tyro in the P.R. The Slasher, also, complained of his right arm being
injured, from having come in contact with Parker’s nob early in the
contest, but he certainly brought it into use notwithstanding this
injury.

All being over, the crowd returned to the train, stopping at the
“King’s Arms” to partake of such refreshment as that hostelrie
afforded, which, from long privation, became most acceptable. Parker
went through the farce of going to bed, but soon afterwards joined his
co-travellers in the train, and all were quickly wafted to the London
Bridge terminus once more, from whence they took their departure to
their respective quarters. The Slasher scarcely bore a mark of
punishment, and on arriving at Johnny Broome’s was hailed with general
acclamations. Some of Parker’s friends expressing doubts of his
qualities, he announced that he was ready to make a fresh match for
£200 a side with his opponent.

On the following Wednesday the stakeholder, notwithstanding a notice
of action from Parker’s backers, gave up the stakes (£200) to Johnny
Broome, under a guarantee, and of course all bets went with the
battle-money. We shall pass over the cloud of correspondence,
challenges, and counter-challenges which ensued, to come to the
renewed match, which, after innumerable delays, was finally made in
the early months of 1846.

On the 4th of August, 1846, Parker for the third and last time entered
the ring with “the Tipton,” assuring his somewhat sceptical friends
that he had “screwed his courage to the sticking place” and determined
to do or die. As the Slasher was now viewed by many as the “coming
champion” the final contest between him and his scientific but
soft-hearted opponent will be read with interest.

Lindrick Common, Nottinghamshire, eight miles from Sheffield, was the
scene of action, the ropes and stakes being furnished by the
Manchester Commissary. The attendance of the “upper crust” was by no
means numerous, but there was a tidy sprinkling of Yorkshire sportsmen
of the north-country Fancy, and a perfect crowd of swarthy miners and
pitmen from the neighbouring districts as far as Chesterfield and
Derby. An excellent ring was formed, and, as the writer can testify, a
degree of order observed which might well shame the “roughs” nearer
home. At half-past eleven o’clock the men entered the ring, Reid, of
Sheffield, and Nobby Clarke waiting on the Slasher, Jem Parker and
Cottrell, of Birmingham, seconding Tass. The betting was tolerably
brisk at five to four on Parker, whose friends seemed to be in the
ascendant, and certainly better “breeched” than those from “the
Potteries.” After nearly an hour’s delay, owing to objections to
several parties named as referee――the representative of _Bell’s Life_
positively declining――Squire Edison accepted the office amidst
acclamations, and the men faced each other for


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――The attitude of Parker, his left well up in a
     line with his left foot, and his right fore-arm
     slightly bent, and below the level of his left elbow,
     was graceful and attractive; he stood firm, yet
     springy, poised lightly on his forward foot, and was
     equally prepared for advance or retreat. His condition
     appeared first-rate, and his weight, 11st. 6lb., seemed
     well distributed for activity and powerful effort; his
     countenance was smiling and confident, and his age (33
     years) sat lightly upon him. His massive and ungainly
     antagonist offered a striking contrast; brown, burly,
     and, as Paddy would say, “big for his size,” he grinned
     grotesquely at his slighter rival, nor was the oddity
     of his mirthful mug by any means lessened by the fact
     of his front railings having been displaced in bygone
     battles. He, too, was hard, and had evidently been
     brought, by severe training, into as good condition as
     we have ever seen him on former occasions. From the
     waist to the shoulders he was a model for a gladiator,
     but we doubt if the artist or the sculptor would feel
     inclined to copy his capital or his pedestals, inasmuch
     as the first is, despite a comic expression of
     good-humour, as odd a conglomeration of features as
     Gillray or Cruikshank would desire to pencil; while the
     latter more resemble the letter K than the parallel
     supports which society has agreed to term symmetrical.
     His weight was 13st. 4lb.; his age twenty-seven, having
     been born in 1819, although the displacement of his
     grinders gave him a more antique aspect. Little time
     was lost in sparring, for the Slasher, his left
     presented and his right kept close to the mark, walked
     in upon his man, grinning mischief. Tass let go his
     left, but was stopped rather neatly; he broke ground
     and retreated, but the Slasher, working round, forced
     him into his corner, where several sharp and rapid
     exchanges took place, Parker twice popping in his left,
     but ineffectively, and the Slasher countering, in one
     instance with a heavy hit on Tass’s chest. After a
     little manœuvring, the Tipton, resolved to force the
     fighting, stepped gradually in, Tass retreating, and
     endeavouring to plant his favourite job; it was no go;
     taught by previous experience, the Tipton would not
     make play until his opponent let loose, and then, with
     more tact than we have hitherto seen him display, he
     countered with his left, and bringing up his right,
     caught Tass a sounder on the ribs. Toss leaped back,
     but renewed the hitting merrily, getting down at close
     quarters to avoid a return of the Tipton’s right.

     2.――Tass, serious, looked as if measuring his work; the
     Tipton grinning. Fast fighting for big’uns seemed the
     order of the day. Tass got in on the Slasher’s mouth,
     who followed him fiercely, screwing himself up for
     mischief. Tass fought beautifully, but there seemed
     little sting in his deliveries; there was some
     excellent mutual stopping, which elicited applause,
     especially for the Slasher, of whom it was least
     expected. Tass again got in one on the Tipton’s chest,
     who returned it with his right, and Tass went to earth,
     half with his own consent.

     3.――The Slasher came up on the grin, and walked into
     his opponent without delay. Parker again fought well,
     though both were over fast. Merry work, but little harm
     done, till Tass sent his right, straight as an arrow,
     on the Tipton’s left jaw, and down went his house,
     Parker also falling from his own blow. An uproarious
     chevy; first knock-down for Parker.

     4.――Parker came up cautious, with an ugly cut over the
     right eyebrow. First blood for the Slasher. A short
     round; the Tipton again drove Tass before him to his
     corner, where he got down to avoid.

     5.――As before, the Slasher seemed to have made up his
     mind there should be no idling; no sooner at the
     scratch than he was at work. Tass popped at him, but
     was short, and the Tipton missed his counter-hit. The
     Slasher laughed, and tried it again, but was stopped. A
     little rally at the ropes, and Parker, after an
     exchange or two, dropped on his knees.

     6.――Tass manœuvring, Tipton fighting, but not getting
     home. Tipton’s seconds advised him to wait for Tass’s
     play; he did so, and was rewarded by success. He met
     Parker, as he jumped in, with the left, and bringing up
     his right gave him a ribber that laid him on the earth,
     half doubled up.

     7.――Slasher too fast, his opponent too slow. A short
     specimen of “You run away, and see if I don’t come
     after you.” At length Tass popped in a blow on
     Slasher’s shoulder, who closed. A brief struggle
     followed; the Tipton got the crook with his crooked
     leg, and threw Tass, falling with his broad base on his
     antagonist’s victualling store. It was a burster (two
     to one on the Slasher).

     8.――A short bout of hitting, stopping, and feinting.
     Tipton let fly, Tass slipped away and got down cunning.

     9.――Slasher’s left neatly stopped, and Parker’s return
     parried. Parker flared up for a moment, and got in one,
     two, but produced no impression on his man, who went in
     laughing. Tass tried to evade him, but the Slasher
     closed; both down after a struggle, during which Tass’s
     hand was seen across the Tipton man’s face, and a cry
     of “foul” was raised. Some confusion; Slasher appealed
     to the referee, charging Parker with the unmanly act of
     biting him in a previous round, when he was in the act
     of throwing him, and in this round of an attempt to
     injure his eye. The referee ordered the men to proceed.

     10.――Tass came up with a large black patch on his
     sinister eyebrow, and his most prominent feature
     somewhat damaged. Tipton eagerly after him, but Tass
     was too shifty to be immediately had; he gave the
     Slasher two pops; the latter, however, was with him,
     and ultimately hit him down.

     11.――Tass held his arms almost at full extent, and
     manœuvred round his man; the Slasher, more cautious,
     faced him steadily. At length the men got nearer,
     exchanged blows, and Tass fell to finish the round.

     12.――So soon as up the Tipton went in, but Tass
     declined the compliment, and avoiding his one, two,
     which were wasted on thin air, got down anyhow.

     13.――Half a minute’s posturing. Tass plunged in with
     his left, but was short; tried his right, but was
     stopped. The Slasher got close, Tass was unable to hit
     him off, and he delivered a half-arm pounder with his
     right. Tass fell because this time he could not help
     it.

     14.――Tass played with his man; he seemed more than half
     tired of his job. The Tipton leary, and not to be drawn
     by feints. Slasher went in, and down tumbled Tass,
     amidst shouts of disapprobation.

     15.――Parker came up slowly; good stops on both sides;
     Tipton, quitting the defensive, rattled in; Tass
     rallied sharply, but in the end received an ugly
     upper-cut on the dial, and fell.

     16.――Tass somewhat disfigured, while the Tipton’s ugly
     mug seemed altogether unaltered. After some slight
     exchanges Tass dropped.

     17.――Parker’s tactics seemed at fault; he sparred a few
     seconds, but on the Slasher stepping in, found his way
     to the ground rather equivocally.

     18.――Tass flared up momentarily. He tried it on with
     both hands in succession. Tipton cleverly foiled him;
     indeed, Tass did not get near enough to his man to do
     work. Tipton returned. The old game was played――Tass
     selected his mother earth.

     19.――Tass’s left again short; he was too fond of long
     bowls. A close, and Tass got down as well as he could.

     20.――Parker made play, and getting a little nearer,
     dropped his bunch of fives on the Tipton’s mouth; tried
     it again, but fell short, and got a left-handed nobber
     in return that floored him neatly.

     21.――Both Tass’s hands seemed to have lost their
     cunning. His heart was not big enough to carry him in,
     nor, when there by accident, to allow him to stand a
     rally. He fought badly and out of distance, and at
     length scrambled down to avoid the resolute charge of
     the Slasher, who gave him a nasty one on the side of
     the nut as he was on his journey to earth.

     22.――Perry drove his man all across the ring. Some
     pretty exchanges. Parker got home on Tipton’s dial, who
     missed the return. A short, irregular rally. Tass again
     got in once or twice, but they seemed mere taps. At
     length the Slasher, who had been screwing himself up,
     sent out his left straight as an arrow at his
     opponent’s head. The concussion was like the kick of a
     coach-horse, took effect at the base of Parker’s left
     nostril, and he fell as if shot. “It’s all over,” was
     the cry; and the Tipton remained for some time in the
     middle of the ring to favour the company with a few
     polka steps, for which his swing leg was peculiarly
     adapted.

     23 and last.――Tass, to the astonishment of all, came up
     at the call of time, but it was evident the last hit
     had been a settler and had sent his faculties all
     abroad. Although he assumed an attitude, he stared
     perplexedly at his opponent, and swerved from the
     perpendicular as he broke ground. The Tipton surveyed
     him a moment before he stepped forward, but no sooner
     did Tass perceive his approach, than, either from
     bewilderment or a faint heart, he fell forward on both
     knees, and thence on his hands. The Slasher turned
     appealingly to the umpires and referee, without having
     even offered to strike. The case was clear; and amid
     the shouts of the multitude the Slasher was greeted as
     the conqueror. Time, twenty-seven minutes.

     REMARKS.――The Slasher fought better than we have seen
     him on any previous occasion; his confidence and
     condition――of which latter absurd rumours were
     afloat――were on a par with his coolness and courage. To
     the former he added tact in waiting for his opponent’s
     delivery of a blow, and a skill in counter-hitting for
     which we did not give him credit; this, added to his
     physical superiority in weight and thews, left his
     lighter and more active opponent almost without a
     chance, and the contest was reduced to a mere question
     of time, the ultimate result being scarcely within the
     scope of doubt. Of the defeated man we can only say
     that although he fought three or four rounds in a
     spirited――nay, an almost desperate manner, his conduct
     in the vast majority so much savoured of Falstaff’s
     “better part of valour,” that his claim to the
     character of a game man still remains unproven, while
     his attribute of skill, so loudly vaunted by his
     infatuated admirers, has suffered considerably by this
     exhibition; this, however, may partly be owing to the
     improvement in his antagonist’s tactics which, by
     frustrating his earlier efforts, so disheartened him
     that he never showed to less advantage. The question of
     superiority can no longer be mooted; Tass’s quickness
     and skill have lost their striking advantage, while the
     Slasher’s strength and pluck, on this occasion seconded
     by a respectable amount of science, have by no means
     fallen off. Tass’s friends attribute his defeat to his
     having had two ribs broken in the seventh round, from
     the Slasher falling heavily on him, and he certainly
     remained under the surgeon’s hands, who confirmed the
     aforesaid fracture.

After the above battle, the Tipton Slasher issued a challenge to Caunt
to fight for £100 a side; this Caunt declined to do, and staked £500
in the hands of the editor of _Bell’s Life_, declaring, at the same
time, his willingness to fight the Slasher for £500, but for no
smaller sum. Much angry correspondence passed between them, which is
utterly unworthy of preservation; and in the latter part of 1846
Johnny Broome presented a belt to the Slasher, whereon Caunt lowered
his terms to £200, with a stipulation that if that condition was not
accepted within a month, his retirement from the Ring was absolute.
This, however, was not suitable to Broome and Co., though the Slasher
was ready and willing.[20]

We may hear note, retrospectively, that in December, 1844, yet another
“big ’un” had made his _debut_ in the P.R., who, in a future chapter,
will figure among the numerous candidates for the much-wrangled
Championship. This was Tom Paddock, who, in the month of December,
beat Elijah Parsons, at Sutton Coldfield. Following this, he twice
defeated Nobby Clarke, a chicken-hearted but scientific 12-stone man,
in January, 1846, and in April, 1847. Paddock’s next venture was with
the renowned Bendigo, with whom he lost the battle by a foul blow,
June 5, 1850.

In September, 1849, the Tipton, having forfeited to Con Parker, on
account of ill-health, was challenged thereafter by Tom Paddock, soon
after the latter had lost what many thought to be a winning fight with
Bendigo. In this affair, by some shuffling on the part of Perry’s
money-finders, a curious “draw” was manipulated, neither of the
parties being ready to go on at the fourth deposit, on August 22nd,
1850, taking back their stakes by mutual consent. The Slasher, finding
other and more reliable friends, renewed the articles, and on December
17th, 1850, the rivals at last came together, face to face, in the
ring. The Tipton trained for this encounter under Levi Eckersley, near
Liverpool, while Paddock had his advice and exercise with Bob Fuller
and Jem Turner, than whom two better trainers did not exist.

On the Monday previous, the Slasher arrived at Tom Spring’s, and
Paddock set up his rest at Jem Burn’s, where they were surrounded by
admiring coteries. The betting was 6 to 4 on the Slasher, whose
superior weight and experience gave him that advantage in the odds.

All requisite arrangements for the meeting had been undertaken by
Spring and Burn, and after sundry cogitations they decided on an
excursion-train on the South Western Railway. Half-past nine on
Tuesday morning was the time named for departure, and long before that
hour arrived, the platform at Waterloo displayed a goodly muster of
folks “wot love a mill,” including many old stagers, “swells,” and
patrons of all degrees. The professors were also numerous in their
attendance, and included twenty men who had been selected to preserve
order. We could not but remark, however, the absence of that quaint
fun and humour which, in the days of Josh Hudson, Jack Scroggins,
Young Dutch Sam, and Frosty-faced Fogo, flung an air of good-humoured
frolic on such assemblages, affording scenes for the pencil of George
Cruikshank, and food for the pen-and-ink sketches of the
Ring-historians of the day. To the question “Whither are we bound?” no
response was given. The captain started with sealed orders, and had a
sort of roving commission as to the place at which he should cast
anchor. Suffice it to say, the pace was first-rate and there was but
one stoppage till Bishopstoke was reached. The men were in separate
carriages, and there was a wide contrast in their bearing, Paddock
being all mercurial and double jolly, and the Slasher as solid and
steady as Cardinal Wiseman on a fast-day.

It was intended to turn off on the Salisbury line and bring up at
Dean, on the borders of Wilts. The Hampshire police, however, were on
the alert, with an assurance that the Wiltshire folks were equally
wide-awake, and determined to spoil sport. Information to this extent
was quickly conveyed to the managers, and, after a short consultation,
“bock agen” was the order of the day. Various places were mentioned as
likely to afford a quiet and welcome reception, and the first attempt
was made between Andover and Winchfield, but no sooner was the ring
pitched than the Hampshire blues once more hove in sight, and the
jaded travellers had again to enter the carriages. Thus was time
wasted, and the hour of three arrived before the caravan again got
under way. It was then agreed to go to Woking Common, and many bets
were offered that the contest would not come off that day. A strong
desire, however, was expressed that it should be settled, and about
half-past three a stoppage was made between a couple of high
embankments, which, on being scaled, exposed to view a remote corner
of Woking Common. The land of promise thus reached, the office was
given, for the last time, to disembark. A site for a ring was quickly
discovered, and although not a very desirable spot, still, it was the
only one to be had, and no time was lost in forming the magic square.
A limited outer ring was also formed, and tickets, at 5s. each,
distributed to those who sought the privilege of a close proximity to
the scene of action, the produce being afterwards equally divided
among the ringkeepers. It was now four o’clock, and the day fast
waning; in fact, it was difficult to distinguish the faces of persons
from one side of the ring to the other; but a clear moon hung out its
lamp, and promised a continuance of light. All being in readiness,
Paddock flung his castor into the ring, following it himself amidst
loud cheers. He was attended by Jack Hannan and Bob Fuller. The
Slasher, who was not long after him, was waited on by Nobby Clarke and
Jem Molyneux. Paddock looked fresh, laughing, and apparently
confident; while the Slasher was cool, quiet, and smiling. After a
great deal of difficulty as to the selection of a referee, both
parties agreed upon Ned Donnelly. Jem Burn addressed this functionary
on the part of Paddock, and said all he wanted was a fair and manly
fight, and that there should be no captious objections to any
accidental occurrence. He wished the merits of the men might be fairly
tested, and only desired that the best man might win. The men now
prepared for action, and at thirty minutes past four, the rising moon
looking modest from the east, and the last rays of the setting sun
painting the western horizon, the gladiators appeared at the scratch,
and commenced


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――The men having chosen their corners, fortune
     enabled the Slasher to place his back to the rising
     moon, so that his toothless mug was in shade. His
     herculean frame was, however, sufficiently visible, and
     his easy confidence and quiet deportment increased the
     confidence of his friends, and led all who scanned his
     proportions to consider him perfectly competent to hit
     down a hippopotamus; or, like the Greek boxer of old,
     floor a cantankerous bull, even without the assistance
     of the cestus. Paddock, although when opposed to
     Bendigo he appeared of the burly breed, loomed small in
     contrast with the Slasher. The disparity in their size
     was obvious, and as he jumped about seeking an opening,
     a veteran ring-goer exclaimed, “It’s any odds against
     the young’un, he’s got his master before him now.” In
     fact, the very style of holding up his hands, and the
     yokel-like feints (completely out of distance) with
     which he commenced, showed he was puzzled how to begin
     the job he had so confidently undertaken; presently he
     determined to chance it, and jumped in. Fortune favours
     the bold, and he gave the Slasher a clout on the
     jaw-bone with his left, the Tipton hitting in return on
     his shoulder or breast, and driving him back. The
     Slasher stepped in; Paddock retreated before him to his
     corner, hitting up again, but the Tipton stopped him. A
     smart exchange took place, and Paddock slipped down to
     get out of mischief.

     2.――Paddock began by trying his left twice, and barely
     reaching the Slasher, who dealt him a body blow with
     the right. Some heavy hits in weaving style, and a
     half-round body blow or two followed, the sound rather
     than the effect of the hitting being perceptible. The
     Tipton closed with Paddock, who struggled for a moment,
     and was then thrown on his back, the Tipton lending him
     thirteen stone additional to hasten his fall.

     3.――Two to one on the Tipton. The Slasher missed
     Paddock two or three times, owing to his active,
     jumping away; still he steadily pursued him. Paddock
     tried both hands, but had the worst of the exchanges;
     still there was no harm done. Paddock made a lunge with
     the right, but Tipton met him a smasher, and hit him
     down, almost falling over him. First knock-down for the
     Slasher.

     4.――It was now stated that Paddock had dislocated his
     shoulder; it was no doubt injured, but not out of
     joint. He tried his left in a flurried manner, but the
     Tipton feinted with the left, drove him back, and
     Paddock fell to avoid.

     5.――The Tipton went to work quickly, but steadily; he
     caught Paddock on the body with the right, and on the
     left cheek heavily with the left, as he was jumping
     round, and down went Paddock among the bottles in his
     own corner.

     6.――Tipton gave Paddock no rest or time for reflection,
     but pelted away. Paddock skipped about, and escaped
     against the ropes; from his corner, hit up, catching
     the Tipton on the side of the neck slightly, and
     dropped on one knee. The Tipton might have given him a
     finisher, but did not avail himself of the chance,
     threw up his hands and walked away.

     7.――Paddock hit Tipton sharply with the left on the
     forehead as he came in. Tipton missed his right, but
     caught Paddock a nasty “polthogue” on the nob as he was
     going back. Paddock fell on the ropes but was not down.
     The Tipton dropped his hands and came away from him,
     disdaining to hit him in that position. “Bravo,
     Tipton!”

     8.――As before; Tipton making the play and forcing his
     man, who could not make head against the attack, and
     jumped about like “a parched pea.” Paddock fell at
     Tipton’s feet, who, the friends of Paddock declared,
     tried to tread on him, and appealed accordingly. It was
     a “forlorn hope,” and the referee said “he saw nothing
     foul.”

     9.――Paddock jumped up as usual, just reaching Tipton’s
     chin, for which he was punished with a sounding ribber.
     Tipton stepped in, and down dropped Master Paddock.

     10.――Exchanges, but no effects visible, except a little
     blood from Paddock’s cheek. First blood for Tipton. The
     Tipton hit out right and left, and caught the Redditch
     man on the nob and body, who staggered half-way across
     the ring, and fell.

     11.――Tipton once again on Paddock’s body. Paddock fell
     in the bustle without a hit.

     12.――Paddock shifting and retreating. A slight
     exchange, and Paddock fell to avoid.

     13.――Tipton forced Paddock into his corner, but before
     he could do any mischief Paddock fell. A claim of
     “foul,” but not acknowledged.

     14.――Tipton just touched Paddock with his left, who
     kept slipping back. Tipton followed him, and he
     dropped. Another appeal that Paddock fell without a
     blow, but the Tipton party waived the objection.

     15.――Paddock hit the Tipton, then slipped half down,
     jumped up again, and resumed the fight. Tipton went to
     work, and hit him down in the short rally.

     16, 17, 18, and 19.――As like each other as peas.
     Slasher made at Paddock, who wouldn’t stand his charge,
     and fell to avoid. Appeals. “We don’t want to win by a
     foul,” said the Tiptonians.

     20.――Paddock’s right arm hung as if disabled, but he
     brought it into play when action commenced. The Tipton
     drove him to the ropes, and hit him down.

     21.――Paddock, in jumping away, caught his right heel
     against the centre stake, and stumbled down, but jumped
     up again. Seeing Tipton close on to him, however, he
     dropped on to his knees.

     22.――As the moon got higher, the light improved. The
     Tipton, in bustling Paddock, got a body hit, which he
     retorted with a heavy right-hander on Paddock’s
     smelling organ, and down he went quite bothered.

     23.――Paddock came up with his face painted carmine
     colour, and was no sooner at the scratch than he was
     down. Another appeal.

     24.――Wild exchanges. Paddock on the shift. The Tipton
     gave Paddock a topper on the head, high up, when he
     fell, and Tipton over him.

     25.――A slight rally in Paddock’s corner. Paddock rushed
     at Tipton, who made an awkward step back. Paddock
     pushed rather than struck at him with the left, and
     forced the Tipton over. (Cheers for Paddock.)

     26.――It was all U.P. Tipton went in with both hands,
     and Paddock fell without a blow. Appeal repeated.

     27 and last.――The odds were the Great Glass-case of ’51
     against a cucumber-frame. The Tipton gave Master
     Paddock a pelt on the head, and began punching at him
     among his bottles and traps at the corner stake.
     Paddock dropped, and the Tipton, fearing to give a
     chance away, was about to return to his own corner, as
     he had several times done when up jumped the Redditch
     man, and rushing at the Slasher, lent him such a dig
     just at the back of the left ear, with his right, that
     down tumbled Tipton, half with astonishment, half with
     the blow, and, as Paddy would say, “the third half of
     him fell just because it was not used to stand
     upright.” A more palpable “foul” was never seen. The
     spectators jumped from their seats, and all sorts of
     people got into the ring. The Tipton walked towards the
     referee for his decision, and that functionary
     pronounced it “foul;” and so ended the great little
     fight for the Championship, in forty-two minutes, the
     dial showing twelve minutes after five.

     REMARKS.――A Scotch proverb declares――

         “It’s muckle cry, and little woo,
          As the de’il said, when he clipt the soo;”

     and this exhibition was certainly a complete
     “pig-shearing” excursion. The Slasher was not only in
     splendid condition, but his method of fighting, long
     arms, and great experience, made it no match. True, he
     was not to blame that it was so bad a fight, for as one
     man can take a horse to water, but twenty can’t make
     him drink, so let a man be ever so willing to make a
     merry mill of it, he can’t do so, if his opponent won’t
     have it. As to Paddock, he was so manifestly
     over-matched, and over-rated, that he had not the
     shadow of a chance; and the rush that proved perilous
     to Bendigo――old, stale, under 12 stone, and a practiser
     of retreating tactics――was not only useless against the
     bulky, firm-standing Slasher, but was certain
     destruction to the assailant, from the Tipton’s tact at
     countering, his superior strength, and immense weight.
     In fact, it was “a horse to a hen” on all points.

The return to the carriages was as speedy as circumstances and awkward
clayey drains and ditches would permit, but all were safely seated,
the agreeable whistle of departure sounded, and the whole party
delivered at the Nine Elms terminus by six o’clock; the Slasher, merry
as a grig, and loudly cheered, while Paddock complained of severe
injury to his shoulder, which, if serious, was certainly aggravated by
his last effort to do unlawful execution. The Tipton was received at
the “Castle” with a flourish of “See the conquering hero comes!” while
Paddock quietly returned to the “Queen’s Head,” where he received
surgical attendance; and it was officially reported that he “had
injured the bone of his shoulder, and that a sling must be worn as a
safeguard against the consequences of moving the joint.”

Once more the Slasher laid claim to the Championship, and requested
that Bendigo would, “according to agreement (?)” hand over the belt
which he had so long held, or, if he declined doing so, the Tipton
“would be proud to give him the chance of retaining it, by meeting him
for any sum he might like to name.” The Tipton further announced his
readiness “to make a match with any man in the world from £200 to £500
a side.”

A fortnight after the _annonce_, a letter appeared from Bendigo,
stating that he would fight for £500 a side, but so far as the belt
was concerned, it had been presented to him as a gift or testimonial,
and was his own property. This vaunt was quickly replied to by the
Tipton, who at once sent £50 to the Editor of _Bell’s Life_, “to make
a match on Bendy’s own terms,” whereupon the latter backed out, and
never after appeared as a candidate for fistic honours.

Finding that high prices would not command the market, the Tipton
issued another challenge to fight any man for £100 or £200, but for
several months this lay unaccepted. At length, at the latter end of
May, 1851, his former patron and backer, Johnny Broome, appeared in
print, accepting the Slasher’s gage on the part of “an unknown;”
Johnny’s favourite mode of exciting public curiosity in matchmaking.
Spring,[21] on this occasion, acted as Perry’s best friend, and
declared his readiness to “go on” upon the name of “the unknown” being
declared. What was the surprise of the “knowing ones” when Johnny
declared his brother Harry to be the “veiled prophet,” on whose future
championship he would wager £200, while Harry, who was present,
stepped smilingly forward and modestly declared his candidature. The
Tipton “grinned horribly a ghastly smile,” and could hardly be
persuaded as he “saw Young Harry with his beaver up,” gallantly and
coolly affirming his readiness to second his brother’s words by deeds.
The Tipton, as Michaelmas day (September 29) was named as “no
quarter-day,” at once went into training at Hoylake, in Cheshire,
under the care of Jem Wharton and Jem Ward. How they met, and how the
Slasher lost the fight, without a scratch, by his own clumsy
precipitancy, must be read in the Life and Career of Harry Broome, in
a future chapter of this volume.

Broome, on the giving up of the stakes, professing his readiness to
maintain his title against all comers, accepted the offer of the
Tipton to settle the _vexata quæstio_ by another meeting, and articles
were drawn up, and deposits to the amount of £25 made good, when Harry
forfeited, on the plea that he had a match on (it came to nothing)
with Aaron Jones, and had also accepted an engagement with Paddock.
Curiously enough, the Slasher, who now dubbed himself “Champion,”
afterwards signed articles with both these men, who both forfeited to
him; Aaron Jones to the tune of £70, in July, 1856, and Paddock (whom
he had formerly beaten), to the amount of £80, in October following.

Perry, who had been twenty-one years before the public, now became a
publican and vendor of eatables and drinkables in a canvas caravansery
at races, fairs, and all sorts of rural gatherings in the Black
Country.

All this time the star of a 10st. 10lb. champion had been rapidly
rising on the pugilistic world. Tom Sayers, having polished off the
middle-weights, had been playing havoc among the “big ’un’s;” in 1856
defeating Harry Poulson (who had once beaten Paddock), and, in 1857,
Aaron Jones fell beneath his conquering arm.

Six years had elapsed when “The Old Tipton,” as he was now popularly
designated, was dared to the field by this new David. Right cheerfully
did the old “Philistine man of might”――for the Tipton never lacked
personal courage――respond to the “little ’un’s” crow. How the
oft-repeated error of “trusting the issue of battle to waning age,”
was again exemplified on the 16th of June, 1857, at the Isle of Grain,
when the once formidable Slasher was conquered in the contest for £400
and the Champion’s belt by the marvellous little miller, Tom Sayers,
may be read by those who are curious in minute details, in the life of
that phenomenal pugilist, in Chapter XI. of this volume. This was the
closing scene of the Tipton’s long and chequered career. He retired,
defeated but not dishonoured, to his native county and early
associates. In his latter days the Tipton is said to have never
refused “a drink for the good of the house,” said house being his own
special “tap.” Death finally overtook him, rather suddenly, at his
home, near Wolverhampton, on January 18, 1881, in his sixty-first
year.


     [19] From this period Freeman returned to his theatrical and
     professional circus exhibitions, in which his gigantic size
     attracted the popular wonderment. He was a careless,
     good-natured fellow; and it was stated by the medical
     officers of Winchester Hospital, where the emaciated giant
     died of consumption on the 18th of October, 1845, that he
     had within him the fatal seeds of pulmonary disease from his
     first period of manhood. His end was of necessity
     accelerated by repeated colds, caught in the light attire of
     fleshings and spangles, in which he exhibited in draughty
     canvas erections, and crowded theatres and booths. This last
     remark is drawn from us by a senseless paragraph, in which a
     Hampshire penny-a-liner endeavoured to “improve the
     occasion” by suggesting that the early death of the
     good-natured, soft-headed acrobat was due to the dreadful
     injuries “he must necessarily have received in his terrible
     combat with the formidable bruiser known as the Tipton
     Slasher――injuries which from the tremendous stature of the
     combatants, must have been beyond ordinary calculation.” To
     this it may fairly be replied that the few fatal results on
     record from battles between big men is actually
     phenomenal――Andrew M’Kay (June, 1830) and Simon Byrne (May,
     1833) being the only two on record; the others resulting
     from contests between middle or light weights, and several
     of these regrettable fatalities being proved by subsequent
     surgical examination to have resulted from accident,
     excitement, or apoplexy, induced by violent exertion.

     [20] Not to complicate this confusion of “claimants” for the
     belt, we may here state that while Caunt, Bendigo, the
     Deaf’un, and the Tipton were playing duettos, trios, and
     quartettes, as leading performers in the discordant overture
     to the farce of “Who’s the Champion?” there was no lack of
     accompanying instrumentalists, each blowing his own trumpet
     of defiance, and thumping the big drum of “benefit” bounce.
     At the end of 1845, Caunt introduced a new candidate in the
     person of a formidable black, standing a trifle over six
     feet, and weighing hard upon 13st., who, rather curiously,
     dubbed himself William Perry! This mysterious “darkey”
     displayed such remarkable talent with the gloves, and was,
     in many respects, a man of such superior address and
     conversation, that he might well have been expected to turn
     out more than a second Molyneux. As, however, the proof of
     all pudding, whether black or white, is in the eating, an
     opponent was sought for the American importation. Bill
     Burton, of Leicester, a much smaller man, standing five feet
     nine, and weighing 11st. 10lb., was selected. Burton’s
     credentials were good; he had defeated Angelo, of Windsor,
     in May, 1845――a game contest of seventy-four rounds――and had
     been previously victor in many unrecorded affairs. The
     meeting took place on the 20th January, 1846. The Black more
     than justified the anticipations of his backers. He defeated
     Burton with the greatest ease in fifteen rounds, the
     Leicester man’s friends humanely throwing up the sponge at
     the end of twenty-four minutes of a hopeless, one-sided
     contest. This was the first and last appearance of the
     so-called William Perry in the English P.R. He proved to be
     connected with a gang of forgers of American bank-notes, and
     having been previously imprisoned more than once, he was now
     transported to the Antipodes, being provided with passage to
     Australia at Government expense, where, it would appear, he
     became a ticket-of-leave man, as he is recorded as having
     defeated Hough, the “Champion of Australia,” at Cumming’s
     Point, Sydney, in December, 1849. In the last-named year
     (1849) another “big ’un” came out, but quietly went in
     again. This was Con (Cornelius) Parker, standing six feet,
     and weighing 12st. 10lb.; his first victory was over Jem
     Bailey (Irish), in the Essex Marshes, February 13th, 1849.
     He then received forfeit from the Tipton in the same year;
     but, on November 26th, also in 1849, he had his
     “championship” pretensions ignominiously snuffed out at
     Frimley, in Surrey, by Tass Parker, who somewhat retrieved
     the disgrace of his double defeat by the Tipton, by
     triumphantly thrashing Mister Con, who ended the battle by a
     “foul.” Con then emigrated to America, where he died rather
     suddenly, on the 2nd December, 1854, at Buffalo, U.S. Soon
     after Tass took the money for this victory, his friends
     injudiciously claimed for him the title of “Champion,” but
     Tass wisely declined, in a letter, such a prominent
     position.

     [21] Spring, after a short illness, died on August 20th,
     1851, while this match was in progress. (See vol. ii.
     chapter 1.)




CHAPTER V.

NICHOLAS (NICK) WARD.

1835-1841.


The claim of Nick Ward to a chapter in a History of the Ring is,
though certainly slender, of a twofold character. In the first place,
as another and more recently fallen warrior was described as “the
nephew of his uncle,” so Nick Ward may be signalised as “the brother
of Jem;” the second, and more cogent, reason is the high flight of his
ambition, and the consequent eminence of his adversaries, he having
beaten Deaf Burke, and, by a fluke, won a fight for the Championship
with the modern “Big Ben.” These things premised, we proceed to a
brief sketch of his quasi-pugilistic performances.

Nick Ward was born on an ominous day, the 1st of April, in the year
1811, in St. George’s-in-the-East, London; and on February 24th, 1835,
having previously acquired a reputation in the sparring-schools of the
Metropolis, he stripped at Moulsey Hurst, to face John Lockyer, of
Cranbrook, a yokel bruiser of about 12st., whose only scored victory
was a win with one Bridger, of Maidstone, in February, 1833. Jack
Lockyer (named “Harry,” in _Fistiana_, under WARD) was a mere
chopping-block in the skilful hands of Nick, his longer-reached and
more artistic antagonist; and being “satisfied” at the end of 18
rounds, gave no criterion by which to judge of Young Nick’s game or
endurance. It was pretty evident, however, that his brother and
friends were not much taken with this initiative display of his
qualities, for the next match looked out for Master Nick was with a
11st. man, Jem Wharton (afterwards celebrated as “Young Molyneaux,”
and “the Morocco Prince”[22]) for £15 a side. The deposits were made
good, and the day, May 12th, 1835, fixed Nick Ward’s backer having won
the toss for choice of place (within thirty miles of London) named the
well-known Moulsey Hurst as the _champ clos_ of combat.

On the appointed Tuesday, the patrons of the fistic art were on the
_qui vive_ to witness the tourney between “the brother of the
Champion” and the aspiring “Young Molyneaux”――a worthy, albeit a
miniature, counterpart of the dusky gladiator of the same name, who,
in times gone by, twice fell beneath the all-conquering arm of Cribb,
as may be read by those who are curious in the first volume of this
work.

Nick went into training at Norwood, putting up at the “Rose and
Crown,” our old friend Ned Neale’s hostelrie, and, as we thought,
making himself rather more of a public character in the neighbourhood
than was either prudent or desirable. Nevertheless, all looked, thus
far, promising. Of betting there was little or none; for such was the
confidence in favour of Ward, that three to one was offered, but no
takers――a circumstance attributable to his superiority in science,
length, and weight (for he weighed 12st. 10lb., while the Black was
more than a stone under that standard, as well as being much shorter).
It was still thought there would be excellent sport afforded, and
there were those who, although not disposed to risk their rhino, yet
entertained “a shrewd suspicion” that the Black would win. The
necessary preparations were made for conveying the men to the scene of
action on Tuesday morning; but, unluckily, on the evening before a
“stopper” was placed upon Ward, who was apprehended (on the authority
of a warrant issued by the magistrates at Union Hall), and taken
before Mr. Ellyard, a local magistrate at Norwood, by whom he was held
to bail to keep the peace towards all his Majesty’s subjects in
general, and the Black Prince in particular. The unpleasant
intelligence was soon conveyed to town, and produced no small panic in
the minds of those to whose knowledge it came; but a vast number
remained in ignorance of the fact till the next day, when too late to
save them the expense and trouble of a long trot. The road to Hampton
on Tuesday presented the customary bustle, and it was not till the
throng congregated in hundreds in view of the Hurst, that the rumours
with which they were assailed on the road were confirmed. Great
indignation was, of course, expressed, and various speculations were
afloat as to the author of the mischief; some attributing the step to
Jem Burn or his party, and others to the malice of some secret enemy
of the sports of the Ring. There was, however, no help for it, and as
it was found that orders were also given to prevent “any breach of the
peace” on Moulsey Hurst, it was resolved to seek consolation in a
minor mill, which was yet to the good, in a meadow about two miles
from Hampton, whither the ropes and stakes were conveyed, followed by
a countless succession of go-carts, and vehicles of a more
aristocratic description, which joined in the motley cavalcade.

This “little go” we may note in a parenthesis. It was between Evans
(nicknamed “the Pumpborer”), and an aspirant who contented himself
with the title of “Jack January’s brother.” These “obscurities” having
punished each other for seventy minutes, Evans was hailed the victor.

We ought to state that Wharton was driven on to the ground in style,
looking bright as “Day and Martin’s Japan,” and jauntily tossed his
hat into the ring, his “soul in arms and eager for the fray.” This
was, however, a mere matter of form, as “magisterial interference”
having placed his antagonist out of harm’s way, no forfeit could be
claimed. The mischance, of course, excited much speculation among the
disappointed, as to the author of the interruption, some attributing
it to the friends of the Black, and others to the partisans of Ward;
while a third party laid the blame, and not without fair ground of
suspicion, to some dog in the manger, who, disliking the sports of the
Ring himself, determined to deprive others of a pleasure in which he
did not choose to participate. There was nothing in the character of
the match to warrant a belief that the backers of either man had a
sufficient motive for declining the contest. The stakes were trifling,
and made up by subscription, so that the loss in this way could not
have been worth consideration. The expenses of training had already
been incurred, handkerchiefs bought, and vehicles to take the men to
the ground engaged. Both men were in first-rate condition, and both,
notwithstanding the disparity in their size, equally confident, and
more especially Wharton, who booked winning, and nothing else; and
then, as to the betting, there were no bets made which could have
influenced any of the contracting parties to contrive a “draw.” The
real cause of the fiasco, which was never clearly made out, may be
surmised, when read by the knowledge acquired by subsequent events;
and, without much damage to young Nick’s reputation, we may conclude
that he had “no stomach for the fight,” and was secretly glad that the
affair had a bloodless termination by “magisterial interference,” and
his being formally bound over, for a whole twelvemonth, “to keep the
peace towards all her Majesty’s subjects.”

From this time (May, 1835), Nick merely exhibited with the gloves, in
“brother Jem’s” saloon, or at other “assaults of arms,” for benefits,
&c., though his name appears as “challenged by Burke, Hampson,
Brassey, Fisher, Bailey, and other “big ’uns.”

On the 24th May, 1836, Bendigo beat Brassey at Sheffield, and three
days afterwards, on Friday, the 27th, Jem Ward, Brother Nick, Jem
Burn, Bendy, and an aristocratic assemblage of “swells,” were at
Tottenham, where, at a private farm, there was some “cocking.” The
facetious Sambo Sutton, too, was among the company; and as a sequel to
the sports of the pit, at a merry meeting at mine host Harry
Milbourne’s, there was some lively chaff about the late “black job;”
the said chaff being specially promoted by Jem Burn, who was retorted
upon (he being the patron of “Young Molyneaux,” and now of the
eccentric “Sambo”) as a dealer in sable specimens of humanity. Some
reflections on Nick’s pluck being of a very “pale complexion,” led to
an offer to match him against Burn’s latest “new black,” and on Massa
Sambo enthusiastically declaring how delighted he would be “jest to
hab a roun’ or two,” Nick “screwed his courage to the sticking-place,”
and a “purse” being at once subscribed, “a field near Finchley” was
offered by a sporting gentleman present, and off the whole party
started. At this time Sambo was only known, beyond some sparring
capabilities, to be a merry mountebank of the original Ethiopian
order, and is described in a contemporary paper as having “a head like
a cow-cabbage, a mouth laughing all across his face, and possesing an
extraordinary faculty of standing upon his flat head, with his flatter
feet flourishing in the air, dancing and singing for an hour together,
and varying the fun by drinking miscellaneous liquors in that
uncomfortable position.” To these accomplishments, says the writer,
“he adds great bodily strength, long arms, and such a gluttonous
appetite for ‘towelling’ that nobody can give him enough with the
gloves.” The affair was really got up as an experiment to try Nick’s
mettle, and such was the consequence drawn from his “blood and
breeding,” that two and three to one on him were offered, but no
takers.

The fight did not take place until seven in the evening, when the real
P.C. ropes and stakes were got down from town, and pitched in an
excellent spot, hidden from the North Road, Finchley, by a rising
ground. Jack Adams and Fitzmaurice waited on Ward, Byng Stocks and
Jack Clarke on Sambo.

For the first ten rounds Nick took the lead in good style, nobbing his
man neatly, stopping his attempts at returning, and gaining first
blood in the third round. Sambo also made some very clever stops, and
now and then got home a sort of swinger on Nick’s ribs; nevertheless,
he was down anyhow at the end of each round. Still, he rolled about
like an india-rubber tombola, and when he did get in a “little ’un”
the “big ’un” seemed to jump away, and fight very shy till he could
himself “get on” again. Ward came up, once or twice, “blowing” in a
manner that did not indicate first-rate condition. In the eleventh
round, Sambo being pretty considerably cut about the head, Adams
called on Nick to “go in and finish him;” Nick tried to obey orders.
He caught the Nigger a slashing hit on the head, which Sambo took
kindly, merely shaking it; and, darting in, he drew Ward’s cork from
his smelling-bottle so suddenly that a gush of claret followed; Nick
made an involuntary backward step, and Sambo bustled him down. The
“clerks of St. Nicholas” looked blank.

Ward came up slowly for round 12, when Sambo went in furiously. Ward
met him a hot ’un on the nob; but the darkey would not be denied, and
in a wild sort of rally Sambo caught Master Nick such an awful chop on
the smeller, as they were both going down, that Ward was under, by his
own consent, and the tap again copiously turned on. This was enough.
Nick declared he would “have no more of it.” Remonstrance was useless:
“he would fight no longer,” and the sponge was thrown up. Sambo,
shaking his head like a black and red rag-mop, cut a “break-down”
caper, and sang a song of triumph which defied the art of stenography,
while Ward hurried off, amidst the laughter and cheering of the
assembly, like a “trundle-tailed cur,” declaring, “it was no use, he
was not cut out for a fighting man!” an assertion, in the words of the
old song, “Which nobody can deny, deny, Which nobody can deny.”

After this public manifestation that whatever “devil” there may be in
“Old Nick” his young namesake was endowed with none of that fiery
quality, “the Champion’s brother” confined himself to “attitude,” the
horse-hair pads, and, in the words of pugilistic M.C.’s., to “walking
round and showing his muscle.” Meantime the “cow-cabbage hero” kept
continually challenging him to another bout “in the reg’lar ring,”
while starring it on sparring tours at Cambridge, Oxford, and
elsewhere――for Sambo was an immense favourite among the “’Varsity
men.” At last the smoke kindled into a flame, and out came Nick, with
a declaration that he would “no longer stand this black buffoon’s
bounce.” Articles were accordingly signed, a match made for £50 a
side, and the stakes deposited in the hands of old Tom Cribb. Tuesday,
the 27th March, 1838, was named as the day, half-way between
Birmingham and London as the place of battle; for though the deposits
were made in town it was not a metropolitan match. Nick Ward’s money
was found by brother Jem and certain Liverpool supporters; while the
funds for Sambo were readily raised, principally by some Oxford
friends. Ward went into training at Crosby, near Liverpool, under the
immediate eye of his brother and Peter Taylor. Sambo did his
breathings and gymnastics at a village near Oxford city. Both men were
reported to be in tip-top condition, and eager for the fray――Nick to
refurbish his tarnished reputation, and rub off the stain of
pusillanimity, and Sambo, as he said, “’cos him like to hab anoder
slap at Massa Ward, him so clebber at get away――but p’raps not dis
time;” and he shook his woolly nob like a black Burleigh. It was the
desire of the London division that, under the shadow of the untoward
result of the encounter between Owen Swift and Brighton Bill (March
13th, 1838), a postponement of the meeting should take place; but time
would not permit, in those days of slow communication, to have a
conference on the subject, so matters took their course. Ward, having
won the toss, named Bicester, in Oxfordshire (the recent scene of the
defeat of Byng Stocks, of Westminster, by Hammer Lane, of Birmingham),
a town distinguished for the jovial character and sporting
propensities of its inhabitants. Thither were the ropes and stakes
sent. The Commissary being laid up with the gout, and unable to
accompany them, Jack Clarke was deputed to officiate, he being on the
spot, and acting as trainer to Massa Sambo. As we feel best satisfied
when we write from personal observation, we may note that on Monday
afternoon we found ourselves comfortably seated in a room at the
“King’s Arms,” Bicester, a house distinguished for solid customers,
and them boasting a host of high sporting quality. There was no bustle
in the town, which at that time was quiet as a Quakers’ meeting; none
of the “old familiar faces” were visible. The London Fancy――and we
think they were right――had determined that all matches should be
postponed for a certain period. Hence, not a single familiar phiz
graced the scene. It is true the town was enlivened by the presence of
Sir Henry Peyton, with his spicy four-in-hand, and there, too, was
Lord Chetwynd, on his cover-hack; but we could not help thinking, as
his lordship gave us a sly nod of recognition, that there was a
curious expression in his jolly face, as he made us aware that there
had been “magisterial business” at the Town Hall, as a sort of reason
_why_ we saw him there. This was soon confirmed by a sporting friend,
whom we fearlessly set down as that _lusus naturæ_, “an honest
lawyer.” He told us, with regret, that “the Philistines were abroad,”
and that the Home Office, urged on by the twaddle of “My Grandmother”
(the _Morning Herald_), and the goody-goody papers, with the awful
denunciations of the supineness or complicity of the magistracy of
Cambridgeshire and Herts in the melancholy affair of Swift and Phelps,
had sent down warnings and counsels for extra vigilance to the police
and magistracy of Oxford and Bucks. That “all this was sooth” we had
afterwards reason to find. Sambo, we learned, had been at Lainton,
about two miles from the town, but, as a measure of precaution, he was
moved from a public to a private house, and in the domicile of an
honest yeoman met with that kindly hospitality by which this class of
our countrymen was characterised. Here he was thought perfectly safe,
and all that was now wanting was the arrival of Jem Ward, or some
emissary from him, to agree upon some less dangerous point of meeting.
It was understood that Ward had been advised to stop short of
Bicester, but it was fully expected that he would appear at
head-quarters to settle upon preliminaries. Every avenue was watched,
yet up to nine o’clock no tidings of him were heard, and although the
country was scoured over a circuit of three-and-twenty miles, after
nine o’clock, in search of him, and every village visited, his
presence could not be discovered, for the best of all reasons, that he
had stopped short at Banbury, and did not come forward till the
morning, nor send any person forward to announce his proximity. This
was more than mortifying, for it was soon seen that the magistrates of
Buckinghamshire became more active, and a constable was despatched by
the venerable and amatory Sir John Chetwood, with a warrant for the
apprehension of Sambo, which was backed by an Oxfordshire magistrate.
The constable thus entrusted was more than usually active in his
vocation, and endeavoured, by every means in his power, to ferret out
his sable prey: an activity, no doubt, very praiseworthy, but which
led him into an adventure far from agreeable, and certainly likely to
remain impressed on his memory. While grunting about, like a boar
looking for a pig-nut, he met with a wag who informed him, on a solemn
promise of secresy, that Sambo was stowed away in a _badger-box_,
which he knew to be placed in an enclosed paddock behind the house of
the honest lawyer to whom we have already alluded, and whose
zoological collection was known, far and near, as being of an
extensive and curious description. “A nod is as good as a wink to a
blind horse,” so Mister Constable, cock-sure of having marked down his
game, silently stole into the paddock, where stood the long
badger-box, of which he determined, from that instant, never to lose
sight until its occupant should disclose himself. Night was fast
approaching, but it was clear and fine, so, after duly reconnoitring,
the “copper” cautiously approached the box, and, tapping on the lid,
in soothing terms invited Mister Sutton to come out and surrender, as
he was “wanted,” or else, badger or no badger, he must be “drawn.” As
Sambo was about two miles off he made no answer, so the invitation was
repeated in more peremptory tones, but with no more success. “Bobby”
became irate at what he considered nigger obstinacy, so he turned the
button and thrust his hand into the sacking, and so into the round
hole at the top, with the view of lifting the lid. Rash experiment!
the lawful tenant――a badger, not of African, but of British breed――was
“at home,” but not to Home Office visitors. Without growl, bark, or
other warning, the sharp-toothed “varmint” revenged the violation of
his sanctum by seizing the digits of the assailant of his castle, and
nearly severing the top joints of at least three of his fingers. The
luckless constable raised so loud an exclamation that forth rushed a
favourite old retriever hight “Nelson,” who gave tongue so loudly
that, though “his bark was worse than his bite,” it was lucky he was
on the chain, or, perchance, the seat of the rural’s inexpressibles
might have been absent without leave before he succeeded in clearing
the low wall into the high road, whence he lost no time in making his
way to the village surgery, and thence, his dexter fin, as the
police-reporters say, “enveloped in surgical bandages,” he hastened to
“report” himself and his adventure to his superior officers. The
mischievous author of the hoax did not fail to spread the story of the
success of his severe practical joke, and for some time it was
dangerous, but not uncommon, for labourers and impertinent boys to
address the query to the Buckinghamshire constables of “Who drew the
badger?” without receiving a civil or satisfactory answer.

On Tuesday morning Sambo was still at the house of his friend, few
knowing his whereabouts; when it transpired that every route from
Bicester into Northamptonshire was closely watched to prevent the
escape of Sambo, or the approach of Ward. It was therefore determined
to cover his retreat by a “ruse,” which was thus arranged. A
countryman was engaged by a bribe to allow his face to be blacked with
cart-grease and soot, his neck encircled by Sambo’s colours (white
with a blue border), wrapped in a white box-cloth driving coat, and
sent off towards Oxford at as good a pace as a pair of posters could
carry him. But alas! great conceptions often meet with untoward
interruptions. One of the Buckinghamshire “badger-drawers” discovered
from a chawbacon lout the exact hiding place of the sable-fox, and
carried the intelligence to Sir John Chetwood; then returning, with
the baronet close at his heels, he boldly knocked at the door of the
house, which was opened by a servantgirl. Demanding to see her master,
and the wench stoutly refusing him admittance, he gallantly pulled out
a pistol, and presenting it, marched on in triumph. Walking into the
back-parlour, “from information he had received,” he at once
recognised the real Sambo, and, producing his warrant, made a quiet
capture of his prisoner. At this moment Lord Chetwynd, with
attendants, rode up and joined Sir John Chetwood, so that “the majesty
of the law” was fully represented at the capture of his Sable
Highness. On reaching the front of the house, however, Sambo made a
cunning and bold attempt at an escape from his “buckra” enemies. In
vain; he was quickly overtaken and secured, and forthwith conveyed to
Buckingham. Our friend the “honest lawyer” was not far off. He went
back to Bicester, took a postchaise and pair, enlisted a friend and
“householder,” and without hesitation followed the captive “Black
Prince,” put in the required sureties, and restored him to freedom.
Meantime the first news was received of Ward, that he and his friends
were at Middleton, a village three miles off, and were awaiting
Sambo’s arrival. It was now too late. A Mercury was despatched to Nick
and Co., advising him to make himself scarce, as he too might be
“wanted;” a hint which was in season, for, in an hour after, Lord
Chetwynd and company were on the road to Middleton, where they arrived
in time to find that the bird had flown. Ward, his brother, and
friends, of course returned to Liverpool, and Sambo, though “bound
over,” was at liberty to dance, sing, tumble, spar, and “jump Jem
Crow,” a free man in all things but a “free fight.”

Another twelvemonth of rustication ended in a match with Jem Bailey, a
12 stone Irishman (not “Bailey of Bristol”), and the fight was fixed
for January 14th, 1839, the stake £25 a side. This went off in a
forfeit by Bailey, as did another match made by Ward himself. In
October, however, after some clever and vicious “gloving,” and a very
strong expression of opinion by Bailey of Nick’s mode of “cutting” it
when “tackled,” two spirited gents, in the habit of frequenting Alec
Reid’s sparring-room, Frith Street, Soho, expressed a willingness to
back Bailey for £25 against Ward, who immediately found backers to
that amount among some amateurs in the art of self-defence, at Owen
Swift’s, in Tichborne Street. As the match was only made about a week
before the day fixed――October 18th, 1839――there was not much time
allowed for training. Ward went to Acton for two or three days, but
Bailey, we are informed, did not employ his leisure hours quite so
profitably as many considered he ought to have done under the
circumstances.

On the Thursday the whole of the stakes were deposited in the hands of
Owen Swift, at the “Coach and Horses,” Frith Street, Soho, in the
presence of a numerous assemblage of the Fancy, when a long discussion
ensued respecting the place where the fight should come off. On the
part of Ward it was contended that “down the river,” would be
preferable to any other place, inasmuch as they were the less likely
to be interfered with in that quarter than if they went out of town
per railroad, as the partisans of Bailey wished. It was, however,
decided that Ditton Marsh should be visited, and the majority of those
who were in the secret repaired to the Southampton terminus at Nine
Elms, by nine o’clock on the following morning (Friday), while some
who possessed fast “tits” preferred the road. The Fancy having
comfortably seated themselves in the train, in the full expectation of
not meeting with any annoyance by the presence of a “beak,” were not a
little flabbergasted by observing Mr. Hedger and several other
magistrates of Surrey enter one of the first-class carriages.

“What could they do there at that early hour?” was the very natural
inquiry, which query was not satisfactorily solved till the gentlemen
in Her Majesty’s commission took their departure at Kingston, where it
appears their presence was necessary at the Sessions. Never did the
lovers of boxing part company with their travelling companions with a
greater degree of satisfaction than they did with their worships.
Ditton Station having been announced by the attendants of the railway,
the train was nearly cleared of its passengers, and the veteran
Commissary and his coadjutor, Little Jack, were not long in fixing the
stakes and ropes at the further end of the common, on the left of the
station. Some delay, however, ensued in consequence of the articles
not stating that the men were to fight in accordance with the new
rules of the P.R., and the circumstance of several parties refusing to
take office under the old regulations. Alec Reid, who wished the fight
to proceed in accordance with the articles, at length gave way, and it
was agreed the new, and certainly more manly and humane laws, should
be adopted. All the necessary preliminaries were then adjusted, and
the men entered the ring.

Previous to the commencement of hostilities a good deal of betting
took place at 6 to 4 on Ward, and Bailey accepted those odds with an
eagerness which showed he had great confidence in himself.

Bailey, a native of the Emerald Isle, in height 5 feet 11 inches,
weighing 12 st. 2 lb., aged 28, was well known in the neighbourhood of
Norwich, where they thought him good enough to match him against the
renowned Brassey, of Bradford, on two occasions, on both of which he
was, of course, thrashed.

King Dick and Harry Holt, the “Cicero” of the Fancy, attended on Ward;
the Essex Youth and a gallant son of Mars waited on Bailey. All being
in readiness, the men peeled, and at twenty minutes past ten commenced


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Neither, from the circumstances above stated,
     looked quite up to the mark as regards condition, but a
     smile of confidence played on the features of both.
     Ward’s attitude was easier and more scientific than
     Bailey’s, who stood in a straggling and ungainly
     manner. They kept at a respectful distance from each
     other for some time, when Ward let fly with his left,
     and caught his man on the top of the head; an exchange
     of blows ensued, when they broke away from each other.
     Bailey, however, soon made play, and in the close Ward
     went down.

     2.――No damage done. Bailey came up smiling to the
     scratch. He tried it on with his right, but the hit was
     too round to take much effect on Ward’s side; the
     latter then went to work, but neither in their
     exchanges did any mischief. In the close Bailey tried
     for the cross-buttock, but he slipped and fell.

     3.――Both quickly resumed business, and as quickly
     closed, when some fibbing ensued, which Bailey had the
     best of, and both went down together. [Loud shouts for
     Bailey, from whose mouth, however, a little claret
     appeared.]

     4.――The smile on Bailey’s mug soon disappeared on Ward
     popping in his left on the nob sharply, and another on
     the sinister ogle. In the close Bailey was under.

     5.――Bailey made play, but received a clean counter-hit
     just above his right peeper, which evidently severed
     one of the small veins, for the crimson stream spurted
     forth in profusion; Bailey then closed on his opponent,
     who went down.

     6.――The left hand of Ward was evidently damaged from
     coming in contact with the knowledge box of Bailey, who
     made play with his right, but was admirably stopped; a
     close, Bailey bored to the ropes, when Ward tried the
     upper-cut, but missed his man, who dropped down at the
     corner.

     7.――Bailey came up smiling, and a good fighting round
     took place in favour of Ward, who again went down at
     the close to avoid any punishment he might receive at
     infighting.

     8.――After some sparring Ward shot out his left bang on
     the mug of Bailey, and kept countering him till they
     closed, when Nick cut work for a time by going down.
     [Much dissatisfaction was expressed at Ward’s conduct
     in dropping.]

     9.――The frontispiece of Bailey exhibited marks of
     severe punishment, and in addition to other hits, his
     left cheek-bone had received a nasty one, still he came
     up to his man courageously, and in trying it on with
     his right received a counter-hit, which however, missed
     the intended spot, and fell on the shoulder; a close,
     when Nick released himself in the usual way by going
     down.

     10.――Ward again at work with his left, which slightly
     fell on the nob; a close, and before Bailey could get a
     good hit at him, Nick dropped.

     11.――Bailey made play, but missed his antagonist, and
     in a scramble Ward fell.

     12.――The expressions of disapprobation at Ward’s
     continually going down were now so general that Ward
     smilingly exclaimed on coming up to the scratch
     “Bailey, don’t find fault; why should you?” Ward tried
     his left, but was stopped; he then put in his right,
     which slightly took effect on the nob; a rally, when
     Ward dropped on his knees, and Bailey was very near
     hitting him in that position.

     13.――Ward put in a chin-chopper; a rally to the ropes,
     and both down together, if anything, Ward under.

     14.――The left hand of Ward quickly visited the
     headpiece of Bailey, who rushed in, but it was “no go,”
     for his man went down as formerly.

     15.――Ward led off, but missed the intended visitation,
     when Bailey went in, and for once succeeded in giving
     Nick the upper cut, which made a slight incision over
     the eyebrow.

     16.――Bailey again felt Ward’s left on the canister, and
     the latter got away without a return, and was quickly
     down.

At this point, twenty-five minutes having elapsed, a policeman well
mounted was seen in the distance, and the combatants had the office to
“cut,” which they quickly did. The man in blue on arriving at the ring
pulled out his “toasting fork,” and requested an old farmer, named
Weston (who was also mounted, and had previously appeared to take
extreme interest in the battle), to point out the fighting men. The
jesuitical veteran, with evident pleasure, was about doing so, but
both men escaped unperceived to a barn opposite. As the policeman
expressed his determination to follow the parties, and prevent
hostilities, a council of war was held, and it was decided that the
train should be again had recourse to, and Woking Common the place of
rendezvous. The Woking station was reached a little after one, and in
less than half an hour the stakes were fixed in a retired spot at the
end of the lane across the Common.

Here seventeen more rounds were fought in about thirty minutes, when
the same style of fighting ensued as that above described, Ward,
however, not going down _quite_ so frequently as heretofore. Bailey
received additional pepper on his mug, while Ward scarcely exhibited
any marks of punishment. Many of the rounds were remarkable for their
non-effect on either side, and their scrambling struggles were more
like those of two big boys at school than men in the P.R. In the 12th
round Bailey had the best of it, but “bad was the best.”

A dispute arose in the 15th round, Bailey having slipped down without
a blow, but the fight was ordered to be proceeded with. In the next
bout, after a short rally, Ward dropped to avoid in-fighting, when
Bailey certainly struck Nick on the ribs while he was on his knees.
The referee, however, gave a contrary opinion, and the men came to the
scratch for the 17th time at this place, and the 33rd in the whole.
They soon went to work, and immediately after closing Ward went down,
when Bailey, it was said, again struck him foul.

The referee was once more appealed to, who decided that Bailey,
although evidently accidentally, had hit his man when down. Ward
immediately proceeded to the corner to untie the colours, which was
resisted by Bailey, who “pitched into him,” and bored him with his
neck against the ropes. They were soon separated, and Ward left the
ring with his friends, Bailey reluctantly following.

The fight, _Bell’s Life_ remarks, did not in any way come up to the
expectations of those who had travelled so far to witness it. Bailey
is as game a man as ever entered the ring, but he has very little
knowledge of the art, and as for countering, it appears such an idea
never entered his head. His position is also bad, being too wide and
straggling. Ward is a scientific boxer, but he wants determination and
the _heart_ to go in and punish his opponent when an opportunity
presents itself, many of which Bailey gave him, but they were not
taken advantage of. We heard him declare that he had received orders
to fight cautiously, but his frequent “dropping” at close quarters
cannot, notwithstanding his instructions, be considered commendable.
Had the fight been continued, we have no doubt Bailey must have been
defeated, although his courage might have protracted the battle for a
much longer time, for in each succeeding round he was receiving
punishment without returning it with any visible effect. Ward’s left
hand was puffed, which, with the exception of the slight cut over the
eye, was all the injury he appeared to have met with, while the
frontispiece of his opponent was very much disfigured by the continual
jobs from Ward’s left hand.

The majority of the spectators left Woking by the three o’clock train,
and were conveyed to town, a distance of 33 miles, in about two
minutes over the hour.

This affair was followed by another match, and a deposit of £10; but
at the second deposit at Peter Crawley’s, on the 14th January, 1840,
Ward was announced as “too unwell to fight,” and the stakes down were
handed over to Bailey, at Mrs. Owen’s, Belgrave Mews, on the
succeeding Tuesday; Bailey on the occasion proposing a match with Deaf
Burke, which “ended in smoke.”

In May, Nick Ward was matched for £50 with Brassey, of Bradford, but
this also went off in a refusal on the part of Brassey’s friends to
allow their man to fight for less than £100.

At length, in July, the long-talked-of tourney between Nick and the
Deaf’un took shape and substance, and £50 were down, to be made £100,
for the men to meet on the 22nd of September, 1840, over 50 and under
100 miles from London. To that day we shall, therefore, come, without
further preface.

“Thayre you air agin,” as Paddy said to the pig in his potato-trench――and
sure enough “thayre we were, body and bones,” on Tuesday, September
22nd, in the self-same field, on the borders of Oxfordshire, in which
Isaac Dobell (lately defunct) whacked his friend Bailey the butcher,
on the 7th of April, 1828; and we can only regret that in modern times
we have not had more frequent opportunities of witnessing those manly
demonstrations of “fair play” which the sports of the Ring are so
admirably calculated to afford. But how did you get there? Why, to
tell the truth, as far as we were personally concerned, with tolerable
ease――although not without incurring divers dangers by “flood and
field”――_bekase_ the Commissary had kindly engaged us a postchaise;
and we regret that many of our friends were not equally fortunate. To
be plain――the fight was fixed to come off within sixty, and above
fifty miles from London, on the Liverpool line, and hence the Deaf’un,
who won the toss for choice of ground, named Wolverton, the first
“grubbing bazaar” on the Birmingham railway (about fifty-one miles
from the Euston Square station), as the point of rendezvous. Thither,
on the day before, the Commissary and his deputy (Tom Oliver and Jack
Clarke) repaired with their _materiel_, and it was ascertained that
“the Deaf’un and Co.” had taken up their quarters at the “Bull,” at
Stony Stratford, while “Nick Ward and Co.” were domiciled in a village
not far distant.

The morning broke most inauspiciously, and heavy showers damped the
ardour of many a boxing patron, who, instead of advancing to
Buckinghamshire, quietly sojourned in _Bedfordshire_. Still, there was
a fair “turn out” of spicy dare-devils, who were not to be scared by
trifles from their favourite pastime, hence the morning trains took
down a moderate sprinkling of “the right sort.” On reaching Wolverton,
however, great was their dismay at finding that there were but two
postchaises at that station――both of which had been pre-engaged――and
that of other vehicles there was a similar scarcity. Scouts were sent
to Stony Stratford, but in vain; for the few that were there had
already been secured by the early birds, and thus “a pilgrimage
through the Slough of Despond” stared them in the face. Poor Stony
Stratford is, alas! not what it was before railroads were in fashion.
It is reduced to a mere sleepy, out-of-the-way village, instead of
being as, in our time, a centre of bustle and prosperity: indeed, in
recent memory it was the high and popular road to Birmingham,
distinguished by the number of mails and stage-coaches which “changed”
there, and the continuous demand for post-horses. Alas! “The Cock,”
the sign of its principal inn, has ceased to “crow,” and the host,
like Dennis Bulgruddery, often calls in vain upon his ostler Dan, to
know “if he sees a customer coming that way?” Happily, Tuesday’s call
enabled Dan to respond――not that there was a customer coming, but
many, and thus the ordinary gloom of every-day melancholy was roused
into cheerfulness and hope. All the nags were soon engaged, and “the
Cock” without and “the cocks” within chuckled with satisfaction. The
“Bull,” at which the Burkites were assembled, also became rampant, and
“sich a gittin up stairs” had not been witnessed for months.

As the day advanced the bells of the parish church rang a merry peal,
“set a-going,” as the facetious Jem Burn said, “in honour of the
occasion;” but, as we afterwards learnt, with the double intent of
announcing a couple of village weddings. By a singular combination,
the face of the clock of the said parish church, in gilt letters,
forewarned the travellers of the fact that it was either the handiwork
of “_T. Oliver_ and _J. Clarke_” or had been erected or repaired
during the official service of churchwardens bearing those popular
names; a fact which produced on the “dials” of the venerable
Commissary and his deputy, as they waited for orders, a grin of
scarcely repressible self-sufficiency. The “office” was duly given as
to “the where,” and away went the Commissary and his pioneers to
Deanshanger, about four miles distant, in the county of Bucks,
followed by a goodly multitude, horse and foot, embracing a large
proportion of British yeomen, to whom the dripping weather gave a
timely relief from the labours of the field. On reaching Deanshanger,
however, the fact of a couple of mounted “rural blues” being abroad
rendered it prudent to move on, and hence the arena was finally formed
at Lillingstone Level, on the estate of Colonel Delappe, on the
borders of Oxfordshire; the journey to which locality, “through the
woods and through the woods,” was trying alike to man and horse. In
truth, a more heathenish road never was travelled since the times of
the Druids; nor ever did the modern invention of springs undergo a
more severe ordeal, while the be-bogged pedestrian railed with bitter
inveteracy against the railroads which had subjected them to such
unforeseen difficulties, by causing a dearth of the ordinary modes of
“civilised conveyance.” However, “barring all pother,” we at length
reached our final destination, and there found the lists in fitting
preparation.

It was now nearly one o’clock, and all was completed; but, as might
have been said to the mob who surrounded Tyburn tree, awaiting the
arrival of Jack Sheppard, “there’s no fun till the principals arrive,”
so here there was no fun till Ward presented his agreeable mug. It is
true that the Deaf’un shied his castor into the ring before one, and
claimed forfeit in consequence of the absence of “Young” not “_Old
Nick_;” but as the appointed ground had been changed, and Ward and his
friends had to scramble through the bogs with the assistance only of a
one-horse cart, sufficient excuse was afforded for his absence, and
the claim was premature.

At last the signal of approach was given, and hailed with
satisfaction. At a quarter past one Ward was on the ground, and the
Deaf’un, who had retired to his drag, was handed forth amidst loud
cheers.

Now came “the tug of war.” The belligerents entered the ring in high
spirits, the Deaf’un attended by Harry Preston and Sutton, the
pedestrian; Nick Ward by Dick Curtis and Levi Eckersley. They shook
hands with mutual good will, and having tied their _fogles_ to the
stake (blue and white spot for Nick, and fancy white and green for
Burke), they tossed for choice of corners, which was won by the
Deaf’un. Each immediately proceeded to his toilette, and, “in the
wringing off of a door-knocker,” was prepared for action. This was at
twenty-five minutes to two, and as the rain had ceased, a “comfortable
mill” was anticipated by a vast multitude, horse and foot, which
surrounded the magic circle, and which was every moment swelling from
fresh arrivals through cross-country paths.

On presenting themselves at the scratch the fronts of the heroes were
duly scanned and criticised. Burke, for an old ’un, who had contended
in seventeen prize battles, of which he had won fifteen and lost but
two, looked remarkably well. His condition was quite up to the mark,
and easy confidence sat proudly on his veteran phiz. His ample muscle
was finely developed, and his weight was close upon 12st. 4lb. His
nether extremities were clothed in a pair of drawers, composed of
green and white, the combined remnants of bygone uniforms in which he
had figured as the victor. Nick Ward was also in beautiful condition,
and, in appearance, was all his friends could desire. His weight was
about 12st. 10lb., and he had the advantage in height and length, as
well as youth and freshness, over his opponent. Burke was born in
December, 1809, and Ward in April, 1813, so that there was nearly four
years’ difference between them. Previous to setting-to the current
odds were 6 and 7 to 4 on Ward; but 2 to 1 had been laid, and his
friends booked success as certain.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――The Deaf’un came up smiling, and Ward quiet,
     but serious. After a good deal of dodging, in which
     neither seemed inclined to commence, Nick tried his
     left, but was neatly stopped. Burke had evidently made
     up his mind to the “waiting game,” foreseeing that if
     he “led off,” the long left-handed prop of Nick, which
     was always ready, would be inconvenient to his
     frontispiece. Ward seemed as little inclined to go to
     close quarters, but again tried his left, which was
     again stopped. In the third attempt he touched the
     Deaf’un slightly on the cheek. Again did the Deaf’un
     stop the left, and Ward, putting his hands down, looked
     as if he would if he could, while the Deaf’un,
     following his example, grinned and exclaimed “It won’t
     do, Nick.” Into position again, but Nick extremely
     cautious, and evidently not desirous of close quarters.
     Burke beckoned him to come, but the hint was more civil
     than welcome. Nick let fly with his left, but the
     Deaf’un caught it on his elbow. More hitting and
     stopping, when Nick crept in and let fly with his left,
     but was admirably countered. Nick’s knuckles, however,
     reached home first, and a slight tinge of blood was
     visible on the Deaf’un’s left cheek (first blood for
     Ward). The mark of the counter-hit of Burke also became
     apparent on Nick’s left cheek, and this was “trick and
     tie.” Again did they counter-hit with the left, and the
     Deaf’un showed blood from his mouth. Ward put his hands
     down again, and they looked at each other with
     patience. Burke clearly determined not to play Nick’s
     game, but to wait for his onslaught. Nick recommenced
     his manœuvring, but found the Deaf’un so well covered
     that he dared not try it, and he dodged about as
     before, trying the patience of the spectators, who
     repeatedly cried, “Go in and fight” Out went his left,
     but Burke stopped it neatly. Nick drew back, and the
     Deaf’un amused the folks with a few of his “hankey
     pankey” antics, and shaking his head, exclaimed,
     “’Twon’t do dis time, Nicks.” Long sparring; Nick hit
     short, and the Deaf’un popped his thumb to his nose.
     Curtis called on Nick to shoot with his left, but it
     was no go, and the Deaf’un, who can hear when he likes,
     cried out, “You knows all about it betters as we can
     tell you.” The Deaf’un stole a march and popped in his
     left on Nick’s cheek (cries of “Bravo, Deaf’un!” from
     his friends). Long pauses and mutual stopping.
     (Twenty-three minutes had expired, but no mischief
     done; Jem Burn called for a pillow, and Tommy Roundhead
     told the Deaf’un he had ordered a leg of mutton to be
     ready by eleven at night.) Nick at last nailed the
     Deaf’un on the jaw with his left and got away (cheers
     for Nick). A jackdaw, which flew close over the ring
     several times, now relieved the monotony of the sport,
     but on seeing his big brother, Molyneux, he cut it.
     Mutual stopping and waiting, but no business done. The
     Deaf’un put in his right on the body, and at last they
     got to a rally; heavy hits were exchanged, and the
     Deaf’un closed for in-fighting; but Nick fell, the
     Deaf’un on him. (This round lasted thirty-seven
     minutes, and excited general displeasure, from its want
     of animation.)

     2.――Both men showed marks of pepper from the close
     contact in the last round. Burke bled from the mouth,
     and Ward a little from the ear; but there was no real
     mischief done. Again did Burke wait and Ward stand off,
     still disinclined for close quarters. “Why don’t you go
     and fight?” resounded from all sides. “I’m ready,”
     cried the Deaf’un; “why don’t he come?” Fifty minutes
     had elapsed. The men approached and retreated several
     times, till at length heavy counters with the left were
     exchanged, and away; more dodging. The Deaf’un crept in
     and caught Ward under the left arm with his right; had
     it been over the shoulder and reached the ear, it would
     have told tales. Jem Ward exclaimed, “The day’s long
     enough, take your time, Nick.” “Ay,” cried the Deaf’un,
     “it will be long enough for me to lick him, and you
     afterwards.” Nick now got closer, counter-hits were
     tried, but stopped; each brought up his right at the
     jaw and closed, and the Deaf’un was disposed to
     continue his work, but Ward fell on his knees. The
     round lasted twenty minutes, and fifty-seven minutes
     had passed away.

     3.――Again was the long and tedious system of waiting
     adopted. Each dropped his hands, and Nick scratched his
     head, and rubbed his breast, but did anything but go in
     to fight, although Dick Curtis assured him the Deaf’un
     would “stand it” The Deaf’un laughed and shook his
     head, tried his right, but was short; in a second
     attempt he was more successful, and caught Ward on the
     jaw, just under the old cheek hit. Ward looked serious.
     At last Ward rushed in left and right; blows were
     exchanged, but the round was closed by Ward getting
     down. He was clearly playing the safe game of caution,
     and had no desire to throw a chance away. One hour and
     forty-three minutes had elapsed.

     4.――Cries to Ward of “Go in,” but he was deaf to the
     incitement, and “bided his time;” finally he stole upon
     the Deaf’un, hit left and right, and for a moment there
     was some tidy in-fighting, and a few exchanges; in the
     close the Deaf’un was down. Nick, we thought, hit
     open-handed. On the Deaf’un rising his “bellows
     heaved,” and it was clear this long sparring delay was
     searching his wind, while his damaged right leg seemed
     to get weak from long standing.

     5.――The Deaf’un let fly with his right and caught Ward
     on the shoulder――well meant, but too low. Counter-hits
     with the left, when Ward planted three left-handed hits
     in succession on Burke’s nob. Burke slightly countered,
     but was getting slow, and bled from the mouth and nose.
     Ward improved his advantage and again popped in his
     left three or four times. The Deaf’un went wildly to
     work, but was short with his right, and his
     counter-hits with the left did not get well home. In a
     scrambling close Ward was down, and Burke was evidently
     distressed and not firm on his pins (4 to 1 offered on
     Ward).

     6.――Ward, seeing the condition of his man, determined
     to improve his advantage――popped in a left-hander on
     the Deaf’un’s eyebrow, which he cut; a rally followed,
     and good hits were exchanged; in the close Ward down. A
     blow from Ward’s right, below Burke’s waistband,
     excited some discontent, but it was not objected to by
     the umpire.

     7.――Burke stopped Nick’s left, and planted his right
     counter-hits with the left, and a smart rally. Nick hit
     with his hand open, but the returns were rapid, and in
     the close Ward went down.

     8.――Both showed punishment, but the Deaf’un had the
     balance against him and his left eye was swollen. A
     spirited rally, although wild; the Deaf’un was slow and
     short with his right. In the close Ward fell on his
     hands and knees. He still continued to play the careful
     game.

     9.――Burke steadied himself, stopped Nick’s left with
     great precision, popping in his right heavily on Ward’s
     body. Nick popped in his left and got to a close; the
     Deaf’un fibbed, but Ward soon got down, the Deaf’un
     falling by his side.

     10.――The Deaf’un hit short with his right, but Nick
     planted his left, when the Deaf’un bored in and fell on
     his knees――Ward withholding an intended blow in time.

     11.――(Two hours had now elapsed.) Nick hit short with
     his left, and the Deaf’un nodded. Counter-hits on the
     masticators. The Deaf’un planted his right on Nick’s
     nose, and drew claret. Nick made play with his left,
     and the Deaf’un fell on his knees. The visit to Nick’s
     smelling organ seemed anything but acceptable.

     12.――Ward’s proboscis bleeding; but he seemed not to
     have lost his spirits, and let fly his left, which
     Burke stopped. Heavy counter-hits with the left, and
     the Deaf’un delivered a good body-blow with his right;
     Nick in with his left, and went down. It was now
     thought to be anybody’s fight, and the odds were
     reduced to 6 to 4 on Ward; but still it was apparent
     that the Deaf’un was distressed, while Ward was fresh,
     and careful of his corpus.

     13.――Nick led off with his left, and followed the
     Deaf’un to his corner. The Deaf’un stood on the
     defensive, but received two or three heavy hits right
     and left. In the close he fell under the ropes, and
     Nick also went down.

     14.――Nick saw his man was abroad, and the moment he was
     up set to work left and right. The Deaf’un fought
     boldly, but was slow, and had the worst of the
     punishment; still he made some good round hits, and
     Ward was down.

     15.――Nick went to work left and right; the Deaf’un
     became groggy, and fought wildly, missing several
     blows. Both down, Ward under.

     16.――Nick now saw it was all in his favour: he hit as
     he pleased left and right; the Deaf’un, all abroad, hit
     wildly. In the close Ward down, and the Deaf’un on him,
     weak.

     17.――The Deaf’un came up quite groggy, when Ward went
     to work left and right, having it all his own way; he
     drove Burke against the ropes, upon which he threw him
     on his back, and, while in that position, hit him
     heavily with his right till he fell over; cries of
     “_foul!_” here burst from the Deaf’un’s friends, in
     which others joined, and a general rush was made to the
     ring, overturning all those who sat close to it,
     including ourselves. The umpires disagreed, of course,
     but not being close to the referee, had to go round to
     him: pending this, Nick Ward stood up in the ring,
     while the Deaf’un was picked up and seated on Sutton’s
     knee. At last the referee was reached, and on being
     appealed to, pronounced, as he was justified in doing,
     “fair.” It was said “time” was then called, although,
     from our position, involved in a crush, we did not hear
     it. The hat was immediately thrown up, and the battle
     was claimed for Ward. (We ought to state that during
     the last four or five rounds there was a tremendous
     fall of hail and rain.)

     Subsequent to the termination of the 17th round, and
     previous to the referee giving his judgment, it was
     stated that while Deaf Burke was seated on his second’s
     knee Nick Ward went up to him and struck him twice or
     thrice in the face, and also struck Preston, and
     subsequently there was a battle raging between him and
     Preston, and then between Preston and Jem Ward, close
     to the referee. We have been further informed that if
     “time” was called, Burke refused to prolong the fight,
     alleging that Ward had struck him “foul” while on his
     second’s knee, and before the decision on the previous
     question had been given. With respect to all this, we
     confess we are unable to give an opinion; because we
     saw no part of it, being glad to escape from the
     overwhelming mass by which we were overborne. Our
     impression at the time was that the decision of the
     referee was conclusive, and that Burke was unable to
     come again, although, from the time occupied in the
     discussion, it is not improbable he might have
     recovered his wind and have once more met his man;
     still, in our opinion, with very little chance of
     turning the scale in his favour; but there is no
     calculating on the chapter of accidents. Ward walked
     from the ring in full vigour, and was seen walking
     about little the worse for wear, beyond the closure of
     his left eye, and we believe he would have seconded
     Corbett in the next fight had it been permitted. The
     Deaf’un was conducted to his carriage, and, like Ward,
     on recovering his wind was not materially damaged. He
     contended he was entitled to the stakes from Ward’s
     alleged foul conduct. Ward was so elated that he boldly
     challenged the winner of the coming great fight between
     Caunt and Brassey for £100――a challenge in which his
     brother Jem heartily joined.

     REMARKS.――We must say that in this battle Burke
     exceeded our expectations――his condition was far
     superior to that in which he fought Bendigo, and his
     style of fighting was excellent. He no longer gave his
     head as heretofore, but got it well out of mischief,
     and stopped beautifully, until exhausted by the
     protracted character of Ward’s tactics, and the failure
     of his knee, on which he could not be persuaded to wear
     a cap, when he became slow, and was fatally exposed to
     Ward’s rapid and severe deliveries with his left. He
     fought manfully, and with no more than proper caution,
     and had Ward been disposed, would have joined issue in
     the first round. Ward, however, evidently fought to
     orders; both he and his friends knew that while Burke’s
     vigour was undiminished close contact was dangerous;
     and Ward has a very strong antipathy to punishment
     which can be avoided. This he showed, not only from his
     so long stopping out, but by his getting down at the
     end of the early rounds. The moment he saw he had got
     the Deaf’un safe, he threw off all reserve, and his
     youth, quickness, and vigour enabled him to gain an
     easy victory, which the increasing slowness and
     wildness of the Deaf’un rendered more certain. Of his
     courage, however, we cannot say much――he wants “that
     within which passeth show,” and will never make “a
     kill-devil.”

The very next day the following notice was served upon the
stakeholder:――

     “I do hereby give you notice not to deliver up the stakes to
     the opposite party in the fight between me and Nick Ward, as
     I hereby claim the same from having received foul blows from
     my opponent, Nick Ward, while on my second’s knee, and
     before ‘Time’ was called. One of the umpires bears evidence
     that the last statement is correct, as a friend of the other
     umpire (Nick Ward’s) had taken away the only watch used for
     time-keeping, while he and my second, Harry Preston, were
     appealing to the referee with respect to a prior foul blow.
     My reason for entering the protest is in order that a
     meeting may be obtained with the referee and an appointed
     number of friends of each party, so that a proper and just
     arbitration may be obtained. I shall be prepared at that
     meeting to produce affidavits in confirmation of what I
     assert. My backers hold you liable for the amount of the
     stakes.
                           
     “24th September, 1849.              “(Signed) JAMES BURKE.”

To this is added the following certificate from Burke’s umpire:――

     “NICK WARD AND BURKE.――I hereby declare that no ‘Time’ was
     called after the appeal to the referee.”

Thus it would seem that this affair came to a wrangle, one of the
misfortunes which arise from the headstrong folly with which the
surrounding spectators rush to the ring the moment a dispute arises.
Had they kept their places, nothing could have been more simple than
the issue. The umpires disagreeing, the referee would at once have
said “fair” or “foul;” and in the former, as decidedly must have been
the case in this instance, “time” would have been called, and the men
would have fought on, or he who refused to walk to the scratch would
have lost the battle. But now comes a new position, all owing to the
irregularity described, and of which we are persuaded neither the
umpires nor referee had any knowledge whatever, except from hearsay.
The obtrusion of any person within the ring, or close to the ring,
until the fight shall have been fairly decided, is obviously wrong,
and its mischief is here clearly demonstrated. The matter was now
hedged round with difficulty, the decision of which could only be
given by the appointed referee, and as he could not see the act
complained of, his judgment was founded on the evidence submitted to
him.

This decision quickly came, and was in favour of Ward, to whom the
stakes were duly paid over.

Ward was now at the top of the tree, and confidence in his powers
seemed to have come with victory. After sundry cartels and haggling
about preliminaries, Caunt having defeated Brassey in October, Nick
challenged Caunt for the honour of the title of “Champion.” Ben
responded, nothing loth, and the subjoined articles were formulated by
“the high contracting plenipotentaries”:――

     “Articles of Agreement entered into this 8th day of
     December, 1840, between Benjamin Caunt and Nicholas
     Ward――The said Ben Caunt agrees to fight the said Nick Ward,
     a fair stand-up fight, in a four-and-twenty foot roped ring,
     half minute time, within sixty miles of London, on Tuesday,
     the 2nd of February, 1841, for £100 a side, according to the
     provisions of the new rules. In pursuance of this agreement,
     £20 a side are now deposited; a second deposit of £10 a side
     to be made on Thursday, the 17th of December, at Young Dutch
     Sam’s; a third deposit of £10 a side on Monday, the 21st of
     December, at Peter Crawley’s; a fourth deposit of £10 a
     side, on Thursday, the 31st of December, at Jem Ward’s,
     Liverpool; a fifth deposit of £10 a side, on Friday, the 8th
     of January, 1841, at Owen Swift’s; a sixth deposit of £10 a
     side, on Thursday, the 14th of January, at Young Dutch
     Sam’s; a seventh deposit of £10 a side, on Monday, the 18th
     of January, at Peter Crawley’s; and the eighth and last
     deposit of £10 a side, on Thursday, the 28th of January, at
     the same house: the said deposits to be made between the
     hours of eight and ten in the evening, or the party failing
     to forfeit the money down. The choice of place to be decided
     at the last deposit by toss. The men to be in the ring
     between the hours of twelve and one o’clock, or the party
     absent to forfeit the battle-money, unless an earlier hour
     shall be mutually agreed upon at the last deposit, to which
     hour the same forfeiture shall be applicable. Two umpires
     and a referee to be chosen on the ground; in case of dispute
     the decision of the latter to be conclusive. Should
     magisterial interference take place, the stakeholder to name
     the next time and place of meeting, if possible on the same
     day. The use of resin or other powder to the hands during
     the battle to be considered foul, and the money not to be
     given up till fairly won or lost by a fight.

                              “Signed――for Caunt――PETER CRAWLEY.
                                   “Do., for Ward――SAMUEL EVANS.”

On the 23rd of February, then, this anxiously anticipated meeting took
place, but resulted in a manner anything but satisfactory to the
admirers of manly pugilism.

On the match being made, the men were quickly in training, Caunt under
the wing of Peter Crawley, at Hatfield, near Barnet, and Nick Ward
under the able supervision of Peter Taylor, near Liverpool. In point
of condition there was no fault to be found; both were perfectly up to
the mark, and in all respects judiciously prepared for their coming
struggle.

According to the articles it was provided that the combat should take
place within 60 miles of London. The choice of place was to be decided
by toss, and this was won by the backer of Caunt, who named the
vicinity of the Andover Road Station, on the Southampton Railway, as
the place of meeting; thus imposing upon Nick Ward and his friends the
necessity of coming a distance of upwards of 270 miles, after the
Saturday morning, on which day only they could receive notice of the
fixture. This circumstance produced a good deal of sore feeling among
the Ward-ites, and on the morning of battle led to some angry
expressions. We certainly think that the laws of “give and take”
should have been observed in this instance, and that it was anything
but considerate to have imposed so long a journey upon an honourable
opponent. We believe that the selection rather arose from a desire to
give “a turn” to the folks of Hampshire, than from any wish to take an
unfair advantage of Ward. How this love of the “Hampshire hogs” was
returned the vicissitudes hereafter described will show.

On the Sunday, Caunt and Hammer Lane, who were to exhibit in the same
ring, arrived at the “Vine,” at Stockbridge, about ten miles from the
Winchester Station, where they were joined by a select circle of their
backers and friends, and on the day following Nick Ward and Sullivan
(the opponent of Hammer Lane) reached the Andover Road Station,
accompanied by Jem Ward, Peter Taylor, and other friends and admirers,
to the great comfort of the railway officials, who obtained on that
and the succeeding day a profitable accession of passengers. The
owners of the houses of entertainment in the neighbourhood were not
less delighted, but many, from the want of accommodation, proceeded to
Winchester, where their patronage was equally acceptable. On Monday
evening it was ascertained beyond a doubt that the “Hampshire hogs”
were as stubborn as some of their namesakes in other counties, and the
hostility of the beaks to the manly demonstrations of fair play in the
Prize Ring was grunted forth by sundry official leaders of the rural
police, by whom, however, it is due to say, every courtesy consistent
with their situation was displayed. This fact created additional
unpopularity towards the original author of the disappointment, who
was not less mortified than his grumbling opponents. There was no help
for it, however, and in the evening it was agreed that both parties
should meet the next morning at the village of Sutton, about four
miles from the station, there to determine on the line of march. The
Caunt-ites having ascertained that the affair might come off without
interruption in the county of Wilts, proposed an adjournment in that
direction; but as this step would have carried the Ward-ites some 14
or 15 miles beyond the stipulated distance of 60 miles from London,
they peremptorily refused to budge an inch across the limit laid down
in the articles, and the road back towards London was the only
direction in which they would consent to proceed. This was the state
of things on Monday evening, and on Tuesday morning, at half-past ten,
the village of Sutton displayed a dense congregation of all classes,
from the high-titled nob to the wooden-soled chawbacon. Carriages of
all sorts, from Winchester, Andover, Stockbridge, Odiham, and all the
surrounding post-towns, as well as from London and elsewhere, were
huddled together in tangled confusion, anxiously waiting to receive
the authorised “office” as to the road they should take. Among these
the Commissary, in a light chaise cart, with the indispensable
_materiel_ of his calling, occupied a prominent position, while the
belligerents in their respective drags patiently waited the order for
advance. Amidst the turmoil, the superintendent and the inspectors of
the rural police, attended by a number of constables, some on
horseback and some in chaise carts, were preparing to do their duty,
and to see the expectant multitude fairly out of their jurisdiction.

A council of war having been held at the head inn, Crookham Common, on
the borders of Berkshire, and within three and a half miles of
Newbury, was finally agreed upon as the scene of action, a distance of
upwards of sixteen miles, through a country not very agreeably
distinguished by a succession of steep hills, the ascent and descent
of which tended not a little to retard the speed of the travellers,
and still more to try the mettle of the nags upon whom this additional
labour was imposed, while hundreds of the ten-toed amateurs were
altogether thrown out of the sport. At Whitchurch the inhabitants were
rather astonished at the sudden incursion of the cavalcade. Here there
was a general halt for refreshment for man and beast, and, most
ominously, the carriage in which Hammer Lane was placed broke down; an
unfortunate fracture which was imitated by many other vehicles, which,
for this particular occasion, had been drawn from a retirement that
previous wear and tear had led their owners to consider perpetual.
After a short time “forward” was again the order of the day, and
King’s Clere was reached in due course. Here was another halt,
indispensable to men and cattle, and many of the jaded horses were for
a time placed in stables, while the bonifaces received ample proofs of
the beneficial effects resulting to the human appetite when whetted
against the rough edge of a hard frost and a bracing atmosphere. It
was now ascertained that the “land of promise” was within three miles
of the village, and the Commissary was sent forward to make the
necessary preparations for action, while the horses of the police,
sharing the fate of their companions, were so knocked up that their
masters determined to perform the rest of their journey to the verge
of the county on foot, heartily sick of the ungracious office assigned
them. In half an hour the general body made their final move, and,
crossing the river Enborne, at last made their exit from the
inhospitable county of Hants, and luckily sustained no further
impediment. They reached the battle-field on Crookham Common about
half-past three, quickly forming a spacious circle round the ring,
which had been admirably prepared by the commissariat department. The
ground was thinly covered with snow, and was as hard as adamant from
the intensity of the frost, while a cutting breeze from the east,
sweeping over the elevation on which the common is placed, left little
ground of regret among those whose customary visits to their barbers
had been neglected from the rapidity of their morning movements, as
they were shaved free of cost. The assemblage, if not as numerous as
might have been anticipated had not the move taken place, was in the
honest sense of the word respectable, and many persons of _bonâ fide_
distinction, both as to rank and station in society, studded the
lively circle.

The umpires having been chosen, the difficulty of selecting a referee
was presented in the same unpleasant aspect as in the then recent
fight between Hannan and Broome,[23] but was at length got over, after
a considerable argumentation, in the selection of a gentleman who, if
not professionally engaged in the business of the Ring, was fully
competent to decide any dispute which might arise, and who certainly
discharged the duties of his unpleasant office with becoming firmness
and determination, and, we must add, with perfect impartiality.

All being now prepared for combat, the men entered the ring, greeted
by the cheers of their friends. Caunt came forward, attended by Tass
Parker and Johnny Broome, all sporting their “yellow men,” while Nick
Ward made his bow under the friendly introduction of Dick Curtis and
Harry Holt, each of whom displayed a fogle of blue and white spots.
The men instantly advanced, and shook hands with apparent good-humour,
Ward looked rather serious, while Caunt exhibited a nonchalance and
gaiety which proved that he regarded the coming engagement with
anything but personal apprehension. The betting round the ring at this
moment was 5 to 4 on Caunt, with ready takers; and the preliminaries
having been fully adjusted, the joust commenced.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On getting into position, the scientific
     manner in which Ward presented himself, with his arms
     well up, prepared to stop with his right and shoot with
     his left, gave evident tokens of his being an
     accomplished member of the scientific school. Caunt
     also held his arms well up, but with a degree of
     awkwardness anything but calculated to lead the
     spectators to assume that he had taken his degree as a
     “Master of Arts.” He had evidently made up his mind to
     lose no time in commencing operations; he advanced upon
     his man, while Ward stepped back; Caunt, after a
     flourish or two of his mawleys, let fly with his left,
     but was stopped; Ward in return popped in his left and
     right slightly, and after a wild rally, in which
     neither hit with precision, and in which some slight
     returns were made, Ward’s left creating a blushing
     tinge on the big’un’s cheek, they closed, when Ward
     dropped, evidently disinclined to luxuriate in the
     embrace of his opponent.

     2.――Again the big ’un came up ripe for mischief, and
     made play left and right, but was neatly stopped; Ward
     then popped in his left, catching his antagonist on the
     nose; both then fought merrily left and right, but
     there a want of precision in Ward’s deliveries, his
     left passing the head of Caunt like “the idle wind,”
     and from the slippery state of the ground it was
     obvious that neither could obtain firm footing. Nick,
     however, contrived to plant two or three left-handed
     pops, and the round concluded by both slipping down.
     (Loud and encouraging shouts for Ward, whose friends
     seemed to deem it necessary to cheer him on to hopes of
     victory.)

     3.――Ward came up steady, prepared for the stop or the
     shoot. He waited for the attack, which was soon
     commenced by Caunt with vigorous but wild
     determination. He stopped left and right, but in his
     returns was short, his visitations not reaching their
     intended point of contact. Both in fact missed their
     blows, and no real mischief was done. Caunt rushed to a
     close, but Ward, still resolved to foil the grappling
     propensity of his opponent, slipped down.

     4.――Caunt came up resolved to do, but wild and awkward
     in his mode of attack. Nick waited for him, his left
     ready to pop. Caunt hit out with his left, but missed,
     and Nick in the return was out of distance.
     Counter-hitting with the left. Both stopped intended
     visitations. Heavy exchanges left and right, in which
     Caunt caught a stinger on the forehead and the nose,
     from the former of which blood was drawn, and declared
     for Ward amidst deafening shouts and exclamations of
     “It’s all your own!” A wild rally followed, in which
     Caunt caught Ward a crack on the nob with his right. In
     the close Caunt caught Ward in his arms, but he again
     went down.

     5.――Caunt tried a feint to draw his man, but Nick was
     too leary. He preserved his own position, evidently
     determined to nail his man with the left on coming in.
     Caunt, impatient, hit out wildly left and right, Nick
     broke ground and got away. On again getting to work
     Nick planted his left on Caunt’s eye, slight exchanges
     followed, but no serious impression was made, and
     Ward’s left passed over Caunt’s shoulder. In Caunt’s
     deliveries there was neither force nor accuracy. Ward
     getting nearer his man succeeded in planting a rap on
     his proboscis. Caunt instantly seized him in his arms
     and was about to fib, when Ward endeavoured to get
     down, but the big ’un held him too firmly, and fell
     heavily upon him.

     6.――On coming up Caunt exhibited symptoms of
     visitations to his nose and eye, as well as to his
     forehead, but still no material damage had been
     effected. Ward led off with his left, but the hit was
     short, and was attended with little effect. Caunt again
     closed, determined to give his man the benefit of a
     Nottinghamshire hug, but Ward frustrated his intention
     by dropping on his knees. At the moment Caunt,
     determined to give him a compliment as he fell, let fly
     his right, which did not reach its destination (Ward’s
     lug) till Ward’s knees had actually reached the ground.
     (There was an immediate cry of “foul!” and the
     partisans of Ward, as well as his second, rushed to the
     referee to claim the battle. This was decidedly in
     opposition to the new rules, which prescribe that all
     such appeals shall be made to the umpires, and by them
     to the referee, and that no other person whatever shall
     presume to interfere. Amidst the turmoil and confusion
     of intimidation the referee remained silent until the
     umpires declared they disagreed, and when the question
     was then put to him deliberately pronounced “fair,”
     believing, as he said he did, that the blow was
     unintentional, and had commenced its flight before Ward
     was actually on the ground. All cavil was now at an
     end, and the fight proceeded; the friends of Caunt
     earnestly entreating that he would be cautious of what
     he was about, and be particularly careful in avoiding
     the repetition of the blow, which the falling system of
     Ward might unintentionally lead him to administer.)

     7.――Caunt came up as fresh as a sucking bull, and
     pregnant with deeds of mischief. Ward waited for him
     steadily, and let fly his left, catching Caunt slightly
     on the mug. Caunt hit wildly left and right, but
     missed; he then closed, again catching Ward in his
     forceps. Ward, however, renewed his dropping system,
     and slipped from between his arms on his knees, his
     hands up. While in this position, evidently down, Caunt
     instantaneously drew back his right hand, and hit him
     twice on the side of the head. The shout of “Foul!” was
     immediately renewed with redoubled ardour, and a
     simultaneous appeal was again made to the referee by
     some dozen persons who crowded round him, all
     vociferously demanding confirmation of their own
     impressions. This indecorous and disgraceful dictation
     was again manfully resisted by the referee, who,
     waiting with firmness till calmness was restored,
     listened to the appeal from the proper authorities, and
     pronounced the last blows to be “foul;” observing that
     Ward was clearly down upon both knees when the blows
     were delivered. Shouts of congratulation forthwith
     hailed Ward as the conqueror; a result which filled him
     with delight: and he quitted the ring with joyous
     satisfaction, scarcely exhibiting a mark of the
     conflict in which he had been engaged. Indeed of
     punishment he did not afford a specimen worth
     mentioning. The fight lasted but twelve minutes, and
     terminated at three minutes after four o’clock.

     The backer of Caunt was naturally irritated at this
     disappointment of his hopes, and, sustained by the
     authority of an old ring-goer, contended that the
     decision of the referee, however honourably given, was
     in opposition to the rules of the Ring, for that by
     those rules it was provided, that it was necessary a
     man should have his hand on the ground, as well as both
     knees, before a blow given could be pronounced foul;
     and in this persuasion he said he should give notice to
     the stakeholder not to part with the stakes or the bets
     till the point was deliberately settled. The referee
     said he had given his decision with perfect
     impartiality, and he believed with perfect justice. In
     confirmation of which he turned to a copy of
     _Fistiana_, which he had in his possession, and quoted
     from thence (page 29) the 7th at Broughton’s Rules,
     which provides, “That no person is to hit his adversary
     when he is down, or seize him by the ham, the breeches,
     or any part below the waist; a man on his knees to be
     reckoned down.” He then quoted the 14th of the New
     Rules of the Ring (page 65), which provides, in the
     same spirit, “That a blow struck when a man is thrown,
     or down, shall be deemed foul. That a man with one hand
     and one knee on the ground, or with both knees on the
     ground, shall be deemed down; and a blow given in
     either of these positions shall be considered foul;
     providing always, that when in such position, the man
     so down shall not strike, or attempt to strike.” The
     articles having been framed according to the New Rules,
     this reference must be conclusive. It was contended,
     that in the battle between Tom Belcher and Dutch Sam,
     the Pugilistic Club had decided that a blow given when
     a man was on his knees, with both hands up, was not
     foul; but, as there was no written record of this
     decision, and as it is opposed both to Broughton’s
     Rules and the New Rules, the argument can have no
     weight, and the stakes, however easily and
     unsatisfactorily won, were of right given to Ward.

     REMARKS.――Ward, in purchasing this almost bloodless
     victory, did not add much to his reputation. That he
     was entitled to the reward of conquest cannot be
     denied; but the opportunities of testing his improved
     qualities and courage were so limited, that it would be
     worse than hypocrisy to say he offered any peculiar
     claims to high praise. That he is more scientific than
     his opponent cannot be doubted; but it must be admitted
     that on comparing his tactics with the steady and
     cutting precision of his brother Jem, he has yet much
     to learn. Many of his blows were short, while others,
     well-intentioned, missed their aim――a circumstance
     probably to be ascribed to the slippery state of the
     ground, and the unsteady manœuvres of his opponent.
     Whether, if the fight had been prolonged, he would have
     improved upon acquaintance, we cannot foresee.
     Regarding his courage, no particular exception can be
     taken, for although going down or trying to go down in
     every round is unsightly in the eyes of the spectators,
     and has the semblance of being opposed to the
     commonplace notions of a fair stand-up fight, yet,
     according to the 12th of the New Rules, it will be seen
     that such an expedient is allowable; that rule provides
     “that it shall be a fair stand-up fight; and if either
     man shall wilfully throw himself down without receiving
     a blow, he shall be deemed to have lost the battle: but
     this rule shall not apply to a man who in a close slips
     down from the grasp of his opponent to avoid
     punishment.” Here blows had been exchanged, and Ward
     obviously slipped down to avoid the punishment which
     Caunt had determined to administer. Moreover, it was to
     avoid the hugging end being borne on to the ropes which
     Ward evaded by slipping from the intended embrace. With
     regard to Caunt, we attribute the loss of the battle to
     his uncontrollable impetuosity. That he would have been
     defeated in fair fight by his accomplished antagonist
     is by no means a settled point, for although he showed
     marks of tapping, he was quite as fresh and vigorous as
     when he commenced, and was quite as likely to win in
     the last as he was in the first round. He has still,
     however, much to learn; he wants steadiness and
     precision, and the wildness with which he hits defeats
     his own object. In the use of his left, as well as in
     stopping, he has certainly improved, and we think, as
     his experience increases, he may become a greater adept
     in the art. He must learn to curb his impetuosity, and
     preserve that presence of mind the absence of which so
     speedily led to the downfall of his hopes in this case.
     So persuaded was he that he could have won, that
     immediately after judgment had been given against him,
     he declared he would make a fresh match, and post the
     whole hundred of his own money. It is singular that in
     his fights with Bendigo and Brassey he seldom lost a
     due command over his temper, although both these men
     pursued the same course of getting down as Ward. With
     regard to Brassey, his gift of punishment is far more
     severe than that of Ward, as the evidence of Caunt’s
     carved frontispiece on the former occasion sufficiently
     testified.

Here, once again, we will ask the reader to take our arm and stroll
away from plain prose into the pleasant path of poetry, by presenting
him with a Chant of the Ring about――

   NICK WARD AND CAUNT.

   Hurrah for the Ring and the bunch of fives!
   Like a giant refreshed the Ring revives,
   It awakens again to vigorous life
   To scare the assassin and crush the knife;
   Then welcome to earth as the flowers in spring
   Be the glory renew’d of the Boxing Ring,
   And over each British boxer brave,
   Long may the banner of fair play wave.

   Let Puritans sour in accents shrill
   Rave against Fistiana still,
   And owl-faced beaks shake the nob and vow
   To their fiat stern the Ring shall bow;
   Let lobsters raw with their truncheons roar
  “Disperse” to the pugilistic corps――
   The pinks of the Prize Ring, in freedom nurs’d
   Shall tell them undaunted to do their worst――

   Shall proclaim to the traps ’tis weak and vain
   To seek the brave boxer to restrain;
   And better ’twould be by far to grab
   Those who settle disputes by a mortal stab:
   By Heaven, ’tis sufficient to make us blush
   For those who are seeking fair play to crush,
   To extinguish courage, and skill, and game,
   And in letters of blood stamp England’s shame.

   Keen is the morning, the glittering snow
   Mantles the hills and the vales below,
   The landscape around is bleak and bare,
   Chill’d by the nipping and frosty air;
   The north-east cold over land and sea
   Is whistling a sharp, shrill melody;
   But the sun is up, and the morning bright,
   So hasten, brave boys, to the field of fight.

   This day will decide whether Caunt or Nick
   In the shape of conquest shall do the trick――
   This day shall to Fancy lads declare
   Which hero the Champion’s belt shall wear――
   Whether Ben, the athletic, of giant limb,
   Shall yield to young Ward, or Nick to him,
   And after contention fierce and tough
   Which combatant first shall sing “enough.”

   From slumber rouse, let no time be lost,
   Forward for Stockbridge through snow and frost,
   Near which, when with creature comfort warmed,
   Shall the stakes be pitch’d and the ring be form’d.
   Strong was the muster upon that day
   Of plebeians low and Corinthians gay,
   But the beaks for Hants had in anger vow’d
   No mill in their county should be allow’d.

   Looks of despair the Fancy put on,
   And determin’d to make a move to Sutton,
   And thither hasten’d the fistic ranks,
   With policemen hanging upon their flanks;
   Then Captain Robbins, with gaze intense,
   Cried, “Gentlemen, meaning no offence,
   You mustn’t attempt, or I’m a liar,
   To settle your matters in this here shire.”

   Now suppose the Fancy, each peril pass’d,
   As Crookham Common arriv’d at last,
   Prepar’d for superior milling works
   Without meddling traps in the shire of Berks:
   Suppose the men in position plac’d.
   With arms well up and with muscle brac’d,
   Each champion seeming resolved to win,
   For the love of glory, as well as tin!

   But, ah! it is useless to recite
   The details of this brief and no-go fight,
   What pepper Nick dealt on the giant’s mug,
   And how Caunt return’d with a Russian hug;
   How Nick, though on serious mischief bent,
   Dropp’d down to steer clear of punishment;
   And how big Caunt, though in tip-top plight,
   Hit his foe on his knees and lost the fight.

   Yet hurrah for the Ring and the bunch of fives!
   Like a giant refresh’d the Ring revives,
   It awakens again to vigorous life
   To scare the assassin and crush the knife:
   Then welcome to earth as the flowers in spring
   Be the glory renew’d of the Fighting Ring,
   And over each British boxer brave
   Long may the banner of fair play wave.

On the Thursday evening of the ensuing week, on the occasion of the
giving up of the stakes, which took place at Young Dutch Sam’s, in
Vinegar Yard, Drury Lane, Big Ben and his friends were “all there,”
and a “motion for a new trial” was made and agreed to on both sides.
The articles, which were settled in the following week, will be found
in a former page of this volume, in the Memoir of CAUNT, who “reversed
the former verdict” on the 11th of May, 1841, at Long Marsden, in
thirty-five rounds, occupying forty-seven minutes.

This was Nick’s “Waterloo,” and his last appearance on any field. He
became a publican, first in Liverpool, and then in London, and on the
17th of February, 1850, departed this life, at the “King’s Head,”
Compton Street, Soho, the victim of a pulmonary attack.


     [22] A detailed biography of this remarkable boxer will be
     found in the Author’s “RECOLLECTIONS OF THE RING,” vol. i.
     “Pencilling,” III.

     [23] See _Recollections of the Ring and Pencillings of
     Pugilists_. No. IX. JOHNNY BROOME.




CHAPTER VI.

NATHANIEL LANGHAM.

1843-1857.


“Take him for all in all,” the subject of this chapter, as a
middle-weight, was “a man” of whom might be safely said “we shall not
look upon his like again.” He was of the weight so often described by
the “old school” as the “unlucky 11 stone; too heavy for the light,
and too light for the heavy ones.” Yet at that weight it is
indisputable that the finest specimens of skill, strength, and
activity have been developed, where courage and endurance have been
duly combined, “to give the world assurance of a man.”

Nathaniel Langham was born in May, 1820, at Hinckley in Leicestershire;
his height 5 feet 10 inches, and weight, as already stated, 11 stone.
Nat’s earlier years were passed as a country labourer’s are usually.
In his boyish days he worked in the fields, and as soon as he was
fitted, made his way into Leicester, where he was engaged by a
tradesman, as he himself has told us, to “deliver goods with a horse
and cart.” While in this town he attained, in the years 1841-1843, an
insight into the more scientific manœuvres of the art pugilistic, for
which he had a natural taste and instinctive aptitude, being much
praised by Dick Cain, who often encouraged him to “put on the mittens”
with rural roughs who might fancy their fistic abilities, and who gave
Nat the best of tactical advice and instruction. Notwithstanding this
episode of town life, it is certain that in February, 1843, Langham
was again at his native village of Hinckley, for in _Bell’s Life_ of
February 12th we find the following paragraph, recording the first
Ring fight of our hero:――

  [Illustration: NAT LANGHAM.
  _From a Painting by_ WILLIAMS.]

     “A fight came off on Thursday last, near Hinckley,
     Leicestershire, between Nathaniel Langham, of Hinckley, and
     William Ellis, of Sabcote (an adjacent village), for £5 a
     side. The men were of pretty equal proportions, each
     standing a little under six feet, but, if anything, Ellis is
     the larger man; he is an old fighter, and was considered by
     his backers (though they must now be convinced to the
     contrary) invincible. Langham, too, has appeared in the Ring
     before, and distinguished himself as a man of no small
     talent as regards his milling capabilities. The fight took
     place about eleven o’clock, when both men went to work hard
     and fast, Langham hitting well at his man, and getting his
     blows home. Ellis was unable to hit his antagonist with
     effect, and at the expiration of the eighth round showed his
     sense by giving in, having his peepers most effectually
     darkened, his lips cut, and other very visible marks of
     heavy and frequent visitations from Langham’s skilfully
     directed ‘fives.’”

Nat after this took his way to the great mart for all rising talent,
the Metropolis, landing at Ben Caunt’s early in 1844. On the 7th of
May in that year Langham found himself one of a pugilistic party,
headed by Ben Caunt, on board of the “Nymph” steamer, outward bound in
search of a convenient battle-field for the settlement of the
“difference of opinion” between Joe Bostock (a former opponent of
Johnny Broome) and Turner, the “Wychwood Forester.” This affair
disposed of, by Bostock winning in thirty-four minutes, a purse was
collected for “an afterpiece.” Thereupon Tom Lowe, a stalwart
coal-whipper of some repute as conqueror in various bye-battles, and
who afterwards beat Hurley at 12 stone, presented himself. Nat
proposed to answer the challenger, and “Big Ben” gave his approval of
the experiment. D’Orsay Turner, and Mike Driscoll seconded Langham,
Jack Cullen and Ned Adams picking up Lowe. The battle was a curious,
scrambling affair, according to the meagre paragraph which is afforded
to it in _Bell’s Life_. In fact, it is within our knowledge that the
reporter on this occasion had left the ring and gone aboard the
steamer before it was known that a second fight was arranged. In the
43rd round, when Lowe was said to have “the best of the battle” (?) we
are told, “On getting up from his corner Lowe, much to the surprise of
most parties, went up to his adversary, and shaking hands with him,
declined fighting any more; Langham was of course proclaimed the
victor, after fighting 50 minutes.” We suspect the verbal amateur
reporter of this affair did not know so much about Nat Langham’s
capabilities as Mr. Lowe had found out during the 50 minutes he had
faced him. At any rate, Caunt was so satisfied with his “novice’s”
display that he offered to back him for £25 against any man of his
weight. Langham also put forth a challenge to fight Joe Bostock, the
conqueror in this day’s battle, “for £25, to meet within six weeks of
signing articles;” but Johnny Broome, who was behind Bostock, and than
whom in his day there was no better judge, having availed himself of
an opportunity of trying Nat with the gloves, would not have the
engagement at any price, and so the affair came to nought. A clear
twelvemonth now elapsed before Nat could meet with a customer,
although we find him offering himself as a candidate for pugilistic
honours at 11 stone, and give 7lb., for £25; money ready at “The
Lion,” at Hinckley, or the “Coach and Horses,” St. Martin’s Lane.

In the month of June, 1845, Langham being then under the wing of Ben
Caunt, an outsider presented himself at the Champion’s hostelrie, and
in the course of conversation announced himself as “Doctor” Campbell;
he was soon recognised as the successful opponent of Ben Hart, in a
punishing fight of seventy-one rounds, which took place on the 3rd of
November, 1842, in the Kentish marshes. A bout with the gloves with
“brother Bob” (certainly no great “trial-horse”) was followed by the
“Doctor,” who weighed close on 12 stone, declaring himself to be “in
want of a job,” whereon Nat suggested to his patron Ben that he
thought he could accommodate the “Doctor” by giving him a few pounds’
weight and a beating. Ben, who was ever close-fisted, offered to put
down a “fiver” for Nat; and, as the “Doctor’s” friends were not flush
of money, that modest sum remained without increase until the 12th of
June, when Big Ben, as M.C., taking advantage of the hiring of a
steamer for a more important “excursion,” shipped his man Nat, and
conveyed him to the battle-field at Rainham Ferry, at which place
“Doctor” Campbell and friends were in waiting. No contemporary report
of the rounds is extant, but we know from eye-witnesses that Nat,
though with small preparation, in the short space of thirty-five
minutes so used his left “pickaxe”――as it was afterwards expressively
termed by no less a master of arts than Tom Sayers himself――that the
“Doctor” was completely “physicked.” In the 27th round he “retired
from professional practice,” entirely disabled, and declined further
contest, and never again showed within the ropes of the P.R.

Dan Hagerty, who had beaten Bill Amos, Jack Johnston, and subsequently
the hard-hitting Aby Durell, was challenged by Nat for £25 a side; but
Dan’s backers, after some conference, thought it best to leave the
Leicester man alone, and a sov. down was forfeited.

Nat now retired into country quarters, and we next hear of him as
matched with a boxer of great local renown, hight George Gutteridge,
of Bourne, in Lincolnshire. Gutteridge, who was born in 1823, stood 5
feet 9 inches, and weighed 11 stone 7 lbs., began his rising career in
April, 1845, by beating, in 23 sharp rounds, George Graham (known as
the “Potter”); this he followed in June, 1846, by defeating Macdonald,
of Derby (the conqueror of Jem Bailey and several others), in a
slashing fight of thirty-five minutes, in which 31 rattling rounds
were contested. About this time we saw Gutteridge in London, at
Caunt’s, and a more likely young fellow for wear and tear, his pluck
being undoubted, we have seldom seen. His skill as a fighter, like all
rural champions, was, of course, ridiculously overrated; and when Ben
pointed him out to us as “that’s the chap that’s matched against
Langham, what do you think of him?” there was a sort of hesitancy in
the Champion’s tone, that expressed anxious doubt for the safety of
the “quarter of a hundred,” besides “training ex’s,” which he had
invested on the “wager of battle.” Caunt having received £7 from
Gutteridge’s friends, for the right of naming the place of meeting,
Mr. Banton’s, New Inn, at Bourne, South Lincolnshire, was named as the
rendezvous, and thither on the overnight of the battle, Tuesday, June
9th, 1846, Caunt, with Langham and friends, repaired. At 8 a.m. the
men went to scale, Langham drawing 11 stone, Gutteridge 11 stone 8
lbs. Langham looked thin but hard, as if somewhat overtrained.
Gutteridge showed wonderfully strong, though a trifle fleshy. An
excellent ring was formed at South Farm Pastures, about three miles
from Bourne, and around it was grouped a large attendance of the
gentry, yeomen, farmers, and labourers, with a sprinkling of sporting
men from Leicestershire and the Midlands. The order, good-temper, and
we might say decorum of the assembly, and the conduct of the
spectators throughout the fight, were an example to such gatherings
which we despair in these days to see imitated, either down rail or
river. Langham had for his seconds Dan Bufton and John Gill;
Gutteridge was excited on by Homer Howden and his former antagonist
“Potter George” (Graham). The colours, a canary yellow for Langham,
and a blue and white spot for Gutteridge, being tied to the stakes,
the men shook hands cheerfully, and the battle began, the current odds
being 6 and 7 to 4 on Gutteridge.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――The attitude of Nat was by far the more
     artistic, though that of the Lincolnshire man was by no
     means awkward or constrained; yet he held his arms too
     close and across to deliver at a well-judged distance;
     accordingly, after a little sparring just to feel his
     way, Nat popped in a couple of such sharp facers,
     jumping back from the return, that the question of
     “first blood” was settled almost in the first hit, the
     crimson fluid trickling from Gutteridge’s left optic.
     The Lincoln man, who was evidently no flincher, went in
     ding-dong, Langham retreating perforce from his
     determined rush, but delivering two or three cutting
     left-handers on his assailant’s frontispiece before he
     went down at the ropes on the saving suit.

     2.――Nat came up cool as a cucumber, with no visible
     marks of hitting save a red bump on his left
     cheek-bone, and a slight flush of colour which rather
     improved his complexion. Gutteridge, on the contrary,
     had a gaping cut over the right eye, a prominent blue
     mouse under the left optic, and his teeth were tinged
     from his cut lip. He rattled in undismayed, but got
     little by the motion, the balance of the exchanges
     being all in favour of Leicester. In a close, however,
     he gripped Master Nat, and embracing him, showed his
     superior strength by forcing him down and falling on
     him heavily. (Cheering for Gutteridge.)

     3.――Nat dodging in, and then retreating, to get his man
     to follow. Gutteridge, by advice of his seconds,
     refusing to do so, Nat woke him up by twice visiting
     his left eye clean over his guard, whereupon
     Gutteridge, stung by these long shots, rushed to close
     quarters, and after taking a prop or two fought Nat
     down in his own corner. (The Lincoln man’s friends in
     high glee.)

     4 to 10.――Langham seemed steady and cool, and none the
     worse for Mr. Gutteridge’s lunges, and the rapid
     rallies which followed at close quarters. Not so
     Gutteridge, whose portrait was gradually painted in
     crimson by a master-hand. Though there was active
     fighting on both sides, there was a somewhat tedious
     similarity in the rounds, Langham improving his lead in
     every bout, and Gutteridge failing in most cases, in
     clenching his adversary for the throw.

     From the 11th to the 50th round Gutteridge showed
     himself dangerous, and with unflinching game every now
     and then raised the hopes of his partisans by remaining
     on his legs after severe exchanges of blows, then
     walking to his corner to seat himself on his second’s
     knee, while Nat, husbanding his strength, was tenderly
     carried, often sedan fashion, by his careful attendants
     to his appointed resting-place.

     In the 51st round, to the surprise of all, Langham
     seemed to recover second wind; perceiving the shaky
     state of his brave opponent, he assumed the offensive,
     and delivered half a dozen hits left and right at arm’s
     length, the last of which sent down Gutteridge in his
     corner all of a heap; the first fair knock down. From
     this point the rounds became short, poor Gutteridge
     gradually losing almost every glimpse of daylight,
     coming up round after round until the 93rd, when,
     perceiving the last chance of his man had vanished,
     Hodgkiss threw up the sponge in Gutteridge’s corner in
     token of defeat, and Nat was hailed the victor of the
     day, after a severe contest of _one hour and
     twenty-five minutes_ of active and actual fighting;
     Langham’s superiority as a boxer being evident from
     first to last.

At the giving up of the stakes at Caunt’s on the following Thursday,
Angelo, of Windsor, was backed against Langham for £50 a side, but the
match went off, Gutteridge’s backer posting a small deposit for a
second encounter, which was covered on the part of Langham, who
afterwards received forfeit, the Lincolnshire friends of the former
considering the first judgment of the referee not likely to be
reversed on a new trial.

William Sparkes, a hardy Australian, having fought his way to fame at
the Antipodes, and made the voyage to the Old Country, in further
search of “the bubble reputation,” was introduced in the early part of
1847 to the London Ring, under the patronage of Johnny Broome, and
that ’cute observer at once commended him to his Corinthian visitors,
as “just the sort of man to polish off Master Nat,” who, in the
estimate of Johnny, “was dangerously clever, but had no constitution.”
Sparkes, at this time, was certainly a fine, hardy specimen of a
“corn-stalk” as could be seen in a summer’s day. Twenty-six years of
age, firmly put together, round-limbed, muscular, and active, and not
only bringing with him a belt as a pugilist, but also a trophy won by
his fleetness of foot as a pedestrian “champion,” he was certainly a
“representative man,” so far as Australian prowess was in question.
With him, then, Langham was matched, as champion of the honour of the
Old Country, for £50 a side, and Tuesday, May 4th, 1847, was fixed for
the final settlement of the question.

On that day, at an early hour, the “Nymph” being chartered for the
voyage, the party embarked from the now-abolished Hungerford Market
Pier, and thence dropped down to Blackwall, where, on the Brunswick
Pier, a goodly muster of the Fancy had assembled, and where, also, a
coal-tug or two, laden with “Cheapside” customers, were in waiting to
follow in the wake of the Fancy “flag-ship.” From some petty jealousy,
into the cause of which we do not care to inquire, Tom Spring, Peter
Crawley, and a group of Corinthians here shipped themselves on board
the regular Gravesend passenger-boat, instead of taking tickets by the
chartered “Fancy” craft. Johnny Broome, who was in command, suppressed
any mortification he might have felt, but did not the less determine
to balance accounts with the Separatists, as the sequel will show. The
“Nymph” cast off from the Blackwall Pier, and led the way towards
Charlton, where Langham was taken on board, having been trained by
Robinson (“Caunt’s Pet”), near Dartford; the Australian had already
been shipped at Hungerford. While we lay-to off Charlton Pier, the
Gravesend boat, with the two crowded tugs in attendance, pursued their
downward course. Soon after, as the “Nymph,” at half-speed, was
nearing Erith, Johnny Broome called “a council of war,” wherein he
announced his resolution to disappoint those who had shown such a want
of that unanimity which we had so often publicly advocated on these
occasions. He proposed that we should “about ship,” and make a return
voyage, leaving the “secessionists,” including the “tuggites” and the
Gravesend passengers, to the enjoyment of their excursion, without the
prospect of seeing the day’s mill, from the appointed and legitimate
mode of being present at which they had thus wilfully disentitled
themselves. His arguments were unanswerable. The bow of the “Nymph”
was quickly put up stream, the tide was flowing, and back we went;
indeed, almost before the downward voyagers were aware of our change
of course, we were steaming through the Pool, and thence pursued our
way, never stopping until Nine Elms Pier was reached. There the men
and their friends disembarked, and, availing themselves of a train by
the South Western Railway, proceeded to Woking Common. On arriving,
the Commissary and assistants quickly prepared a ring, on the ground
where Barnash and Martin fought a fortnight previous; and in half an
hour, the party having refreshed themselves meantime at a neighbouring
hostelrie, a select party of about one hundred spectators surrounded
the roped enclosure, heartily laughing at “the sell” practised upon
the “Secesh,” who had cut themselves off by their own want of _esprit
du corps_ from witnessing the fight. Among the disappointed were some
“knowing ones,” who, in those days of “pigeon expresses,” had carried
down their feathered messengers, with the view of conveying to their
London confederates the first news of the battle and its result.

At half-past two o’clock the combatants entered the lists; Langham
esquired by D’Orsay Turner and Barnash, Sparkes seconded by Sam
Simmonds (of Birmingham) and Joe Rowe. The “sestette” shook hands in a
friendly manner, and the men proceeded to their toilettes, while
umpires and a referee were chosen. All preliminaries being adjusted,
and the colours (white with a scarlet border for Sparkes, and a blue
birdseye for Langham) knotted to the stake, the men toed the scratch
for


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On throwing themselves into position, the
     advantage on the part of Langham as to height and
     length was obvious to all, while the brawny frame of
     the Australian showed him to be the more powerful of
     the two. He stood with his left arm straight out from
     the shoulder, with his right hand well up, his body
     being inclined backwards in an extraordinary manner.
     Langham threw his arms about quickly, as if to put the
     Australian off his guard, but in vain. At length
     Langham led off with his right, which was twice
     cleverly stopped. Sparkes made play, catching Langham
     slightly on the side of the jaw with his left. Langham
     again tried his left, but was again stopped. In another
     attempt he was more successful, and caught the
     Australian on the nose slightly. Sparkes closed,
     delivered two good body blows, and both were down. (The
     opinion round the ring was that the Australian was far
     from being the “novice” that he was anticipated to be.)

     2.――Langham led off at the nose with his left, and got
     on smartly. Sparkes returned heavily with his right on
     the body and side of the head with his left, knocking
     Langham off his legs. (_First knock-down for Sparkes_,
     amidst some astonishment.)

     3.――Langham immediately led off, getting slightly home
     on the body. Sparkes dashed in, hit up on the forehead,
     then fibbed his man in the ribs with the right, and
     Langham got down.

     4.――Langham made play and worked in at his man, who got
     cleverly away. Sparkes then went to him, delivered his
     favourite body blow, Langham staggered back against the
     ropes, and got down.

     5.――No hesitation on either side; Sparkes stopped two
     well-intended compliments from his adversary’s left.
     Counter-hits exchanged, Sparkes getting it on the nose
     twice, but without impression. Langham slipped down.

     6.――Sparkes tried his left and right, but was short in
     both attempts. Langham jobbed him in the left cheek
     heavily, and got down in the half-arm hitting,
     evidently not anxious to test the strength of his
     adversary in a close.

     7.――Langham led off with his left, but Sparkes met him
     with a heavy hit on the body, and Langham went down.

     8.――Langham again tried to lead off, but the Australian
     was as quick as himself, countered him in the forehead,
     Langham getting in sharply, at a well-judged distance,
     on his adversary’s nose, from which he displaced the
     bark, and drew _first blood_. Sparkes delivered his
     right heavily on the ribs, knocking Langham down for
     the second time.

     9.――Langham first to fight, catching Sparkes on the
     side of his nose, Sparkes returning heavily on the
     chest and ribs with both hands, and Langham down.

     10.――The men rushed together, and after a slight
     exchange of hits, Langham slipped down.

     11.――Langham commenced by delivering his left heavily
     on Sparkes’s left eye. Sparkes caught him on the
     forehead with his left, on the body with his right, and
     Langham got down.

     12.――Langham delivered on the left cheek, received a
     slight body blow, and got down. Sparkes by far the
     stronger man.

     13.――Good body blows were exchanged. Langham then
     planted upon his adversary’s nose with his left;
     Sparkes let fly at the body, and Langham was again
     down.

     14 and 15.――Sparkes forced the fighting, but Langham
     jobbed him heavily as he came in. Sparkes delivered
     very slightly on the ribs, and Langham got down leary.
     [The fighting was extremely quick, no round having
     lasted half a minute. Fourteen minutes had now
     elapsed.]

     16.――Langham got well in on the side of the head with
     his left twice as Sparkes tried to bore in.
     Counter-hits exchanged, Sparkes napping it on the nose,
     and Langham on the body. The latter then slipped down.

     17.――Good counter-hits and a sharp rally; a close, in
     which Langham fibbed his man in the head, and after a
     short struggle both were down, Sparkes this time under.

     18.――Sparkes led off, getting in one on the ribs with
     his right, and his left on the forehead, but too short
     to be effective. Langham seemed to have got the measure
     of his man; he jobbed him heavily in the left eye and
     on the cheek, and got down.

     19 to 21.――Similar to the last. Rapid fighting, Sparkes
     occasionally putting in a body blow, Langham jobbing
     him severely in the head, and getting down in the
     close.

     22.――Langham led off with his left, catching the
     Australian heavily on the side of his head; Sparkes
     returned on the nose, but not heavily. Langham then
     planted his left severely on Sparkes’s right cheek,
     drawing the claret. Sparkes closed, threw his man, and
     fell over him.

     23.――Langham tried to open with sparring on the
     defensive, but Sparkes forced the fighting. Heavy
     exchanges left and right, those of Langham drawing more
     blood from Sparkes’s cheek and eye, Sparkes still
     fighting at the body. Langham eventually got down.

     24 to 32.――Langham took the lead in these rounds,
     Sparkes hitting with less precision; Nat repeatedly
     jobbed his man heavily in the face, but Sparkes was
     thorough game, and would not be denied; he occasionally
     put in a body blow which sounded all over the ring;
     Sparkes’s left eye was fast closing, and his right
     cheek showed marks of punishment. In the 32nd round, in
     a rally, Langham caught the Australian a severe blow
     with his right on the left ear, from which the blood
     was quickly seen to flow. Langham showed no marks
     beyond a slight swelling on his forehead, and a redness
     about his ribs. So quick was the fighting that only 32
     minutes had been occupied up to the close of this
     round.

     33.――Sparkes changed his style a little and hit higher,
     declining to be drawn on. He sent his right well home
     on Langham’s jaw; Langham returned with his left on the
     left eye-brow, which he cut. Sparkes then got in his
     right on Langham’s left eye, on which he raised a
     slight mouse. Langham got down in an attempt by Sparkes
     to close.

     34 and 35.――Langham met his man as he came in with
     well-directed jobs, the Australian still fighting at
     the body. In the latter round he closed, and threw
     Langham, falling on him.

     36.――Counter-hits; Langham catching his adversary
     heavily on the left ear, again drawing blood. Sparkes
     rushed in, delivered his favourite body blow, and again
     knocked Nat clean off his legs.

     37.――Langham came up slow, the last hit had evidently
     shaken him. Sparkes rushed at him to follow up his
     advantage, but Langham stopped him right and left, got
     away, and ultimately slipped down.

     38.――Langham, still keeping away, propped the
     Australian as he came in, and got down.

     39.――Langham had not yet recovered himself from the
     visitation in the 36th round, but Sparkes could not get
     the lead, as his man not only stopped cleverly, but got
     away immediately he went to him, and eventually slipped
     down.

     From this to the 58th round the same style of fighting
     was continued; the men commenced work immediately on
     arriving at the scratch. Sparkes’s body blows came in
     occasionally with great force, but some were stopped by
     Langham very prettily, and the latter recovering his
     strength, he jobbed his man severely in the head.
     Sparkes’s right eye was following suit with his left,
     which was quite closed, and blood was drawn every round
     from his ear or cheek. The rounds were almost
     invariably finished by Langham going down to avoid the
     struggle and throw. In the 50th round, after a few
     rattling exchanges, Sparkes, for the fourth time, sent
     his man to grass, with a heavy right-handed hit in the
     ribs.

     59 to 61.――Langham propped his man heavily as he
     attempted to come in. Sparkes, however, fought with
     unflinching courage, and would not retreat, and often
     bored Nat down.

     62.――Langham got home on Sparkes’s neck, Sparkes
     returned on the ribs. A close followed, in which
     Langham was down, with Sparkes on him. Sparkes
     unfortunately had his right arm under his man, who fell
     heavily on it, and, as it afterwards appeared, broke
     the bone of his forearm. On coming up for the 63rd
     round, Sparkes held his right arm up, but was quickly
     compelled to drop it, from the pain he suffered.
     Langham went in and milled away until the Australian
     went down. From this to the 67th and last round Sparkes
     came up bravely, keeping his right arm close to his
     side, and attempted to plant upon his man with his
     left; it was of course in vain. Langham was too good a
     strategist to be planted on, and working in with both
     hands upon the game fellow in each round, punishing him
     until he went down. He was repeatedly asked by his
     seconds to give in, but in vain; his game was such that
     he almost disdained to sit on his second’s knee until
     the call of time. At length, in the 67th round, Johnny
     Broome entered the ring and threw up his hat in token
     of defeat, after a contest of 68 minutes, and even then
     it was with the greatest difficulty that Sparkes’s
     seconds could prevent his rising and rushing at his man
     to have another “shy.” A gamer or more fearless boxer
     never entered the Ring.

     REMARKS.――Langham in this contest confirmed the opinion
     we entertained of his former fight with Gutteridge. He
     is a clever, scientific fighter, good on his legs, and
     a heavy hitter; and although the practice of getting
     down is anything but commendable, still, with a
     determined adversary, possessing superior bodily
     powers, every allowance must be made for the caution of
     a wily general. He evidently saw that to struggle with
     such a man as Sparkes would be attended with no
     advantage to himself, and he therefore determined not
     to throw a chance away. His superior length, and his
     quickness in meeting the Australian hero as he came in,
     in a great measure protected his mug from damage; but
     the fact of his leaving the ring with scarcely a
     scratch was mainly to be attributed to the style of
     Sparkes, who, when he fought at the head, invariably
     hit too high to do damage. Sparkes proved himself one
     of the gamest fellows that ever pulled off a shirt; he
     is a hard hitter, and stops with great neatness; but in
     Langham he contended with an adversary who had the
     advantage of him in every respect except in strength
     and courage (the latter attribute was not, however,
     wanting in either man). Notwithstanding the severe
     punishment he received about the head, however, he came
     up as strong on his legs at the end as at the
     commencement of the fight, and in almost every round
     declined all assistance of his seconds to carry him to
     his corner. Had it not been for the accident to his arm
     in the 65th round, the contest would, no doubt, have
     lasted longer, possibly with a different result. As to
     style, however, Langham was the superior fighter. The
     affair concluded, all returned to town per train, and
     “The Nymph,” in attendance at Nine Elms, conveyed her
     cargo to the port whence they embarked. The battle
     money was given to Langham at Ben Caunt’s. This is the
     first time that Sparkes was beaten, having fought in
     and out of the ring in N.S.W. with several men. His
     last four adversaries were Chas. Wooten, of Nottingham
     (N.S.W.), for £25 a side; Joe Marshall, of the same
     place, for £50 a side; Bill Davis, of Liverpool
     (N.S.W.), for £100 a side (after the conquest of whom
     he received his belt); and “Tom the brewer,” for £100 a
     side.

The stakes were presented to Langham at Ben Caunt’s, when a collection
was made for the losing man. This was considerably augmented on the
Friday week following at a benefit given to Sparkes at Johnny
Broome’s. Of course the “tuggites,” and some of those thrown out by
Johnny’s strategic movement on the previous Tuesday, were loud in
their denunciations of his “shameful conduct,” as it was termed. At
these Johnny laughed, while the sporting Press reminded them that
“they had only themselves to blame for their disappointment.”

Nat’s victory over Sparkes was certainly calculated to place him in
the very front rank of middle-weight boxers, and from this time until
the beginning of the year ’51 he was “laid up in lavender,” until
after all sorts of negotiations, and breaks-off with all sorts of men,
some too heavy, and others thinking themselves too light, unless Nat
(who had never much to get off in the way of flesh) could consent to
reduce himself, Harry Orme, though more than half a stone heavier, was
proposed. Orme’s defeat of Aaron Jones, in December, 1849, had proved
him a strong, resolute, and formidable, if not a scientific boxer, and
his friends, thinking his chance a good one, entered into articles for
£50 a side, the battle to be decided on the 6th of May, 1851. On this
occasion Nat was doomed to experience his first and only defeat, after
a contest which _Bell’s Life_ characterises as “one of the gamest
battles the annals of the Ring can boast;” the details of which will
be found in the ensuing chapter in the Life of HARRY ORME.

Langham, who was always a well-conducted, steady fellow, now went into
business as a publican at the Ram Inn, Bridge Street, Cambridge, where
he won “golden opinions from all sorts of men,” securing the patronage
of many University undergrads, and for two years none cared to dispute
his title as “Champion of the Middle-weights,” a distinction a quarter
of a century ago fully recognised at a period when the heavy weights
had certainly sadly degenerated, though the time had yet to come in
which “the Championship of England” should be held by a boxer under 11
stone!

So highly were Langham’s capabilities in his contest with Orme
esteemed by all who witnessed that gallant fight, that his name was
continually to the fore, not only in Cambridge, but among the
Corinthians who held their conversaziones at Jem Burn’s, at the
“Rising Sun;” at Owen Swift’s “Horseshoe;” at Limmer’s Hotel, and “The
Corner;” while among the knowing ones who frequented Ben Caunt’s
“Coach and Horses,” at Peter Crawley’s “Duke’s Head,” and places
further east, all were of opinion that “Clever Nat” was not to be
beaten by any man who had not a great pull in respect of weight.

There was, however, a sporting-house, unnamed by us as yet, situated
in a street off the once-famed Seven Dials, where lived an ex-pugilist
(recently deceased) who was unquestionably as good a judge of the
merits of a fighting man as ever lived. This was Alec Keene, of the
“Three Tuns,” Moor Street, Soho; and there were not a few Corinthians
who often threaded their way through the intricacies of Soho to have a
palaver with Alec Keene, and learn his straight opinion as to the
chances of the competitors in some coming fight, or as to the
advisability of backing this or the other candidate for a match. Among
these we remember “young” Sir Robert Peel, his gallant brother William
(both of them splendid boxers), Lord Ongley, Lord Drumlanrig, Sir
Edward Kent, Colonel Higgins, Lord Winchilsea, _cum multis aliis_.

Now, among the special pets of Alec foremost stood Tom Sayers, whose
merits Keene was the first among the professionals to fully perceive
and boldly declare; and he never ceased to use his influence in
finding him backers, in which he was zealously seconded by Harry
Brunton.[24]

After Tom had beaten Jack Martin, in the January of 1853, both he and
his friend Alec (who acted as his second on that occasion) were
confident that the championship of the middle-weights was well within
his reach, notwithstanding the admitted excellence of Nat Langham.
Consequently, after many discussions and conferences, the money was
made all right, and a challenge was issued from Moor Street, in which
Tom announced his readiness to meet the redoubtable Nat on his own
terms. There was some laughing in Air Street at Tom’s audacity, and in
St. Martin’s Lane, although in the city on the Cam lots of
“collegians” were ready to find a bit of Nat’s money. It was soon
ascertained, however, when Langham had accepted the challenge, and a
match had been made to fight for the sum named, on the 18th of
October, 1853, that although Langham was the favourite, his adherents
had only to offer the slightest shade of odds in Tichborne Street or
Soho to be at once accommodated to any amount they desired.

Both men went into active training at an early period. Nat, whose long
rest had rendered him somewhat rusty, retired to country quarters,
under the care of Jemmy Welsh, who had to give him a full dose of work
to bring him, without any loss of power, within the stipulated 11st.,
though at this period Nat’s fighting weight was only two or three
pounds in excess of that point. However, his training went smoothly
on, without a break or a hitch of any kind, and, as will be seen
presently, he was brought to the post in prime fettle. Tom, on the
other hand, who had, as usual, gone down to the neighbourhood of
Brighton――his mentor and attendant being the celebrated pedestrian,
Bob Fuller――encountered quite a series of mischances. He first caught
a severe cold, almost deserving to be called an influenza, which
stopped him in his work. This was followed by an ugly breaking out on
his face and chin, which certainly did not indicate that his blood was
in its ordinary healthful condition. No difficulties of this kind
dismayed either Tom or his backers, and, consequently, _Bell’s Life_
on the 16th of October was enabled to announce that both men were well
and full of confidence. In consequence of the day fixed for the fight
being the opening day of the Warwick Meeting, there had been an
endeavour to alter the day to the Monday previous, but as this was the
settling-day for the Cesarewitch, the alteration would have been no
improvement, if, indeed, not rather the reverse, as backers and
bookmakers would both be compelled to show at Tattersall’s――the lucky
backer of Haco to receive, and the unfortunate followers of the
ill-fated Nabob (who was second that year in both the great handicaps
to the turned loose youngsters, Haco and Little David) to part with
what had so nearly brought them safe home.

On another account it was fortunate that the fixture remained
unchanged, for on Monday the rain came down in an almost ceaseless
downpour from morning till night, and the Corinthians and
professionals who assembled at Caunt’s and Alec Keene’s in the
evening, to obtain their tickets for the excursion, and the straight
tip as to the time and place of departure, prognosticated somewhat
gloomily as to the weather possibilities of the morrow.

Fortunately, these prophecies were falsified by the event, and shortly
before eight o’clock, as hansom after hansom dashed up to the Eastern
Counties Railway Station, in Shoreditch――the directors had not yet
become sufficiently aristocratic to call it the Great Eastern Station,
Bishopsgate, nor had they attained their grand terminus at Liverpool
Street――their occupants shook hands heartily with the first
acquaintance they encountered, and congratulated themselves on the
bright October sun, which was making even the dingy East End look
moderately cheerful. At half-past eight the train started, and after a
pleasant journey of about three hours, past Cambridge, Ely, and
Mildenhall, pulled up at Lakenheath, in Suffolk, and the living cargo,
which numbered not less than four hundred, among whom were most of the
Corinthian supporters of the Ring, who had come down under the special
care of Jem Burn, invaded and overran the little station.

For the benefit of those who slumbered too long to refresh the inner
man satisfactorily before leaving, a copious breakfast had been
provided by Mr. Moore, of the “Old Rum Puncheon,” Moorfields, who, we
are happy to say, still survives in this year of grace, 1881, the hale
and hearty host of the “Royal Standard” at Walthamstow. Ample justice
being done to this repast, we found that Tom Oliver, assisted by Tom
Callas, had decided on the spot for the ring, in a field about two
hundred yards from the stopping-place. While the stakes and ropes were
being placed _in situ_, Dan Dismore attended to the sale of inner ring
tickets; and the character of the gathering may be inferred from the
fact that about one in five of the travellers elected to become
purchasers of “privilege” cards. The men having made their toilets,
Sayers, just at half-past twelve, shied his castor into the ring,
following it himself, with his seconds, Alec Keene and Bob Fuller. Tom
received a loud and hearty greeting from his partisans; and this had
hardly died away when the cheers were renewed as Nat Langham entered,
attended by the accomplished Jemmy Welsh and Jerry Noon, who was
equally clever as a second when――as upon this occasion he did――he
could refrain from those eccentric performances for which he was
notorious, and which, however amusing they might be to the spectators,
were anything but useful to his principal. On this particular day
Jerry was on his good behaviour, and did not once attempt to raise a
laugh until the fight was over. Immediately on entering the ring Tom
and Nat, who were “old pals,” shook hands with great cordiality,
evoking the cheers of the onlookers, who were delighted at this proof
that the combatants were actuated only by the desire to win fame and
reputation, and, in fact, realised the description of the prizefighter
by the poet:――

   Who are sworn friends to one another,
     And first shake hands before they box;
     Then give each other plaguy knocks,
   With all the love and kindness of a brother.

This episode completed, the referee and umpires having taken their
places, the seconds retired to their corners, and all was attention as
the men approached each other and began


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On toeing the scratch the knowing ones
     eagerly scanned the appearance and condition of the
     men, in order, if possible, to gain thus some
     indication of the possible issue of the combat, and a
     few bets were made at 6 to 4 on Langham. There was a
     wide contrast between the men, both in appearance and
     condition; Langham was long and lathy; his frame was
     evidently that of a man who had seen severe work,
     and――to all appearance――not likely to last through the
     wear and tear of long-continued exertion. There was a
     smile of good-humoured confidence on his mug, however,
     that showed how little he feared the result of the
     coming combat, while his condition was simply perfect,
     and reflected the highest credit on his trainer.
     Sayers, on the other hand, although he looked――as of
     old――broad, strong, and burly, was clearly overburdened
     with flesh――the 5lb. he scaled above his accustomed
     10st. 7lb. being palpably all to the bad. The breaking
     out on his chin and face, already alluded to, certainly
     did not give one the idea of his being in a perfect
     state of health, and it may well be that to the fact of
     his not being in his best form may be attributed an
     anxious look about his eyes, so different to the gay,
     laughing confidence he exhibited in his other fights.
     Both men, on taking up position, stood with their legs
     too wide apart; their guards were neither easy nor
     graceful, nor was there anything strikingly artistic in
     their attitudes. They began with a good deal of
     sparring, and, at length, Langham let go his left, but
     did not get quite home. Caution was again the order of
     the day, until Langham once more got within distance,
     and tried his left a second time, just reaching Tom’s
     chest. Sayers now tried to draw his man, but Langham
     was not to be had. Sayers, therefore, approached him,
     when Langham popped in his left on the cheek, and then
     the same hand on the nose, and got away. Sayers soon
     followed him up, and Nat, as he retreated, again sent
     out his left on the cheek. More sparring now took
     place, and, at length, counter-hits were exchanged, Nat
     catching Tom on the chin and drawing _first blood_ from
     a pimple below his mouth. Sayers now bored in, and
     caught Nat a nasty one on the forehead, from the
     effects of which Langham went to grass. (_First
     knock-down blow_ for Sayers.) Little merit, however,
     could be attached to it, as the ground was in such a
     state from the previous day’s rain as to render it
     difficult for Nat to keep his legs, and the hit rather
     helped him to grass than fairly sent him there. Having
     now had an opportunity of judging and comparing the
     men, the betting settled down to 5 to 4 on Nat, the
     odds being principally due to Tom’s obviously bad
     condition, and to the fact that, having lost the toss
     for choice of corners, he had to fight with the sun in
     his eyes.

     2.――In this round Nat commenced the saving game, which
     he persisted in throughout the fight, and after
     planting a tap on the mouth, and receiving on the
     forehead, slipped down.

     3.――Both men ready to the call of time, and Langham led
     off, but the blow fell short on Tom’s chest. A second
     attempt was more successful, as he got home a heavy
     spank on Tom’s snout, from which the ruby was instantly
     visible. Left-handed counter-hits followed, each
     getting it slightly on the cheek, and Nat, in getting
     back again slipped down.

     4.――On getting within distance both went to work. Tom
     made his left on Nat’s cheek, and his right rather
     heavily on his ribs. Heavy counter-hits followed, in
     favour of Nat, whose length here gave him the
     advantage. Tom napped it again severely on the smeller,
     just between the eyes, and returned on Nat’s side of
     his head and his short ribs, the latter a sounding
     right-hander. Langham now retreated, and, as Tom
     followed him up, pinked him twice in succession with
     effect on the nozzle, drawing more claret. Sayers
     returned slightly on the ribs, and again was met by Nat
     on the mouth and left eye. Sayers continued to
     persevere, occasionally getting in a little one on
     Nat’s ribs, but Nat in this round appeared to have it
     his own way; he propped his man repeatedly on the nose
     and mouth, and then on the dexter eye. Again and again
     did Sayers go to it, but Nat jobbed him with it
     severely on the old spot, and at length finished the
     round by going down, Sayers walking away, his face
     brightly crimsoned by Nat’s handiwork.

     5.――Nat, on getting his man, let go with his left with
     great quickness on Tom’s nose, completely over his
     guard. Sayers then went to in-fighting, and got home
     his left on the side of Nat’s knowledge-box, and, after
     a slight rally, both went down. A claim of foul was
     made, that Sayers had hit Nat while down, but it was
     not allowed, the men being on the ropes when the blow
     was delivered.

     6.――Tom came up grinning, but his mug was in anything
     but grinning order. Langham, as usual, led off, but Tom
     jumped away. Tom now feinted, let go his left on Nat’s
     jaw, and then repeated the dose without return. Some
     rattling exchanges followed in favour of Sayers, and in
     the end Langham fell.

     7.――Langham attempted to plant his left, but was out of
     distance. Two more efforts were frustrated by Tom
     jumping away. Nat was not to be denied; he went in, and
     some rattling exchanges took place in favour of Sayers,
     who got home on Nat’s cheek and ribs with severity, and
     received one or two on the kissing organ, from which
     more pink was drawn, and Langham in getting back fell.

     8.――Langham dodged his man, and again popped in his
     left with great quickness over his guard, turning on
     the tap. Sayers returned slightly on the cheek, and, on
     trying to improve upon this, was countered heavily on
     the mouth. This led to some rapid exchanges in favour
     of Sayers, who got home heavily on the ribs and jaw,
     and received on the nasal promontory. The round
     finished by Langham going to earth apparently weak.

     9.――Sayers came up with a visible puffiness under both
     eyes. Langham, as usual, led off on Tom’s mouth. Sayers
     returned left and right on the canister and ribs,
     received another little one on the nose, and then
     lunged out with his right a sounding spank in the side.
     Langham retreated, and was followed up by Tom, who
     caught him on the mouth with his left, and Nat, after
     an ineffectual attempt to return, fell.

     10.――Langham stepped back to draw his man, who came for
     it, and again napped an awkward one on the snout.
     Sayers tried a return, but was short, and got another
     smack on the nose for his pains. Counter-hits followed,
     Nat getting it rather heavily on the left eye, and Tom
     on the nose. Nat, after placing a little one on the
     nose, fell on his south pole.

     11.――Langham opened the pleadings by another
     well-delivered spank on the proboscis, from his left,
     over Tom’s guard. It was wonderful to see how
     completely Sayers’s index seemed to be within reach of
     Nat’s straight-darting deliveries. Left-handed
     exchanges followed, but Sayers appeared to hit short.
     Langham delivered again with severity on the bridge of
     the nose, when Sayers made a one, two (the left on the
     side of the head, and his right on the ribs), and
     Langham got down on the saving suit.

     12.――A pause now took place, and some mutual feinting
     and dodging, it being “bellows to mend” on each side.
     Nat at length tried his left, which was prettily
     stopped. Sayers now went in, made his left and right on
     the nose and ribs, but not heavily. Langham retaliated
     on the nose, which led to some slight exchanges, and a
     close, at the end of which both fell, Langham under.

     13.――Sayers attempted to take the lead, but was propped
     heavily on the snuff-box. He, however, got in his right
     with severity on the ribs, and then his left on Nat’s
     cheek. Nat’s returns were rendered abortive by the
     activity of Tom, who again visited his ribs heavily
     with his right, and Langham fell, Tom falling over him.

     14.――Langham resumed his lead, and got well on to Tom’s
     damaged nose and mouth. Sayers’s nose and cheeks
     puffing visibly, to the great danger of his clear sight
     for attack or defence. Tom countered him heavily on
     cheek and ribs, and Langham fell, Tom on him.

     15.――Sayers went to his man, planted his left on the
     side of Nat’s brain-pan. Langham returned on the neck
     with his right, a round hit, and fell in getting away.

     16.――Nat sent in his left, over Tom’s guard, upon his
     nose heavily, and again turned on the main. Good
     counters followed, Nat on the nose, and Tom on the neck
     heavily. Exchanges, in which Tom got on to Nat’s left
     cheek, and Langham got down, Sayers falling over him.

     17.――Langham was short in two attempts with his left,
     and a third was stopped, when Sayers dashed out his
     left, getting home on the ribs. Langham returned with
     good effect on the nose, and both fell.

     18.――Long sparring until Nat let fly his left on the
     old spot. Tom made his right on the ribs, but again got
     a nasty crack on the side of his cranium, and Langham
     got down.

     19.――Nat was again short in his lead. Tom was more
     successful, got home his right on the ribs, and Nat was
     again down.

     20.――This was a good round on both sides. After a
     little sparring Langham tried his left, but Tom jumped
     well away. In a second attempt Nat got slightly home on
     the chest, and then on the nose. Sayers countered him
     on the mouth, and then some exchanges took place, in
     which Nat hit the straightest, Tom’s blows appearing to
     be open-handed. Sayers now went in, but got it heavily
     on the nose from Nat, who fought on the retreat. Tom
     followed him up, got well home on the jaw, and then on
     the nose and left eye, knocking Langham clean off his
     legs. (A fair knock-down blow.)

     21.――Tho last blow delivered by Sayers was evidently a
     stinger, as Nat’s left peeper and nose showed the
     effects of it. Tom immediately led off, got in his left
     and right on the nose and ribs without a return, and
     then, closing, threw Langham a back-fall, and fell
     heavily on him. (5 to 4 offered by an enthusiastic
     backer of Tom’s.)

     22.――Hitting over Tom’s guard Nat got well on Tom’s
     nose, but Sayers returning heavily on the mouth, Nat
     got back, and fell.

     23.――Odds of 5 to 4 on Sayers were now freely offered
     all round the ring, and he certainly seemed to have
     much the best of it, was full of confidence, and at
     once opened proceedings by sending in his left heavily
     on Nat’s ivory-box. The latter tried to get away, but
     Tom followed him up closely and again landed on the
     mouth, avoiding the return. Severe counter-hitting
     followed, in which Sayers again got on to Nat’s mouth,
     but received on the smeller, and then Langham went to
     the earth in a decided state of weakness.

     24.――Sayers, attempting to force the fighting all he
     could, again led off on Nat’s left cheek, and Nat
     retaliated on the nose heavily. Tom retreated, and, on
     going to it again, popped in his right on Nat’s
     commissariat department. He tried a repetition of this,
     but napped it severely on the nose for his pains. After
     some sparring Tom reached Nat’s ribs, and the latter,
     reaching his own corner, got down.

     25.――Sayers, first to begin, delivered a little one on
     Nat’s nose, but the blow wanted steam. Nat retreated,
     and as Tom followed him, Nat jobbed him on the nozzle,
     again disturbing the cochineal; and on receiving a
     little one on the chin Nat dropped.

     26.――Nat began the attack by a successful endeavour to
     resume his lead. He got home heavily on Tom’s left
     cheek, which led to exchanges in favour of Nat, who
     repeatedly met Tom in the middle of the head. Tom got
     in one or two on the ribs and chest, and one on Nat’s
     left peeper, but not heavily. Nat returned on the face,
     and in retreating slipped down.

     27.――Langham again made play on Tom’s nose, the cork
     being drawn. He got in a little one on the ribs in
     return, and Nat fell, Sayers on him.

     28.――On coming up Nat led off, but misjudged his
     distance and was short, the blow falling on Tom’s
     cheek. Tom sent out his left, but got a very heavy one
     on his mouth in return. Some heavy exchanges followed,
     in which Tom got well home on Nat’s cheek, from the
     effect of which Nat fell.

     29.――One hour had now elapsed, and still there was no
     decided lead. Langham was again short in his opening
     deliveries, and Sayers, after returning on the left
     cheek, closed and threw his man, falling heavily on
     him.

     30.――Nat’s left once more fell short of its
     destination, when Tom let out his left and caught him
     on the mouth; Langham returned quickly on the nose,
     from which once more the ruby trickled. Slight
     exchanges followed, and Langham fell evidently weak.

     31.――Sayers led off, caught Nat a heavy cross hit with
     his left over the left peeper, inflicting a deep cut
     and drawing the carmine; he in return had his cork
     drawn by Nat’s left. Some exchanges followed, in the
     course of which Tom again opened the cut over Nat’s
     left ogle by a heavy hit from his left, and Nat fell.

     32.――Another good round. Nat’s left peeper looked the
     worse for wear, but he came gamely up, and as Tom led
     off he countered him on the nose. Some exchanges
     followed in favour of Sayers, who got well on Nat’s
     left cheek, and received a return on the cheek-bone.
     They now got to work in earnest, and some ding-dong
     fighting took place, as if both thought this the
     turning point of the battle. Each got it heavily on the
     frontispiece, Sayers re-opening the cut over Nat’s left
     eye, and receiving one or two awkward reminders on the
     cheek and nose. A break away followed, and then Langham
     again went up to his man, who met him on the left eye
     another heavy spank. Nat returned on the nozzle, and
     immediately afterwards received another reminder on the
     sinister peeper, and fell. This was a capital fighting
     round, exhibiting the determined resolve of both men.

     33.――Sayers led off, got home slightly on the throat,
     and received a heavy one from Nat’s left on the right
     cheek. Excellent counter-hits followed, Tom on the
     cheek and Nat on the right peeper, and Nat then got
     down.

     34.――Long sparring, Langham evidently wanting wind, and
     Tom not much better. At last Nat went to work, got well
     on Tom’s damaged nose with his left, and stopped Tom’s
     return. Sayers tried again, and succeeded in reaching
     Nat’s throat, when the latter again fell.

     35.――Another fighting round. Good counter-hits, each
     receiving on the left eye. A break away and more
     counter-hitting, Sayers on the left peeper, and Nat
     well on the nose. Langham now lunged out his right with
     great force, but, luckily for Tom, the blow missed its
     destination, and Nat, overreaching himself, fell.

     36.――Nat, on coming up, showed his left peeper in deep
     mourning, and nearly closed; he was evidently weak, and
     the friends of Sayers were up in the stirrups. Sayers
     feinted, and let out his left, which reached the
     damaged optic, re-opening the former wound. Langham was
     short in his return. Sayers twice got home his left on
     the throat, but was stopped in the third attempt; he
     afterwards succeeded in reaching Nat’s left cheek, and
     the latter, after an ineffectual attempt to return, got
     down.

     37.――In spite of the punishment he had received in the
     previous round, Langham was first up, and he sent out
     his left, but Tom jumped quickly away, returned heavily
     on the forehead and ribs, and then fell.

     38.――Some ineffectual countering, after which Sayers
     got nearer, and put in a little one on the left eye.
     Nat retreated, and on being followed by Tom, who
     delivered straight on the mouth, got down weak.

     39.――There could be no question as to the gallantry
     with which both men were fighting, and although
     appearances were in favour of Sayers, there were not
     wanting those who saw the danger lying before him, and
     among these must assuredly be numbered Nat’s clever
     seconds, under whose directions and advice Langham now
     seemed to devote himself to land just one blow on Tom’s
     swollen nose, or on one of his puffy eyes, and then to
     get down with as little punishment and as little
     exertion as possible; for it was impossible to conceal
     Nat’s weakness, and it was decidedly a moot point
     whether he would be able to hold out until Tom could be
     forced to “put up the shutters.” Nat tried to lead off,
     but was stopped. Sayers attempted to return, but Nat
     sent out his left very straight on the left eye, and on
     Sayers again coming on, he delivered the same hand on
     Tom’s damaged smeller, and drew more claret. Tom made
     his left slightly on the cheek, and Nat at once went to
     grass.

     40.――Tom let go his left, got slightly home on the
     chest, and Nat, after returning with his left on the
     forehead, fell.

     41.――Sayers tried to take the lead, but Nat jumped
     quickly away; Sayers followed him up, when Nat met him
     with a sharp tap on the left eye, and then another
     left-hander on the cheek. Sayers persevered until he
     got home his right on Nat’s ribs, when the latter again
     got down.

     42.――Nat led off, caught Tom heavily on the left cheek
     and then on the brow. He tried to repeat the
     visitation, when Tom caught him sharply over the right
     peeper, drawing blood, and Nat got down. Nat’s length
     and cleverness were conspicuous in his left-hand
     deliveries.

     43.――Sayers rushed in, but Nat countered him on the
     left peeper. Sayers got in his right heavily on the
     bread-basket, and Nat fell.

     44.――After a little sparring, the men got close
     together, and some sharp counter-hits were exchanged,
     Tom getting well on to Nat’s damaged left peeper, and
     receiving on the right cheek. Nat now attempted another
     delivery, but overreached himself and fell.

     45.――The temporary revival of Langham’s strength seemed
     at an end. Sayers let go his left, got home on the
     cheek, and Nat, who was decidedly in “Queer Street,”
     again went down sick and weak.

     46.――Nothing done. Nat got down as soon and as easily
     as he could manage it.

     47.――Sayers led off, and caught Nat over the left ogle;
     this led to some counter-hits, in which Langham got
     home heavily on Tom’s right peeper, which was now
     pretty nearly closed from the repeated hits on the nose
     and its exposure to the bright rays of the sun. Langham
     received a little one on the left cheek in return, and
     fell.

     48.――Tom led off, but was countered by Nat on the left
     eye. In a second attempt Nat stopped him, and then
     popped him heavily on the nose, drawing more of the
     ruby. Nat succeeded in planting another heavily on the
     left peeper, and Tom fell for the first time for many
     rounds.

     49.――Things looked by no means so cheerful for Sayers’
     backers, for although he was by far the stronger man on
     his pins, he now came up bleeding from both eyes, his
     seconds having been compelled to lance them while he
     was in his corner to prevent his going blind. He dashed
     in, aware that although much the stronger man on his
     legs, he must be in total darkness if he did not finish
     his man soon. Slight exchanges took place, Tom getting
     it on both eyes slightly, and returning, but without
     effect, on Nat’s mouth, and in the end Sayers was first
     down.

     50.――Sayers once more dashed in but was met by Nat on
     the left peeper. Tom returned slightly on the body, and
     Langham again went to grass, apparently weak.

     51.――Tom rushed in, delivered his left heavily on the
     conk, and then his right on the ribs without a return,
     and Nat dropped.

     52.――Tom again went to work, caught Langham on the side
     of his nut; Nat returned on the left peeper, and then
     slipped down.

     53.――Tom led off, got home on Langham’s left eye, but
     the blow lacked force, and Nat fell, Sayers falling
     over him.

     54.――Sayers stepped in with his left, but was short; he
     tried it again, catching Nat on the waistband. Langham
     attempted a return, but Sayers jumped away. Nat again
     lunged out, but, overreaching himself, fell.

     55.――Nat seemed to shake himself together, went up to
     his man, led off with his left on the right cheek, and
     got away. Sayers followed him up, when some sharp
     exchanges took place, Nat reaching Tom’s damaged snout,
     and once more turning on the tap. Tom returned the
     compliment on the left cheek, and Langham fell weak,
     Tom falling over him, not much better off.

     56.――It was now clear that Tom’s peepers had not many
     minutes to remain open, and he therefore at once led
     off, but was out of distance; in a second attempt he
     caught Nat over the left peeper, but received another
     hot one on the nose in return. He would not be shaken
     off, however; he followed Nat and let fly his left on
     the jaw. Sharp counter-hits followed, Sayers on the
     mouth and nose, and Nat on the right ogle, and Langham
     fell.

     57.――Tom at once rushed in, but was stopped. His next
     effort reached Nat’s mouth, and the latter got down.

     58.――Both were nearly pumped out, and it was evident
     that a chance hit might finish Langham, while Sayers,
     if he could not deliver that hit, must soon “cut it.”
     The men let fly simultaneously, each getting it on the
     frontispiece. A break away followed, after which Tom
     reached Nat’s left eye, but not effectively. A close,
     in which Tom caught his man with his right as he went
     down, and then fell on him.

     59.――Langham went to his man, delivered his left
     heavily on the nose, and received a little one on the
     jaw. He then rushed at Sayers, who stepped back, and
     Nat, missing his mark, fell.

     60.――Sayers’s fate was sealed; like Jack Broughton in
     the memorable account of Captain Godfrey,[25] he might
     have exclaimed, “I can’t see my man; I’m blind, not
     beat. Only let me see my man and he shall not gain the
     day yet!” Tom rushed in open-handed. Nat stepped on one
     side, met him as he came on the left peeper, and then
     beside the nose. Tom persevered, but Langham easily
     avoided him, and then propped him in the mouth heavily.
     Tom continued to bore in, and got in a round hit on the
     side of Nat’s head, whereon Nat returned with his left
     just behind Tom’s ear, and both fell. Sayers evidently
     all abroad.

     61 and last.――It was beyond a doubt now that Sayers
     could not see what he was doing or where he was going,
     and there were loud cries from his backers of “take him
     away,” which Alec Keene was anxious to do; but Tom,
     full of pluck as ever, resolutely refused to give in,
     and swinging his arms, walked deliberately to the
     scratch. He lunged out, but could not judge his
     distance, and Nat, waiting for him coolly until he came
     again, hit him heavily on the right eye. Poor Tom
     struck out wildly and altogether at random, and Nat
     getting out of his way delivered a heavy left-hander on
     the left eye, which put up the other shutter, and he
     rather fell than was knocked down. On being helped to
     his corner, despite his entreaties, Alec Keene, seeing
     there was no hope, threw up the sponge, and Langham was
     proclaimed the victor in this truly gallant struggle,
     after a contest that had been protracted for two hours
     and two minutes. Immediately the fiat had been
     pronounced in his favour, Nat walked across the ring to
     shake hands with his defeated opponent, who shed bitter
     tears of disappointment and humiliation, while Nat,
     seeming to acquire fresh strength from the
     consciousness of victory, contrived to leap over the
     ropes, although five minutes before he could hardly
     stand on his legs.

     REMARKS.――Nothing could possibly be farther from our
     thoughts or wishes than any attempt to detract from the
     gallant achievements of Nat Langham in thus maintaining
     his title as middle-weight champion, and also earning a
     lasting fame as the only man who ever licked Tom
     Sayers. Still, in fairness to the beaten man, it must
     be remembered that Sayers was at that time by no means
     either so good a boxer nor so strong a man as he became
     a few years later, when he defeated one big man after
     another. Moreover, his defeat was palpably owing to his
     want of condition, in consequence of which his face
     puffed up and his eyes closed with far less punishment
     than he could otherwise have taken scatheless. But when
     all allowances have been made, the fact remains, that
     the gallant Nat did defeat the otherwise invincible
     Tom, and thus worthily dosed a pugilistic career,
     which, like Sayers’s, had only once been clouded by
     defeat. Nothing could be more deserving of the highest
     praise and warmest admiration than the cool courage and
     calculating generalship with which, when he found that
     the superior strength of his adversary was likely to
     prove too much for him, he at once adopted the only
     system of tactics likely to serve him, and deliberately
     set to work to avert defeat by blinding his opponent.
     How skilfully he carried this plan into effect we have
     seen, and it is interesting to remember that Sayers
     never forgot the lesson he had received, but himself
     put it into practical effect on the occasion of his
     fight with Heenan.

Sayers’s gallant stand was duly appreciated by his friends, and
upwards of fifty pounds were collected for him in the train during the
homeward journey. Immediately he had recovered his eyesight Tom
challenged Langham to another trial of skill, but Nat announced his
retirement from the Ring; and, further, his opening of the “Cambrian
Stores,” Castle Street, Leicester Square, where he decorated a showy
lamp, bearing his name and the inscription, “Champion of the
Middle-weights.” At this period our hero developed into a publican;
for your successful pugilist is a publican in chrysalis, so sure as a
caddis shall become a May-fly in due season. Sayers, however, had also
become the landlord of the “Bricklayers’ Arms,” in his favourite
locality of Camden Town, and demurred to Nat’s lamp and inscription.
“Here am I,” said he, “ready for all comers, Nat Langham included. He
has been beaten by Harry Orme, who has retired, and I have been beaten
by him. As I do not believe myself conquered on my merits, but by
inferior condition, I claim the Championship of the Middle-weights.”

The introduction of Harry Orme’s name is irrelevant, as Orme, Aaron
Jones (12 stone), Tom Paddock (12 stone), Harry Broome (12 stone),
claimed and fought for the actual and unlimited “Championship,” during
the interregnum closed by Tom Sayers’s successive disposal of Aaron
Jones, Bill Perry (the Tipton Slasher), 13 stone, Bill Benjamin
(Bainge), 12 stone, and Tom Paddock. Quitting this point, however,
Nat’s reply was conclusive. He had espoused the niece of Ben Caunt,
had settled down, and did not see why he should risk all these
“hostages given to fortune,” by trusting what Captain Godfrey calls in
his sketch of Broughton, “a battle to a waning age.” Langham’s health,
too, never robust, was by no means A 1, and he prudently preferred
leaving off a winner, as disposing of such a boxer as Tom Sayers was
by no means what betting men would call a “safe thing.” He, therefore,
in a brief epistle declined Tom’s cartel, and told him he might paint
his lamp at the “Bricklayers’ Arms” in any way he chose; meantime that
he, Langham, had won the title of Middle-weight Champion and meant to
wear it, and certainly should not transfer it from Castle Street to
Camden Town; and there the controversy closed.

We should here close the history of Nat Langham’s career in the P.R.
but for the regrettable incident of his rescinding his commendable
resolution of retirement four years later, in 1857, in the September
of which year, owing to some domestic jars with his relative and
neighbour, “Big Ben,” the ill-assorted pair met in battle array to
decide their fistic merits, also who should forfeit a stake of £100 to
the other, and to settle a family feud in which the public could not
feel the slightest possible interest. How they did not achieve either
of these three results will be found fully set forth in our account of
their drawn-battle, in the Life of CAUNT, in Chapter II. of the
present volume.

Langham, in his later years, was host of the “Mitre” tavern in St.
Martin’s Lane, and died at the “Cambrian,” Castle Street, Leicester
Square, September 1st, 1871.


     [24] Harry Brunton still flourishes (June, 1881), it cannot
     be said in a “_green_ old age,” at the “Nag’s Head,” Wood
     Green, a handy house of call in the Green Lanes, near the
     Alexandra Palace.

     [25] See PUGILISTICA, vol. i., p. 28.




CHAPTER VII.

HARRY ORME.

1849-1853.


The brown-skinned, hardy, game, and resolute boxer, whose name heads
this somewhat brief biography, demands a niche in our gallery of prize
pugilists who have aspired to the Championship, were it only for the
obstinately contested battles in which he was engaged on each of the
four occasions in which he made a public appearance in the twenty-four
foot enclosure. In the short period between December, 1849, and April,
1853, Harry advanced from the position of a “novice” to that of a
candidate, and a very dangerous one, for the Championship of England;
reckoning among those who succumbed to his prowess, Aaron Jones
(twice), the accomplished Nat Langham――the only conqueror of Tom
Sayers――and closing his career by one of the most memorable battles of
modern times, in which he fell before the conquering arm of Harry
Broome.

Harry Orme was by birth a Londoner, having first seen daylight at Old
Ford, near Bow, in the month of May, 1826; in which year, also, were
born his antagonist, Harry Broome, and the yet more renowned Tom
Sayers, doubtless under the influence of some pugilistic planet.
Harry, who “came of decent people,” was introduced to the London Ring
with less preliminary paragraphing than usual; he was an East-Ender by
birth, parentage, and associations, and an East-Ender he remained to
the end of his career.

It so happened that in the year 1849, Jem Burn, the Mæcenas of
millers, had among his visitors at the “Queen’s Head” a powerful big
one, hight Aaron Jones, of Shrewsbury, 20 years of age, weighing 11st.
4lb., standing 5ft. 10½in. in his stocking-feet, who had friends among
the “proud Salopians,” who were anxious to get on a match with any
“trial horse” Jem might select for their promising novice. Jones had
passed a favourable “competitive examination” in the sparring schools,
and Jem had declared, with a qualifying _if_, that “_If_ there was the
right stuff in him he was big enough and clever enough for anything
then on the list.” The “sages of the East” were of opinion that they
had a novice as good as he of the West, so Harry, after taking stock
of his opponent _in futuro_ at a sparring _soirée_ in Windmill Street,
returned to his friends at the “Blue Anchor,” and “reported progress.”
The result was favourable to a venture of the East against the West,
the Orientals already well knowing that their man would take a great
deal of beating to turn him from brown to blue. Articles were
accordingly formulated at Mr. Hunter’s, “Weavers’ Arms,” Kingsland
Road, with deposits at “Jolly Jem’s,” for a fight to come off on the
18th December, 1849, each man not to exceed 11st. 4lb. on the day
before the fight. Frimley Green, Surrey, was duly reached per train on
the day appointed, and at a quarter to one, in a drizzle of cold rain,
the men entered the ring. The “Shrewsbury Youth” was waited on by Jack
Hannan and Bob Fuller, the pedestrian; Orme by two well-known East End
professionals, Joe Rowe and John Hazeltine. Umpires and a referee were
quickly agreed upon; and the colours, a blue birdseye for Orme, and a
fancy orange, shot with green, with a blue border, for Jones, being
knotted to the stake, the men and their seconds crossed hands, and the
principal performers stood up for


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Considering that the men were novices, there
     was a good deal of money laid out on the mill, Jones
     being made the favourite at 5 and 6 to 4――chiefly from
     having the wealthier backers. He certainly, though
     young and light downwards, was lathy, long, and
     muscular, and looked dangerously like a fighter; while
     Orme, compact, well knit, and determined, seemed, with
     his mahogany frontispiece and walnut-brown skin, more
     like a gipsy than ever. Orme squared his elbows in the
     old-fashioned style that was called “navigatorish;”
     while Jones, though awkward and nervous, showed the
     superior school in which he had graduated. The Young
     One tried his left, but Orme jumped away, going bang
     against one of the stakes. The men crept close again,
     each sparring in what was meant to be a finished style,
     till Jones let fly with his left, but almost out of
     distance, so that he barely reached his man. After
     feeling his way again, Jones let go, but was stopped
     neatly, and in the exchanges that followed Orme threw
     in his right heavily on Jones’s left cheek. There was
     weight in this blow; the Young One shook his head as if
     puzzled, then went in resolutely. Orme missed his one,
     two. A rally followed, during which Jones hit Orme in
     the mouth, and received on the right eye in return.
     Both rolled down. In this, his very first round within
     the ropes, it was seen that Orme’s favourite weapon was
     his right, and that he was a heavy hitter.

     2 to 6.――These rounds were much alike, and although
     there were some sharp exchanges all through them, they
     were tedious. Novices are generally in one extreme or
     the other; they either rush at their opponents as if
     fights were to be won in a gallop, or else are
     ambitious to show how scientific they are, and so spar
     and manœuvre without any definite end in view. The
     fighting took place chiefly in Orme’s corner, the
     length of arm possessed by Jones forcing his opponent
     to retreat; here they manœuvred and jumped in and out,
     till at last they got close, and then staggering
     counter-hits would be exchanged. The closes were
     scrambling affairs, and generally ended in the men
     rolling down together.

  [Illustration: HARRY ORME.]

     7.――Another tedious example of ring manœuvring, without
     the skill which makes such fiddling, squaring,
     advancing, retreating, feinting, and shifting
     tolerable. Both novices, however, were actuated by a
     desire not to throw a chance away; but on a wet
     December day a little less generalship and busier work
     would have suited the spectators. The round lasted 27
     minutes, but tedious as it was, it was wound up by a
     slashing rally, in which the big ones hit with all
     their steam. Jones drew _first blood_ in profusion from
     Orme’s nose and mouth, while Harry delivered his right
     with tremendous force on Jones’s left ribs and left
     eye, badly marking the one and almost entirely closing
     the other.

     8.――Both slow in answering the call of time; more than
     a minute elapsed before they appeared at the scratch,
     the heavy hitting in the last round having told its
     tale. Orme, instead of going in and taking advantage of
     his weight and power of arm, stood out and retreated,
     by advice of his friends. The round lasted 17 minutes,
     and at last was closed by another desperate rally,
     Jones improving in his style, and using both hands
     well, but the returns of Orme were heaviest and most
     effective. Jones threw Orme cleverly in the close.

     9.――Jones jobbed Orme on the nose, and then on the
     cheek, but the blows, although well from the shoulder,
     left no mark. Orme seemed remarkably slow in showing
     contusions, while Jones was already much disfigured.
     Jones forced Orme towards his corner; Orme rushed
     forward as Jones retreated in turn; he let go both left
     and right viciously, but was short. Jones lunged out
     desperately with his right, and nailing Orme on the
     side of the head, knocked him clean down in the middle
     of the ring. (Cheers for the Shrewsbury Youth. First
     knock-down for Jones.)

     10.――Orme came up smiling, and as Jones made himself up
     for following his supposed advantage, surprised him by
     dashing in and planting his left a smasher on the nose.
     A pounding rally followed, in which some heavy
     counter-hitting took place, each man standing well to
     his gun, until Jones fell under the ropes.

     For the next fifteen rounds the fighting grew quicker,
     the sparring less tedious, and the rallies more
     frequent. Jones, taking a leaf out of his opponent’s
     book, planted several slashing hits with his right on
     the side of Orme’s head, but being the taller man, he
     frequently hit too high, and his hand, rather than
     Orme’s hard skull, suffered. The East-Ender took his
     punishment patiently, and was with Jones in nearly all
     his attempts, with heavy right-handers on the left
     ribs, which gradually impaired the force of Jones’s
     hitting, and when they got closer still, his ponderous
     right fell on his cheek-bone or temple, till Jones was
     nearly blinded. The Shrewsbury man, however, was yet as
     strong as Orme, and was the better wrestler, for he
     threw his adversary in several of these rounds. Towards
     the 25th round, however, the repeated right-handers of
     Orme began to tell their tale, and Jones grew slower
     and weaker. In the last-mentioned round Orme led off,
     and hit Jones sharply in the head, repeating the dose
     without a return. Jones attempted to force a rally, but
     Orme got down more cleverly than heretofore. Jones
     fought with great fairness, and was much applauded.

     26.――Orme showed few marks of punishment, and was sent
     up by his seconds very clean, while Jones grew more
     disfigured each round. The men fought somewhat wildly,
     but managed to exchange some stinging counters, which
     led to a close; but Jones was now unable to throw his
     opponent, and both were down.

     27 to 35.――(Two hours and twenty-nine minutes had
     elapsed, and no odds were obtainable; indeed, it was
     yet on the cards for either to win.) Burn called to his
     man, Jones, to come away from Orme’s corner, and let
     the East-Ender come to him. Jones, who was evidently
     distressed, did so, and the same style of fighting was
     pursued. Jones fell from weakness in the 32nd round,
     which Orme noting, he forced the fighting again, and,
     in the 35th round delivered several of his slogging
     hits at close quarters with such staggering effect that
     Jones, whose returns were slight, dropped in the rally.

     36.――The last two or three rounds had told their tale,
     and it was evident that Jones’s chance was fading. (3
     to 1 offered on Orme without takers.) Jones came up as
     game as a man could be, and still tried to look
     cheerful; but his knees were tottery, and he was
     plainly “going.” Orme went to him, forced another
     rally, and, after one or two heavy hits, dropped him
     with a right-hander. (“Take him away.”)

     37 and 38.――In each of these rounds Jones came to the
     scratch, and made one or two futile attempts to stop
     his adversary’s rush, dropping on his knee on receiving
     a hit from Orme.

     39.――Orme paused, as if hesitating to strike his
     opponent, who was quite at his mercy. Jones made a peck
     at him, and received a touch on the old spot in the
     ribs. It was but a push, yet it sent him to grass
     sideways.

     40.――Loud cries of “Take him away!” Jones faced his
     opponent for the fortieth time, but he was all abroad.
     Orme gradually forced him back into his corner, and
     harmlessly sent him down, when Hannan threw up the
     sponge in token of Jones’s defeat.

     The fight lasted two hours and forty-five minutes,
     including several tedious rounds, and much useless
     breaking ground, advancing, and retreating. It was,
     nevertheless, a truly hard fight, and the two powerful
     boxers who made their _début_ on this occasion
     inflicted severe mutual punishment. It was manifest,
     early in the battle, that Orme was the more lasting of
     the two, and much the heavier hitter. It seemed, also,
     that Jones had commenced his career too early.

Each man proved himself thorough game, and possessed of undoubted
stamina. Orme, in beating a man taller, longer in the reach, a shade
heavier, and much the favourite in the betting, had done all expected
of him, and his friends resolved on quietly biding their time,
and――when that time did come――on playing for a good stake. Their
confidence in their champion was shown by the character of the next
antagonist selected for him being no other than Nat Langham, whose
fame already stood high among the few who had an opportunity of
judging of his merits.

Orme’s _coup d’essai_ having proved eminently satisfactory, and Master
Nat having been waiting in vain for a suitable customer from the day
when he defeated Sparkes the Australian, as related in the previous
chapter, a match was proposed for £50 a side, to be decided on the 6th
day of May, 1851. A trip down the river being agreed on, “The Queen of
the Thames” was the vessel engaged, and the oft-described voyage
having been effected at two o’clock, the ring was pitched by Ould Tom
Oliver, Tom Callas, and assistants. At three Orme tossed in his cap,
and Langham followed his example. The usual ridiculous haggling with
regard to a referee ensued, during which we adjourned to another part
of the marsh, where a merry little mill between an Israelite and a son
of Ishmael, in the person of a gipsy lad, which had been arranged for
decision on this occasion, came off. The Hebrew was worsted after a
stubborn resistance. This settled, we returned to the legitimate roped
quadrangle called “the ring” because it is _not_ round. Here, after
positively refusing an arbitration which carries with its exercise
nought but unpleasantness, a veteran Ring-goer (Old Tom Oliver), with
the snows of sixty winters on his head, accepted the office. At
fifteen minutes past four the men were escorted to the scratch. Orme
was esquired by Jemmy Welsh and Jack Grant; Langham by D’Orsay Turner
and Johnny Hannan. The men, at scale, were stated to be respectively
11st. 5lb. and 11st. 2lb.; but upon this point we have our doubts,
Orme appearing upon every point far the heavier man. Orme had trained
upon the Chatham hills, and was as tough-looking a dark grained bit of
stuff as ever was selected by shipwright of that famed dockyard
locality. Langham took his breathings on Newmarket Heath, and was as
fine as any thoroughbred fresh from its gallops. The betting was now
even, Langham for choice. After waiting a few minutes for a hailstorm,
which, according to the precedent of this “merry month,” will have its
way, at a quarter past four the men stood up for


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Orme stood firmly, with his elbows rather
     high, his fists level and almost square, and his heavy,
     thick, round arms in anything but an elegant position;
     yet he loomed big, massive, and formidable, and his
     deep chest, matted with coarse black hair, and
     complexion of the deepest gipsy brown, gave an
     impression of hardihood and enduring strength. Langham
     was fine and fair in skin, clean built, with handsome
     shoulders and biceps, good length of reach and active
     pins. His attitude was artistic; the left well up and
     forward, the right playing easily across the mark,
     covering the short ribs, and ready for stop or
     delivery. Orme seemed a little flurried and worked
     forward, Langham shifting and retreating before him,
     coolly and collectedly. Orme let go his left, which
     Langham stopped, and caught Orme sharply on the
     cheekbone; Langham followed Orme on the bustle, and
     reached him slightly with the right, when Orme ducked
     his head, turned clean round, and rose up outside the
     ropes (laughter). Langham beckoned Orme, who came
     inside, nodding his head and smiling. Langham, cautious
     and steady, would not lead off. Orme tried to make his
     left, but was stopped, and following it immediately
     with his right was out of distance; Langham hit Orme
     sharply with the left in a quick exchange, drawing
     “first blood” from his mouth and nose. The men got at
     it, and fighting was the order of the round, Orme
     giving Langham a heavy body hit, but catching pepper
     about the frontispiece. Both down, Langham first, but
     with the best of the hitting.

     2.――Nat retreating, measuring Orme with his left, till
     the latter let fly; pretty counter-hits with the left,
     Orme home on Langham’s cheek, Langham on Orme’s nasal
     organ, from which more of the ruby distilled. Some
     exchanges of no great moment, Langham slipping down
     from his own hit.

     3.――Orme stopped Langham’s left neatly (applause);
     counters with left, Langham’s straightest, but did not
     seem much to mark Orme’s cast-iron nob. Orme bored in,
     pegging away; Langham propped him, but dropped when
     forced to the ropes.

     4.――Orme made several feints, Langham shifted and
     laughed; Langham tried to draw his man, but the latter,
     advised by Welsh, pointed to the scratch. Langham tried
     his left, but Orme was with him, and, after some heavy
     weaving work, Langham fell because it suited him.

     5.――Sparring; Langham cautious but lively. Orme had
     found that he got pepper whenever he attempted to lead
     off, and he paused awhile. There was some little chaff
     about each man having something in his hands, and they
     were shown to be empty. The mill recommenced by Langham
     rattling in one, two, catching Orme on the nose and
     ribs; in the scramble Langham was down.

     6.――Nat visited Orme’s left eye a stinger, raising a
     “mouse.” Orme rushed in and delivered with tremendous
     half-arm energy; Langham fought up and was bored down.

     7.――Orme rolled in, letting go both hands; Nat nobbed
     him, but Orme forced the fun, and ran Langham to earth.

     8.――Orme had got terribly disfigured by Langham’s
     retreating shots, but they did not seem to impair his
     strength or resolution; he hit Langham heavily on the
     ribs in the rally, but got one, straight as an arrow,
     in the nose from Langham’s left; it was a smasher, and
     was followed by a lunge from the right, as he was
     already on the stagger, and down he went on his south
     pole. (_First knock-down far Langham._ Great cheering.)

     9.――Orme came up more steady than was expected; he
     hemmed and coughed several times, as if troubled in the
     throat, but played about, waiting for Langham to begin.
     Langham led off, and made his left, but Orme dashed in
     desperately, and both were down in the rally. (6 to 4
     on Langham.)

     10.――Langham propped Orme on the nose; Orme hit rather
     out of distance, and Langham slipped down.

     11.――Rapid exchanges. Langham made his straight left
     sharply on Orme’s right eye, raising a “mouse” to match
     the left. Orme got Langham in his arms, and, after a
     brief struggle, held him by the crook, forced him over,
     and threw him from his hip on his neck and head,
     lending his whole weight to the impetus of his fall.
     Langham, apparently stupefied, was picked up, all
     abroad, by Jem Turner and Hannan. (Cries of “It’s all
     over!”)

     12.――Langham came up loose in the knees and puzzled,
     but he had not lost his style. Orme could not get on to
     him, and he fell on the saving suit.

     13.――(“Time.”) Langham fought prettily on the
     defensive, but was in evident distress; indeed, he
     never entirely shook off effects of the throw in the
     previous round throughout the fight. Orme hit him in
     the body, but he was getting down when he received the
     blow.

     14, 15, 16.――Langham still merely defensive but the
     last a good fighting round.

     17 to 20.――Heavy work; both rather wild. Langham
     generally finished the rounds by getting to grass.
     (Offers of 3 to 2 on Orme.)

     21.――Punishing exchanges. Nat getting steadier; Orme
     gave way a little after a job or two from Langham’s
     left. Langham followed him. After some hard fighting
     Orme threw Langham.

     22.――(A claim on account of Orme having some substance
     in his hand; it was disproved.) Ding-dong work, and
     Langham down in the hitting.

     23.――Orme pursued Langham, determined not to allow him
     to recover his wind; hard, but rather wild hitting,
     during which Orme getting close, sent Langham down.

     24.――Nat missed his left, Orme stepping back; Orme put
     out his tongue. Exchanges, and Langham fell.

     25.――Langham hit Orme several times as he came in, but
     could not stop himself from being bored down.

     26.――Langham tried his left twice, but was not near
     enough to his man. Orme let go his left, and Langham
     dropped. (An appeal from Orme on the plea that Langham
     dropped without a blow.)

     27.――Heavy counters; Orme on Langham’s jowl; Langham on
     Orme’s eye, which was nearly shut up. A rattling round.
     Nat got on Orme’s best eye (the right), then on his
     note. Orme hammered away, but was short of distance,
     except when in-fighting; a close, and Langham under.
     (One hour.)

     28, 29.――Exchanges; Langham precise, and timing his
     hits, got Orme to a standstill. When Orme came on again
     Langham fell. (Another claim.)

     30, 31.――As before, Langham slipped down in the
     hitting. (A claim each round for Orme.)

     32.――Orme wild and rushing; Langham steadied himself,
     and propped him severely. Langham fell at the ropes,
     Orme over him.

     33, 34.――Langham delivered and fell from his own blows.

     35.――Hard hitting; Orme would not be denied; Langham
     got down at the ropes, and Orme, bending his knee,
     tried to drop on him. (An appeal from Langham’s party,
     but overruled.)

     36 to 40.――Nat nailed Orme dexterously, swelling his
     lips till he resembled the portrait of the elder
     Molyneaux. In the 40th round he got him to a standstill
     for a few seconds. (“Where’s your 2 to 1 now?”) Langham
     fought cunningly, and got through the ropes, down.

     41.――Orme’s eye closed; he rushed at Langham, who
     dropped, and Orme was again charged with trying to
     “knee” him.

     42.――Exchanges; Langham made his left prettily, but
     Orme gave him such a sneezer that he dropped.

     43.――Langham game and clever, but weak. (80 minutes had
     elapsed.) In the struggle at the close Langham was
     undermost; a nasty back fall.

     44.――Some sharp work, the men falling from their own
     hits, reaching the ground at the same time.

     45 to 60.――It was wonderful to see how, round after
     round, such fighting could be kept up, Langham still
     holding the palm for generalship, straight hitting, and
     precision, but wanting strength from repeated falls. In
     the 60th round he fell weak. In the 64th, both men were
     again down in the hitting. From the 65th to the 100th
     round, time after time, did the men come up with
     fluctuating chances, the changes every three or four
     rounds being truly surprising. First Langham got so
     shaky that every round seemed his last; then Orme got
     such straight props from the shoulder, in return for
     his attempts to “go in and finish,” that it seemed a
     pity both could not win; several times he stood still,
     puzzled, but scorned to go down, while Langham could
     not get up steam enough to seize the advantage and
     secure victory. Orme was twice appealed against, on the
     ground that he lifted his foot when Langham was down.
     We do not think he either knew or intended to do what
     he did. Langham, too, was appealed against for going
     down, but the veteran referee would not have the battle
     snatched from such good men by a quibble. In the 100th
     round, 2 hours and 34 minutes having expired, Orme, on
     being carried to his corner, communicated to his
     seconds that he would fight no more; when the practised
     eye of Welsh perceiving that Langham’s head had dropped
     on Turner’s shoulder, he revived his man by the
     information that his opponent had “cut it.” Orme went
     up, but was not allowed to have it for asking. Langham
     showed, and pecked away like a game cock, though there
     was no power in his blows.

     102 to 108.――Short rounds, as they well might be.
     Langham got a turn in his favour, for he hit Orme in
     the last-mentioned round, and his head dropped when
     picked up.

     109.――Orme recovered quicker than could be expected,
     and again perceived that his opponent’s plight was no
     better than his own: he staggered in, punched away, and
     Langham fell.

     110 to 113.――Orme very much abroad, but still the
     stronger. Langham fell in the 113th round on the ropes,
     and Orme upon him.

     114, 115.――Both game as pebbles; Orme quite foggy in
     the optics; Langham staggering, and instinctively
     putting out his left for a pushing hit. (“Take them
     both away,” said a bystander. Orme shook his head, and
     Langham tried to muster the ghost of a smile.) The
     seconds went close to their men. “It’s all right,” said
     poor Langham to Jem Turner. If he thought so no one
     else did. After a slight pop with his left, Orme pushed
     Langham down, and fell over him.

     116.――Orme on his knees, and Langham down anyhow, in a
     weak rally.

     117th and last.――Langham sent out his left; Orme
     stepped back; Langham again hit out. He evidently did
     not perceive what was before him, and coming forward,
     from his own blow, fell on both knees and his hands.
     His seconds ran up to him, but it was all over. Orme
     stood in his corner for a few seconds, when time was
     called, to which the Leicester man was yet deaf, walked
     slowly across the ring, and taking the hand of his
     brave, fallen adversary, tried to muster an expression
     of admiration at his bravery. The sponge had before
     gone up from Langham’s corner, and thus, at the close
     of _two hours and forty-six minutes_, was brought to a
     decision one of the gamest battles the modern annals of
     the Ring can boast.

The shades of evening were closing in as the voyagers got on board
their respective steamers, many more, as is usual on such occasions,
extending their patronage to the “men’s” peculiar boat on the upward
voyage than came down by that conveyance; for the very obvious reason
that as the voyage both ways was paid at starting, the disagreeable
ceremony of paying would be insisted on, while having once got down by
a Gravesender, tug, or other cheap conveyance, the homeward-bound
voyage could be effected _gratis_. It was nearly midnight when the
“Queen of the Thames,” working against tide and a head wind, reached
London Bridge; the voyage being shortened by many an anecdote of brave
battles in bygone days, with which all agreed the present mill might
well bear a comparison.

Orme now rested for a year upon his well-earned laurels, when once
again Aaron Jones, who during the interval of two years had, so rumour
averred, wonderfully developed and immensely improved in the art,
sought to reverse the verdict given against him in December, 1849.
Aaron had, moreover, in the interim fought Bob Wade (the Dover
Champion), a 12st. man, whom he defeated at Edenbridge, Kent, in one
hour, in which forty-three punishing rounds were contested.

Monday, May 10th, 1852, was the fixture, instead of the customary
Tuesday; the moving reason thereto being that the Turfites, among whom
were Jones’s prominent patrons, might attend another “ring” at
Newmarket on the latter day. On Jones’s improvement the Sporting
Oracle thus delivered itself: “When Jones first contended with Orme he
was a youth of eighteen, weighing 11st. 2lbs., and too young to bear
the wear and tear of a long encounter. He has now increased in height
and weight, stands 6 feet in height, and will draw a trifle over
12st., besides having materially improved in the pugilistic art.” At
the last deposit of £10 a side, making up the stakes to £200, which
took place on Tuesday last at Mr. Prior’s, “Nag’s Head,” South Audley
Street, Jones had the call in the betting, his friends being
West-enders and ready to back their own “stable.” As the rendezvous
was in the vicinity of Newmarket, and a trip per Eastern Counties rail
the mode of reaching the field of arms, we were glad, on presenting
ourselves at the Shoreditch terminus at eight o’clock, to see at “the
meet,” not only a large number of the Corinthian patrons of the Ring,
whose faces we have for some time missed from such gatherings, but
many of the ex-professors of the art――Owen Swift, Adams, Jem Burn,
Shaw, Dan Pinxton, Jemmy Gardner, Alec Keene, Harry Milbourn, &c., &c.
At a little before eight Jones arrived at the station, accompanied by
the lively Bob Fuller and Alec Keene; the former being his trainer and
the twain his selected seconds for the fistic duello. Jones looked
remarkably bright and well, indeed, as Bob expressed it, he was “as
fit as a fiddle,” and “would take a great deal of beating.” Orme did
not put in an appearance at Shoreditch, but it was quickly made known
that he had departed overnight for the neighbourhood of Newmarket,
where he was awaiting the arrival of the “London particulars.” At a
few minutes past eight the whistle sounded, and off we went,
understanding that Chesterford, where we were told Orme awaited us,
was our calling-place, and thence we should be conveyed to Mildenhall.
This was a judicious ruse, but, as we shall presently see, failed in
the trial. On arriving at Chesterford, however, our steam-steed merely
took a drink of water, and sped on its way to Six Mile Bottom, on the
Newmarket line. We must confess that we were a little staggered,
knowing what we did of the Cambridge authorities, that the “managers”
should have chosen their ground within that shire, and we argued that
as one of the men had been training near the racing metropolis the
watchful blues had doubtless an eye upon his movements.

On mentioning our misgivings, however, to some of the parties
concerned, and expressing our surprise that so hazardous an attempt
should be made, we were assured that it was all right, that there were
no magistrates within call, and that the fight was certain to be
settled without interruption. While waiting for the arrival of Orme,
our fears for the result were verified to the fullest extent by the
appearance of a body of Cambridge police, both horse and foot,
evidently determined to spoil sport. It was now determined to go on to
Newmarket at once to fetch Orme, who had prudently retreated into the
town on finding that the enemy was in the field. At Newmarket it was
stated that he had chartered a fly, and was about to proceed across
country to Mildenhall. A despatch was instantly sent to recall him,
and, after a delay of about half an hour, he made his appearance,
looking big, brown, hardy, and confident. He immediately took his
place in the train, and an inhabitant of the district having intimated
that he knew a spot where there was no chance of interruption,
consented to act as pilot, the train was once more put in motion, and
taking its course up the old Newmarket line, which was at that time
closed for general traffic, was brought to a standstill by the side of
a field at Bourne Bridge, a place rendered memorable as the scene of
the first contest between Mr. Gully and Gregson, in days long
vanished, passed away. Here a debarkation was effected, and when all
the _voyageurs_ by train were collected there were certainly not more
than two hundred persons present. These, by the time the ropes and
stakes were pitched, were increased by the arrival of some dozen
equestrians from Cambridge and Newmarket, anxious, no doubt, to enjoy
a treat so seldom witnessed by the inhabitants of those celebrated
universities for the education of man and horse; but, as will be
shortly seen, their arrival on horseback defeated the object they had
in view, as it served to put the blues upon the scent, and enabled
them, before much business had been got through, again to put in their
unwelcome appearance, and once more to send the “peace breakers” to
the right about.

On the recommendation of “the pilot” the business of constructing the
arena was set about with unusual celerity by young Fred Oliver and the
veteran Tom Callas, under the superintendence of the ancient
Commissary himself, and by a few minutes past one o’clock all was in
readiness. A capital outer ring was formed, round which the
“cheapsiders” took their stations, while comfortable straw hassocks
were provided for the tenants of the inner circle who chose to pay the
price demanded by those who had been so thoughtful as to provide such
luxuries. Jem Burn, whose hind feet and legs were not sufficiently
under his command to enable him to take up a position so close to
mother-earth, was accommodated with a chair, around which were grouped
several of his ancient patrons, and all appeared now to be satisfied
that at length fortune was favourable, and that the mill would be
brought to a conclusion without let or hindrance. Umpires and a
referee were quickly chosen, and the men at once proceeded to their
toilettes, Jones, as we have already stated, being waited on by Bob
Fuller and Alec Keene, while Orme had for valets Jemmy Welsh and a
“Jolly Butcher” from Southwark. On stripping, Jones confirmed the
opinion we had formed in the morning, that he was as “fine as a star,”
and as fit as Fuller could make him. Orme, on denuding himself of his
outer rind, looked big enough and strong enough for anything. His
skin, of a nut-brown tint, gave him altogether an appearance of
hardihood which lead a spectator to infer that he was an adversary by
no means to be sneezed at, even by those who considered themselves his
superiors in the fistic art. It was clear, nevertheless, that he had
not devoted quite as much time to his preparation as the nature of the
encounter he had undertaken would have justified. There were
indications of loose flesh about his ribs and chest which might have
been well dispensed with. On inquiring his weight we were informed
that he was about 11st. 8lb., being just 4lb. more than when he
encountered Langham. Notwithstanding this exuberance of meat he looked
remarkably well, was extremely confident, and “eager for th’ affray.”
All being at length in readiness, the colours (blue for Orme, and
yellow with blue border for Jones) were nailed to the mast――we mean,
tied to the stake. Orme laid his adversary a bet of £25 to £20, which
was duly posted. The men and their seconds shook hands――silence was
proclaimed――“Time” was called (half-past one)――the seconds retired to
their corners, and left the men at the scratch to commence


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On throwing themselves into attitude, which,
     as the dandies say, “is everything,” there was no very
     great display of artistic skill on either side. If
     anything, Jones’s position was the more graceful of the
     two; still he left his ribs totally unprotected, and
     held his hands much too far from his body to please our
     mind. Orme, on the contrary, held his arms, which
     loomed large and ponderous, closer to his corpus. He
     stood almost square, his thick, muscular legs seeming
     well calculated to support his enormous round
     shoulders, which resembled those of a miniature Atlas.
     Jones, after a dodge or two, feinted with his left, but
     Orme grinned and stepped back; Jones followed him up,
     when Orme stopped his further progress with a prop from
     his right on the side of the head. Counter-hits with
     the left followed without any mischief. Orme then swung
     round his right as if it was a sledgehammer, and caught
     Jones with tremendous force on the ribs under the left
     arm, in the region of the heart, where he left most
     unmistakable imprints of his knuckles, which never
     disappeared during the remainder of the battle. Jones
     returned slightly on the right ear, which led to a
     rally, in which Orme had the best of the hitting, again
     delivering a rib-bender with his right, removing the
     bark from Jones’s smeller, and drawing _first blood_
     with his left. A close, in which Orme held his man
     tight, and fibbed him on the nose and forehead until
     both were down in Jones’s corner.

     2.――Jones led off with his left, reaching Orme’s cheek,
     and cleverly stopping the return. Counter-hits
     followed, Jones drawing claret from Orme’s mouth,
     catching it in return heavily on the cheek and chin.
     Some slogging hits were exchanged without any regard to
     science, and Jones at length slipped down.

     3.――Jones again led off with his left, but was very
     wild in his deliveries, which passed over Orme’s
     shoulder. Had he been more precise his blows would have
     told a tale, for Orme appeared to think that “stopping”
     was quite beneath him. Orme went in, pegged away left
     and right on the left eye and ribs, and Jones fell.

     4.――Jones on coming up displayed the marks of Orme’s
     handiwork in the last round in the shape of a mouse on
     his left eye. He appeared loth to come out of his
     corner, whereupon Orme went to him. Jones retreated as
     far as he could, and delivered his left as Orme came
     in. Orme “stopped the blow” with his left cheek,
     returned the compliment with interest by two heavy
     cracks on Jones’s injured peeper and his forehead, when
     Jones got down.

     5.――Orme commenced business by rushing in and planting
     his left and right heavily on Jones’s mouth and nose,
     drawing more claret. Jones returned slightly on the
     left cheek and slipped down just as Orme was about to
     effect a delivery. He looked up as if anticipating a
     _foul_, but Orme restrained himself, grinned, shook his
     head, patted Jones on the back of his poll, and walked
     to his corner.

     6.――Jones led off with his left, catching Orme on the
     potato-trap. Orme countered him on the nose heavily,
     stepped back again, went in, repeated the dose on
     Jones’s nose and his left eye, and the latter was again
     down.

     7.――Jones came up much flushed, bleeding from the nose
     and left eye. His forehead was swelled, and altogether
     it was evident that Orme’s visitations had not been
     without their effect. The only mark Orme showed was a
     swelling under his left eye. Orme led off, caught Jones
     another rattler on the damaged ogle, drawing more of
     the ruby. Jones wild, dashed in, planted a heavy blow
     on Orme’s left cheek, and fell on his latter end from
     the force of his own blow.

     8.――Jones stopped Orme’s left neatly, and tried a
     return which was short. A rally followed, in which
     Jones’s deliveries were mostly thrown away, inasmuch as
     they passed over Orme’s shoulder. Orme, whose punches,
     although very round, in general got home, again planted
     on Jones’s left eye and nose. At length Jones got one
     on Orme’s left peeper, drawing blood, and then slipped
     down.

     9.――Jones came up bleeding, and looking much the worse
     for wear, while Orme was all confidence. Jones led off
     with his left, got home slightly on Orme’s smeller,
     when suddenly was heard the unwelcome watchword of
     “Police”――and sure enough, on looking round we
     perceived a detachment of neatly attired Cambridge
     “Peelers” making their way to the field of action. A
     cry of sauve qui peut was instantly raised, and the
     ground was cleared in a trice, every one making for the
     train and jumping into the first carriage that he could
     find open. It was soon discovered, however, that the
     object of the “powers that be” was not to apprehend any
     of the wrongdoers, but merely to prevent a breach of
     the peace in the county of Cambridge.

A council of war was called; the referee, whose duty it was to name
the next time and place, if possible on the same day, suggested that
there was yet time to go to Mildenhall, where he knew the matter could
be concluded in peace. The officials, however, connected with the
railway, said that, inasmuch as the train would have to return up the
old Newmarket line, and then go round by Cambridge, where it would be
detained so as not to interfere with the general traffic, it was very
probable that Mildenhall could not be reached in time to finish the
business in hand before dark. It was then hinted by “the pilot” that
the affair might be completed in the neighbourhood of Newmarket, that
town being in the county of Suffolk, and out of the jurisdiction of
the Cambridgeshire authorities. The plan appeared feasible, and “bock
agin” to Newmarket was the order of the day. The pilot conducted the
Commissary and assistants to a likely piece of turf behind the
plantation of firs at the top of the training-ground, not much more
than a mile from the town, and here a second ring was formed with all
due diligence, and here, of course, the crowd of spectators was
largely increased by detachments of lovers of the sport from the town
itself and the surrounding districts. At twenty-two minutes after
three, all being for the second time in readiness, in the midst of a
shower of rain, round nine was resumed.


     THE FIGHT RESUMED.

     Round 9 continued.――On the men throwing off their
     blankets both looked rather the worse for wear, Jones
     having a most unmistakable black eye, and the bark
     being off his frontispiece in several places. The marks
     also of Orme’s hammerings on his ribs were very
     apparent. Orme displayed a slight swelling and
     discolouration under his left eye, and an enlargement
     of his upper lip. Both seemed fresher from the rest
     they had taken, and appeared anxious now to finish the
     fight out of hand. Jones led off twice, but was short.
     Orme then delivered a spank on his left eye. Jones
     returned rather heavily on the nose and slipped down.

     10.――Orme led off, planted his right again heavily on
     the ribs. Jones, after one or two wild plunges over his
     adversary’s shoulder, succeeded in reaching his damaged
     cheek, and slipped down.

     11.――Jones again led off twice with his left, but in
     both instances the blows fell short; Orme then went to
     his man, slight taps were exchanged, after which Orme
     popped in a nasty one on the nose, and slipped down.

     12.――Orme rushed in to fight, but Jones stepped back,
     caught him heavily on the left ear and left eye,
     drawing claret from the latter; Orme tried to return,
     but Jones got down cunning.

     13.――Orme on coming to the scratch showed that Jones’s
     last two hits had not been without their effect; his
     left ogle began to show symptoms of shutting up shop,
     while his left ear was considerably discoloured. Jones
     led off, delivered his left and right on Orme’s injured
     optic and his ear, stopped Orme’s returns cleverly, and
     slipped down.

     14.――Orme rushed in in a determined manner, but was
     again stopped. Jones stepped back, delivered his right
     on Orme’s left ear heavily; Orme would not be stalled
     off, but again bored in, when Jones slipped down.

     15.――Jones led off, but the blow passed harmless over
     Orme’s head; good counter-hits followed, Orme
     delivering on Jones’s nose, and receiving a heavy
     visitation on his right peeper. Jones then received a
     one-two on the nose and ribs, when both got down
     together, and, after a slight scramble, were down side
     by side.

     16.――Jones was again short in his deliveries, when Orme
     closed, and both were again down, no mischief being
     done.

     17.――Both rattled in to their work, and some sharp
     exchanges took place, in which Jack was as good as his
     master. Orme then caught Jones round the neck, fibbed
     him heavily in the mouth and nose, and after a short
     struggle threw him heavily, and fell upon him.

     18.――Jones, led off, his arm passing over his
     adversary’s head. He was more lucky in a second
     attempt, reaching Orme’s left ogle heavily. Some
     rattling exchanges followed, left and right, Jones
     catching it on the ribs and left eye, while he got home
     heavily on Orme’s ear, mouth, and left cheek. Orme
     bored in, planted his one-two on Jones’s nose and
     mouth, and was trying to improve his advantage when
     Jones slipped down cunning.

     19.――Jones first to fight, Orme appearing to blow from
     want of condition. Jones got home again on the left ear
     and nose; Orme returned slightly, but his hits now
     appeared to lack steam. Jones in this round rattled
     away in style, had all the best of the hitting, but in
     the end Orme counterbalanced these advantages by
     closing and throwing him a cross buttock, and falling
     heavily on him.

     20.――Jones led off, but was met by Orme with a sharp
     counter-hit, each reached his adversary’s left eye,
     after which Jones immediately got down. He had
     evidently been much shaken by the fall in the previous
     round.

     21.――Orme attempted to take the lead, but was short;
     Jones delivered a heavy right-hander on the left ear;
     counter-hits followed, Orme reaching Jones’s left eye
     heavily, and received on the nose. Jones finished the
     round by delivering a spank on Orme’s right eye and
     getting down.

     22.――Jones came up, bleeding from his left eye. Orme
     opened the ball by repeating the dose on the same
     optic, and drawing a fresh supply of the ruby. He
     attempted to do ditto ditto, but was cleverly stopped
     by Jones. Counter-hits followed, Orme succeeding in
     again planting upon the nearly closed eye of his
     adversary, who delivered on the left cheek and left ear
     and then got down.

     23.――Jones attempted to take the lead, but was wofully
     short. Orme went to him, delivered his left and right
     heavily, received a slight tap in return, and Jones
     fell.

It was now forty minutes past three, and before time could be called
for the next round, “police!” was again the cry of the multitude――a
cry which, as at the first ring, proved to be only too true. Several
individuals, clad in blue array, connected with the Suffolk
constabulary, forced their way to the arena, and ordered the
combatants to desist in the Queen’s name. A fly was close to the spot,
and in this both men and their seconds quickly ensconced themselves.
The stakes were once more drawn, and all repaired to the railway
station, to once more ponder upon the reverses of a day which had
dawned with every prospect of a successful expedition. The backers of
the men applied to the referee to know his decision, and that
functionary, after considering the circumstances of the case, decided
that there must be another meeting, and, having taken council with the
pilot, the excursionists once more re-entered the train, the pilot and
a backer of Orme taking their station on the tender, the former
undertaking to direct the engine driver to a spot where it was thought
a satisfactory last act might be appended to the two which had already
been performed. The train once more flew past Six Mile Bottom, where
the blue-coated fraternity were still observable on the _qui vive_, to
prevent a second invasion of their bailiwick. The old Newmarket line
was a second time traversed for some miles, and at length the pilot
gave orders to “heave to” at a field of clover, about two miles on the
Newmarket side of Chesterford. And now comes the unpleasant part of
our narrative. On the referee leaving the train, he was asked by some
of Jones’s backers why the train had stopped, as they understood he
had decided that the fight was to be postponed until another day. The
referee stated that he had given no decision of the kind; the articles
specified that in case of magisterial interference the referee was to
name the next time and place, if possible on the same day. He had
named a place (having directed the engine driver under the orders of
“the pilot” to go where there was a probability of a satisfactory
conclusion); that place had been reached, there was plenty of
daylight, he saw no excuse for postponing the battle to a future day,
and he had no alternative but to order the men to fight. Jones’s
friends replied that Orme’s principal backer had told them when the
police arrived at the second ring that there would be no more fight
that day, but that he should take his man back to London at once. They
had therefore given Jones oranges to eat, and brandy-and-water to
drink, and had, moreover, been smoking in the same carriage with him.
The referee stated that this, if it was the case, was highly
reprehensible on their part; Orme’s backers had no power to decide
whether the fight was to be resumed or not; that was discretionary on
his (the referee’s) part. He had stated to one or two of Jones’s
friends what his intentions were, and if there had been any doubt upon
the point, the least that could have been done by his seconds and
attendants would have been to ask the question before they allowed
their man to commit the excesses they alluded to. It was then urged by
Jones’s backers that it would be a cruel thing to order the men to
fight again after being twice stripped and twice disturbed. The
referee said that might or might not be the case; his duty, according
to the articles, was imperative. The men must fight, unless they chose
mutually to agree to a postponement, when of course he could have no
objection. Orme and his friends would not hear of an adjournment, and
wished to have the matter decided at once. Jones’s backers then became
very excited, and one of them applied language to the referee which
was utterly unjustifiable, and that gentleman said he would have
nothing more to do with the matter, and that he would resign his
office as referee. After a lengthened argument _pro_ and _con_,
however, the referee, seeing that if he resigned his office the
friends of Jones would attain the object they evidently had in
view――namely, to save any bets they might have upon the fight, by
refusing to agree to any other referee, and thus procuring an
adjournment――consented to leave the railway carriage into which he had
retired. He was again begged by Jones’s friends to adjourn the fight,
but again repeated his decision that they must make another attempt on
that day to bring the affair to an issue. Jones and Co. appeared still
reluctant to renew the encounter, whereupon the referee stated that he
would give them half an hour, and if Jones was not in the ring ready
to fight by that time he would award the stakes to Orme. Orme went to
the ring, which had already been formed, whither he was followed,
after a short delay, by Jones and his seconds. Jones, whose left eye
was completely closed, and who showed other symptoms of severe
chastisement, pulled off his trousers and coat, and was about to
denude himself of his other clothing, when suddenly he appeared to
change his mind; he whispered to one of his seconds that it was “No
use his fighting any more, as he was sure to be licked.” He then
resumed his extra toggery and went to the referee, to whom he stated
that he would not fight again unless another referee was chosen, as he
had resigned his office. The referee replied that his resignation was
only threatened, and was not consummated, inasmuch as it had not been
accepted by the parties concerned, who had asked him (after he had
said that he would resign) to adjourn the fight to another day, and
had thus acknowledged his authority. He was not disposed now to give
up that authority, and thus deprive Orme of any chance he might have
of finishing the battle that night. He did not consider that either
man was licked, or that there was any great advantage on either side
in point of punishment; there were still two hours of daylight. As he
had said before, he could see no ground for a postponement, and fight
they must, or he would certainly award the battle in favour of Orme.
Jones still persisted in his refusal to fight, and at length left the
ring, repeating the observation, that if he fought again he knew he
should be licked. He did not leave the arena, however, without hearing
sundry complimentary speeches from the spectators upon the courage (?)
he displayed in refusing to finish the battle in a manly, upright
manner, and without resorting to any petty subterfuges to obtain an
adjournment. Amongst others who commented in strong terms upon his
behaviour was Jemmy Massey, who was backing him, and who has shown
himself a pretty good judge of the quantity of punishment a man can
take without being licked; Jemmy strongly advised Jones to at once
leave the ring, acknowledge that he was afraid of Orme, and thus end
the matter. The referee waited the promised half-hour, at the end of
which time, finding that Jones still declined the contest, he awarded
the victory to Orme, to whom he at once handed the sum of £45, being
the bet of £25 to £20 which had been laid prior to the commencement of
the fight. The battle lasted 15 minutes at Bourne Bridge, and 18
minutes at Newmarket――total 33 minutes.

     REMARKS.――Few remarks are called for upon the style
     displayed by either of the combatants in this most
     unsatisfactory affair. Orme displayed all that fearless
     determination to do or die which has characterised his
     former encounters, but we could not perceive any
     improvement in his scientific acquirements since his
     battle with Nat Langham last year. His principal notion
     of stopping seemed to be with his head, which
     consequently received many sharp visitations from
     Jones’s wild deliveries, which a very little care would
     have enabled him entirely to escape. The art of getting
     away seemed to be one to the study of which he has paid
     very little attention. His game evidently is “nothing
     venture, nothing gain,” and he acted up to this to the
     fullest extent. Notwithstanding his want of skilful
     direction of his undoubted powers, Orme is a dangerous
     customer to any one at all near his weight. He is a
     very hard hitter, an extremely powerful and determined
     man, of indomitable courage, and, although his powers
     as a receiver were not severely tested on the present
     occasion, still, it is known that in his fight with
     Langham he showed that his qualities as a glutton are
     of the highest order. He is, moreover, possessed of an
     excellent temper, which enables him to control himself
     under circumstances which are calculated sometimes to
     “ruffle the feathers” of the coolest combatant. As to
     Jones, in whom we were taught to expect a most
     wonderful alteration for the better, we can only say
     that our expectations were grievously disappointed. He
     certainly did stop Orme’s swinging right-handers
     occasionally, but his returns, which from the opening
     afforded to him might have enabled him to punish his
     daring adversary’s temerity in a most signal manner,
     were mostly thrown to the winds. The tremendous blow he
     received on the ribs in the very first round appeared
     to take a good deal of the fight out of him, and it was
     with extreme caution that he trusted himself within
     reach of Orme’s pile-driving visitations. In the first
     ring, indeed, after the first round, he did little but
     receive what Orme could give, and on arriving at the
     second arena, previous to recommencing operations, it
     appeared to us that there was some little difficulty on
     the part of his seconds in persuading him that there
     was a chance left for him to snatch the laurel of
     victory from his more hardy opponent. When he did
     begin, however, he proved that he could fight very well
     if he chose, and that what he might lack in strength
     could be fully counterbalanced by steadiness; for
     whenever he collected himself and made up his mind to
     be with his man, the hits were pretty equally balanced,
     both as regarded their severity and their number. The
     fall which he received in the second act, to which was
     superadded the weight of Orme’s carcase, however,
     seemed again to take a good deal of fight out of him,
     and it was pretty evident to all, that although Orme
     was not likely to gain a victory without receiving a
     very considerable amount of punishment, still, barring
     an accident, victory must ultimately be his. The
     conduct of Jones at the third ring proved either that
     his heart was composed of a softer material than is
     necessary to render a man a successful bruiser, or that
     he acted under advice which, however well intended, was
     certainly as ill-timed as it was injudicious. We know
     that his seconds did all they could to endeavour to
     persuade him to fight, but finding that he was
     obviously disinclined, they, like clever counsellors,
     did their best for their client in trying to convert a
     bad cause into a good one, and obtain an adjournment to
     a future day; but, as has already been seen, the fiat
     had gone forth. Their man had but to choose one of two
     alternatives――viz., to fight or lose the battle, and
     he, doubtless feeling assured in his own mind that the
     latter course would be the safer, declined to have any
     more, withdrew from the ring, leaving behind him a
     reputation little creditable to him as a man of
     courage, and little calculated to raise him in the
     opinion of those Corinthians who were prepared to
     witness a manly struggle for pre-eminence, without any
     of those paltry shifts and subterfuge which appear now
     to be almost necessary concomitants of every encounter.

As was to be expected, the stakeholder received a legal notice from
the backers of Jones, not to part with their portion of the money
deposited. Nevertheless, on the Monday following, that gentleman
handed over the £200 to Orme, pursuant to the decision of the referee.
The stakeholder, in giving the money to Orme, animadverted severely on
the conduct of the backers of Jones, which he characterised as
unsportsmanlike and ill-judged. Such conduct was calculated to lower
the already fallen fortunes of the P.R., and unless measures were
taken to make an example of persons who could so far forget
themselves, he feared that gentlemen would in future be deterred from
putting down money to back men, from the fear that the backers of the
opposing party would, if they found their man was getting the worst of
it, take every unfair means in their power to prevent a manly and
upright termination to the contest. On the present occasion two of
Jones’s friends and supporters (whom he named) had, but whether with
Jones’s consent he was unable to say, served him (the stakeholder)
with a legal notice not to part with the money they had placed in his
hands. Not feeling disposed to permit Orme to be thus deprived of a
sum to which he had fairly entitled himself, he communicated the fact
to the gentleman who staked the greater part of his money, and that
gentle- and Orme executed a bond of indemnity to hold him (the
stakeholder) harmless, in case Messrs. Ledger and Prior should take
any further steps. The law expenses attending this bond of indemnity
amounted to nearly £6. This sum would have to be paid by Orme, and it
would make a considerable reduction in the amount of his winnings,
which were already sufficiently circumscribed by the expenses incurred
for training, paying his seconds, &c., &c. He felt assured that all
persons who were disposed to look at the result of the contest in a
proper light would agree with the referee in the decision he had
given, and in this opinion he was upheld by remarks which had come to
his ears, which had been made on the ground, by persons who had lost
their money by backing Jones, many of whom said that the referee could
not do otherwise than he had done. It was not necessary to trouble the
company with any further remarks; they would form their own estimate
of the proceedings of Jones and Co.; and in conclusion he was sure
they would cordially agree with him in wishing that when Orme was
again matched he would be more lucky in the choice of an opponent. It
was certain that whenever he did fight again he would do his best to
win, and it would be from no lack of determination on his part if he
lost. The stakeholder then handed to Orme the £200, minus £5 17s. 4d.,
the amount of the lawyer’s bill for preparing the bond of indemnity.

Orme expressed his thanks to the stakeholder for his determination in
giving up the money. He said it was usual, when the winning man
received the reward of his victory, to present the loser with
something as a compensation for his disappointment. It had been his
intention to act up to the custom on the present occasion, and give
Jones a £5 note, if his (Jones’s) backers had not acted in such an
unsportsmanlike manner. They had, however, put him to an expense of
nearly £6, and this so reduced his winnings that he really could not
afford to give anything. He was sorry for this, on Jones’s account, as
he did not believe that he had any hand in the legal proceedings.
Although he could not himself afford to do anything for Jones,
however, he would make a collection among his friends.

Orme’s determination to give nothing to Jones was applauded by the
parties present, who expressed their opinion that this was the true
method of punishing him for any countenance he might have given to the
dealing with the lawyers which had been commenced by his friends. Orme
then went round the room, and made a collection for Jones. This he
handed over to Jones, who immediately rose and thanked the company. He
assured them that he had nothing to do with the notice served upon the
stakeholder, and all he could say was, he hoped when he fought again
he should get a better character from the Press than he had received
on the present occasion. He was no coward, and he trusted that the day
would come when he might be able to prove himself as game a man as
Orme. As to the amount subscribed for him, he thought he could not do
better than hand it over to the stakeholder, to be appropriated
towards Spring’s monument. Jones’s speech was much applauded, and he
sat down amidst considerable cheering, and the remainder of the
evening passed off harmoniously.

Orme’s second victory over Aaron Jones, who, as must not be forgotten,
was at this period (1852-3) looked upon by the Broomes and many good
judges as the “coming man” for the championship _in futuro_, marked
him out as a boxer who in time to come must “give away weight,” and
who was not to be tackled by any middle-weight; for the phenomenon of
a ten-and-a-half stone Champion had not yet presented itself to men’s
eyes, or to their minds as a possibility or even a probability. At
this juncture the Champion’s title had passed into the hands of Harry
Broome, in consequence of his very debatable conquest of the “Old
Tipton” (through a foul blow), on the 27th of September, 1851, at
Mildenhall, Suffolk. From that time Harry Broome had worn the title
undisputed (Aaron Jones being of the Broome party), but now the East
End friends of Orme thought they perceived their Champion within a
“measurable distance” of the Championship. Accordingly Harry Orme,
with laudable ambition, picked up the gauntlet thrown down by the
Champion, the “other Harry,” and agreeing to the amount of stake,
£500, articles were drawn, and the 23rd of March, 1853, fixed for its
decision; owing, however, to that being the day of the Newmarket
Handicap, a supplemental agreement was signed, postponing the battle
to Monday, 18th of April. We need not here recapitulate the
circumstances of the battle, seeing that they are minutely detailed in
the Memoir of HARRY BROOME, Chapter IX. of this volume.

With this “glorious defeat,” more honourable to the loser than many
victories, we close the Ring career of the brave, honest, and
straightforward Harry Orme. We shall conclude our Ring memoirs of this
courageous champion by a few words of quotation from a contemporary
account of this final fight: “Orme is a remarkably quiet, civil
fellow, and is much respected by his friends at the East End, and,
indeed, by all who intimately know him. He is a man who never talks
about fighting, except in the briefest terms, and then only when he
means business. We do not ever recollect hearing from his lips, either
at home or in public, any of that slang or loose talk which many
of his brother professionals consider witty, or smart, and
laughter-provoking. In fact, Harry Orme is singularly modest, and not
only avoids boasting, but is always ready to concede credit to his
opponent, and leave to others the praising of himself.”

Harry Orme was for many years known as the landlord of the “Jane
Shore,” in Shoreditch. He died on the 9th of June, 1864, in his 41st
year, and rests beneath a neat memorial in Abney Cemetery.


     [26] “Rari quippe boni: numero vix sunt totidem, quot
           Thebarum portæ, vel divitis ostia Nili.”――JUVENAL, SAT.




CHAPTER VIII.

TOM PADDOCK.

1844-1860.


In the little world as in the great, “history never tires of repeating
itself,” according to the Napoleonic axiom; and so in the period in
which the rustic, ruddy, round-boned, pugnacious Tom Paddock
flourished his fists, the interregnum of the Ring exhibited a parallel
to our ancient Heptarchy, the combats of which were compared by David
Hume, the historian, to “the battles of the kites and the crows.” Big
Ben Caunt, the crafty Bendigo (William Thompson, of Nottingham), Tom
Paddock (of Redditch), Con Parker (for a few months), the Tipton
Slasher (William Perry), and, finally, Harry Orme and Harry Broome,
bandied and buffeted about the title of “Champion of England,” until
the scarcity of “good men” reminded us of the lines of Juvenal:――

  “Good men are scarce, indeed so thinly sown,
   They thrive but ill, nor do they last when grown;
   And should we count them, and our store compile,
   Yet Thebes more gates could show, more mouths the Nile.[26]

and so went on the “confusion in the camp” until little Tom Sayers
came, and, by disposing of Perry and Paddock, united England in one
“Championship of all the weights.”

Paddock’s claims to a niche in our gallery of celebrities are
indisputable, as it was his lot to encounter almost every big man of
repute in his day. He fought, as we shall see, Nobby Clarke (twice),
Bendigo, Harry Poulson (three times), Aaron Jones (twice), Harry
Broome, the Tipton Slasher, Tom Sayers, and Sam Hurst. With this
anticipation of his career we will proceed to a more detailed account
of the doings of the “Redditch needlepointer” than has been hitherto
given; merely noting that this nickname, which we many times heard
from his intimates and other provincials, seemed rather derived from
the staple trade of Paddock’s native town than from any employment at
“needlemaking” by the burly Tom himself, who was but slightly polished
up from a rough and ready rustic chawbacon by his fourteen years of
incidental town life.

Tom’s birth dated from 1824, and his pursuits, as we have intimated,
were those of a farmer’s boy; indeed, Tom might have lived and died
unknown, and taken his long nap in a nameless grave――

  “Beneath those ragged elms, that yew-tree’s shade,
     Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
   Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
     The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep”――

had not his good, or evil, fortune led him to “seek the bubble
reputation” in the roped lists of the Prize Ring.

On the third day of the last month of the year 1844, a battle was
fought between a brace of rustics, which soon after introduced yet
another “Champion” candidate. The day above-named was a bustling one
for the Fancy of the Hardware Town, there being no less than four
fights on the far-famed battle-ground of Sutton Coldfield. The first
of these, between William Shakespeare (of Brierly Hill) and Tom
Jenkins (of Dudley)――in which the namesake and possible kinsman of
that other “Warwickshire lad,” renowned for all time, got an exemplary
thrashing in about half an hour――concerns us no farther than that the
said Jenkins, in January of the same year, had beaten Elijah Parsons,
of whom we shall hear more presently.

  [Illustration: TOM PADDOCK.
  _From a Photograph by_ WATKINS.]

Shakespeare and his conqueror having quitted the stage by the early
hour of half-past eleven, and the Birmingham Commissary having
rearranged his “properties,” the spectators resumed their seats for
the second performance, in which the principal actors were our hero,
announced as “Young Tom Paddock, of Redditch,” and his opponent, “Old
Elijah Parsons, of Tambourne,” a village near Dudley. Parsons, who
stood six feet and weighed 13st., was liberally backed by his local
friends, he having in his younger days (he was then thirty) won some
very hard battles. Paddock, who weighed a pound or two under 12st.,
and was in his twentieth year, had already stripped on one occasion in
the P.R., when, at Mapleborough Green, he defeated Fred Pearce, of
Cheltenham, for a purse, after Sam Simmonds, of Birmingham, had
defeated Tom the Greek, on January 29, 1844. The country folk seemed
to fancy “Old Elijah,” who for a fortnight had been under the care and
tuition of Nobby Clarke, who, on this occasion also acted as his
second, assisted by Bob Rowley. Ben Terry had trained Paddock for the
same short period, and now seconded him with Jem Hodgkiss. Parsons,
who was in attire and staidness of demeanour a counterpart of a
field-preacher, sported a white ground kerchief with a small yellow
spot, Paddock the orthodox blue birdseye. Some time was lost, through
local jealousy, in selecting a referee; but that and every other
necessary preliminary settled, at half-past 12 o’clock the business
began.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――As the men stood up Parsons looked big, bony,
     and formidable, Paddock round, rosy-red, and blooming
     with rude health. After a little rustic dodging and
     sparring, both went in right and left. Paddock
     succeeded in planting the first hit, a slashing
     left-hander on the Old’un’s mouth. Parsons missed a
     heavy hit, his right going over Paddock’s shoulder, who
     nailed him with a one, two. Parsons, evidently not
     knowing what to make of it, turned half-round and went
     from his man. Paddock followed him, and, hitting up,
     caught him a tidy smack with the left; Parsons,
     swinging completely round, made a good hit on the side
     of Paddock’s head, when they closed, and both fell. (5
     and 6 to 4 offered on Paddock.)

     2.――Parsons came to the scratch looking serious, with
     his right eye already damaged and a bleeding cut on the
     left cheek-bone. (First blood claimed for the
     Young’un.) Parsons rushed in, chopping away with both
     hands, but with little effect. Paddock propped him, but
     was first down. (Cries of “2 to 1 on Redditch!”)

     3.――Parsons’s right eye showing symptoms of closing.
     Exchanges, Paddock nailing Parsons with his right on
     the damaged cheek, and Elijah retaliating on his
     opponent’s ribs. Both men pegged away at give and take;
     in the close, Parsons bored Paddock down.

     4.――Parsons tried to force the fight, but napped it
     severely; Paddock fought on the retreat and got down in
     the close, laughing.

     5.――Paddock sent in a staggering hit on Parsons’ left
     ear, but the Old’un stood it bravely, and grasped his
     opponent, but he could not hold him to fib, and Paddock
     slipped through his hands cleverly.

     6.――After a few seconds of sparring, Paddock shot out
     his left, reaching Parsons’s damaged ogle, and then got
     in one on the mouth. Parsons rushed in for a close, but
     again Paddock faced him and got down.

     7.――The Old’un again led off, both hitting away with
     mutual good will, a close, and Paddock under.

     8.――Ding-dong work so soon as the men were at the
     scratch, Parsons bleeding freely, while Paddock as yet
     had scarcely a mark.

     9.――Paddock dropped his left again on Parsons’s mug,
     and his right on the body, and fell. (Cries of “Stand
     up and fight like a man, you have got it all your own
     way.”)

     10.――Paddock again shot out his left on Parsons’s
     cheek, which was assuming a sorry appearance. Parsons
     closed, in-fighting, and Paddock down.

     11.――Paddock again made his left and right on Parsons’s
     dial, nevertheless, the Old’un did not flinch, but
     fought his man to the ropes, where Paddock fell.

     12 to 17 were similar to the preceding, in favour of
     Paddock; still Parsons was game, and did all he could
     to turn the tide in his favour, but it was useless, his
     day had gone by.

     18.――This was a slashing round, and the best in the
     fight, Parsons making his right tell on Paddock’s ribs,
     but caught it awfully on his damaged mouth from
     Paddock’s left. A close, good in-fighting, and both
     fell together.

     19 and 20.――Parsons closed and bored his man to the
     ropes, where Paddock fell.

     21.――Parsons at the scratch, game, but it was no go.
     Paddock again shot out his left on the dial, and made
     an upper cut with his right. Parsons closed, a struggle
     for the throw, and both fell, Paddock under.

     22.――Parsons first at the scratch, with his left eye
     nearly closed and bleeding freely. (Cries of “Take him
     away.”) Parsons closed, both hitting away; at last
     Paddock got down.

     23rd and last.――Paddock went to his man, hit out left
     and right, and caught Parsons a tremendous smack over
     the left eye; it was a stunner. A close followed,
     Paddock getting his right arm round Parsons’s neck,
     hitting up with severity; the punishment was severe.
     Both men struggled, and fell together. Parsons was
     taken to his corner in an exhausted condition. His
     seconds, perceiving it was useless to prolong the
     contest, threw up the sponge, and Paddock was hailed as
     the winner. The fight lasted twenty-two minutes.
     Another instance of the folly of backing an Ould’un
     against Young’un.

     REMARKS.――This was, certainly, a promising _début_; for
     though “Old Elijah” was too stale to contend with such
     an impetuous, hard-hitting, and resolute youngster as
     the “Redditch needle-grinder,” he certainly tested the
     Young’un’s game, who showed he was “all there,” if he
     did not possess the higher attainments of a scientific
     boxer.

As a proof that the Brums at this time kept the game alive, we may
mention that another pair, Blackman and Chadwick, not choosing to lose
time, actually made an extempore ring, and got off a hard fight of
forty-three rounds in fifty-six minutes, in which Blackman was the
victor, while Shakespeare and Jenkins, and Paddock and Parsons were
settling their differences. Of course as, unlike Sir Boyle Roche’s
bird, we could not be in two places at once, we saw nothing of this;
but we did see the fourth fight, between Frazer Brown, of Walsall, who
fought George Giles, a West Bromwich youth, for a purse, which, after
an hour’s hard work, to the damage of both, but with no advantage to
either, was divided, and so ended a full day’s sport.

In the month of September, 1844, a fine, fresh young fellow, aged 22,
standing 6 feet, and weighing 12st. 6lbs., came up to London, and
displayed such capabilities with the mittens that Johnny Broome at
once “spotted” him for a competitor for the yet-untried Bob Caunt,
younger brother to the Champion, Ben, who was just then being “trotted
out” by the St. Martin’s Lane coterie. The new-comer, whose pals had
denominated him, on account of his smartness and good looks, “Nobby”
Clarke, was articled with “brother Bob” for £25 a side, and on the
22nd of October, 1844, he gave his opponent such a skilful thrashing
in seven rounds, occupying the brief space of a quarter of an hour,
that his friends, too hastily judging from this very short spin,
announced the “Nobby One” as ready for any 12st. man for £50. Our
hero, who was on the look-out for active service, replied to the
challenge, and on the 27th of January, 1846, they met at Coleshill
Castle, near West Bromwich; the battle exciting great interest in
Birmingham and the Midlands. “Nobby” Clarke was seconded by the Tipton
Slasher and Tass Parker; Tom Paddock by Hodgkiss and Sam Hurst. Clarke
was in splendid condition, and in looks fully justified the 6 and 7 to
4 laid on him by the Brums. At a few minutes after eleven, the men
stood up and began


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Clarke, who was a model of symmetry, had a
     noticeable superiority in length and reach over the
     round and ruddy Redditch man, who, however, not only
     seemed undismayed, but lost no time in sparring, and
     rattled in right and left. The “Nobby One” stopped him
     neatly and retreated; then let go his left at Paddock’s
     head, but did not seem to leave a mark. Paddock bored
     in, but Clarke caught him in his arms, and both were
     down, Paddock under.

     2.――Clarke sparred and broke ground; as Paddock came
     on, hitting out viciously, Clarke caught him an ugly
     crack on the cheek-bone, and also one in the mouth.
     (“First blood” for Clarke.) Paddock would not be
     denied, and there were some ding-dong exchanges, in
     which Paddock got in a smasher on Clarke’s eyebrow,
     making a cut, which balanced the account; in the
     embrace which followed Paddock was undermost.

     3.――A rattling rally, in which Paddock showed most
     determination, the “Nobby One” breaking away twice
     during the hitting; but coming again to close quarters
     there were some sharp deliveries on both sides, and
     Paddock was first down.

     4.――Paddock made play, but Clarke avoided him, popping
     in one or two hits cleverly. Paddock persevered, and
     after an exchange or two, Clarke got the Redditch man
     undermost.

     5.――Clarke nailed Paddock left and right, but Tom bored
     in, caught Clarke a rib-roaster with the right; the
     “Nobby One” at the ropes made an attempt to butt, and
     then got down. Cries of “Foul.” A number of people
     forced themselves into the ring, declaring a “foul.”
     The referee called on the men to “go on.”

     6.――After some confusion the ring was cleared. Clarke
     had still, in appearance, the best of the hitting,
     Paddock’s cheek looking like a scored beefsteak. A
     merry bout, but Clarke would not get near enough; and,
     at last, as he launched out his right and closed,
     Paddock slipped down laughing. The ground was a perfect
     quagmire, and foothold very uncertain.

     7, 8, 9.――Paddock first to fight in these rounds.
     Clarke considerably shy in the rallies, and getting
     down amidst some disapprobation.

     10, 11, 12.――Paddock’s style a little improving. He,
     however, did not shine at out-fighting, “Nobby” getting
     on prettily now and again, but never following up an
     advantage. In the last-named round Paddock was hit down
     in a scramble.

     13.――Clarke began with more confidence, and nailed
     Paddock sharply twice in the head. Tom got in on
     Clarke’s ribs, a sounding thwack, and down went
     “Nobby,” to finish the round. (Applause for Paddock.)

     14.――Clarke shy and sparring, Paddock on to him, when
     “Nobby” threw Tom a back-fall in the close.

     15.――Exchanges; Paddock missed both hands; Clarke
     caught him heavily in the mouth, and Paddock was under
     in the throw.

     16 to 21.――Paddock, game as a pebble, went in, and
     though “Nobby” met him in the head, he never failed to
     get home on the body. Clarke clever at stopping and
     saving his head, but shifty and shy. (5 and 6 to 4 on
     Paddock.)

     22.――Clarke standing out and retreating on the saving
     suit; Paddock, resolute and determined, forcing the
     fighting. Clarke but little marked, except the cut over
     the eye in the second round though his left side showed
     some red bumps from Paddock’s right-hand body-blows,
     while Paddock was bleeding from half a dozen cuts on
     the cheek, nose, lips, and forehead. Still he was gay,
     and driving “Nobby” into his own corner, the latter
     dropped to avoid. (Hisses.)

     23 to 30.――Similar in character, Clarke going down
     almost every round.

     31.――Clarke, urged on by the Tipton, went in to fight
     and got the best of several exchanges, nearly closing
     his opponent’s left eye. Paddock got in a hit on
     “Nobby’s” neck, from which he turned round, and as
     Paddock was repeating his blow fell.

     32.――This ought to have been the last round. Clarke
     caught Paddock on the forehead, jumped back, ran away,
     and as Paddock threw out his left fell without a blow.
     (Great confusion, the ring broken in, and a minute or
     two expired before the referee’s decision could be
     obtained, who gave Clarke the “benefit of the doubt,”
     from the slipperiness of the ground.)

     33-40.――Paddock, despite the punishment he appeared to
     have received, was little the worse in wind or
     strength, while in pluck he was the very reverse of his
     clever antagonist. “Nobby” sparred cleverly, but was
     evidently afraid of his man, and when they got close
     and a half-arm hit was got in by Paddock, he was always
     a consenting party to going down; in fact, he was “on
     the go” before the blow reached him.

     41.――Another wrangle; “Nobby” getting down questionably
     after getting in a left-hander. (Hisses.)

     42.――Great wrangling and confusion. Paddock standing in
     the middle of the ring protesting, and calling on
     “Nobby” to come on, which he did after a minute or so
     of disputation. Paddock went at him, and “Nobby”
     slipped down. It was announced that Clarke would “fight
     no more.” Paddock again “orating;” the referee handed
     over the watch to a friend, called “Time!” and declared
     Paddock to be the winner. The Tipton created some
     amusement by his denunciations of the “Nobby One’s”
     cowardice, and was with difficulty prevented from
     striking the man he had just been seconding; politely
     addressing him as a “robber,” “cur,” “thief,” &c., with
     a variety of expletives which we decline to report, and
     ending by declaring he would “pay no bets on such a
     rank cross.” He had, however, to do so, as well as many
     others, and the stakes went to Paddock, as of right
     they were due.

     REMARKS.――There was nothing so worthy of note in this
     battle as the utter unreliability of mere sparring
     skill when pitted against a fair amount of boxing
     acquirements, backed with those indispensable
     qualities, courage and endurance. Clarke had weight,
     length, skill, and, if properly applied, superior
     strength on his side; nevertheless, the Redditch man,
     by mere resolution and never losing trust in himself,
     literally frightened his opponent out of his victory.
     Paddock, though inferior to the “Nobby One,” displayed
     great improvement on his previous performance, and we
     did not hesitate to predict for him a successful
     career, provided that he possessed temper, discretion,
     and teachability, which, for some time, he certainly
     did not. Strength, pluck, stamina, and fearless courage
     he had; the regulating and guiding qualities he had
     not.

Paddock having failed in meeting with a customer after his defeat of
Clarke, did not again appear within the ropes in 1846; but, on the
27th of December in that year, the clever “Nobby One” having somewhat
wiped off the stain of cowardice which had attached to his name, by a
triumphant defeat of a 12st. 7lbs. man of the name of Jordan, calling
himself “the Welsh Champion”――his friends took “heart of grace,” and
again offered to back their man for £50 a side against our hero. The
second trial took place on the 6th of April, 1847, at Stony Stratford.
We shall not inflict upon the reader a full report of this battle. It
was, with little variation in its incidents, a mere replica of the
first, except that it lasted seven minutes less――48 minutes――and the
close of the 35th round brought Tom’s labours to a victorious
conclusion. In the first few rounds Clarke, as on the former occasion,
took a triumphant lead; but his game and hardy opponent stuck to him
so determinedly, and, when he did get on, so completely――as his
half-reconciled and again-deluded friend the Tipton said――“Knocked all
the fight out of him,” that the result was merely a question of
minutes more or less; the fight being finally declared to Paddock from
a “foul” by the miscalled “Nobby One.”

In our Life of BENDIGO (_ante_ page 37), we have fully narrated the
circumstances under which Paddock, as “Johnny Broome’s Unknown,” took
up the gauntlet thrown down by Bendigo for £200 and the Championship;
and how Paddock, after what appeared a winning fight, threw away his
advantages, and lost the battle by losing his temper――striking his
shifty opponent a “foul” blow. This took place on the 5th of June,
1850, and as the Tipton had already pledged himself to fight the
winner (Bendigo having announced his retirement from the Ring), the
Slasher, then and there, challenged him for £350, which was afterwards
reduced to £200 a side. This came to nothing, for on the 22nd of
August, 1850, both parties failed in their deposits, and the money
down was drawn. A new match was then entered into for £100 a side, and
on this occasion, as the battle ended in a draw, we shall merely refer
the reader to the Life of PERRY (see _ante_ page 157), where, also,
will be found the account of his defeat by the Slasher, at Woking,
December 17th, 1850, again from the delivery of a “foul” blow.

These defeats, greatly due to obstinate violence and ungovernable
temper, seem to have induced some rash challenges to Paddock. In
March, 1851, Jack Grant was hastily matched with Paddock for £100, and
£5 deposited; but at the next meeting Grant’s backers took second
thoughts, and Tom pocketed the £5, as one of the “little fishes,”
which are proverbially “sweet.” In June, at an evening at Jem Burn’s,
Con Parker (who at that time kept the “Grapes,” in Aylesbury Street,
Clerkenwell) proposed a battle for £50 a side, to come off July 24th;
but on the following Wednesday Master Con’s courage, like Bob Acres’s,
“oozed out at his fingers’ ends,” and Paddock pocketed this affront
also, and a “fiver.”

Harry Poulson, of Nottingham, a sturdy, game, and resolute man, a
trifle over 12st, was now thought good enough to dispute superiority
with Paddock, and on the 23rd of September, 1851, the men met at
Sedgebrook, near Grantham, for the small stake of £25 a side. This
battle, which was lost by Paddock, after a desperate fight of 71
rounds, occupying 95 minutes, will be found under Poulson, in the
APPENDIX to Period VII.

Paddock, who was under a passing cloud, seemed now to be shut out from
the front rank, Harry Broome having attained the honours of the belt
by beating the Slasher, on the 29th September, 1851. (See Life of
BROOME, _post._) He was, in fact, at this time under articles with his
former antagonist, Poulson, for a second trial, and the day fixed for
December 16th, 1851. This proved an unfortunate affair for both
parties. They met at Cross End, near Belper, Derbyshire, and the
deposits being entirely carried out in Nottingham, no reporter from
the London Press was on the ground, nor were any of the known patrons
of the Ring present. The battle was gallantly contested, and Paddock,
avoiding a fault conspicuous on a former occasion, had been most
assiduous in his training. As usual, in gatherings where the roughs
are predominant as partisans, there was a tedious waste of time in the
appointment of a referee: any person of respectability who might have
been present being either objected to, or himself objecting to take
the thankless and often perilous office. The fight began at a little
before one, Paddock gaining “first blood” and “first knock down,” by a
delivery on Poulson’s left eye. After the first six rounds, Paddock
forced the fighting, and had it nearly all his own way, Poulson’s want
of condition telling against him. Eighty-six rounds were fought in 95
minutes, when Paddock was declared the winner amidst the plaudits of
his friends.

Poulson was severely punished about the body. Paddock by no means
escaped unscathed. Had the fight been conducted in a quiet manner, it
would have been an affair which would not have discredited the older
days of the Ring; but we regret to say the worst part of our tale
remains to be told. The magistrates of Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire,
and Leicestershire, aware that the fight was likely to come off in one
of those counties, had for some days previously been on the look-out
to ascertain the place of meeting, but had been put on the wrong
scent; consequently, at the commencement of the battle, no efficient
force was in attendance to prevent it. After the fight had continued
some time, however, Messrs. John and Jedediah Strutt, with Captain
Hopkins and another Derbyshire magistrate, arrived, and proceeded to
dissolve the assemblage, with no other assistance than that of William
Wragg, chief constable of Belper, to enforce their commands. The mob,
however, refused to allow interference, when Mr. Jedediah Strutt rode
up to the crowd, and ordered them to disperse. Paddock seem inclined
to give over, but was told that if he did he would lose the money. The
men, therefore, continued fighting, whereupon Mr. Jedediah Strutt
attempted to force his way into the ring, for the purpose of reading
the Riot Act, and Wragg, single-handed, endeavoured to clear a passage
for him. A cry was raised of “Keep them out,” and about fifty roughs
pounced upon the superintendent, and beat him savagely with sticks.
The injured man was conveyed to Belper, where Mr. Allen and Mr. Lomas,
surgeons, by skilful attendance, restored him to consciousness. The
fight being concluded, the men set off for Derby, to which place
Captain Hopkins had galloped off for assistance, and having obtained
the co-operation of the borough-force, he met the combatants as they
entered Derby, in different conveyances, with the intention of
proceeding by train to Nottingham. Paddock and his second were taken
out of a cab, and Poulson was apprehended amidst his friends in a
“drag.” When taken, one of Paddock’s first observations was that “If
he had won the toss for the choice of place, he would have chosen any
place rather than that confounded county;” that he was sorry “the
p’liceman was hurt; and he would have given over when the magistrates
ordered them to disperse, but he was told that if he did he would lose
the money; and, as he had been served so once before, he determined to
go on with the fight.”

In this disgraceful riot and violence, we are happy to say, the men
and their immediate seconds and backers took no part, as the subjoined
letter from an eye-witness fully shows:――

     “_To the Editor of_ ‘BELL’S LIFE IN LONDON.’
                                    “Derby, December 24th, 1851.

     “MR. EDITOR.――Believing that a few words on the outrages
     committed at Paddock and Poulson’s fight may not be out of
     place, I send you the following: At the close of your
     Pedestrian Intelligence last week you gave some excellent
     advice to all connected with manly sports, and expressed a
     hope that those who by their ruffianly conduct thus disgrace
     the Ring, may receive their full deserts at the hands of the
     law. Were I the judge to try them, I would transport the
     whole; indeed, their conduct furnishes the opponents of
     prize-fighting with weightier arguments than could be found
     elsewhere. If pugilism, they may say, encourages fair play,
     and insists on equal strife, how comes it that one man shall
     be set upon by fifty of its supporters, and ill treated
     until it is doubtful whether he be dead or alive? But now
     let me say a word upon the state of the law in general, and
     the conduct of its instruments in this particular case. The
     same journal that reports the disturbance at the fight,
     details also the particulars of a murderous affray among the
     ‘navvies’ of the South Wales line; and, did we but alter the
     names of the places and persons, the whole of the latter
     skirmish might very well pass for a massacre among Malays or
     cannibals; stabbing, burning, maiming, and bruising――a dozen
     nearly dead, perhaps quite so, by this time. Yet I will
     venture to predict that the perpetrator of these villanies
     will reap no heavier punishment than would a poor fellow,
     professed boxer or not, who may have chanced in fair and
     honourable fight――such a thing occurring, perhaps, once out
     of a couple of thousand times――to have caused the death of
     his antagonist. Such being the case――the law looking with
     equal eyes at a butchery that would disgrace the Caffres,
     and a combat conducted with all possible fairness――men have
     no reason to choose the latter mode of settling their
     quarrels, but may as well, they think, adopt the method
     which inflicts the greatest injury on their enemies. Where
     men get two or three months for ‘knifing’ an opponent, and
     others get imprisoned for a twelvemonth for seconding or
     being present at a prize fight――although no harm may be done
     beyond the breach of our Sovereign Lady’s peace――it does not
     require a prophet or a Solomon to tell us to what state of
     things such a course must lead among the lower orders of
     people. And now I must ask, in the name of common sense,
     what the magistrates who interfered at Paddock’s fight
     expected? I would as lieve venture among a pack of wolves,
     as go single-handed to thwart a mob of midland counties
     roughs. Had the officer died, his death would have been
     owing to sheer foolhardiness, or the obstinacy of those who
     urged him on. I have seen hundreds of men, more than once,
     quietly disperse at the order of a magistrate, though he was
     quite alone, unsupported by even a single officer. So it
     ought to be, so I hope it will be, and so it must be, if
     pugilists hope that the next generation may know anything of
     their doings, except by tradition. Allow me to add that none
     but the ‘roughs’ took part in the brutal assault on the
     constable, Wragg. Yours, &c.,

                                                        “LYDON.”

The upshot of this regretable riot was that Paddock and Poulson, being
by law responsible as “principals,” were sentenced each, in March,
1852, to ten months’ imprisonment with hard labour.

Paddock’s forced seclusion in Derby Gaol, although it appears to have
had a favourable effect on his violence of temper, did not diminish
his readiness to play the “rubber game” with Poulson; inasmuch as we
find him articled to meet his old antagonist on the 14th of February,
1854, to try a final appeal, with £200 deposited to abide the issue.

Paddock at once went into assiduous training in company with Tom
Sayers, at Mr. Patton’s, mine host of the “Old Hat,” Ealing; and
Poulson did the same at the Neptune Inn, Hove, near Brighton, under
the guidance of Jerry Noon; it being thought advisable to fix his
training quarters far from the too friendly visits of his Nottingham
admirers. Poulson was, on this occasion, backed from Caunt’s, Paddock
from Alec Keene’s. As this battle was arranged for the London
district, a trip per Eastern Counties rail was agreed on. By the time
named, half-past eight, the crowd in the neighbourhood of the
Shoreditch station gave evidence that something unusual was on the
_tapis_, hundreds of East-Enders surrounding the terminus to catch a
glimpse of the heroes of the day. The first to show was Harry Poulson,
who entered the station accompanied by Jerry Noon, Callaghan, of
Derby, and a dozen of Nottingham friends; he looked hard as nails,
bright-eyed, smiling, and confident, and in rare preservation for an
old’un, 37 summers having shone on his nob. He was soon followed by
the Redditch champion, attended by Tom Sayers, Alec Keene, and Mr.
Hibburd (one of his principal backers). Both men now began to
distribute their colours to the voyagers on the platform, and, from
the numerous handkerchiefs of both designs which were seen knotted
round the throttles of the ticket-holders, the sale must have been
satisfactory. At a quarter before nine the bell rang for the start,
and although the town air was foggy, no sooner were we well on our way
than the sun of St. Valentine shone out brilliantly, the hoar-frost
deposited overnight vanished, and the pairing birds chirruped their
courting notes from every hedge and thicket. The commissariat, under
the care of Dan Pinkstone, occupying a saloon carriage, was
first-class, as in an after-part of the day we had occasion to prove.
The train sped merrily; and at a quarter-past eleven o’clock all
disembarked, in high spirits, at the appointed station, Mildenhall,
where the veteran Commissary and Tom Callas formed the lists in
double-quick time, and the men soon after made their appearance.
Poulson was attended by Jemmy Welsh and Jerry Noon, and Paddock
esquired by Jemmy Massey and Jack Macdonald, to our thinking the best
of all seconds of the present day. On shaking hands Paddock offered to
back himself for “an even tenner,” which Poulson accepted; but the
backers of Paddock in this “the rubber game” stood out for odds, and
so little business was done. At length, umpires and a referee being
chosen, at half-past twelve the rival pugs, stood up for


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On the men throwing themselves into attitude
     their appearance was carefully scanned; the enormous
     development of muscle on Poulson’s arms and his
     blade-bones excited astonishment among the Londoners,
     who now saw him stripped for the first time. Still they
     were confident in the man of their adoption, for
     Paddock was indeed in robust health, and appeared to
     have so much the superiority in length and height that
     they now laid evens on him. No time was lost in
     sparring or in striking attitudes; Poulson at once
     dashed in, made his right on Tom’s ribs, and directly
     after on his mouth. Paddock was with him, and a shower
     of half-arm hits followed, each getting pepper on the
     left side of the nut until both were down.

     2.――Poulson went to work without delay, and began by
     pounding away with his right; Tom did not flinch,
     though he got it on the nose heavily, and then on his
     potato trap, from which the first vintage of the season
     was instantly perceived. (First blood for Poulson, amid
     cheers from the Nottingham lads.) Paddock slipped down.

     3.――Paddock, first to the scratch, led off with his
     left and gave Harry a tremendous crack on the forehead,
     Poulson returning almost a counter-hit on Tom’s left
     cheek. This led to a slogging rally, in which Poulson
     again visited Paddock’s cheek, while the latter tapped
     the claret from Harry’s left eyebrow, and Poulson fell.

     4.――Paddock again led off, and just reached Poulson’s
     right eye, Poulson was with him, and some sharp
     counters took place, Paddock catching it on the nozzle
     from Poulson’s left, while Tom retorted with a swinging
     crack on Poulson’s left ear. They now broke away, but
     soon returned to work; Paddock let fly right and left
     viciously at Harry’s frontispiece, when Poulson
     countered him steadily on the snout and forehead.
     Poulson was first on the ground.

     5.――Paddock again opened the ball with a sharp rap on
     Harry’s cheek, but the latter retorted with such a
     sounding rib-bender that it was heard all round the
     ring. Soon after Tom landed a little one on Poulson’s
     right brow, cutting it, and producing the crimson. Both
     now banged away at close quarters, and in the end both
     came down.

     6.――Both sparred for wind; indeed, the fighting had
     been very fast; some random shots were exchanged, the
     men closed, and rolled down together.

     7.――Paddock let go his left, but it went clean over
     Poulson’s cranium. A second shot reached his forehead,
     but for this Tom caught a smasher on the mouth, that
     drew the Oporto copiously, and seemed for a second or
     two to puzzle Tom seriously. However, he went in, and
     more yard-arm to yard-arm cannonading followed; no
     quarter was given or asked for, but at the end of the
     ding-dong Paddock was down with the worst of the
     hitting.

     8.――Paddock came up crimson as the “Red Lion,” at
     Brentford, but he led off without delay, and they were
     soon at infighting; Paddock got on his knees in the
     scrimmage, and Poulson dealt him a “hot one” on his
     snuff-box. A claim of “foul” from Paddock’s friends,
     but disallowed. Poulson’s blow could not be withheld,
     as it was delivered simultaneously with Paddock’s knees
     reaching the ground.

     9.――Paddock, twice foiled in leading off, went in
     furiously, reaching Harry’s nose, and removing the
     bark, but getting a Roland for his Oliver in a smasher
     on his own olfactory organ that sadly spoilt its
     symmetry. Hitting right and left, and no stopping on
     either side, until Paddock went down in the exchanges.

     10.――Both were distilling the crimson from their left
     eyes; Paddock led off with the left, and got again
     heavily countered in the face. Poulson slipped and
     dropped on one knee; Paddock might have hit him, but he
     withheld his hand, and walked to his corner amidst
     applause.

     11.――Poulson dashed in, delivering his right heavily on
     the side of Tom’s nut, but the blow seemed open-handed.
     A merry rally ensued, in which some sharp, half-arm
     hits were exchanged, Paddock receiving some sharp
     thumps in the ribs, and retaliating on Poulson’s
     knowledge-box. Both down in the close.

     12.――Paddock feinted, and then let go his left, a cross
     hit on Poulson’s cheek; he got away, and repeated the
     dose on Harry’s smeller. Poulson seemed stung at these
     visitations, rushed in, and after some busy half-arm
     work Paddock was down.

     13 to 20.――Busy rounds, but short, and very similar in
     character, Paddock opening the ball and getting on by
     his superior length, but Poulson winding up the rounds
     by fear-nought hitting, and Paddock ending them by
     being first to grass.

     21.――Paddock still first, got in his left on Poulson’s
     bread basket, and his right on the side of the head;
     the latter was retaliated by a severe body-blow, and
     Paddock broke away. Paddock nailed Poulson on the nose,
     and on the left brow, still Poulson pegged away, but
     was first down from a wild hit of Tom’s on the side of
     his head.

     22.――Poulson tried to open the ball, but his left was
     stopped, and then his right, and Tom got home an ugly
     one on Harry’s left eye, which showed symptoms of the
     early closing movement. Poulson went in, but Tom
     planted an upper-cut on the damaged ogle, and Poulson
     slipped down.

     23.――Paddock, on time being called, rose and walked
     rapidly across towards Poulson’s corner. The latter had
     hardly time to turn round from his seconds, when Tom
     let fly at his forehead. Poulson let go both hands
     without aim; Tom missed a vicious hit with his left,
     and Poulson slipped down in a scramble.

     24.――Poulson was quickly up at the call of time,
     determined not to be stolen a march on; he opened the
     pleadings by a declaration with the right on Tom’s
     ribs, but got it on the mouth, and in a second attempt
     was stopped neatly; he, however, persevered, and some
     ding-dong exchanges ended by Poulson slipping down.

     25.――Both men slower, as well they might be, Paddock
     giving his adversary a crack on the bridge of the nose
     that compelled him to snuffle and wink; half-arm
     hitting, in which Paddock dropped.

     26.――Poulson took the initiative; he stepped in, caught
     Paddock a heavy spank with the right on the left cheek,
     and slipped from the force of his own blow.

     27.――Poulson again rattled in; Tom countered, and
     Poulson was down in the hitting.

     28.――Both seemed of opinion that a turn of the tide
     must be at hand. No time was lost on either side;
     Paddock made play, but Poulson was with him, and at
     close quarters they pegged away, Paddock with his
     straight left and Poulson with his dangerous right; but
     Jack was as good as his master――or rather Harry was as
     good as Tom. Though Poulson was first on the ground he
     had not the worst of the hitting.

     29 to 34.――Alternate leading off, but Paddock best at
     the attack. Poulson’s eyes were much damaged, though he
     was still the stronger man on his legs. The left side
     of Paddock’s face was awfully swelled, and as Jerry
     Noon said, “Was polished like a newly lasted boot.” At
     the end of round 33, Poulson fairly sent down Paddock
     in a close rally, and the seconds of the latter
     cautioned him to “keep away” from infighting.

     35.――Paddock adopted the advice. He measured his
     distance with his left got it in, but not heavily, on
     Poulson’s forehead, and jumped back; Poulson followed,
     but Tom retreated and shifted, hitting out as
     opportunity offered. Paddock got home on Harry’s right
     peeper, but could not prevent a visit to his ribs, and
     a sharp crack on the nose, from which the ruby
     distilled copiously. Poulson closed, and Paddock got
     down.

     36.――Paddock’s mug, on coming up, was a curious mixture
     of the comic and the serious. The right side, which was
     untouched, bore a sort of grin, while the left side,
     which was swollen to twice its natural size, buried the
     other half of the laugh in its tumefied recesses. He
     had, too, a cut on the bridge of his nose, and a blue
     mouse under his left eye. Poulson’s hardier mug was
     less battered in appearance, but his left eye was
     nearly closed, and the remaining window damaged.
     Paddock got on to Poulson slightly, and after some
     exchanges, both were down.

     37 to 50.――As before; alternate leads, followed by
     half-arm hitting, and one or the other down. Anybody’s
     battle.

     51.――Poulson’s left eye was now entirely in darkness,
     but he dashed in. Paddock caught him round the neck
     with his left arm, but could not screw him up for
     fibbing. Poulson kept pegging away, although getting
     the worst of it, and got down through Paddock’s hands.

     52.――Paddock let go his left on Poulson’s nose, but
     Poulson rushed in and pelted away till Tom got down to
     finish the round.

     53.――Paddock kept working in, and twice reached Harry’s
     eye and brow without a return. As they got closer there
     were some sharp exchanges, Poulson getting home a heavy
     hit on Paddock’s left eye, and also on his bruised
     ribs; Poulson was, however, down.

     54.――Paddock several times attempted to get in his
     favourite blow on the mark, but he was not quite near
     enough; at last he got home effectively, and Poulson
     reeled from the blow; Paddock followed him up, caught
     him on the head with the right, and Poulson was down.

     55 to 60.――Poulson’s right eye seemed to be in danger
     of following suit with the left. He evidently thought
     there was no time to be lost, and as Paddock would not
     come to close quarters, he rattled in somewhat wild and
     round, and in the 59th and 60th rounds was down.

     61.――Both came tired and slow, with but little to
     choose as to which was the weaker man. Paddock caught
     Poulson in the neck, changing his aim to the body, then
     caught Poulson on the proboscis, who closed and fell.

     62 to 65.――Paddock commenced business in each of these
     rounds; in the last-named Paddock delivered a spank
     with the left under Poulson’s right eye which knocked
     the brave fellow off his legs, and was pronounced to be
     “First knock-down to Paddock.” There was loud cheering,
     and many thought the fight over, concluding that
     Poulson’s right eye must now be closed. To the surprise
     of all, however, Harry came up at the call of “Time,”
     looking little, if any, the worse for the knock-down.

     66, 67.――Poulson steadily stopped two attempts with the
     left. Paddock at length got in a blow on the mark, and
     Poulson missed his return. Paddock hit over Poulson’s
     head with the left, and Poulson closed and fell.

     68.――Both slow; after some ineffective exchanges
     Paddock concentrated his energies, and, letting go his
     left straight from the shoulder, gave poor Poulson a
     nose-ender that again knocked him off his legs.

     69 to 75.――Poulson, losing precision in his deliveries
     from his failing eyesight, was nobbed almost at
     pleasure by his opponent, yet he never failed to get in
     a hard blow when they were at close quarters.

     76 to 88.――In all these rounds Poulson came up with
     unshrinking courage and determination, and his friends
     clung to the idea that a chance blow might yet reward
     his exertions, while Paddock’s friends, though they
     thought themselves on the winning side, feared that he
     could not finish his day’s work satisfactorily, and
     that a “draw” might yet disappoint their hopes. Round
     after round Poulson came up, amid cries of “Take him
     away!” But the brave fellow refused to give in.

     89.――Poulson, to the astonishment of all, was no sooner
     at the scratch, than he rushed at his opponent with
     such vigour and determination, pegging away right and
     left, that Paddock, in retreating, fell on his south
     pole in a ludicrous state of surprise and bewilderment
     at this unexpected but ineffective onslaught.

     90.――It was clear that this was the last flickering
     effort. Poulson came up weak and shaky, and, on Paddock
     letting go his left, fell.

     91 to 102 and last.――It was clearly all over with the
     gallant Harry. Paddock, by the advice of his seconds,
     kept away from his man, and just popped in a hit when
     he saw an opening, whereon Poulson fell. Noon vainly
     urged him to give in, until, in the 102nd round, his
     seconds and several of his backers, seeing the
     hopelessness as well as danger of prolonging the
     contest, threw up the sponge, and Paddock was declared
     the winner, after a desperate battle of _two hours and
     thirty-two minutes_.

     REMARKS.――Few remarks will suffice upon this game and
     manly encounter. Experienced ring-goers tell us that
     second fights, still more third battles, between the
     same men are, as a rule, unsatisfactory. This was
     indeed an exception to that rule. It was, in courage,
     active work, and endurance, the best fight between big
     ones for many a day past. Poulson, for a man pronounced
     “stale” by many, is an extraordinary quick and
     punishing hitter, but he depends too much on his right,
     and thus throws open his face to the blows of a
     superior tactician. With any man not more skilful than
     himself he must yet prove the victor, but not even his
     game and gluttony can enable him to conquer a clever
     two-handed boxer possessed of resolution and skill like
     Tom Paddock. We must give praise to Jerry Noon for his
     humanity in throwing up the sponge when he did, and
     this we the more insist on as we know that he has been
     most shamefully censured and even abused, since the
     affair, by persons who ought to know better, and who
     have even brought to us their complaints of what they
     call his “unauthorised giving in against the wish of
     Poulson himself.” No impartial spectator can support
     such an argument for a moment, and the stakes were
     accordingly given up, with the approbation of the
     referee, despite a notice served upon the stakeholder.

Paddock, having thus retrieved his first defeat by the hardy Harry
Poulson, by a second victory, was soon after called to the field by
his old opponent Aaron Jones, who now sent forth his cartel from the
domicile of Jem Burn, who had moved his head-quarters westward from
Windmill Street to the erewhile domus of Johnny Broome, the “Rising
Sun,” in Air Street, Piccadilly. Paddock, as before, was backed from
Alec Keene’s, the “Three Tuns,” in Moor Street. The stakes, £100 a
side, were duly made good, and the 18th of July, 1854, saw both
parties embarked on board “The Waterman, No. 7,” which was the craft
chartered to convey the men and the managers to the battle-field. On
this occasion Paddock trained at Brighton, under the supervision of
Alec Keene; Aaron first at Newbridge, in Ireland, near the Curragh,
and later on at Shrewsbury, under the auspices of some distinguished
military officers, and the mentorship of Jerry Noon. “The loquacious”
Jerry won the toss for choice of corners, and took the corner with
Jones’s back to the sun. Paddock, after an ineffectual attempt to lay
an even “tenner” with his adversary, offered Jones 2 to 1, but there
being no response, Tom, much disappointed, replaced the flimsy in his
pocket. All being in readiness, and rumours of Jones’s inferior
condition spread about the ring, offers to lay 2 to 1 on Paddock were
taken to some amount. The colours were tied to the stakes, the men
shook hands, and at ten minutes to one began


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On assuming the perpendicular it was evident
     that Jones was the taller and more symmetrical man. He
     was, despite rumour, in excellent condition. There was
     a pleasing smile of confidence and an ease in his
     attitude that favourably impressed the spectators; in
     short, he looked a model of a 12 stone man. Tom, the
     rough-and-ready, seemed rather lighter than usual――he
     was declared to be no more than 11st. 9lbs.――but he
     still looked rounder, stronger, and tougher than his
     fairer skinned opponent. Paddock lost no time in
     sparring but went straight in, catching Jones on the
     forehead, but getting a smack in return on the
     proboscis from Jones, who said, smilingly, “You had it
     there!” Paddock replied by making another dash, and
     landing on Aaron’s cheek, who retorted on the side of
     Tom’s head. Some rather wild exchanges followed, left
     and right, in which each displayed more haste than
     judgment; they then broke away. Paddock twice made his
     left on Jones’s cheek, leaving marks of his handiwork;
     on trying a third time, Jones countered him sharply on
     the nose, then closed, and both rolled over, Paddock
     undermost.

     2.――Paddock let go his left and reached Jones’s ear,
     another attempt was too high, and a third was cleverly
     stopped. Paddock bored in, when Jones met him with a
     sounding spank on the left eye that made Tom “see
     fireworks.” Paddock forced the fighting, but after a
     rally, in which no harm was done, Jones gripped Paddock
     and threw him in good style, falling on him. (Applause
     from the “Rising Sun.”)

     3.――Jones came up all smiles, but Paddock did not give
     him a chance of leading off, for he rattled in left and
     right, but was cleverly stopped. Tom afterwards
     succeeded in landing on Aaron’s ribs, but sent his left
     over Jones’s shoulder. He then bored in, but Jones
     jumped back quickly, caught Paddock in his arms, and
     again threw him neatly, Jones being evidently the
     better wrestler.

     4.――Paddock made his left hand and then his right, the
     latter heavily, on Aaron’s left optic. A ding-dong
     rally ensued, in which Jones drew “first blood” from
     Tom’s smelling organ. The men closed, and some severe
     fighting took place at close quarters, Jones getting it
     on the forehead and ear, Paddock on the ribs. Both
     down.

     5.――Jones’s left peeper in mourning from Paddock’s one,
     two, in the previous round. Paddock grinned derisively,
     and at once went to work, but was stopped cleverly.
     Jones returned with both hands, dropping on to Tom’s
     nose and left cheek. Paddock looked vexed, and went in
     with both hands, when Jones was down first.

     6.――Paddock led off, but Jones countered him heavily on
     the nose. Paddock reciprocated with a heavy
     left-hander, also on the nasal prominence, and after
     some exchanges both were down.

     7.――Paddock led off short, and Jones missed his left,
     but soon afterwards got on his right on the side of
     Tom’s head, inflicting a deep cut that bled freely.
     Jones closed, and after a brief struggle threw Paddock
     a burster.

     8.――Jones led off, nailed Tom sharply on the left
     eyebrow with the right, closed at the ropes, and hung
     on Paddock till he got down.

     9.――Paddock looked unutterable things at finding Jones
     was not the easy customer he had expected. He rushed
     in, hit-or-miss, banged in his left at Aaron’s head,
     who retaliated straight and swift on the cheek and side
     of the brain-pan; this led to a rally in favour of
     Jones, who threw Paddock, and walked to his corner
     laughing.

     10.――Paddock began hastily, but was stopped. Jones
     closed and again threw him, falling on him.

     11.――Paddock let fly his left, but was short. Jones
     kept him at arm’s length. Paddock got closer, but his
     hits were stopped. Jones then got home on Tom’s left
     eye, making a cut and drawing the crimson fluid. Some
     tremendous exchanges followed, Jones sticking to his
     work in a style that electrified those who doubted his
     pluck, and in the end Jones gained the second event by
     knocking Paddock off his legs by a right-hander which
     cut open his left eyebrow. (“First knock-down” for
     Jones.) The layers of 3 to 1, for some had ventured
     those odds, looked blue, and there was some anxiety to
     “hedge;” even money would have been taken, but there
     were no layers.

     12.――Jones’s left optic all but closed. He went in
     wildly, and Paddock slipped down.

     13.――Jones let go his left, which went over Tom’s
     shoulder; with his right he was more successful, and
     reached Tom’s left eye a sharp crack. Paddock was out
     of distance with his return, and Jones again slipped
     down.

     14.――Paddock led off, but was prettily stopped, left
     and right. Jones returned on the left temple, closed,
     and again threw Paddock heavily, falling on him.

     15.――On getting together, good exchanges took place,
     Paddock reaching Aaron’s snuffbox smartly, but Jones
     giving him a rattler on the domino-box in return.
     Jones, in the rally which followed, struck Paddock on
     the top of the head, to the damage of his own dexter
     fin, and then slipped down.

     16.――Jones dashed in fearlessly, got home a heavy one
     on Tom’s left ear, who went down on his right hand with
     a sort of half-consenting stagger, and so finished the
     round.

     17.――Jones, still forcing the fighting, dashed out left
     and right, and Tom, in stopping and getting away, fell
     by catching his heel against the centre stake.

     18.――Paddock now tried for a lead; he opened the ball
     by dropping his left on Aaron’s cheek-bone, and got it
     on the side of the head――tit-for-tat. Some tremendous
     exchanges followed, when Jones closed, shot his left
     arm round Paddock’s neck, threw him a clean back-fall,
     and fell on him. (We learned, subsequently, that in
     this round Jones so severely injured his left shoulder
     that he was incapacitated from its free use for several
     succeeding rounds; he also complained that Jerry Noon,
     by his careless way of lifting him, increased the
     mischief by an additional twist.)

     19.――Jones went in and pegged away, but his left-hand
     hits seemed ineffective; Tom hit out wildly, but at
     last fell with his own consent.

     20-24.――Jones planted on Paddock’s frontispiece
     cleverly; but there was no steam in the hits. In the
     last-named round Paddock slipped down, but instantly
     jumped up to renew the round; Jones, who was in the
     arms of his seconds, released himself, and at it they
     went. After some wild exchanges, the men embraced,
     swung round, and both fell.

     25.――Paddock got home his left bunch of fives on
     Aaron’s sadly damaged optic. Jones returned on the side
     of the head, and in going down narrowly escaped a
     swinging blow from Paddock’s right.

     26.――Jones dashed in on the snout, whence spouted a
     crimson jet, then closed, and, after a short struggle,
     both fell, Paddock under.

     27.――Jones again rattled in, but his left-hand blows
     seemed mere pushes, his following hits with the right
     being sharp and heavy. After mutual exchanges, Jones
     again gripped Paddock and threw him, falling over him.
     As they lay on the ground Paddock patted Jones on the
     shoulder, in a patronising way, as if saying, “Well
     done, my lad!”

     28.――Jones broke ground by letting go both hands, but
     they were mere fly-flaps. In trying to get nearer he
     missed his left, over-reached himself, and fell.

     29.――Paddock, tired of the defensive, dashed in; they
     quickly got to work, and after a merry rally, in which
     there were several mutual misses, both were down,
     Paddock undermost.

     30-34.――Good sharp rounds, with equal success; Paddock
     getting twice or three times on to Jones’s good
     eye――the right――which looked in danger of following
     suit like its sinister brother. In the last round
     Paddock again thrown.

     35.――Paddock, anxious for a turn, went in resolutely;
     Jones met him with the right, and propped him severely,
     his left, though he made use of it in stopping, doing
     no damage to his opponent. In the exchanges Paddock
     slipped down.

     36-46.――Similar in character, sharp rallies, some wild
     but punishing exchanges; Jones the best of the closes,
     but Paddock hitting hardest.

     47.――Jones went in and forced his man determinedly; he
     got his right hand heavily on Tom’s listener, but
     received a slashing upper-cut while attempting to
     close, he staggered and fell, his knees evidently
     failing him.

     48.――Paddock grinned at his opponent, and looked round
     at his friends, nodding his head as he put up his hands
     at the scratch. He popped in his left on the side of
     Aaron’s head, who fell, Paddock just missing a
     right-hander as Jones went to earth.

     49-52.――Jones’s fighting ineffective, and Paddock
     slowly improving his position.

     53.――Paddock again visited the old spot on Jones’s left
     cheek, and Jones was again down. It was evident the
     steam was out of Jones’s deliveries, though he yet
     preserved his form of stopping and hitting. In fact,
     his left was no longer his best weapon. From this to
     the 70th round comparatively little mischief was done,
     through exhaustion from continued exertion, falls, and
     repeated blows. Paddock, whose hands were swollen by
     repeated visitations to Jones’s forehead and brain-pan,
     did but little execution, while Jones, with his
     sprained left shoulder and weakened understandings, was
     too tottery to go in with effect. In the 78th round
     Paddock sent a smasher into Jones’s remaining window,
     the shutter of which was fast closing. Cries of “Take
     him away!” to which Jones contemptuously replied, “I’m
     good for another hour!”

     79.――Paddock went in as if to finish, but Jones
     astonished him by stopping his left, and retaliating
     with such a stinger on the side of the nut, that he
     rolled down and over, amidst the shouts of the
     spectators.

     80.――Jones was evidently fighting against fate.
     Paddock, though his hands were puffed, seemed little
     the worse for wear in wind or strength, while Jones was
     weak on his pins, pumped out, had but one good arm, and
     was gradually losing distinct vision. Forty-one more
     rounds were fought, making 121; but though Jones made
     many gallant efforts to turn the tide, fate was against
     him. His backers (the principal one was absent) were
     willing he should give in, but the game fellow would
     not hear of it. He gradually became blind, and, at
     length, in the 121st round, he rushed wildly in the
     direction of Paddock, who steadily propped him on the
     side of the jaw with the left, then delivering his
     right on the body, down went poor Aaron in a heap,
     nature forsook him, and Paddock stood over him the
     victor, after a determined struggle of _two hours and
     twenty-four minutes_.

     Both men were immediately conveyed on board “Waterman
     No. 7,” where they received every attention. Paddock
     quickly recovered, though his external marks of
     punishment were numerous and severe; Jones, however,
     was not himself for a considerable period. The boat at
     once returned to town; but as she departed before the
     second fight (between Spooner and Donovan) was
     concluded, ourselves and many others were compelled to
     avail ourselves of the Gravesend Railway, _via_
     Dartford or Purfleet, which brought all in good time to
     their homes in the great Metropolis.

     REMARKS.――The reader of the foregoing account will
     cordially agree with us that Jones in this gallant
     battle completely wiped out any stain of cowardice
     which the result of his battle with Orme might have
     attached to his character. His own statement to us,
     that he did not refuse to meet Orme a third time from
     any dread of punishment, but simply upon the advice of
     his backers and friends, was fully borne out. His
     perseverance, after the disablement of his left
     shoulder in the 18th round, and the unflinching
     endurance with which he faced so determined a
     two-handed hitter as Paddock, for ever dispose of the
     imputation of a white feather in Aaron’s composition.
     The loser certainly left no stone unturned, no resource
     untried, to achieve victory, and if he failed to
     command success he did more――he deserved it. Paddock,
     as usual in his later fights, fought with coolness and
     good-humour, taking the roughest blows and falls
     without a murmur. His left cheek, eye, temple, and ear
     were fearfully swollen, while the right side presented
     a curious contrast by retaining its original shape and
     expression. His hands were more injured than in any of
     his previous battles, and this will account for the
     protracted nature of the contest after the tide had
     turned against Jones. The fairness of Paddock’s
     fighting, even, on several occasions, to the extent of
     forbearance, was the admiration of all who witnessed
     the contest. Paddock, too, was certainly weak towards
     the close, owing to the burning sun under which the
     battle was fought. For ourselves, the mere work of
     sitting in a somewhat constrained position, in the full
     blaze of its rays, attending to our duties as referee,
     occasionally holding a bet, and taking the note which
     form the “bones” of the foregoing account, so entirely
     beat us that we can speak feelingly of the labours of
     the men who were subjected to and went through such a
     trying ordeal. Their endurance speaks volumes for the
     wonderful results attainable by training and condition.
     In brief, we may say in conclusion, that a better or
     more courageous fight has not been seen since Paddock
     last met the game and persevering Poulson.

The battle-money (£200) was handed to Paddock on the ensuing Monday,
at Alec Keene’s, “Three Tuns,” Moor Street, Soho, when a handsome
collection was made as a golden salve for the wounds of the brave but
unfortunate Aaron Jones.

That Aaron Jones fully removed by his last two battles every trace of
suspicion as to want of game is certain, but that he will ever be able
to take a first-rate position as a pugilist is extremely dubious; not
from want of either courage or capabilities as a punisher, but from
the simple fact that his constitution is not sufficiently strong to
enable him to stand for any great length of time the fatigues of a
contest with a determined lasting adversary like Paddock. He is a
civil, well-conducted young fellow, and a great favourite among those
who know him well. His defeat has not lost him a single friend, though
it has gained him many. It is just possible that his constitutional
defects may be removed as he grows older, and if they are, he will
prove an awkward customer to any one who may fancy him; but unless he
can improve his stamina, and that very materially, we would advise him
to abstain in future from milling pursuits. Paddock fought steadier
and with more generalship than we had given him credit for, and, to
our surprise, his hands, which in all former battles had swelled so as
almost to incapacitate him from inflicting punishment, stood firm and
hard to the last. His hits were delivered with much judgment, and,
although he was fearfully punished, he never flinched from his task.
He says it was a much tougher job than he expected, and does not
disguise the fact that he was glad when it was over; he also adds,
that whoever fights Jones in future will find he must put up with a
good deal more punching than will do him good. Many persons found
fault with Paddock for dropping on several occasions after delivering
his right on Jones’s most vulnerable point, the ribs, and certainly we
agree that such a practice should have been avoided. It must be
remembered, however, that Paddock was himself seriously injured, and
fast growing blind, and that he could scarcely be expected to display
that coolness which under more favourable circumstances would have
been expected from him. These dropping manœuvres were also in a
material degree counterbalanced by his manly conduct in the eleventh
round, when he refrained from punishing Jones, when the latter was in
a defenceless but perfectly fair position for being hit.

Our hero was allowed scant breathing-time after this tremendous
encounter. At the giving up of the stakes at Mr. Jackson’s, King
Street Mews, Park Lane, on the following Tuesday, the fearless Tom
Sayers presented himself and proposed a battle for £200, catch-weight,
but the details were postponed to a future meeting at Bill Hayes’s in
the ensuing week. In the interval Tom’s friends had entered into what
the politicians call _pourparlers_ with some friends of Harry Poulson,
and this proved “a red herring” that crossed the “line,” and so the
match with Tom Sayers was for the present a lost “scent.”

In the papers of August 27, we read as follows:――

     “The gallant Tom Paddock having waited for some time for a
     reply to the question we put to the Tipton Slasher, as
     to whether he intends to maintain his claim to the
     Championship, and having seen no answer, declares that if
     Perry has retired――as he is at a loss to know which of these
     worthies is actual Champion――he will fight Harry Broome
     for £200 or £300 a side.” [We may state, for Paddock’s
     information, that Broome, when he forfeited some time back
     to the Slasher, declared his intention of retiring from the
     Ring, and leaving the title to the Tipton.] “Paddock adds
     that if neither Perry nor Broome takes up the gauntlet, he
     shall consider himself Champion, as prepared to meet all
     comers.”

In the following week’s issue, the Editor announces that Johnny Broome
has called on him, and left a deposit to “find a man” who will fight
Paddock for £200, or any larger sum.

As the day of the battle approached, the interest in the expected
encounter increased, and the eighteenth deposit, carrying the stakes
up to £160, being duly posted at Alec Keene’s, “Three Tuns,” Moor
Street, Soho, all seemed going fairly. On the following Tuesday,
however, an alarming intelligence reached Air Street, that Harry had
been apprehended at his training quarters at Patcham, and taken before
the Brighton magistrates, by whom he had been bound over to keep the
peace for three months, thus putting an end to hostilities for that
period at least. We shall not here encumber our pages by any detail of
the angry “’fending and proving” which followed this very mysterious
arrest, of which each sought to cast the blame on his opponent’s
party. On this occasion the Editor of _Bell’s Life_, who was the
stakeholder, declared it to be his duty, from documents laid before
him, to hand over to Paddock the £180 deposited, which was done on the
20th of February, 1855. Hereupon Broome deposited £10 for a fresh
match, to come off on May 7th, after the expiry of Harry’s
recognisances, which Paddock covered, and once again received forfeit
from his wrangling opponent on the 12th of March. Hereupon the
“highest authority” declared, “in answer to numerous correspondents,”
that “Tom Paddock is now Champion of England, until the position is
wrested from him by the Tipton Slasher or Aaron Jones, or confirmed to
him by their defeat.” And here we may note that “old K-legs” was still
“pegging away on the same line;” but the ruddy hero of Redditch
fancied Aaron Jones to be an easier job, so he postponed his old
friend’s invitation, and joined issue with Jones by signing articles
on April 3rd, at Bill Hayes’s, the “Crown,” in Cranbourne Passage, to
fight on the 26th of June, 1855, for £100 a side, within 70 and over
50 miles from London. As we were present on the previous Thursday, at
Dan Dismore’s, and ourselves registered the “ring-constables” for
preservation of order on the occasion, it may be interesting to print
our note. Those who gave in their names were: Nat Langham, Edward
Hoiles (the Spider), Tom Sayers, Jack Grant, Jemmy Welsh, Young Sambo
(Welsh), Jemmy Massey, Billy Duncan, Charley Mallett, John Hicks, Alf.
Walker, Tom Adams, and Ned More; Ned Adams, Inspector. All these were
provided with armlets and a number, and were empowered to prevent any
person intruding within the outer roped circle, unless provided with
an inner-ring ticket, purchased of them individually or of the
appointed distributors. Each of these constables was compensated by an
“honorarium” in proportion to the receipts for “privilege” tickets,
which was subject to deduction or fines for proved remissness or
breach of duty. These arrangements fell into confusion and almost into
oblivion when the master-hand which framed them retired from the
conduct of the affairs of the Ring, of which he had been, through good
report or evil report, through sunshine as through storm, “the guide,
philosopher, and friend”――nay, more, the disinterested and zealous
champion and advocate. We allude to Vincent Dowling, Esq., who for
more than thirty years edited _Bell’s Life in London_, and to whom the
hand which writes these lines is proud to own that that teacher was
the Gamaliel at whose feet he sat to learn the now forgotten and
self-degraded principles of honour, courage, forbearance, and fair
play embodied in and inculcated by the Art of Self-Defence. On this
occasion the law survived the law-giver, and the most perfect order
was maintained. On the former occasion Jones’s friends declared that
their man lost the use of his left hand from an injury to his
collar-bone in the tenth round, and moreover, that he was suffering
from a disablement brought on by undue exertion, for which the
application of leeches had been considered necessary only a day or two
before the fight. If, they argued, Jones could under these drawbacks,
prolong the fight for two hours and twenty-four minutes, to the 121st
round, the chances were now in his favour. Besides, Jones, on a recent
occasion (at Jem Ward’s benefit) had so unmistakably “bested” Master
Tom, flooring him in masterly style, that his friends were “legion”
for this second trial. For some time after the signature of articles
both men remained in town, but at length Aaron betook himself to
Shrewsbury, where he remained until a fortnight before the fight, when
he came up to London, and took up his quarters at Sutton, in Surrey,
under the surveillance of Bob Fuller, who, “it goes without saying,”
did all that could be done to bring him “fit to the post.” Paddock
went to the neighbourhood of Leatherhead, where, by strong exercise on
the breezy downs, he did all that could be done to bring his “pipes”
and muscle into the primest order. We saw him both at the Epsom and
Ascot meetings, to each of which he came on “Shanks’s mare” and
certainly looked in “wind and limb,” eye, skin, and general
complexion, up to anything. On the Monday previous both men showed at
the Rotunda, Blackfriars Road, at the gathering for the benefit of the
Pugilistic Benevolent Association, and of course received the
congratulations of the crowd.

The “special” was chartered on this occasion by Dan Dismore, Hayes,
Mr. Jackson, and Paddock’s backer. On our arrival at the terminus we
met an immense assemblage of curious folks, who unable to be present
at the fight were anxious to get a peep at the men. On the platform
was a goodly concourse, noblemen and soldiers, Corinthians and clergy
(at any rate, we noticed the “Bishop of Bond Street,” carefully
superintending the safe deposit of sundry Fortnum-and-Mason-looking
baskets and hampers in the guard’s van), sporting pubs, country-cousins,
pugilists, and many well-breeched plebeians. At a few minutes past
eight o’clock, both men with their immediate attendants were
comfortably seated, and at half-past eight the whistle sounded and
away we steamed. The well-known stations on the Eastern Counties were
quickly passed, and, with the exception of one stoppage for a “drink”
for the iron horse, we had covered nearly eighty miles from Shoreditch
before we put on the brakes, and pulled up near Mildenhall, in the
county of Suffolk. Here an excellent piece of ground had been
selected, and a first-rate inner-and-outer-ring were quickly marked
out by Tom Oliver, Tom Callas, and assistants. A brisk trade in
tickets for the outer enclosure showed a receipt of £33 10s., a very
fair contribution to the funds of the P.B.A. The heat, as the men
stripped for the encounter, was intense, and by an amicable agreement
the usual toss for corners was dispensed with, and the men “placed
across the sun;” thus neither had the disadvantage of advancing to the
scratch with the rays of that dazzling luminary in his face. At
half-past twelve o’clock, the number of spectators numbering a little
over a thousand, Jones threw in his cap, attended by Bob Fuller and
Bill Hayes, the latter, who was in ill-health, resigning his position
soon afterwards to Jerry Noon. Paddock soon followed, Alec Keene and
Jemmy Massey acting as his assistants. Paddock, after shaking hands,
offered £25 in crisp bank notes to Aaron, on condition of a deposit of
£20 on the part of the latter, but Jones declined the wager. The odds
round the ring were now at this figure――5 to 4 on Paddock. Jemmy
Massey, however, offering “3 to 2, rather than not get on,” had his
£15 taken against £10, and the market-price went back again.

As the men stood up Paddock looked red, hard, and, contrary to former
exhibitions, sinewy and comparatively lean, with a look of wear and
tear about him that spoke well for his attention to training. Jones
was fine, symmetrical, and a model for a statuary; but though he
smiled and looked healthy and confident, we could not bring ourselves
to think he could last out a day’s work with the Redditch man. At six
minutes to one the seconds retired and business began.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Paddock was evidently not disposed to make a
     waiting race; he approached his man with an ominous
     smile, and at once launched forth his left, which was
     prettily stopped. He tried it a second time, but Jones
     was away. Tom would not be denied, but dashed
     resolutely in, and caught Jones heavily on the mouth
     with his left. Jones turned half round and went down,
     bleeding from the lips. (_First blood_ for Paddock.
     First knock-down blow was also claimed, but not allowed
     by the referee, who considered that Jones was a
     consenting party to his own downfall.)

     2.――Paddock again tried his left, catching Aaron a
     second time on the mouth. This led to some heavy
     exchanges, in which Paddock got it on the left cheek
     heavily, and Jones in the mouth. Paddock in the end
     slipped down.

     3.――The men at once got within distance, and heavy
     counter-hits left and right were exchanged, Jones with
     the latter hand catching Tom another spank on the left
     cheek, and receiving on the left peeper and ribs. A
     close followed, in which both were down, Jones under.

     4.――Paddock came up smiling, when Jones let go his left
     heavily on Paddock’s larboard optic, and his right on
     his nose――a very heavy hit, which produced a good
     supply of red currant juice, and both fell.

     5.――Paddock dashed in, but was met with another smasher
     on the snout. He retaliated on Aaron’s left eye,
     inflicting a cut on the brow, and drawing a fresh tap.
     He made his left again on Aaron’s cheek, which led to
     heavy exchanges, left and right, both getting it on the
     left side of the nut, and Paddock at the close fell on
     his south pole.

     6.――Jones came up with his left peeper in mourning;
     Paddock’s sinister visual organ had on a similar suit.
     Paddock determinedly rattled in and tickled Aaron on
     the left side of his occiput. He tried a second dose,
     but napped an ugly right-hander on the left eyebrow,
     which was cut, and the ruby at once responded to the
     call. Heavy exchanges without an attempt to stop
     followed, and both were down, Paddock under.

     7.――Both showed serious marks of punishment, but
     neither said “nay.” Some heavy rambling exchanges took
     place, and Jones slipped down.

     8.――No ceremony on either side, but ding-dong was the
     order of the day. The exchanges were in favour of
     Paddock, who paid some heavy to visitations Aaron’s
     left peeper. In the close both were down.

     9.――Jones attempted to lead off, but Paddock got
     cleverly away; Jones followed him up, and some
     tremendous exchanges took place, Jones in the end
     knocking Paddock off his legs by a tremendous crack
     from his right on the jaw. (First knock-down blow for
     Jones.)

     10.――Paddock looked serious――he was evidently shaken by
     the hit in the last round. Jones, however, instead of
     going to work, waited for him. Paddock quickly
     recovered, and just touched Aaron on the proboscis;
     this brought on a rally, in which little mischief was
     done, and Jones got down.

     11.――Paddock took the lead, planted a left-hander on
     Jones’s left daylight; Jones retaliated by a
     right-hander on the same spot, and then a second
     edition of the same, and in getting back fell on the
     ropes; he was not down, and Paddock might with fairness
     have struck him, but, with a manly feeling, for which
     he is entitled to much credit, walked to his own corner
     amidst cheers from both sides.

     12.――This was a tremendous fighting round. It commenced
     with some heavy exchanges left and right, Paddock
     reaching Aaron’s left eye, and the latter pounding Tom
     on the smeller. A break away, followed by some severe
     counter-hits in favour of Jones, who again drew Tom’s
     cork, brought them to a close, in which both were down.
     Paddock distilling the ruby from his nose and left eye,
     and Jones from the nozzle. (The facetious Jerry Noon
     remarked that it was “Chelsea Hospital to a sentry-box”
     on Jones.)

     13.――Jones led off, caught Tom another nasty one on the
     side of his knowledge-box, and Tom, astonished at its
     suddenness, dropped.

     14.――Paddock tried his left, which was neatly stopped.
     Again did he make the attempt with a like result, but
     Jones with quickness planted his right on the damaged
     left eye with effect, and Paddock fell, Jones on him.

     15.――Tom came up with his left shutter nearly closed,
     and the cheek on the same side as big as a pumpkin. He
     attempted to lead off, but was again well stopped. He
     would persevere, and got home on Jones’s left ogle.
     Jones countered heavily on the same point, and Paddock
     again got down, Jones on him.

     16.――Jones rushed at his man, who in retreating fell.

     17.――Paddock led off, but missed. Tremendous
     counter-hits followed, Paddock getting it on the side
     of his nut from Jones’s right, and Jones being knocked
     off his legs by a heavy visitation on his left cheek,
     which inflicted a severe cut and spilled more of the
     vital fluid.

     18.――Paddock again missed a well-intended left hander,
     and, after a few scrambling exchanges, Jones fell weak.
     He had evidently not recovered the terrific hit in the
     last round.

     19.――Paddock let go his left, which caught Jones on the
     damaged chop, but not heavily. Jones returned on the
     left eye, and Paddock dropped laughing.

     20.――Paddock went to his man, who let go his left on
     the side of his head, and Paddock fell. He jumped up to
     renew the round, when Jones at once went to work,
     pegged away left and right, drawing some more claret
     from the left eye. Paddock returned on the left cheek,
     but in the end was knocked through the ropes, Jones
     falling weak from his own exertions.

     21.――Paddock’s lead was again stopped, and Jones again
     propped him on the left cheek. Paddock dropped, and
     once more jumped up to renew the round, but Jones’s
     seconds forced him away to his owner.

     22.――Jones, slightly recovered from his weakness, went
     to work, and some tremendous counter-hits were
     exchanged, Paddock on the left eye, and Jones on the
     smelling bottle. Paddock now shoved in his right
     heavily on Jones’s ribs, and dropped, amidst cries of
     “Foul.” No appeal, however, was made, and the affair
     passed off.

     23.――Paddock came up with his left ocular completely
     closed, the opposite cheek being swollen as if from
     sympathy. Jones’s left eye was also barely open.
     Paddock went resolutely to work with both hands, Jones
     retaliating, and in the end Jones fell.

     24.――Paddock took the lead by another essay upon
     Jones’s head, which staggered him. Paddock at once
     closed, threw, and fell on him.

     25.――Slight changes to a close, in which a little
     mutual fibbing took place. In the end both down,
     Paddock under, but still much the fresher man.

     26.――Jones attempted to open the pleadings, but Paddock
     stepped back, jobbing him on the snuffbox as he came
     in. Slogging exchanges now took place, in favour of
     Jones, who caught Paddock a tremendous right hander
     behind the left ear, which cut that organ severely, and
     opened a new crimson conduit. The men closed and fell
     together, Jones under.

     27.――Paddock, although bleeding from the left ear and
     eye, came up merrily, and led off with the left on
     Aaron’s os frontis. Jones returned with a heavy right
     hander on Tom’s darkened peeper, and again knocked him
     off his pins.

     28.――Paddock, who was very slow to the call of time,
     came up weak. Jones led off, with his right on the
     nose, but had not devil enough to let it go with a
     will. Paddock retreated until he had shaken off the
     effects of the knock-down in the last round, and then
     caught Jones heavily on the body. Jones returned on the
     mouth with effect, the blow turning Paddock half round.
     Paddock at once walked to his corner and sat down――an
     example followed by Jones. This hit was very severe,
     and many persons thought Paddock would not come many
     more rounds.

     29.――Paddock tried to lead off, but was stopped. Jones
     then planted his left slightly on the right cheek, and
     Paddock got down.

     30.――Jones went to work, but without force, and after
     some slight exchanges, both fell on their knees
     exhausted. The intense heat must have been indeed
     distressing to both.

     31.――Slight exchanges, in which little mischief was
     done, and Paddock again down.

     32.――Both attempted to deliver, and both missed their
     mark. Slight exchanges, each on the left side of the
     nut, and both down fatigued.

     33.――Jones essayed a lead, which was neatly stopped. He
     then dashed in, and after a scrambling rally both fell
     over the ropes.

     34.――Paddock’s head presented an unique specimen of
     Aaron’s handiwork. The left cheek was swollen as big as
     a cocoa-nut, and his eye was all but covered up. With
     the other optic he glared furiously upon his opponent,
     and rushing at him, delivered his left on the cheek.
     Jones returned slightly on the body, and Tom dropped.

     35.――Paddock stopped Aaron’s left. Paddock returned
     twice heavily on the ribs with his right, leaving
     visible impression of his knuckles, and then dropped
     without a return, amidst the hisses of the Aaronites.

     36.――Paddock’s left well stopped. A tremendous
     ding-dong rally then took place, in which Paddock got
     it on the left eye and cheek, and Jones on the ribs. In
     the end both down.

     37.――Paddock’s left again stopped, and Jones returned
     on the side of the wig-block. Paddock then popped in
     his left with effect on the mouth, and after some more
     exchanges Paddock got down. He looked round anxiously
     at Jones, as he was being carried to his corner, and
     evidently wished his work was done.

     38.――Paddock made his right heavily on Jones’s body,
     and then his left on the side of his head. Both now
     pegged away with determination, and in a most
     unflinching way, as if they had received fresh vigour.
     The hitting, however, was in favour of Paddock, and in
     the end Jones fell weak. It had evidently been an
     expiring effort on his part to get a decided lead, and
     having failed it was now patent to all that his defeat
     was a mere question of time.

     39.――Paddock let go his left on the side of Aaron’s
     cheek, which led to some severe counter-hits. They then
     closed, and Paddock pegged away with his right at the
     ribs until both were down.

     40.――Some slight exchanges, without mischief, and Jones
     down.

     41.――Paddock came up with an awful grin; his single
     open peeper glaring in a most ludicrous manner. He
     tried to lead off, but napped it on the smeller and
     left ear, from which the main was again tuned on.
     Paddock then made his right on the ribs, and Jones
     dropped.

     42.――Paddock again effected a heavy right-handed
     delivery on the ribs, and after slight exchanges both
     were down.

     43.――Slight exchanges, in which neither was effective,
     and in a scramble they fell. Paddock under.

     44.――Jones attempted to lead off, but was easily
     stopped; Paddock returning heavily on his left eye, and
     then on the body, again screwed his courage to the
     sticking-place, and a second with his right and got
     down.

     45.――Paddock led off, but was short. In another attempt
     he reached Aaron’s damaged bread-basket, and dropped à
     la Bendigo. He jumped up to renew the fight, when Jones
     nailed him on the left side of his brain-pan, and Tom
     finally dropped to end this round.

     46.――Jones tried to lead, but was very slow, and easily
     stopped. Paddock again reached his ribs with his right,
     and a sharpish rally ended in their failing together at
     the ropes.

     47.――Paddock’s left was out of distance; he tried his
     right at the body but missed, and Jones dashing in,
     caught him on the right cheek slightly, and fell on his
     face.

     48.――Counter-hits with the left, Paddock catching Jones
     very heavily on the left temple, and dropping him as if
     shot.

     49.――Jones, very slow to the call of time, at length
     came up wildly. He staggered in to close, and they
     fell, Jones under.

     50.――Jones, alter a futile attempt to punish, fell
     weak.

     51.――Slight exchanges, but no mischief, and both down.

     52.――Wild, swinging hits which did not get home.
     Paddock then planted his right heavily on the ribs, and
     again got down, amidst loud hisses. There was no appeal
     to the referee, and the fight proceeded.

     53.――Paddock let go his left on the mouth; slight
     exchanges followed, and they then fell on their backs.
     Both were much exhausted, but Paddock was the stronger
     on his pins.

     54.――After slight exchanges, Paddock again made his
     right at the ribs, and got down.

     55.――Paddock led off, but was stopped. They then got
     close, and some slight fibbing ended in Jones seeking
     Mother Earth. Paddock stood looking at him, as much as
     to say, “Why don’t you cut it?” until he was carried to
     his corner.

     56.――Jones attempted to lead off, but Paddock countered
     him heavily on the cheek, and he fell, amidst cries of
     “Take him away.”

     57.――Jones, although slow to time, came up steadily,
     and succeeded in putting in a little one “on the place
     where Tom’s eye ought to be,” and having received in
     return on the proboscis, he fell on his latter end.

     58.――Paddock rushed in to finish, but Jones, to the
     surprise of all, stopped him, and some heavy
     counter-hits took place. Paddock getting another crack
     on his disfigured nob, and hitting Jones down by a
     spank on the dice-box.

     59.――Paddock planted his left on Jones’s kissing-organ
     heavily, opening a fresh tap, and Aaron again dropped.
     For two more rounds did Jones stagger up to the
     scratch, but it was only to receive――all the steel was
     out of him――he was extremely weak on his legs, one eye
     was closed, and the other following suit; his nose,
     mouth, and ribs were severely damaged, while
     Paddock――although tremendously disfigured about the
     title-page――had still a little “go” left in his
     trotters. Every one begged of Jones or his seconds on
     his behalf to give in, but the gallant fellow
     persevered against hope until the close of the 61st
     round, when getting another heavy crack on the mouth,
     he fell, almost senseless, and his seconds threw up the
     sponge in token of defeat, at the end of one hour and
     twenty-nine minutes. Poor Aaron, who had done all he
     could do to turn the tide in his favour, was much
     mortified by this second defeat at the hands of
     Paddock, and cried like a child. He could scarcely walk
     on leaving the ring, and was obliged to lie down on an
     adjacent bank for some time before he could be removed
     to the station. Paddock was no great shakes, and was
     evidently much delighted that his task was at an end.
     He went into the ring with a full conviction that he
     should not gain a bloodless victory, and that he should
     get his brain-pan pretty well knocked about, but we
     question whether even he, confident as he was,
     anticipated that it would be quite so “hot” as it
     turned out.

     REMARKS.――Every one who witnessed the above battle will
     cordially agree with us that it was a determined, manly
     struggle for pre-eminence throughout. It clearly
     demonstrated to our mind, however, the fact that Jones
     does not possess sufficient physique to enable him to
     contend successfully against such a hardy bit of stuff
     as Tom Paddock. True, he is a harder hitter than
     Paddock, but then, after a time, unless a man has a
     frame of iron, this gift is materially diminished by
     the constant jar; and a determined adversary, with such
     a granite nob as Tom Paddock, capable of receiving
     almost any amount of punishment, is almost certain to
     last longest at mere give-and-take fighting, as was
     fully proved on Tuesday. Jones, notwithstanding he had
     received hints from the most accomplished boxer of the
     day, Jem Ward, still persevered in his old system of
     hitting principally with his right-hand, a practice
     which, although it altered Paddock’s physiognomy in the
     most extraordinary manner on one side, still was not
     calculated, unattended as it was by much execution from
     his left, to reduce his opponent to a state of
     darkness. He punished Paddock more than that hero was
     ever punished before, and we believe that, did he
     possess more wear and tear, it would have been a much
     nearer thing than it was. He had for some time the best
     of the hitting, but, falling weak, the inequality was
     quickly removed by the determination of Paddock, who,
     seeing that he had his work to do, never gave Jones
     breathing time to collect his faculties.

The Old Tipton being matched with Aaron Jones, and Harry Broome being
supposed to have retired from pugilism to publicanism, Tom was
standing idle in the market-place, when on the 2nd of December he was
enlivened by reading the following in the Ring column of _Bell_, under
the heading of “WHO IS TO HAVE THE BELT?” A new one having been just
put into the hands of a fashionable goldsmith from the proceeds of a
public subscription:

     “MR. EDITOR,――It was my intention never to have entered the
     roped arena again, but the persuasions of my old friends and
     backers have determined me to pull off my shirt once more. I
     now come forward for the satisfaction of the public and the
     Prize Ring, in order to determine who’s the better man, Tom
     Paddock or myself. I will fight him for £200 a side for the
     Champion’s Belt, which I feel I am entitled to, for both the
     Tipton Slasher and Aaron Jones have been beaten by me or by
     men that I have beaten, and therefore I claim it, and shall
     do so until fairly beaten in a roped ring, as a trophy of
     that description ought to be contested for man to man, and
     never obtained upon a mere challenge. To prove that I mean
     to carry out what I state, I will meet Paddock at your
     office on Wednesday, Dec. 12, to sign articles, to which the
     following condition must be attached:――The money not, under
     any circumstances, to be parted with until _fairly won or
     lost_ in a 24 feet roped ring. Should this not suit Paddock
     (not that I wish to interfere with the match between the
     Tipton Slasher and Aaron Jones) I will fight Aaron Jones for
     £200 a side, whether he wins or loses with the Tipton
     Slasher. By inserting this, you will oblige.――Yours, &c.,

                                                  “HENRY BROOME.”
     “Bell’s Life” Tavern, Strand,
         November 28, 1855.

Paddock lost no time in calling on the stakeholder, and leaving £10
early in the next week, under condition that if he could not raise
£200, they should meet for £100. Broome did not flinch, and, after two
more “conditional” deposits, articles were signed in the editorial
sanctum of _Bell’s Life_, by which Thomas Paddock and Henry Broome
mutually bound themselves to fight for £200 a side, on Monday, May
19th, 1856, within 100 and over 50 miles from London. The anxiety in
boxing circles, as the day drew near and all was found progressing
smoothly to the desired issue, became intense; and Alec Keene’s “Three
Tuns,” in Moor Street, whence Paddock was backed, and Harry’s own
house, the newly named “Bell’s Life” Tavern (now the “Norfolk Arms”),
in the Strand, were crowded with curious inquirers as to how the men
went on, and for “the straight tip.” On the day previous both
champions showed, and the distribution of colours――a blue with white
spot for Broome, and a blue with a white check for Paddock――on the
usual terms of a guinea or “nothing,” was extensive. Paddock was
closely scrutinised by both friends and foes, each equally anxious to
ascertain whether time or previous contests had impaired his freshness
or vigour; but no traces of deterioration were there, and those who
felt his muscle declared their belief that he was never in finer trim.

Harry’s appearance, so far as his face was concerned, was that of
perfect health, and the disappearance of the protuberance which had
long been visible under his waistcoat was remarkable. These signs of
careful training, with the prestige of his name, carried the odds to 6
and 7 to 4 in his favour. We knew that he worked hard and was most
creditably abstemious; but we feared, as the sequel proved, that he
was unable to train efficiently, and that strength was lost in the
great reduction of weight to which he had been subjected.

It had been the original intention of the backers of the men to have
given the inhabitants of Kent and Sussex the opportunity of a view of
this encounter; but it proved, upon inquiry, that it was impossible to
obtain a “special” on those lines, as some saints in the directorate
of the companies had issued an ukase against such “excursions” as were
not to their own taste or under their own patronage. Recourse was,
therefore, had to the Eastern Counties, where the necessary facilities
for an excursion of “Odd Fellows” was applied for and granted. It was
suggested to the “managers” of the “outing”――Alec Keene, Fred Broome,
and Dan Dismore――that any invasion of the territory of Cambridge,
Huntingdon, or the country round Mildenhall or Brandon, would
inevitably be resisted; so these worthies, after consultation with
experienced strategists, deemed it prudent to abandon the old and
beaten track, and strike out a new plan of campaign. The company’s
agent was, therefore, apprised that the excursionists wished to pass
through Suffolk into Norfolk, by the Eastern Union Line, as their
place of reunion would be a few miles beyond Ipswich. The officials
made their arrangements accordingly, and on our arrival at the
Shoreditch terminus, at eight o’clock on Monday morning, we found that
no pains had been spared to prevent anything like crushing or disorder
at the doors. The neighbourhood of the station was, as usual, crowded
with anxious spectators, who hoped to get a view of the principals in
the forthcoming duel; but, so far as Broome was concerned, they were
disappointed, as he had proceeded at an early hour to Stratford, where
it was arranged the train should stop and pick him up. Paddock,
however, accompanied by Jemmy Massey and Alec Keene, was early at the
starting-place, and was eagerly greeted by the multitude. From the
heavy tariff which had been determined on, we fully expected to find
the company not only very select, but far from numerous, and we
anticipated that the original number of carriages ordered would have
been found sufficient; but such was the rush of the public, that, long
before the hour of starting, every carriage was filled, and chiefly by
respectable persons. It was soon perceptible that a considerable
addition to the conveyances was required, and no less than seven extra
carriages were added, all of which filled almost immediately; and, not
only so, but very shortly after the special had started a sufficient
number of gentlemen arrived at the station to charter another train of
some four or five carriages, to follow that containing the
belligerents. Among the _voyageurs_ by the first train were almost all
the pugilists of note, and an immense number of Corinthians of every
grade. In fact, a larger muster of the higher classes we have not seen
on such an occasion for many years. There were one or two familiar
faces missing, but there were quite sufficient new hands to make up
for the deficiency. Among the company was an Indian prince of high
rank, and his suite, anxious to obtain a glimpse of the peculiarly
national spectacle, and we were delighted to hear that he was treated
throughout with the greatest respect, and suffered not the slightest
indignity from the thoughtless throng on account of his peculiar
appearance or unaccustomed manners; a piece of good behaviour on the
part of an unpoliced crowd that was a creditable example to those
public gatherings which pretend to superior order and civility. The
only complaint we heard on the way down was on the subject of the
commissariat, the want of “belly-timber” being universally felt. It
turned out that the absence of refreshment among the Corinthians was
attributable to the pressure of a certain class at the doors of the
station, who, unwilling to pay, and anxious to get a trip for nothing,
besieged the doors at the latest moment, in the hope of taking the
officials off their guard, and so making a rush for the platform. The
formidable appearance of this phalanx induced the police of the line
to close the doors and refuse admission to all. Unluckily, amongst the
late arrivals, was Mr. Commissary Dismore, who, with his Land
Transport Corps, well provided with everything necessary, arrived just
too late. Dan himself contrived to get round by a private way on to
the platform, but, alas! the “vital ammunition” was cut off. Thanks,
however, to the second special, the provisions were brought down in
time for the hungry and thirsty souls to refresh themselves after the
mill, when due justice was done to Dan’s ample provision. The first
special did not leave Shoreditch until a quarter past nine; it reached
Stratford about half-past; and here Harry Broome and his friends were
picked up. Harry’s mug looked hard and healthy, and about his mouth
was a smile of confidence. The universal exclamation was, “How well he
looks!” and the short glimpse obtained of him induced many persons to
“open” at offers of 7 to 4 on him――offers which the friends of Paddock
were not slow to accept. The train now sped on at a good pace to
Chelmsford, where water was taken in, and we again set forward on our
journey. At Manningtree, where a second refresher was necessary for
the engine, an intimation was received that the “war hawks” were
abroad, and that the Ipswich police had, through the indiscretion of
some would-be-clever persons, who had gone on over night, obtained a
scent of what was intended, and had telegraphed to the police at Diss,
in Norfolk, and other places, to be on the look-out. This intimation
arrived most opportunely, and it was at once resolved to put on the
double, and to bring off the mill as close as possible to Ipswich,
where it was least expected. The commander-in-chief mounted the
engine, and, under his direction, a likely spot was selected, where
the train was brought to a halt, and the assembled multitude, to the
number of at least five hundred, dropped upon the field like a flight
of crows. Several of the committee of the P.B.A. at once spread
themselves about the field in skirmishing order to select the best
spot, but while they were so engaged the Commissary and Callas had
pitched upon a place which, although not the best, was still tolerably
level, and the grass was not very long. Here no time was lost in
getting up the fixings. It was uncertain how long the Ipswich “blues”
would be hoodwinked, and, therefore, time was everything. A large
outer-ring was formed simultaneously with the original circle, and
round this the non-paying part of the community quickly ranged
themselves. The business of selling inner-ring tickets proceeded
briskly, and a sum of £47 was realised thereby, the surplus of which,
after paying ring-keepers and the farmer on whose grounds the mill
took place for damage to his grass, went to the funds of the
Association. So great was the number of privilege ticket-holders that,
on sitting down at some distance from the ring, they formed a double
row almost the whole way round, and effectually proved their own
barrier against the irruption of those who at all times are more free
than welcome. It is true that several of the latter class, by some
means, obtained access to Broome’s corner later on, where their
vociferations were the reverse of agreeable; but, thanks to the
exertions of Mike Madden, Bill Barry, and Fred Mason, they were
effectually kept within bounds. At length, by a quarter to one,
everything was in apple-pie order, and the signal being given, the men
at once stepped into the arena; Harry Broome attended by Tass Parker
and Tom Sayers, and Paddock under the surveillance of the accomplished
Alec Keene and Jemmy Massey. They smiled and shook hands, Harry
shaking his nut in a significant manner at Tom, as much as to say,
“I’ve got you at last, old fellow.” The colours were now tied to the
post, and while the men were preparing their toilet a good deal of
betting took place. The first offer was £35 to £20 on Broome――a bet
which was at once made and staked. 7 to 4 was then laid very freely,
the business of booking and staking going on most briskly. Massey now
came forward and offered to take £20 to £10, but not being able to get
a higher bid than £15 to £10, he closed, and this amount was staked,
as was also a similar bet laid to Alec Keene. The layers now began to
hang back, and £30 to £20 became the current odds, at which a good
deal more business was done. A heavier amount of betting we never
remember to have witnessed at the ring-side; and this tended, more
than anything else, to show the intense interest the battle excited.
At length, offers became more languid, and finally ceased altogether;
and as we did not hear of a single bet after the mill commenced, we
are inclined to think that the speculators had staked every farthing
they brought with them. By one o’clock it was announced that both men
were quite ready, and time being called they were led to the scratch,
where, after the usual hands across, they were left, peeled to the
buff, and their proportions and condition displayed to the curious
gaze of the assembled throng.

Tom Paddock, as he stood at the scratch, looked every inch a
gladiator. Each thew and sinew was perfectly developed, and seemed
ready to burst the tightened skin. His broad shoulders and deep chest,
covered with ponderous muscles, were the admiration of all; and the
distinctness with which his lower ribs were visible proved that there
was not an ounce of superfluous flesh on his wiry, powerful frame. His
mug was hard and ruddy, and there was clearly little there to swell up
should his dial come in too close propinquity to Harry’s
sledge-hammers. He looked good-humoured, but determined, and evidently
feeling the importance of the occasion, he toed the scratch with a
determination to “do or die.” Widely different was the aspect
presented by the once powerful Harry Broome. True it was that he had
got rid of his superabundant belly, but in doing so it was apparent to
all that he had also got rid of much of his muscle and sinew. When he
fought Harry Orme he was certainly well covered with fat, but still
underneath this coating the evidences of great power were plainly
visible; but now, what a falling off was there! Barring the aforesaid
protuberance, he was as fat as ever, but all appearances of sinewy
strength had vanished. His breasts were soft and puffy, his arms round
and smooth, while the flesh on his once fine back hung in collops;
there was also a slight eruption on his pale skin, which betokened a
feverish state of the blood, which would not have been guessed from
the appearance of his face. He said he felt quite well, though not so
strong as on former occasions. On inquiring of Joe Bostock, who had
been with him while he finished his training at Bosham, near
Chichester, we learned that he had several times complained of
weakness, and that the more he tried to get his fat off the more did
it seem to accumulate. Harry himself informed us, and we are satisfied
as to the truth of his statement, that he reduced himself upwards of
3st. in the course of his exercise, but he found himself getting so
weak that he was compelled at last to be more gentle in his work; and
he now declares his belief that had he gone into the ring in his
ordinary state, without any preparation whatever, he would have been
better and stronger than he was on Monday. With all his drawbacks,
however, he was extremely confident as to the result of the battle,
and advised his friends to back him at all hazards. He no doubt
depended upon his science, and expected to set at defiance the
well-known onslaughts of his opponent. We must now bring these
preliminaries to a conclusion, and proceed to our account of


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Precisely at six minutes past one the
     onslaught commenced. Broome, to the astonishment of
     all, did not assume the elegant attitude we have seen
     in former battles, but feinted and dodged about without
     gathering himself together in the least. Tom was
     evidently surprised, and thought he must be “kidding;”
     he therefore assumed a defensive position, and bided
     his time. He had not long to wait. Harry was bent on
     forcing an opening, and dashed in, feinted with his
     left, ducked his head, and lodged his left heavily on
     Tom’s breadbasket. His nut was laid open to a severe
     upper cut, but Tom, bewildered, did not see, and
     therefore did not take the advantage of his opening.
     Broome now came again, let fly his left at the
     forehead, inflicting no damage, napped a little one on
     the left brow, and slipped down.

     2.――Paddock at once rattled in, let go his left with
     great quickness on the proboscis, drawing first blood.
     Broome returned on the left cheek, and also elicited a
     supply of the ruby. Harry then closed, and tried to
     throw his man, but, after a short struggle, in which
     Tom was very busy with his right at close quarters, Tom
     slipped from his grasp and fell.

     3.――Broome, out of all form, tried to take a lead, but
     in vain. Paddock was too quick for him, and pegged away
     heavily left and right on the conk, inflicting a cut on
     the bridge thereof, drawing more fluid. Broome again
     closed, and Tom resorted to his fibbing system with
     both hands heavily on the side of Harry’s nut, and on
     his ribs. This effectually put a stop to any chance of
     his being thrown, and in the end both fell side by
     side.

     4.――Broome dashed in, let fly his left, which missed;
     slight exchanges with the same hand followed, and
     Paddock slipped down. He jumped up immediately to renew
     the round, but Jemmy Massey squeezed him in his arms as
     if he were a child, and carried him struggling to his
     corner.

     5.――Broome came up puffing, and evidently out of sorts.
     Paddock, fresh as a daisy, grinned a ghastly grin, and
     awaited the onslaught. Harry tried his left, when Tom
     countered him heavily on the snout, drawing more of the
     crimson. Tom attempted to follow up his advantage, but
     Harry turned and ran away, Tom after him. On Broome
     turning round, Tom again planted a little one on the
     snuff box, and they once more closed, and some
     infighting took place, in which Broome received heavily
     on the body, and Tom got a little one behind his left
     ear. In the end Paddock slipped down.

     6.――Tom came up smiling. Broome at once rushed in, and
     closed with his head under Paddock’s arm. Here Tom held
     it and pegged away at the ribs until both were down,
     Broome blowing and apparently distressed. The layers of
     odds even thus early began to look excessively blue at
     the want of precision of their pet, and his evident
     lack of lasting powers.

     7.――Broome slow, tried a feint, when Tom nabbed him
     with the left on the cheek, and then with the same hand
     on the snout. Harry at once closed, when Tom, as usual,
     resorted to his fibbing, at which game Harry joined
     issue, and each got it on the nose and left cheek. In
     the end both again down.

     8.――Tom led off with his left, a straight’un, on the
     snuff box. Some rambling, scrambling exchanges followed
     to a close, in which both fell.

     9.――Tom steadied himself, and let go his left, but
     Harry countered him heavily on the right cheek. Tom
     returned on the jaw with his right, and in his hurry to
     get away slipped down. Harry drew back his hand, as if
     intending to deliver a spank, but prudently withheld
     the blow.

     10.――Broome let go his left, but open-handed, on Tom’s
     left peeper. Tom returned on the sneezer, increasing
     the supply of the carmine, and slipped down.

     11.――Tom feinted, but found Broome ready for a shoot,
     and stepped back, Harry after him. Tom now let fly his
     left well on the nose. Harry rushed in to close, and
     Tom resumed his fibbing on the dial and ribs. In the
     end he slipped down to avoid the fall.

     12.――Tom tried his left, but Harry stepped back, and as
     Tom followed, delivered a heavy right-hander on the
     mark, and then his left heavily on the mouth, drawing
     the Falernian, but fracturing one of the small bones of
     his hand. Paddock at once got down, and Harry walked to
     his corner.

     13.――Tom tried his left twice in succession, but Harry
     jumped away, Tom, however, persevered, and having got
     another little one on the mouth, went in to close, but
     on Broome grasping him slipped down.

     14.――Harry now tried it on, but Tom kept away, and as
     Harry followed, gave him a touch on the ribs with his
     left, and getting a little one in return on the chin,
     dropped.

     15.――Paddock dashed in without precision, and after a
     scrambling rally, in which there was more bustle than
     damage, he got down.

     16.――Tom once more steadied himself, and let go his
     left, but Harry cross-countered him on the forehead.
     Tom now crept close, and feinting with his left, drew
     Broome out, and then knocked him off his pins by a
     slashing right-handed cross-counter on the jaw. (First
     knock-down blow for Paddock.) The cheers of those who
     had taken the odds were now vociferous.

     17.――Harry did not seem much the worse for the crack in
     the last round, but came up good humouredly, and at
     once dashed to a close. Some sharp infighting took
     place, followed by a break away. Tom came again, and
     Harry nailed him very heavily on the snout with his
     right, staggering him, and drawing a plentiful supply
     of home-brewed. Paddock quickly sought mother earth.

     18.――Tom showed a slight mark on the left side of his
     beak, which was also swollen and bleeding. He rushed
     in, when Harry caught him on the left cheek, drawing
     more blood. Tom returned the compliment with interest
     on the smeller, a very heavy spank, which once more
     knocked the gallant Harry off his perpendicular.

     19.――Paddock feinted and let go his left on the nozzle,
     got a little right-hander on the left cheek in return,
     and slipped down, grinning. He jumped up, however, and
     said, “Have another round, Harry.” Harry was ready, but
     Tom was once more borne off by “the stunted Life
     Guardsman” (Massey).

     20.――Tom rattled in again, caught Harry on the nose,
     just between his eyes, removing more bark, and drawing
     more claret. Broome returned on the left cheek, and a
     close followed, in which both pegged away, until Tom
     fell on his knees, bleeding from his scent-bottle.
     (Time 28 minutes.)

     21.――Paddock let go his left once more at Harry’s
     proboscis, and some rapid but wild exchanges followed,
     Harry hitting open-handed, and Tom without judgment,
     and in the end Tom slipped down.

     22.――Harry came up panting and bleeding from the nose.
     Tom feinted, and Harry turned away, but Tom, when he
     got near enough, dashed out with his left very straight
     and heavy on Harry’s mouth, inflicting a severe cut,
     and turning on the tap. Harry missed his return, but
     tried to make a plant upon Tom. It was a failure,
     however――he seemed to have no steam in him――and Paddock
     once more dashed out his left on the mug, increased the
     wound, and again floored his brave antagonist.

     23.――Harry, although distressed, attempted to take the
     lead with his right, his left being apparently useless.
     He, however, missed a terrific right-hander, and napped
     a hot one on the nozzle in return. Harry then got in a
     little one on the jaw, and Tom got down cunning.

     24.――Paddock led off with his left slightly on the
     nose, which led to exchanges, Tom again being at home
     on the snuff box, renewing the stream. He got a
     right-hander on the left listener, drawing the ruby,
     and fell.

     25.――Harry’s mug, on coming up, was much altered for
     the worse. His mouth was much swollen and cut, and his
     nasal organ was in not much better condition, while a
     swelling was perceptible under his left eye. Paddock
     had few marks of punishment, and was as fresh as ever.
     Massey offered to lay odds on him, but did not find a
     response. Paddock made a feint, when Harry turned and
     ran round the ring, Tom after him. Harry then turned
     round, and a close took place, in which, after some
     slight fibbing, Paddock fell, receiving a right-hander
     on the nut as he reached the ground. (A claim of
     “foul,” which was not allowed.)

     26.――Harry sparred a little for wind, and Tom let fly
     his left, which was stopped. He then closed, and Tom,
     as usual, pegged away with both hands right merrily,
     thus preventing any chance of a heavy fall. His blows
     fell on Harry’s damaged kisser and ribs. In the end
     Paddock slipped out of Harry’s grasp and fell.

     27.――The men feinted until they got close, when
     tremendous right-handed counters were exchanged, Tom
     getting home on the snout, and Harry on the left cheek,
     and Paddock down.

     28.――Tom came up wild, and rushed in, when Broome
     countered him again heavily on the right peeper.
     Exchanges followed, Harry getting another tap on his
     cutwater, and, in the end, falling on his seat of
     honour.

     29.――Harry’s phiz was changing its appearance every
     round. It was now much out of shape in every way.
     Still, he persevered against hope. He went in feinting
     and dodging, whereupon Paddock went to him, but Harry
     retreated, and, as Tom rushed after him, nailed him
     with his right on the ribs, and then with both mawleys,
     the left open-handed, on the side of the nut, and Tom
     slipped down.

     30.――Harry rushed in to a close, and after a sharp but
     short struggle, they fell side by side. (Another claim
     of “foul,” on the ground that Broome had hit his man
     when down. Not allowed. Time, 40 minutes.)

     31.――Tom went in with ardour, dropped his left on the
     nozzle, and, after some wild exchanges, fell.

     32.――Tom again rushed in, and missing his delivery,
     Broome closed, and Paddock got down to avoid the fall.

     33.――Paddock still on the rushing suit, went in without
     judgment. Harry closed, and some more sharp fibbing
     took place. It was all in favour of Paddock, however,
     who was evidently the more powerful man, and punished
     poor Harry’s dial severely. In return he got a few
     touches on the ribs, and that was all. After a severe
     struggle they rolled over, and a claim was made that
     Paddock had kicked Broome while on the ground. This
     claim, like those on the other side, was justly
     declared by the referee to be groundless, and the mill
     proceeded.

     34.――Tom feinted, and Harry bolted, pursued by his
     opponent, who let go both hands with quickness on the
     left ear, from which blood was drawn, and on the
     mazzard, and Harry fell through the ropes.

     35.――Broome once more tried a lead, and got well on
     Paddock’s jaw with his right; he then closed, and,
     after a long struggle, in which he could get no good
     hold, both again fell together.

     36.――Tom essayed a rush, and Harry, in getting away,
     caught his heel and fell.

     37.――Paddock went to Harry almost in his own corner,
     and, after one or two feints some sharp exchanges took
     place, each getting it on the chin. Paddock slipped on
     his knees, and while in that position Harry gave him a
     severe crack on the smeller, drawing a tidy supply of
     the small still. (A claim of “foul” was once more made,
     which was overruled by the referee, who considered that
     Broome’s hand had started on its journey before Tom
     reached the ground.)

     38.――Tom came up bleeding from his sneezer, and dashed
     fiercely in; he planted his left heavily on the throat,
     closed, and fibbed his adversary with his left hand,
     while he held him with his right; he then neatly
     changed him over into the other arm, and gave him a
     dose with his right daddle on the nose and mouth, and
     Harry was eventually down, the main being on at the
     high service from both taps. Harry now laid himself on
     his stomach, in the hope of easing his distressed
     bellows, and was very slow to time; and no wonder
     either, seeing the quickness with which they had
     fought.

     39.――Tom dashed in, when Harry instantly closed, but
     Tom gave him no peace; he pegged away with both hands,
     administering heavy pepper on the ribs without a
     return; he then nailed poor Harry on the proboscis and
     mouth very heavily, and Harry fell. (Cries of “take him
     away,” but Harry would not hear of it.)

     40.――Tom came up smiling, and scarcely marked; he at
     once went to work, and followed Broome all over the
     ring, giving him no breathing time. He got a little one
     on the nose without a return, and Broome got down,
     blowing like a grampus. (51 minutes had now elapsed.)

     41.――Harry made a feint, but it was long out of
     distance, and Paddock quickly returned on the left
     optic. Broome now put in a little one on the mouth;
     after some merry little exchanges, they closed. At
     infighting Paddock got it heavily on the throat, and in
     the end he slipped down.

     42.――Paddock let fly his left, but was short, when
     Broome returned open-handed on the nose, and
     immediately closed. Paddock fibbed him heavily and
     effectually, prevented his obtaining any hold, and in
     the end, after Paddock had received a rattler from the
     left on the side of his nut, he slipped down.

     43.――Paddock, bent on finishing his job offhand, dashed
     in, got heavily on Harry’s ribs with his left, and
     Broome fell.

     44.――Tom once more dashed in, let go his left on the
     beak, and on getting to close quarters some heavy
     fibbing ensued, and another struggle for the fall,
     which neither got, and they fell together.

     45.――Tom went at his man with determination, delivered
     his left on the side of the nut, when Broome closed,
     but Tom proving much the stronger man, Harry got down.

     46.――Harry attempted a rush, but it was only an
     attempt. Tom came to meet him, delivered his one, two,
     with quickness on the front of the dial, and Harry
     fell, again lying on his back in the hope of recovering
     his wind.

     47.――Tom dodged his adversary, and then popped in a
     rib-bender with his right; Harry missed his return, and
     Paddock then made another visitation on Harry’s temple,
     and the latter fell.

     48.――The left side of Harry’s nut was terribly swollen,
     and his left peeper all but closed, while Paddock had
     still two good eyes, and was as strong and active as
     ever. Harry was extremely weak, and it was perceptible
     to all that nothing but an accident could give him a
     chance. He came up boldly, however, and stopped Tom’s
     first lead. A second time he was not so successful, and
     received a smasher on the whistler and fell.

     49.――Tom led off, but Harry cross-countered him on the
     proboscis rather heavily, Harry then closed, but was
     fibbed very severely on the left ear until he fell.
     (One hour had now elapsed.)

     50.――Harry came up bleeding from his left ear, nose,
     and mouth. Tom rattled in, dashed a heavy hit with his
     left on the nose, and then his right on the mouth.
     Harry seemed to wake up a little at this, and some
     heavy jobbing hits were exchanged, but in the end Harry
     fell, extremely weak. His brother (Fred) wished him to
     give in, but he seemed bent on another round.

     51 and last.――Harry, very slow to the call of time,
     came up unsteady and tottering; he made a blow at
     Paddock, but missed, and Tom let fly a vicious
     right-hander at the side of his nut――it missed its
     destination and alighted on Harry’s chest, where it
     left a tremendous bruise. It was a settler, however; it
     floored the gallant Harry, who, on time being called,
     got up, but instantly sank exhausted on his second’s
     knee, and Tass Parker, seeing that it was all over,
     threw up the sponge, Paddock being proclaimed the
     winner, after a bustling affair of _one hour and three
     minutes_. An attempt was made by some few outsiders to
     bring the affair to a wrangle. They declared the sponge
     had not been thrown up by Tass Parker, and that
     Paddock, who had left the ring immediately after that
     act, had forfeited by so doing before a decision had
     been come to. This attempt was, of course, scouted by
     all the respectable spectators, and was especially
     discountenanced by Harry Broome himself, who owned that
     he had been fairly vanquished, and that Tom Paddock was
     now at any rate a better man than himself. The
     proceedings over, the company at once betook themselves
     to a station, about a mile distant, whither the special
     had been removed, and whither they were followed by Tom
     Paddock, who, with the exception of a few very trifling
     bruises, appeared unscathed. Harry Broome was too much
     exhausted to walk the distance, and, therefore, in
     company with Nat Langham, Jem Burn, and a few others,
     awaited the arrival of the train at the field of
     battle. These invalids were quickly embarked, and
     nothing now prevented the expedition from returning
     with all speed to the Metropolis. The word was
     therefore given, and good way being made, Shoreditch
     was gained by half-past six. Here the excitement was
     infinitely greater than it had been in the morning, and
     there was a general rush of the crowd to ascertain the
     result of the tournay. The news of the easy victory of
     Tom Paddock was received with universal astonishment;
     and though the general feeling appeared to be one of
     pleasure, still, even the largest winners could not
     help expressing their pity for the downfall of Harry
     Broome. Harry arrived at home about seven, and was at
     once put to bed. He did not appear to suffer so much
     from bodily pain as from mental affliction. His defeat
     was as unexpected as it was easy, and, of course,
     convinced Broome that his day had gone by for figuring
     in the P.R. Tom Paddock proceeded in triumph to the
     house of his kind friend, Alec Keene, “Three Tuns,”
     Moor Street, Soho, where he was received with
     enthusiasm, and where he remained until far into the
     small hours, receiving the hearty congratulations of
     his backers and friends.

     REMARKS.――Our readers, doubtless, have, ere this, drawn
     their own conclusions as to the conduct and issue of
     this eventful battle, and it is at the risk of being
     thought tedious that we venture to offer our own
     comments thereupon. Harry Broome is no longer the man
     he was, and this remark applies not merely to his
     inability to train, but also to his falling off in that
     quickness and judgment for which heretofore he had
     distinguished himself. He admits that he cannot train,
     that he feels his own weakness, and that on Monday all
     his fighting qualities appeared to have left him
     directly he held up his hands. It certainly did seem
     extraordinary to see a well-known good general at the
     very outset rattle in and lead off at the body,
     throwing open his head to the attack of his adversary;
     and when it was seen afterwards that he could neither
     stop nor hit with anything like vigour, there was a
     general exclamation of astonishment. Some persons said
     he did not intend fighting; but any one with half an
     eye could see that this was not the case, and that all
     his mistakes were the result of physical incapability.
     Even his wrestling powers appeared to have left him;
     but then, it must be remembered that the way in which
     all his attempts for the fall were met by Paddock,
     viz., by fibbing at his nut until he loosed his hold,
     was well calculated to distract even a more powerful
     man. The only thing that reminded us of the Harry
     Broome of old appeared to be the gift of occasionally
     delivering a straight hit with his left; but even this
     power was taken from him by the accident to that hand
     early in the fight, which entirely deprived him of its
     use, as might be seen by his continually hitting
     open-handed. The want of vigour in his right hand was
     sufficiently obvious from the almost entire immunity
     from punishment of the winner. Harry still resorted
     occasionally to his old trick of turning round and
     running from his opponent――a plan of fighting which, in
     our opinion, is neither commendable as a method of
     escaping punishment, or judicious as a means of drawing
     an adversary off his guard. Of game and determination
     Harry displayed no lack, and it was not until perfectly
     exhausted and incapable of renewing hostilities that he
     consented to be taken away. Of Tom Paddock we do not
     feel that we are called upon to say much, but the
     little we do must be all in the highest terms. At first
     he was evidently cautious, and a little thrown off his
     guard by the extraordinary tactics of Broome, thinking,
     as he did, that the latter was merely “kidding him,” in
     order to induce him to throw away a chance. Tom
     however, was steady, and bided his time. He was now and
     then a little wild, and lost his precision; but this
     cannot be wondered at, seeing the pace at which they
     fought――not one round lasting above a minute. He took
     what little punishment he received, as he always does,
     without a murmur; and we must do him the justice to
     say, that he fought throughout with great good temper.
     In point of science and coolness, we consider that he
     has improved every time we have seen him enter the
     P.R., and on this, his last appearance, his advance in
     the noble art was more than ever perceptible. He hit
     straight and heavily with each hand. When at close
     quarters, he fought as one possessing a clear head, and
     a just appreciation of what was best to be done, and
     occasionally displayed a presence of mind which was
     most astonishing, being quite unexpected from his
     reputed “hasty” character. The performance of changing
     Broome over from one hand to the other, and giving him
     a dose from each pepper-box, described above, was one
     of the best instances of this presence of mind. Tom is
     now within one of the goal of his wishes, and we doubt
     not will find plenty of friends to back him against the
     veteran Tipton Slasher, who, although he vanquished our
     hero five or six years ago, will, in the event of their
     again meeting, find that he has cut out for himself a
     task the satisfactory completion of which will be
     easier imagined than completed. Tom has now the ball at
     his foot; every one wishes him well, and by steadiness
     and good conduct he has every chance of obtaining a
     position which will render him comfortable for the
     remainder of his days. We cannot conclude these remarks
     without paying a compliment to the seconds for the
     careful manner in which they nursed their men. Alec
     Keene’s excellent judgment no doubt proved of
     considerable utility to Tom Paddock, and the herculean
     strength of the “stunted Lifeguardsman,” as he bore his
     charge in his single arms to his corner, elicited the
     applause, and, we may say, the astonishment, of the
     surrounding throng. Tom Sayers and Tass Parker did
     their duty most ably by Harry Broome, and by their
     careful nursing enabled him to prolong the encounter
     quite as long as was consistent with humanity or
     prudence.

The battle money, £400, was paid over to Paddock, at Alec Keene’s, on
the Friday of the following week. After some deserved complimentary
remarks on the conduct of the winner, the Stakeholder expressed his
condolence with the defeated man, to which Paddock immediately
responded, amidst some applause, by placing a £10 note in our hands
towards the collection already made for the losing man; to this two
gentlemen present added the like amount, and the collection for the
losing man was announced to be £62 14s., a sum subsequently increased.
Broome, in a neat speech, expressed his grateful sense of the support
he had met with from friends, and the kindness of those who had
opposed him. He further declared his intention to “stick to business,”
and never again tempt fortune in the Prize Ring, for which he felt his
day was past. The evening thereafter passed in harmony and good
fellowship.

The Tipton Slasher, whose match with Aaron Jones had gone off in the
interval preceding the event just narrated, now came again to the
front, and, Harry Broome having retired from the “the tented field,”
made proposals to Paddock. Tom was now certainly another man from the
time when he was knocking about two or three years previously. Meeting
on Worcester Race-course, at the July races, Paddock being now in a
sort of partnership with his late opponent, Harry Broome, as
booth-keepers and purveyors, the “Old Tipton” being also in the same
line, the “two-of-a-trade” proverb was verified, and a couple of
“fivers” were popped down for the old opponents to face each other for
£200 a side, and meet at Alec Keene’s in the next week, and settle
particulars. Great was the muster on Tuesday, July 15th, at the “Three
Tuns,” when the articles were drawn, and another £20, in addition to
the first £10, provisionally placed in the hands of Alec, and the
remainder of the deposits dated and settled. Not a little surprise,
however, was occasioned by the fact that Harry Broome appeared as the
backer, friend, and adviser of the Slasher, and declared himself
responsible for his training expenses, colours, &c.; the date fixed
being November 15th. At the second deposit, however, which was
appointed for the succeeding Tuesday, at the Slasher’s own house, “The
Champion” Inn, Spon Lane, Tipton, “a scare” was occasioned; neither
Paddock nor any representative was present, and the Tipton claimed
forfeit. Inquiry proved that the seldom-failing post office was the
innocent cause of the non-delivery; Paddock’s £10 having been duly
forwarded from Brighton two days before, but returned to the post
office, marked “Address not known;” “Spon Lane,” being written
thereon, but the important word “Tipton” accidentally omitted. All
which was explained, and the envelope produced, at the next deposit,
at Jem Burn’s, “Rising Sun,” in Air Street. From this time things went
on regularly until £80 were down, when, to the general disappointment
of all parties, Tom presented himself at the appointed place――Jem
Ward’s “Champion Stores,” Oxford Street――and quietly stated that,
owing to “want of friends,” and his own losses “at racing,” he “must
submit to a forfeit.” Hereupon Broome declared that Slasher should
fight for £50, rather than there should be “no fight;” to which there
was no response, and the whole of the money was handed over in due
time to the lucky Tipton Slasher, at a “Champion’s” dinner, at “The
Coal-hole,” presided over by the facetious Chief Baron Nicholson. How
this short-lived Championship was “done for,” in 10 rounds, by little
Tom Sayers, on the 16th of June, 1857, at the Isle of Grain, must be
read in the Life of TOM SAYERS, hereafter.

In the month of February in the following year, after Sayers’ second
defeat of the unlucky Aaron Jones, we could not help remarking that
the little Champion had mentioned to us privately, though certainly
not under the seal of secrecy, that he thought his next venture would
be either Tom Paddock or the Tipton. It proved to be the latter. Tom,
chafing at the delay, called on the Editor of _Bell’s Life_, on the
17th of June, the day after the battle between Sayers and “The
Tipton,” and on the 21st we read:――

     “TOM PADDOCK AGAIN IN THE FIELD.――Paddock is by no means
     satisfied that Tom Sayers should wear the Champion’s belt
     undisputed. He has, therefore, called upon us to state that
     he can be backed against Sayers for any sum from £100 up to
     £500. To fight within five or six months at Sayers’ option.
     He will be at Alec Keene’s, Moor Street, Soho, on Wednesday
     next.”

A comical episode intervened. “Big Ben” actually left £10 with “the
Editor” to make a match with Sayers, who, thereupon, promptly covered
it, informing Paddock that if his “engagement” with Ben went off he
should have the preference. The “little game” of the Big One was next
week displayed most transparently. Caunt declared it “to be understood
that the articles were to be drawn up, and further deposits made, at
_his_ house;” and “he should expect Sayers to attend there,” &c., &c.;
adding, that “of course the date must be beyond my affair with
Langham,” (nearly two months later!) Tom was not “drawn” by or to the
“Coach and Horses,” and the negotiations were suspended. In the same
paper we find the subjoined letter from Alec Keene, relating to
Sayers’ reply to Paddock:――

                   “Three Tuns, Moor Street, Soho, July 9, 1857.

     “MR. EDITOR,――I have very strictly observed the results of
     Tom Sayers’ recent career, and certainly did expect (taking
     into consideration the many warm interviews between Sayers
     and Paddock on former occasions), that the first-named
     gentleman would have been only too glad to accommodate
     Paddock with a ‘merry meeting.’ I cannot understand why
     Sayers does not accept Paddock’s offer, for should Sayers be
     permitted, there is just a possibility of abortive matches
     being continually made, forfeits taken, ultimately the
     prescribed time for legitimate possession or the belt
     elapse, and then Sayers becomes its lawful possessor. Let it
     be distinctly understood, sir, that I do not say such _will_
     be the case; but matches like Caunt’s (that personage being
     preoccupied with Langham) must necessarily occupy needless
     time; and gentlemen connected with the P.R. have lately
     become so learned that it behoves me (as Paddock’s deputy)
     to regard every move in the camp of the enemy with jealous
     watchfulness. I see no other person really capable to fight
     Paddock, therefore it will be useless for the opposite party
     to dissemble; _we must meet_, and I hope Sayers will think
     with me, that the sooner we conclude terms the more
     satisfactory to the public, as it is but just that Tom
     should be accepted after being so long ‘an expectant.’ I
     nearly omitted to mention that Sayers never meets Paddock
     without distributing a quantity of that chaff for which he
     is famous. We do not want this, we wish business; and I
     conclude by earnestly hoping your kind insertion of this
     will assist us.

                                “Yours, &c.,       “ALEC KEENE.”

There is, indeed, “many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip.” The very
week in which Alec Keene penned his friendly note, Paddock was laid
prostrate by a severe attack of rheumatic fever, his state being
declared dangerous when admitted to the Westminster Hospital, on the
recommendation of the medical man called in.

And here we must interpose what a parsonic biographer would call a
“refreshing” incident, showing that there is that “touch of nature
which makes the whole world kin” even in the hearts of “those degraded
wretches who engage in brutal prize-fights” (as we heard a very
Reverend Dean, the Vicar of Cheltenham, charitably characterise this
very pugilist and his _confrères_). Tom Sayers called in Norfolk
Street, in the next week, to accept Paddock’s challenge and cover his
deposit, when he was informed of his namesake’s illness. He was
himself that very day going North, and he not only expressed his
earnest sympathy with his adversary’s affliction, but at once left £5
for his use, with a promise to use his best endeavours to collect a
fund among his friends for the same purpose; and he did so. We find no
such practical Christian charity among the “refreshing” passages in
“the Memoirs” of the vice-suppressing clergyman.

In the October following, Paddock, recovering from his long and
painful illness, looked up his friends, and wrote from Brighton
(inclosing £10) to say that he was “ready to meet the winner of the
fight between Tom Sayers and Bill Benjamin for £200 a side; to come
off within four months after the 5th January, 1858,” the fixture for
that fight.

The disposal, by the “coming man,” in 1856, of Harry Poulson, in
February, 1857, of Aaron Jones, of the Tipton Slasher in June of the
same year, and of Bill Benjamin (Bainge), in January, 1856, seemed to
have failed to convince “the knowing ones” of even the probability of
a 10½ stone beating 12 or 13 stone; so the anti-Sayerites readily
backed Paddock to do battle with the “little” champion. Sayers, on
hearing that Paddock had a difficulty (he had quarrelled with Alec
Keene, his money-finder) in raising the £200 required, showed his
accommodating temper by lowering the stake to £150, thus making the
total £300 instead of £400. The 15th of June, 1858, was appointed for
the battle.

The public interest was intense, and the crowd at London Bridge
station on the eventful morning was immense. Paddock never looked
better; he was red as a beetroot, and as strong and healthy as if he
never had witnessed the sight of “turning off the gas.” He was
credited, on the authority of his trainer, with doing fifty miles of
walking a day at one period of his training, and weighed exactly 12
stone, at which he was supposed to be at his best. How all these
qualifications, backed by perfect confidence unflinching game, and
desperate courage, failed in the trial, and he struck his flag to the
victorious “Champion,” who, on this day, proved himself the stronger
though the lighter man, will be found in the first chapter of the next
“Period” of our History.

Once more, and for the last time, our hero appeared in the P.R. This
was in combat with the gigantic Sam Hurst, who, in 1860, put forth a
claim to the Championship. Hurst, who weighed 15st., and stood 6ft.
2½in., was renowned as a wrestler. Hurst, of whom the reader may know
more by a reference to the Memoir of JEM MACE, in a future chapter of
the present volume, was, of course, formidable from his strength,
weight, and bulk; his boxing pretensions were of a mediocre quality.
Paddock lost the battle by a chance blow from the Colossus, in the
fifth round, at the end of nine and a half minutes; and thus closed an
active, chequered, but not inglorious Ring career as a defeated man.

From this time Paddock no further occupied a position of prominence in
pugilistic circles. He had but few of the qualifications necessary to
impart the principles or demonstrate the practice of boxing to
learners, and except an occasional appearance with the gloves, he was
unheard of by the public, until his demise, from a somewhat lingering
illness, on the 30th June, 1863.




CHAPTER IX.

HARRY BROOME (CHAMPION).

1843-1856.


Harry Broome, a younger brother of the renowned Johnny, was born in
the “hardware town,” which has given so many of its best pugilists to
the modern Ring, that Birmingham early rivalled, and afterwards
eclipsed, the fame of Bristol as the birthplace of boxers. The subject
of this memoir, who first saw the light in 1826, was a mere boy at the
time when his elder brother had fought his way to “the topmost round
of fortune’s ladder”――Broome’s ultimate victory, that over Bungaree,
the Australian, being achieved in April, 1842, when Harry had not yet
counted sixteen summers. At that time Johnny had already married, and
settled as host of a well-accustomed tavern――to wit, “The Rising Sun,”
in Air Street, Piccadilly, where his shrewdness, activity, and
enterprise had transformed the short avenue from Piccadilly to Regent
Street into a “high change” of sporting; a very Rialto of the Ring,
where patrons and practitioners of the Noble Art “most did
congregate.” The sparring saloon at “The Rising Sun,” at this period,
was the arena for the display of the best fistic talent of the
Metropolis; and here, at the age of sixteen, we first saw the aspiring
youngster――a lithe, smooth-skinned, active stripling, very boyish in
look, standing 5 feet 8 inches, and weighing 9 st. 7 lbs.――put on the
mittens, and make a most creditable “private trial” with the
well-known Byng Stocks, of Westminster. Stocks, despite his 11 stone
and experience, by no means had the best of the mimic mill, though
once or twice urged by the delighted “Johnny” “Not to spare the young
’un because he was his brother.” This promising _début_ was followed
by several favourable public displays; and within a few months not a
few of the best judges were of opinion that, barring all question of
breed and blood, a new and formidable aspirant for the middle-weight
Championship would be found in Young Broome, when a year or two should
have hardened the gristle into bone, and manhood had consolidated the
muscle and set the frame of the future gladiator. And so some months
rolled on; a glove-fight, in which Harry disposed of Mitchell, a
10-stone outsider, for a £5 note, being a mere _coup d’essai_, got up
by a few aristocratic visitors of “The Rising Sun,” of which Harry was
the rising star.

  [Illustration: HARRY BROOME (CHAMPION).
  _From a Print by_ MOORE.]

As we have already said, Johnny Broome at this time filled a large
space in the eye of the sporting world, and young Harry, emulous of
the fistic fame of his elder brother, with a strong family instinct
for fighting, was most importunate with Johnny to let him try his
“prentice han’” in combat with some suitable antagonist. Johnny,
however, did not choose to lower the dignity of the name of Broome by
allowing Harry to strip for “a purse” with any novice; nor would he
hear of a match with any “commoner” or “outsider,” for a five, ten, or
twenty-five pound stake. He would back Harry for £50, or not at all.

At this time there was a strong jealousy, not to say envy, of the
position earned by Johnny in Ring affairs, and more than once did we
hear a wish expressed by East-enders and others, that “somebody” would
“take the shine out of these upstart Brums.” Accordingly, when it was
made known, in September, 1843, that “Young Harry” was ready for a
“customer” for £50, they put on their considering caps, and Fred Mason
(the Bulldog), standing idle in the market-place, was asked what he
thought of the young “ten-stunner?”

Mason, who had, among others, twice beaten Bill Jones, after desperate
battles, in which he earned his formidable nickname, received a sort
of certificate from Johnny Walker (by whom he had been beaten) that he
was just the man to achieve the desired object, if he could raise the
half-hundred. At a council held at “The Grapes,” in Aylesbury Street,
Clerkenwell, it was decided that the “needful” should be posted, and
the cartel accepted. The articles proposed Tuesday, the 10th of
October 1843, but subsequently Broome objected to this, as on that day
the Cesarewitch would be run, at Newmarket, and several of Harry’s
best friends, who were anxious to see his “first appearance,” would be
unable to be present. It was accordingly postponed to Wednesday, the
11th. By mutual agreement “The Nymph” steamer was engaged by the two
Johnnies (Broome and Walker) for the mutual advantage of the men, and
to disburse their training and other expenses. All went smoothly. “The
Nymph,” at the appointed hour of eight, got under weigh from
Hungerford Market, with a goodly freight of West-enders; then she took
in a large company at Old Swan Stairs, London Bridge, while the “Sages
of the East” came on board at Brunswick Pier, Blackwall, in increased
numbers. Thence she steamed down stream with pleasant speed (with the
unwelcome convoy of a trio of crowded tugs), until she came to Long
Reach, where, between Dartford and Northfleet, in a meadow distant
from all human habitation, it was determined to land. This operation
was performed amidst an aqueous downpour, which drenched all the
row-boats and their occupants, except those who were clad in
waterproof garments. The Commissary lost no time in forming the lists,
immediately within the sea wall, upon an excellent piece of turf, and,
despite the rattling shower, which increased rather than diminished,
accomplished his task in a workmanlike manner. The stools and benches
of the steamer were, as usual, transferred to the shore for the
accommodation of the “Corinthians,” of whom there were many present,
and a most acceptable save-all they proved; nevertheless the great
majority had to grin the storm out of countenance; and amidst a
perfect deluge, at twelve o’clock the combatants and their seconds
made their _salaams_――the Bulldog under the care of Jem Turner and
Jemmy Shaw; Broome waited upon by Levi Eckersley and Tom Maley.

Little time was lost in encircling the stakes with their fogles――white
and blue spot for the Bulldog, and blue and white spot for Broome.
Both were as cheerful as if pirouetting in the Lowther Rooms. Happily,
before business commenced the storm somewhat abated, and the weather
became comparatively fine, although occasional slantindicular
visitations from the upper regions proved that the only thing settled
was the unsettled state of the weather. Young Harry’s “first
appearance” was prepossessing. He entered the ring, after dropping in
his cap, with a modest bow, and a smile or nod of recognition to
several acquaintances, and at once steadily proceeded to divest
himself of his upper clothing. “He is a fine young fellow,” says a
contemporary report, “only eighteen years of age, standing 5 feet 9
inches, and weighing 10st. 2lbs. (he was limited by virtue of the
articles to 9st. 3lbs.), and evidently in first-rate condition, not an
ounce of superfluous flesh being visible, and his form as active,
alert, and springy as a greyhound.” Of his milling qualifications of
course no one had as yet any opportunity of judging, so that he was
scanned with all the curiosity with which men examine a “dark horse.”
The “Bulldog” also looked in robust health, but he struck us as being
too fleshy; and, added to this, it could not but be felt that he was
rather stale, not only from the free life he had led, but from his
repeated battles, in which he sustained no small quantum of
punishment, and especially in his fight with Johnny Walker, who,
however, expressed the greatest confidence in his powers. His weight,
we should say, was at least 9st. 10lbs., and in length he was full two
inches shorter than Broome. His rushing and fearless character of
fighting gained for him the sobriquet of “Bulldog,” and his courage
further entitled him to this canine distinction.

The officials being nominated, offers were made to take 7 to 4, 6 to
4, and ultimately 5 to 4; but the Broomites were cautious, although,
taking youth, length, and weight into consideration, he was certainly
entitled to be backed at odds. Doubts as to his qualities were,
however, still to be satisfied, and the speculators were shy of
investing.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Precisely at twelve minutes to twelve the men
     were delivered at the scratch, neither displaying the
     slightest nervousness, and both looking jolly and
     determined on mischief. No time was lost; Broome led
     off with his left, but the Bulldog stopped and got away
     quickly. Bulldog now advanced to the charge left and
     right, and got home on Broome’s nose and left eyebrow.
     Broome, not idle, returned prettily, when the Bull
     rushed in, closed, and, after slight fibbing, finding
     Broome too strong, got down, amidst the vociferous
     cheers of his friends.

     2.――Broome, nothing daunted, was quick to the scratch,
     and led off left and right, the Bulldog hitting with
     him; a sharp rally, and heavy hits exchanged, in which
     Broome had it on the smeller, and his cork was drawn.
     (First blood for “Bully.”) A close at the ropes, in
     which Broome tried for the fall, but Mason held his
     legs too wide apart, and the crook could not be got.
     Broome forced him on the ropes, and there held him as
     if in a vice――his own nose dropping the crimson fluid.
     Bully struggled to get loose, but Broome grappled him
     closer. Mutual attempts at fibbing――when, after an
     ineffectual trial on the part of Broome for the fall,
     Mason got down besmeared with his opponent’s claret,
     and pinked on his left cheek. Broome showed a slight
     cut on the left eyebrow as well as the tap on the
     snout.

     3.――Broome opened the ball without hesitation, and
     caught Bully on the mouth, lifting the bark from his
     nether lip. A short pause, when Broome again went to
     work left and right, but Mason got away; Mason hit out
     of distance. A rally, in which Broome followed his man
     to the ropes, hitting left and right; while at the
     ropes Broome let go his right, and catching Bully on
     the temple he dropped, but looked up smiling.

     4.――Broome popped in his left slightly on Bully’s
     cheek; tried it again, but the blow passed over his
     shoulder. Mason rushed in left and right, closed, and
     tried to fib; Broome, however, proved the stronger man,
     grappled him against the stake, and, after some
     in-fighting, in which Mason got a crack over the
     larboard cheek, he contrived to pull Broome down.

     5.――Mason displayed a mouse under each eye, and came
     slow to the scratch. Broome hit short with the left,
     and Bully did ditto. Exchanges left and right, and a
     close at the ropes. Broome hung on the neck of Mason,
     which lay across the ropes, but was unable to get the
     look for the fall; at last both were down, Broome
     having had the best of the round.

     6.――Broome, as lively as a kitten, let fly his left,
     and caught Bully on the mug, repeating a smack on the
     body with the same hand. Mason tried his right, only
     tapping Broome’s shoulder. Counter-hits with the left,
     both napping it on the muzzle. A short rally, followed
     by a close, in which Broome slipped down.

     7.――Broome tried his left and right, but was stopped;
     he was not, however to be denied; he again rattled in
     in the same style, nailed Mason with both hands, and
     gave him the upper-cut with the right. Heavy exchanges,
     Mason fighting rather wild. In the close Bully down,
     having all the worst of the milling.

     8.――Broome led off quickly with his left, and nailed
     his man on the cheek. A pause for wind, when Broome
     again commenced operations. Heavy counter-hitting left
     and right, and a spirited rally, in which the exchanges
     were severe. Broome closed for the fall, but Mason
     dropped on his knees.

     9.――Hits left and right attempted, but both short.
     Bully’s left neatly stopped, when Broome delivered a
     rattler with his right on the body, and on the cheek
     with his left. Good counter-hitting with the left; a
     close at the ropes, and Mason caught Broome round the
     neck over the ropes, but the latter slipped down.

     10.――Mason, short with his left, retreated, and sparred
     for wind. Slow fighting on both sides. They at length
     got to work left and right, and heavy muggers were
     exchanged. A close for the throw, but Mason got down,
     Broome on him.

     11.――The Young’un popped in his left prettily on
     Bully’s muzzle. Mason fought wildly and hit short.
     Broome rushed to him and closed, but Bully was not to
     be had at that game, and fell.

     12.――Good outfighting on both sides, left and right,
     and heavy exchanges. Broome popped in his right
     heavily, and as Mason was staggering hit him
     beautifully down with his right. In the counter-hits
     Broome had received a nasty crack on his smeller, which
     bled profusely. (First knock-down for Broome.)

     13.――Harry, as usual, led off left and right; Mason
     rushed to a close, and they reached the ropes, where
     Broome, with his arm round Mason’s neck, hung on him,
     till at last Mason got back and fell, Broome over him.

     14.――Broome popped in left and right in splendid style,
     repeating the dose with the left on the head, and the
     right on the body. Mason closed, but, finding Broome
     too strong for him, dropped on one knee with both hands
     up. Broome, although entitled to hit, left him.
     (Applause.)

     15.――Broome again led off with his left. Mason short
     and wild in his returns. Broome steady, and again
     delivered his left, drawing additional claret. A close
     at the ropes; more squeezing on the part of Broome, and
     Mason got down, apparently fagged.

     16.――The Bulldog slow to the scratch; counter-hitting
     with the left, ditto with the right. In the close Mason
     down again on one knee, but Broome once more retired
     without taking advantage of the opportunity offered.

     17.――A good weaving rally, in which the hitting was
     tremendous, and, after mutual compliments, in the close
     Mason dropped on his knees. (Mason’s seconds now called
     for brandy.)

     18.――Mason slow in going to the scratch. Broome rattled
     to him left and right, catching him a severe nozzler.
     Bully made a desperate rush, and heavy counter-hits
     were exchanged. A lively rally followed, in which
     mutual compliments were paid, and the dripping claret
     proved that both had been heavily hit. In the close,
     after a severe struggle on the part of Broome to obtain
     the fall, Mason dropped on one knee, and Broome walked
     away, exhibiting heavy marks of punishment. Mason was
     likewise severely mauled, and his left eye was fast
     closing.

     19.――Each regarded the other with mutual good will.
     Broome bleeding at the mouth and nose, but still steady
     and self-possessed. He led off with the left, but was
     prettily stopped. Counter-hits on each side missed,
     when Broome closed, caught Mason round the neck, and
     hung on him at the ropes till he got down, amidst loud
     shouts of disapprobation from Bully’s friends.

     20.――Broome led off with his left, and again nailed
     Mason on the left eye. Mason closed, when the Young’un
     suddenly disentangled himself, stepped back, gave Mason
     the upper cut with his right, followed by a neat slap
     with his left, when Master Fred slipped down.

     21.――Broome led off left and right; closed, again
     caught Mason round the neck, hanging upon him across
     the ropes until he fell.

     22.――Mason somewhat slow to the scratch, across which
     Broome stepped, and led off left and right. Bully let
     fly wildly left and right, when Broome once more
     closed, flung him across the ropes, and squeezed him as
     if his neck were in a vice, amidst repeated shouts of
     disapprobation. Jack Sheppard, urged by the impatience
     of some of Mason’s friends, ran with a knife to cut the
     ropes, but luckily his man slipped down, and thereby
     prevented an act which would have been highly
     imprudent, inasmuch as the ring would have thereby been
     destroyed; and however unseemly such a style of
     fighting might appear, it was not inconsistent with any
     fixed rule of the Ring.

     23.――Broome delivered a heavy hit with his left on
     Mason’s body; Mason short in the return, and, after
     some wild exchanges, Bully dropped on his knees.

     24.――Counter-hitting with the left; a close, and, after
     some slight fibbing, Mason again dropped on his knees.

     25.――Mason stopped Broome’s left, rushed to in-fighting
     left and right, then, missing his upper cut, got down.

     26.――Mason’s left eye all but gone, and Broome’s mug
     showing sundry marks of severe deliveries. A desperate
     rally, both having made up their minds to mischief.
     Heavy exchanges left and right, followed by a close at
     the ropes, at which Mason once more dropped on one
     knee, but Broome still refrained from hitting.

     27.――Counter-hits with the left, Broome catching it
     heavily on the nose. A slashing rally, in which heavy
     right-handed hits were exchanged till Mason fell on his
     knees, both bleeding profusely.

     28.――Both men cautious. Broome in with his left, and
     Mason short in his return. Heavy counter-hitting. Bully
     receiving a finishing smack from the right on his left
     eye, which was completely closed. Broome grappled for
     the fall, seized Mason by the neck, and hung upon him
     until he brought him down upon his nose.

     29.――Counter-hits with the left, followed by a close,
     in which Mason attempted to get down, but Broome held
     him by the neck under his arm, and tried to lift him
     from the ropes, until he fell, amidst shouts of
     disapprobation.

     30.――Mason led off short, when Broome steadied himself
     and popped in a terrific hit with his left on the
     cheek. Counter-hits left and right followed, Mason
     fighting wildly. In the close Broome again hung on his
     man till he extricated himself from his painful
     position, and in getting away Broome fell heavily upon
     him.

     31.――Mason getting slower. Counter-hitting with the
     left and exchanges with the right, in which Bully
     delivered heavily. In the close Mason dropped on his
     knees.

     32.――A rattling exchange of hits; a close at the ropes,
     and Mason got down, amidst the cheers of his friends.
     Broome rather groggy from the heavy deliveries in the
     last round, and the brandy-bottle on his side in
     requisition.

     33 and 34.――Short and merry rallies, in both of which
     compliments were exchanged, and Mason got down on his
     knees.

     35.――Broome delivered two heavy lunging hits with his
     left at the body; a rally and heavy exchanges, when
     Broome caught his man in the corner and again grappled
     him round the neck with his arm as if in the folds of a
     boa constrictor. Here he held him for a considerable
     time, till Mason got each leg in succession over the
     ropes, and snatched his pimple out of chancery, as he
     rose making a desperate upper cut with his right, which
     he luckily missed, for had he struck his man when
     outside of the ropes, he would have lost the fight on
     the ground of foul play.

     36.――Broome, although fatigued, came up with
     unshrinking spirit. Heavy counter-hits with the left,
     when Mason overreached himself, missed, and fell.

     37.――Mason evidently less confident. He was slow to the
     call of time, while Broome rushed to his work, hit out
     left and right, bored his man to the ropes, and again
     clasped him in his vice till he fell.

     38.――Broome, apparently regaining fresh energy, the
     moment time was called rushed to his man, led off left
     and right, closed at the ropes, and, after some
     in-fighting, Mason got down, Broome falling over him,
     evidently with the intention of avoiding falling on
     him.

     39.――Broome, becoming still gayer, got to work without
     delay, popped in a stinger at the body with his right,
     and after an exchange of facers, closed at the ropes.
     Mason struggled and fell back, Broome hitting with his
     right, and falling on him. It was now seen that Mason
     was satisfied, and after a short consultation with his
     friends, he declined proceeding with the contest,
     declaring that he felt he had no chance, for he could
     not get at his man, and his power of hitting was
     exhausted. At this time his left eye was completely
     bunged up, and his face, mouth, and nose were seriously
     contused; added to which he complained that both his
     hands were injured. Under these circumstances Johnny
     Walker saw it was in vain to protract the combat, and
     gave in on the part of Mason, who immediately stood up
     and shook hands with his opponent, who was proclaimed
     the conqueror, after fighting _one hour and twenty-one
     minutes_, greatly to the disappointment and vexation of
     many of Mason’s friends, who considered that he was
     still able to continue the mill, and probably make a
     turn in his favour. None, however, know so well where
     the shoe pinches as he who wears it, and Mason was
     sufficiently satisfied with the dressing he had
     received, without adding to its severity. On quitting
     the ring after being dressed, Broome was so elated with
     his success, that he threw three successive
     somersaults, thus proving that his strength and
     activity, at least, were unimpaired, although the
     disfigurement of his “dial” afforded pretty strong
     evidence of the severity of Mason’s hitting.

     REMARKS.――The issue of this battle has placed Young
     Harry in a very creditable position, and proved him to
     possess the first of the requisites for a professor of
     pugilism――courage, combined with perfect
     self-possession and a fair share of science. He is
     quick on his legs, and possesses the happy knack of
     using both hands with vigour and effect. He never once
     lost the control over his own actions, and between the
     rounds nursed and husbanded his strength with the
     cunning and calmness of a veteran. He was always first
     on his legs on the call of time, and almost invariably
     led off with his left with precision and success. It is
     clear that he knows the use of his legs; and had not
     Bully known how to foil his intentions he would no
     doubt have shown him a quick way to his mother earth.
     If there was any fault to be found with his style of
     fighting, it was in his repeated hanging on his man at
     the ropes. It ought not to be forgotten, however, that
     Mason in the closes endeavoured to grapple him with no
     friendly intention, and to resist this he had recourse
     to an expedient which is anything but pleasant to the
     spectators. There is no law, however, against it, and
     he cannot, therefore, be blamed for following an
     example afforded him, not only by his own brother but
     by many men of long experience in the Ring. Taking him
     “all in all” his _début_ has been highly creditable,
     and we have no doubt, if not overmatched or overworked,
     he will become an ornament to the P.R. The Bulldog
     fought, we think, even better than on former occasions
     on which we have seen him engaged. He used his left
     more handily than it has been our good fortune to
     witness in his former contests, and his counter-hitting
     with that hand was extremely severe, while his slogging
     right told with stunning effect on young Harry’s mug.
     Of throwing he has but little knowledge, although he
     possesses sufficient tact to evade the exercise of that
     talent on the part of his antagonist. Like all old ones
     who have felt the sting of repeated punishment, he
     could not resist the influence of hard knocks; and the
     body and the mind concurring in the opinion that
     “enough was as good as a feast,” and deeming discretion
     the better part of valour, he left off while he yet
     possessed sufficient self-possession to enjoy the
     satisfaction of knowing that he might have been worse
     beaten without being better off.

All now sought the ark, there to obtain the “creature comforts” which
had hitherto been withheld. To the men every possible attention was
paid, and a liberal subscription was collected for the loser. The
battle-money was given up to Young Broome, at his brother’s house, in
Air Street, Piccadilly, on the Wednesday of the following week.

The “breed” of young Harry being thus satisfactorily proved, his more
experienced brother determined that he should turn gristle into bone
before he again “sported buff” in the 24-foot, and more than a
twelve-month elapsed ere he made an appearance within the ropes. This
was on December 10, 1845, when he was matched for £50 a side against
Joe Rowe, a well known East-ender, of 10½st., whose victory over
Cullen, in 1844, had raised him to a high position among the middle
weights.

Mixed up with this encounter was a contemptible and ridiculous feud,
provoked and maintained by certain East-enders, who, taking umbrage at
what they considered the upstart assumption of Johnny Broome, and also
prompted by bitter jealousy at his success with the better order of
Ring patrons, sought by fair or by foul means to disparage the name of
Broome, and to defeat the pretensions of his younger brother. We quote
the contemporary report:――

     “The unfortunate issue of the meeting is to be attributed to
     the gross irregularities and unjustifiable outrages of the
     parties assembled to witness the affray, who, regardless of
     all attempts to preserve an outer or even an inner ring,
     rushed close to the ropes and stakes, which were broken and
     levelled with the ground, and were at length reduced to such
     a state by the intrusion of the multitude that it was
     utterly impossible for the men to continue their contest;
     and the referee having withdrawn, both retired from a scene
     which, we regret to say, is but a repetition of similar
     misconduct in all parts of the country. This species of
     misconduct has more to do with the downfall of the Prize
     Ring than any other cause to which we can refer. We shall
     endeavour to describe the proceedings of the day, and must
     leave it to the members of the Ring itself who mean to
     preserve their ‘order’ to adopt some plan hereafter by which
     similar evils may be prevented.”

It must be borne in mind that by the articles neither of the men was
to exceed 10st. 5lbs., and that they were to meet at Peter Crawley’s
on the Monday for the purpose of going to scale. At Peter’s they did
meet, and were each 1lb. within the stipulated figure, both looking
remarkably well and equally confident. Rowe returned to his
training-quarters, at Mitchell’s Green, about three miles from
Greenhithe, Kent, and Harry Broome remained in London, to be prepared
for his embarkation in the morning. The “Nymph,” Woolwich steamer, was
patronised upon this occasion, as upon many former expeditions of a
similar sort, and received on board a goodly muster of the friends of
the men on Tuesday morning, at Hungerford, London Bridge, and
Blackwall. She was not, however, without her opponents, and another
large steamer named the “Nelson,” as well as the “William Gunston”
tug-boat, by the cheapness of their fares, succeeded in obtaining a
very extensive patronage from the “rough-and-ready” customers both
from the East and the West, but more especially from the former, the
great nursery of Rowe’s early pretensions.

Harry Broome embarked at Blackwall, and it was considerably after ten
o’clock before the “Nymph” led the way to the field of battle, tardily
followed by her two rivals, the “Nelson” having got aground under
London Bridge, to the infinite terror of her passengers, who began to
apprehend that they had invested their three “bobs” each without the
chance of obtaining a view of the mill for their money. Luckily,
however, they ultimately got off; and from the delay which took place
in arranging the preliminaries for the battle, they arrived in time
not only to reach the field, but to increase, and perhaps create, the
confusion which subsequently prevailed. The marshes below Greenhithe
were selected for the encounter, and here the Commissary executed his
operations with his customary despatch. By twenty minutes after one
the lists were prepared, but upwards of half an hour elapsed before
the combatants made their appearance, and by this time more than 1,000
persons had assembled, including not only the crews of the flotilla,
but a large accession from the inhabitants of the surrounding
district, who, from Rowe’s training in the neighbourhood, and from the
frequent visits of Peter Crawley and his friends, became fully
apprised of the treat which was in store: a species of foreknowledge
which likewise reached a magistrate in the neighbourhood, who, before
the fight was half over, arrived on the ground accompanied by some
dozen policemen. The impolicy of the men approaching the intended
locality of their fight previous to the mill is manifest, and the
present instance confirmed the justice of our remark. In this case,
however, from the terrific confusion which prevailed, neither
magistrate nor policemen ventured to get within the vortex, the chance
of a broken head being infinitely more apparent than the probability
of a respectful reception. His beakship, consequently, contented
himself with directing his aides-de-camp to take down the names of as
many active members of the P.R. as they could obtain.

We will now endeavour to describe, as well as the buffetings to which
we were exposed will permit, “the mill,” its progress, and final
interruption. Shortly before two o’clock Harry Broome and Rowe arrived
at the ring; the former accompanied by his brother, Jack Hannan, and
Sam Simmonds; the latter by Peter Crawley, Jem Turner, and Young
Sambo. The ground was hard and the weather cold, but the breeze was
somewhat tempered to the “shorn lambs,” and not quite so piercing as
it had been the day before. The prospect of the commencement of
business produced a great deal of bustle among the ring-keepers, who
endeavoured to beat out those who had not paid for the privilege of
the posts of honour; but this was found to be a task of no common
difficulty; in fact, it was soon seen, from the conduct of the
majority, that they were not persons disposed to be governed by the
rules of courtesy or fair play. Among the betting fraternity Harry
Broome had become the favourite, and was backed at 6 to 4, at which
price he backed himself on board the boat on his passage down. As in
the match between Maley and Merryman, Tom Spring was again persuaded
to take upon him the office of referee――a kindness which he had much
reason to regret, as the issue will show. All being in readiness, at
the given signal the men were stripped of their upper crusts, and
amidst the cheering exclamations of their respective partisans, shook
hands and threw themselves into attitude. Their colours were, blue
bird’s-eye for Rowe, and blue with a divided white spot, and the
initials “H. B.” in the centre, for Broome.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――We have already described the condition of
     the men, and certainly on their stripping there was
     nothing to induce us to recall our judgment. Broome had
     a little the advantage in height and length, but
     whatever advantage he possessed in this respect was
     counterbalanced by the superior muscular development of
     his opponent. Broome smiled cheerfully, while Rowe
     displayed the steady phiz of “a sage from the East.”
     After a few dodges by way of feelers, Rowe tried his
     left twice in succession, but was stopped. Harry then
     led off with his left, catching Rowe slightly on the
     mouth. This brought them to a sharp rally, in which
     blows were exchanged. Broome popped in his left at the
     body, immediately closed, and succeeded in throwing his
     man.

     2.――On coming up Broome rushed to his man, put in a
     slight blow on his mouth with the left, closed, and
     after a short struggle both were down.

     3.――Harry led off with his left, which got home on
     Rowe’s whistler; slight exchanges to a close, when both
     were again down. (On Rowe reaching his corner, we
     fancied we discovered a tinge of blood on his lips.)

     4.――Rowe, on going to the scratch after one or two
     feints, sent his left well home on Broome’s conk from
     which the purple fluid instantly flowed in profusion.
     Rowe again made his left, this time under Harry’s eye,
     from which the claret also spurted. They then rattled
     to a close, when some sharp in-fighting took place,
     Broome catching Rowe on the skull with his right, in a
     sort of round hit, which evidently injured the
     thumb-joint, as he shook it as a dog would his sore
     paw, and they fell together.

     5.――On leaving his second’s knee Broome showed a slight
     mouse on his left eye, the effect of Rowe’s visitation
     in the last round. Both hit slightly together with the
     left, and came immediately to a rally, when some heavy
     exchanges left and right took place. They closed,
     struggled for the fall, and at length fell together,
     Broome under.

     6.――The men instantly rushed to a close, and Broome got
     his man to the ropes, where they hung until they went
     down, Broome again under.

     7.――Broome napped another crack on the left eye; ditto
     repeated; a close, a breakaway, hit for hit exchanged
     left and right, Broome making both fists tell on Joe’s
     body. They then closed, and both were down, Broome
     under.

     8.――Broome jumped up with alacrity, rushed to his man,
     and attempted to plant his left, but was neatly
     stopped. This led to a rally, in which heavy hits were
     exchanged, Rowe catching it on the muzzle and Harry on
     the old spot under his left eye. They then closed, hung
     on the ropes, and both were again down. (The confusion
     outside the ring now became greater and greater. In
     vain did Cullen, Alec Reed, Young Reed, and others, use
     their sticks and whips on the nobs of the “roughs” who
     were pressing forward; they were not to be driven back.
     It was with the greatest difficulty the stakes and
     inner ring were preserved entire.)

     9.――After a few dodges, Broome put in his left slightly
     on Joe’s body below the waistband. A claim of “foul”
     was instantly raised by Rowe’s partisans, who alleged
     that the blow had fallen below the waist. On Spring
     being appealed to he immediately decided “fair,” and
     the fight proceeded. The men went to work, counter-hits
     right and left were exchanged to a close, and Rowe got
     down.

     10.――Broome again home on Rowe’s ’tato-trap, which
     increased in protuberance; counter-hits with the left,
     Broome catching it on the nose; body blows exchanged;
     counters left and right on the dial――a close, in which
     both were down. Broome on being picked up showed a cut
     over his left brow, from which the claret was coursing
     down in profusion.

     11.――Heavy exchanges; Broome again caught a nasty one
     over his eye. He returned the compliment on Joe’s
     mouth. Body blows exchanged. A close, and both down,
     Broome under. The punishment in this round increased
     the flow of claret from the wounds of both, but they
     took it coolly, and came up smiling for the next round.

     12.――This was a punishing round on the part of Broome,
     who had no sooner risen from his corner than he rushed
     to his man, put in two or three body blows, and then
     made his left and right on Rowe’s frontispiece. The
     latter made some slight returns, and Broome rushed in,
     caught Rowe in his arms, and hung upon him at the ropes
     until the latter went down――a game he pursued
     throughout the fight.

     13.――The cheering and chaffing of the East-enders were
     deafening, and it was with difficulty the timekeepers
     made themselves heard. On reaching the scratch heavy
     counter-hits were exchanged left and right, Broome
     again experiencing the effect of Rowe’s left on his
     eye. They soon closed, struggled for the fall, and went
     down together.

     14.――This round was similar to the last.

     15.――Heavy in-fighting blows exchanged left and right,
     both on the mug and on the body, the hitting rather in
     favour of Broome. In the close both down.

     16 and 17.――In these rounds the men rushed to
     in-fighting at once, and some stinging hits were made
     by each on the sore spots of the other. Broome’s left
     eye was observed to be fast closing. In the closes
     which terminated the rounds they fell together.

     18.――Slight exchanges to a close, when Rowe was down,
     Broome alongside of him. Rowe’s mouth began to exhibit
     unmistakable evidence of Harry’s power of hitting,
     although, with the exception of the cuts on his lip,
     there was nothing particular the matter with his face.
     Indeed, the hitting on both sides seemed to have been
     directed almost entirely to particular spots――viz.,
     Broome on Joe’s mouth, and the latter on Harry’s left
     eye and cheek.

     19.――Rowe made his left slightly on Broome’s forehead.
     The latter then attempted his left, but was prettily
     stopped. In two other attempts he was more successful,
     as he put in his left twice, first on Joe’s mouth, and
     then on his smeller, from which, as well as his mouth,
     the claret began to exude. In the close Joe was down,
     Harry on him.

     20.――The combatants quickly rushed to a close, and
     after a short struggle at the ropes, both went down
     together. (The noise and confusion were now becoming
     terrific. The spectators in the rear made a rush, the
     stake in Rowe’s corner was nearly forced from the
     ground, several other stakes were broken, and the
     bottom rope of the inner ring was completely trodden
     under foot. The pressure was so great in the corner
     where we sat that we were obliged to enter the inner
     ring, in order to be able to get a note of what was
     going on. There seemed among some of the lowest order
     of spectators to be a strong party feeling against
     Johnny Broome, for what cause it was impossible to
     tell, but they repeatedly called upon him to come in
     and fight himself, and charged him with acting foully,
     although we saw nothing of the kind in his conduct up
     to this, beyond his assisting the seconds in wiping his
     brother――an example which Crawley followed with Rowe.)

     21 and 22.――Broome home with his left on Joe’s nose and
     mouth several times. Rowe’s returns were slight. In the
     latter round, however, Rowe succeeded in the close in
     forcing Broome over the ropes, and falling on him.

     23.――Broome’s left again in collision with Rowe’s
     mouth. Counter-hits with the left. A close at the
     ropes, and Broome succeeded in throwing his man.

     24 to 29.――In these rounds the same style of fighting
     was pursued, hitting left and right being the order of
     the day. Very few attempts were made at stopping, and
     these few were on the part of Rowe, who parried Harry’s
     left on several occasions. The rounds ended with a
     close at the ropes, in which Broome generally had the
     advantage, and got his man down by hanging on him.

     30.――Joe stopped a nasty one from Harry’s left. Heavy
     hits were then exchanged on the old spots, and both
     were down, Rowe under. (The disorderly conduct of the
     spectators got worse and worse. The ring-keepers were
     obliged to get inside the ring, and used their whips
     and sticks very freely; but as fast as they drove the
     intruders back from the ropes they again came forward,
     returning hits for compliments paid them.)

     31 to 36.――Heavy exchanges, and no flinching or
     attempts to stop. Previous to these rounds we thought
     Rowe was weak and on the wane, but he now rallied, and
     was firmer on his pins. He was, however, generally
     forced to the ropes, where Broome hung upon him until
     he fell.

     37.――Broome received a stinger on his snout, which
     renewed the rivulet of claret. He returned slightly on
     Rowe’s cheek and closed. Rowe was, after a short
     struggle, forced down, Broome on him.

     38.――Broome made his left again on Joe’s mouth. He then
     retreated to his corner, as if to get wind. Rowe was
     following, but Harry rushed to him, repeated his dose
     on the mouth, and fought to a close at the ropes,
     where, after a somewhat lengthened struggle, amidst
     great confusion in and out of the ring (Johnny Broome
     holding the rope), both got down together.

     39.――Hitting right and left, and a close, in which some
     slight fibbing took place, Broome again receiving over
     his damaged eye, which was now almost “used up.” At
     length, after a break away, and a few harmless
     exchanges, Rowe got down.

     40.――Heavy counters with the left, Broome receiving a
     snorter, which re-opened the springs from which the
     by-no-means-limpid stream had previously trickled. A
     close at the ropes, Broome still pursuing his tactics
     of endeavouring to hang upon his man. Rowe at length
     got down, pulling Broome along with him.

     41.――Rowe had now evidently obtained fresh vigour, and
     his bellows seemed to have undergone a thorough repair.
     On coming up, he immediately went to his adversary, led
     off with his left, which was returned by Broome on the
     nose. Rowe attempted to obtain the fall, but in so
     doing slipped down.

     42 and 43.――Slight exchanges, no mischief done; both
     down at the ropes.

     44.――Harry hit out left and right on Joe’s mug, closed,
     and threw him heavily, falling on him.

     45.――Broome again touched up Rowe’s “blow pipe.” Joe
     immediately insinuated a tremendous counter-crack on
     Broome’s head with his right, which dropped him, and he
     fell on his hands and knees and fell forward on his
     face. (First knock-down blow for Rowe.)

     46 and 47.――Counter-hitting left and right, Rowe
     occasionally stopping Broome’s left, but the latter
     would not be denied, and hit away until he brought his
     man to a close, and they both went down together, Rowe
     under. On reaching their seconds’ knees, their
     punishment appeared to be about equal, neither showing
     many marks beyond those on Broome’s left eye and cheek
     on the one hand, and Rowe’s mouth and nose on the
     other. (About this time a cry was raised that the
     police had arrived, but we could see nothing of them,
     as we were so hemmed in by the mob, and, as we stated
     above, it was impossible for them to get at the
     combatants, or any one in the ring.)

     48.――Stinging hits exchanged with the left to a rally
     and a close at the ropes, where Rowe got down to avoid
     Harry’s friendly hug.

     49.――Broome’s left eye was now completely closed, and
     the surrounding flesh was considerably swollen; his
     nose, also, looked very blue. He went to his man,
     caught him round the neck with his left, and fibbed him
     severely with the other hand. Rowe at length caught the
     offending mawley, and forced Harry’s head back. After a
     little struggling, Rowe slipped down.

     50.――Joe stopped a well-intended smack from Broome’s
     left. The latter then made his “one, two” on Rowe’s
     mouth and body. Joe slipped, and Broome was making an
     upper cut at him as he went down, but just succeeded in
     stopping the delivery in time to prevent grounds for a
     claim of “foul.”

     51 and 52.――Some good countering took place in these
     rounds with equal advantage, for what Broome gave on
     Joe’s mouth and cheek he received in return on his
     damaged ogle and sneezer.

     53.――The men quickly rushed to a close, and after a
     short struggle Joe succeeded in giving Broome a clean
     somersault over the ropes, amidst the joyous shouts of
     his partisans.

     54 to 57.――Still the same hit-away style of fighting,
     no stopping or flinching, Broome occasionally getting
     his man’s head in chancery and fibbing. In the 56th
     round Harry put in a smasher on the body of Rowe, from
     the effects of which he was going down, when Broome
     sent in another, which did not reach him until he was
     on his knees. Another claim of “foul” was made by Jem
     Turner and Sambo, but the blow was evidently
     accidental, and Spring decided “fair.” Had it been
     otherwise, it would have been almost impossible for
     Spring to see, he was so beset by the mob who were
     creating the disturbance and overwhelming the ring.
     Spring at length was compelled to come within the arena
     to watch the proceedings. In the 57th round Rowe went
     down weak. Both Johnny Broome and Peter Crawley had now
     been in the ring during some rounds, Broome assisting
     his brother, and Crawley performing the same kind
     office for Rowe. Broome led the way, and his presence
     excited a good deal of angry feeling, but it was “six
     of one and half-a-dozen of the other.”

     58 and 59.――Rowe was getting weaker, and Broome was
     piping. In the latter round heavy counter-hits were
     exchanged in Broome’s corner. The latter then put in a
     heavy body blow, from the effects of which Rowe
     staggered and went down.

     60.――In-fighting in favour of Rowe, who made several
     good hits on Broome’s dial. Broome retaliated, but not
     so severely. They closed at the ropes, and both fell
     together. (The ring was now half full of people, and
     sticks and whips were being plied without avail on all
     sides.)

     61 to 70.――On coming up for the 61st round, Broome’s
     face, principally on the left side, was terribly
     disfigured, while Rowe’s right jaw, cheek, and upper
     lip were so much cut and swollen as to produce the
     appearance of dislocation of the jaw. The hitting in
     these rounds was severe, although Rowe occasionally hit
     open-handed. In the close they generally fibbed each
     other severely, and fell together. The space in which
     they were fighting became gradually more and more
     circumscribed, and almost invariably in the close the
     ring-keepers were obliged to surround the combatants,
     and literally beat the crowd away, to give room for
     them to struggle for the fall, and to prevent their
     being injured by the mob.

     71.――Tom Spring now, finding that there was not the
     slightest probability of a clear ring being again
     obtained, and satisfied that it would be impossible to
     obtain fair play, resigned his office as referee. The
     seconds and backers ought then to have each withdrawn
     his man; instead of this, however, the fight was
     continued amidst the most dreadful confusion, and in a
     space about two yards square, until the 81st round,
     when the men were taken away and conveyed on board the
     Nymph, after fighting for 2 hours and 21 minutes. All
     chance of concluding the contest had at this time
     vanished, and, of course, universal dissatisfaction
     prevailed. A cowardly attack was made on Johnny Broome
     by some of the disappointed Eastenders, but Peter
     Crawley manfully threw his shield over him, and
     prevented mischief.

     REMARKS.――We have thus, to the best of our ability,
     amidst the shameful confusion which prevailed,
     endeavoured to give as accurate a description of this
     battle as our opportunities would admit. We can only
     repeat that at a very early period of the battle the
     crowd completely overwhelmed the efforts of those who
     were certainly anxious and creditably active in their
     endeavours to preserve order. The jealousy of those,
     however, who could not pay towards those who had paid
     was so forcibly evinced as to prevent all resistance;
     and this, combined with a large majority of Rowe’s
     friends and partisans, who indulged in a very unseemly
     expression of ill-feeling towards Johnny Broome and his
     brother, produced the very unsatisfactory conclusion at
     which the affair arrived, and of course led to the
     necessity of another meeting before it could be decided
     which was the better man. We confess we do not feel
     ourselves justified, from all we have yet seen, in
     assigning the palm of decided superiority to either.
     They both fought manfully and bravely, and exhibited
     all those sterling qualities which are calculated to
     reflect credit upon the characters of British boxers.
     There was no flinching, no cowardly attempts to fall to
     avoid punishment, nor were any of those subterfuges
     adopted on either side calculated to create the
     disapprobation of the spectators. On the contrary, when
     permitted by the disgraceful intrusion of strangers in
     the ring, they promptly and fearlessly obeyed the call
     of time, and hit away left and right each with a
     courageous determination to turn the scale in his
     favour. In the last few rounds――or, rather,
     scrambles――which took place, we are inclined to believe
     that Broome had a little the advantage; but it would be
     by no means just on our parts to give this as a decided
     opinion, and the less so as we saw Rowe run vigorously
     from the ring to the place of embarkation, followed by
     Broome. We were glad to make our escape from such a
     scene, and made our retreat along the banks of the
     river to Greenhithe, from whence we subsequently
     obtained a passage, not in the “Nymph,” but in a
     Gravesend boat, on its way to Blackwall, and thus did
     not obtain a close view of the men. Many heavy blows
     were exchanged in the course of the turmoil, and some
     one, with a wantonness perfectly indefensible, flung up
     a quart bottle in the air, which, alighting on Johnny
     Broome’s head, might have been fatal, and, as it was,
     proved anything but agreeable to his feelings. We
     cannot too strongly impress upon the parties concerned
     in this disgraceful exhibition that, as in the fable of
     the goose and the golden egg, they are sacrificing the
     chances of their own future gratification. A clear ring
     and no favour is the battle-cry of all fair boxing; and
     if the spirit of this cry be once abandoned, it is in
     vain to hope for the continuance of those manly
     demonstrations of courage and fair play which render
     prize-fighting defensible. It seems also to be
     forgotten that, by keeping a wide and extended ring
     throughout a combat, all have a fair opportunity of
     witnessing its progress; while, by thus closing in, the
     greater portion must be debarred from a view of the
     combatants, and thus disorder becomes inevitable. Added
     to this, the prejudices of the opponents of the good
     old sport become trebly fortified, and the interference
     of the magistrates and the police will find not only
     apologists, but eulogists, even among those who
     heretofore would have been the first to decry their
     interference. Aquatic excursions, by limiting the
     number of spectators, were, in the first instance,
     adopted as a prudent and judicious move, and so long as
     they were confined, by a fair charge, to the men and
     their real supporters, this object was gained; but the
     unfair system of starting opposition boats, at low
     prices, by enabling the worst class of Ring-goers to
     obtrude upon the scene of action, has superseded this
     intention, and it now only remains to adopt some new
     expedient by which fair play and good order can be
     maintained. Nothing but a determined coalition upon the
     part of the milling fraternity themselves will prevent
     the repetition of evils which must altogether
     extinguish their popularity as a class.

Great complaints were made of Broome having gone into the ring to
assist his brother, which was decidedly contrary to the rules of the
Ring, and led to Crawley following so bad an example. It was
undoubtedly wrong; but some allowances must be made for the horrible
confusion which prevailed, and the utter impossibility of the referee
calling for a stringent attention to the rule referred to; although in
two instances when Broome had intruded he peremptorily ordered him
out, and was obeyed. It must be distinctly understood that any man,
save the seconds, thus interfering with his man loses the fight.

Broome soon recovered from the contusions on his face, although when
we saw him on the Friday the marks were sufficiently apparent. The
forebone of the thumb on his right hand was, however, fractured. This
occurred in the fourth round, and the repeated use of the hand
afterwards rendered the consequences more serious. Rowe’s physiognomy
was still far from symmetrical. His face on the right side was
dreadfully swollen, and the cut on his lip severe and deep. The left
side of his countenance also showed obvious symptoms of unpleasant
visitations. In other respects the men were little damaged; but Rowe
had clearly got the larger share of the punishment. His left hand was
also much puffed. It was stated that for the present it would be
impossible for Broome to use his right hand, and Crawley readily
agreed that the day for the renewal of the battle should not be fixed
till a surgeon had pronounced when the damaged feeler was likely to be
fit for service. Johnny Broome proposed to give £5 towards Rowe’s
training expenses, provided the match were made for £100, and to come
off in four months. To this Crawley could make no response, as he had
his apprehensions of being able to get any addition to the stakes
down.

The final agreement was that the renewal of the combat should take
place on the 6th of May; Peter Crawley and Johnny Broome to name the
locality. At a subsequent meeting at Spring’s, it being mentioned that
the 6th of May was the day of running the Chester Cup, the date was
altered to the 13th by mutual agreement, and the place of rendezvous
was settled for Ensham, Oxfordshire, six miles from the University
city. On the overnight the men and their mentors set off for that
locality. The “London Particulars,” however, contented themselves with
the half-past seven morning train, and the quarter to ten fast ditto,
as their method of reaching the trysting-place. Soon after eleven all
was alive in Ensham, and the cavalcade moved off for the battle-field,
many of the drags being of the style and pattern that bespoke the
Corinthian quality of their owners or occupants. At twelve the
Commissary and assistants had made a model ring and enclosure in an
emerald-green meadow near Ensham, and soon after Harry Broome, his
brother Johnny, his seconds and friends, came on the ground on a
four-in-hand; while Rowe, under the broad shadow of Peter Crawley,
escorted by a numerous cavalcade of equestrians and charioteers, with
a long queue of pedestrians was also “thar.” Harry Broome was waited
on in the ring by his brother and Sam Simmonds, of Birmingham; Rowe by
Jack Macdonald and Bill Hayes. Broome’s colours were blue with a large
white spot, Rowe’s the old blue birdseye.

After some little delay in the choice of a referee, “time” was called,
and the men, in fighting costume, advanced from their corners and
shook hands. Young Harry, in point of condition, was all that his best
friends could desire; he was indeed a model of youthful health and
activity. He stood slightly over his opponent, and had evidently the
advantage in length of reach. Rowe looked far more solid and burly at
his weight (10st. 5lbs.), and was much less graceful in his movements;
indeed, his look lacked the animation and confidence which beamed on
the features of his youthful antagonist. The friends of Rowe were,
nevertheless, sanguine of his success, and took the 5 and 6 to 4
readily which some of Broome’s patrons offered.

At a few minutes before one the men and their seconds crossed hands,
the latter retired to their corners, and the twain stood up for


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On throwing themselves into position each put
     out his feelers and advanced and retreated several
     times. After one or two feinting dodges Rowe tried his
     left, but was short; they got closer to their work, and
     left-hand counters were exchanged, Rowe catching it on
     the mouth and Broome slightly on the cheek. After a
     break away they again approached, and once more
     exchanged counter-hits with the left, Broome getting
     well home on Rowe’s kissing organ, whence blood
     immediately trickled, and “first blood” was claimed for
     Broome and awarded. Broome rushed in, caught Rowe round
     the neck under his left arm, fibbed a little with his
     right, hitting up, then, giving him a leg, threw and
     fell on him. (7 to 4 on Broome offered.)

     2.――Rowe, on coming to the scratch, showed a stream of
     the crimson fluid from the side of his mouth. Broome
     led off with his left, but was neatly stopped, and in
     the second attempt equally well foiled. Slight
     exchanges, and Broome closed, and, after a short
     struggle, had his man down, but came himself to the
     ground rather heavily.

     3.――Rowe short with his left. Broome quickly caught him
     a smasher on his damaged mouth, repeating the dose
     twice, and playing round his man with a celerity that
     reminded us of Young Dutch Sam. Rowe tried to get home,
     first with one hand then the other, but was short, from
     the rapid shifting of his adversary. In the close
     Broome tried to get the lock, but Rowe kept his legs
     wide and declined the intended favour. Broome tried to
     hit up with the right, but Rowe slipped on one knee,
     catching a stinger on the jaw as he was falling, and
     Harry tumbling over him.

     4.――On Rowe coming up, his left eye, left cheek, and
     mouth gave evidence of renewed visitations. Harry,
     though flushed in the frontispiece, was not yet
     “adorned with cuts.” Rowe hit short with the left, and
     then stopped two or three attempts by Harry to get home
     with the same hand. In trying to return Rowe hit rather
     in the style of the sparring school, drawing back his
     elbow just as his fist reached its destination, instead
     of letting the blow go straight from the shoulder. A
     rally, in which Rowe succeeded in planting his left on
     Broome’s eye, and then stepped in with a rattling hit
     on the jaw that seemed for a moment to stagger the
     Young’un; in fact it looked for a moment as if he would
     go down from the stunning visitation; but he did not,
     and Rowe closed and threw his man amidst vociferous
     acclamations from the East-enders.

     5.――Broome came up smiling, steady, and resolute,
     showing little effects of the last round. He made play,
     but Rowe easily stopped two long shots from the left.
     Rowe retreated, but did not succeed in drawing Broome
     near enough, so the latter, after an exchange or two,
     got within distance, delivering left and right heavily
     on the head and body, then catching his man firmly on
     his left arm, he “fiddled” him with the right, and as
     he struggled away gave him the leg and fell heavily on
     him. (The Rowe-ites mute with astonishment.)

     6.――Both showed signs of punishment, Rowe on mouth,
     eye, cheek, and left ear, Broome on the left cheek.
     Rowe short with the left; a rally, when Harry caught
     Rowe an upper-cut with the left, but Rowe grappled him,
     and Harry got down through his hands, amidst the jeers
     and scoffs of the Rowe party.

     7.――Broome came up slowly; he sparred and shifted
     ground, but Rowe would not be drawn. Broome sent out
     his left, but was short, and in a second attempt just
     reached Joe’s neck with his right, who threw his head
     back with great quickness out of the way of mischief.
     Three times in succession Rowe stopped Broome’s left
     with great neatness. (“That’s the way to break his
     heart,” cried Jack Macdonald.) After some more clever
     sparring, in which little damage was done, Broome
     closed, and again threw his man, falling on him.

     8.――Broome was again neatly stopped, but he persevered
     and got in a smasher on Rowe’s damaged mouth, who
     counter-hit, but not effectively. Broome got in to
     half-arm and visited Rowe’s left eye. Joe, not
     relishing these pops, dropped on his knees, but Harry
     caught him with his left arm and lifted him bodily up
     from the ground, thus displaying immense muscular
     strength, threw him and dropped on him. (2 to 1 on
     Broome.)

     9.――Harry came up smiling confidently. He led off with
     his left, but Rowe stopped him three or four times
     beautifully. (Applause.) At length they got close, and
     Broome twice in succession got home on Rowe’s mouth and
     eye. Rowe, wild and stung, rushed into close quarters,
     but Broome got away, broke ground, and twice or three
     times popped in sharp hits in the face. Rowe got down
     in his own corner during a rally.

     10.――Broome played round his man actively, occasionally
     getting in a “little one.” Rowe was slow, and stood
     steadily on the defensive. He evidently reckoned on
     Broome tiring himself by doing all the work. He could
     not, however, keep Broome out, who gave him a tidy
     smack on the cheek, and Rowe got down.

     11.――Rowe still slow and on the defensive. Broome put
     in a nobber, and Rowe was down on the grass.

     12.――Rowe stopped a succession of hits with the left,
     but Broome would not come in to be propped; at last
     they exchanged two or three sharp hits, when Broome
     closed and threw Rowe, but not heavily.

     13.――Good out-fighting on the part of Broome, who
     planted on Rowe’s neck and ear. Rowe continued his
     stopping, and stepping back, until Broome, tired of the
     game, fought in, closed, and threw him.

     14.――Broome got home with his left, a cutting blow;
     Rowe let go right and left wildly, of which Broome took
     advantage, closed, caught him round the waist, and
     flung him cleverly.

     15.――Rowe still stopped steadily, but was sadly short
     in the returns. As we have before said, his blows did
     not go from the shoulder, but partook of the flip-flap
     character of the sparring school. Broome advanced and
     retreated, and at last, springing in, caught Rowe in
     the mark with his left, and gave the “first knock
     down.”

     16 to 19.――Broome made the fighting, got in his left,
     and threw his man in all these rounds.

     20.――Rowe maintained his steadiness amazingly. He
     stopped with precision, and was getting down from
     Broome’s onslaught when Harry seized him, lifted him by
     sheer strength, and threw him.

     21.――Rowe getting slow, and apparently vexed at not
     being able to get his man to hitting distance. Broome
     played half-round to the right, then to the left. Rowe
     went in desperately and forced a rally, in which he got
     home his right a sounder on Broome’s jaw, and both were
     down, amidst the uproarious cheers of the East-enders,
     who seemed “thankful for small mercies.”

     22.――Broome showed symptoms of fatigue; he coughed and
     hemmed, stepped back, and rubbed his arms, leisurely
     surveying his antagonist. “Don’t be gammoned,” said
     Bill Hayes; Rowe nodded his head assentingly. As Rowe
     would not advance Broome went to him, and in some sharp
     exchanges hit hardest and oftenest. Broome’s right came
     in sharp contact with Rowe’s sconce as he was going
     down, and Broome was seen pulling at his right little
     finger, to which some mischance had happened.

     23.――On coming to the scratch Broome again sparred _à
     la distance_. “Go in,” cried Crawley to Rowe; “his
     hands are gone, it’s all your own.” This was an error;
     “the wish was father to the thought,” for Harry
     frustrated his adversary’s attempt by sending his left
     slap in Rowe’s mazzard, hit him with the supposed
     disabled right in the ribs, closed, and got him down.

     24.――Broome popped in his left, closed, and rolled over
     his man as he got down.

     25.――Rowe, getting slower and slower, seemed to content
     himself with guarding his head and ribs, and shifting.
     Broome bided his time, but at length got home, and
     muzzled poor Joe, who went to grass somehow.

     26.――As before, Rowe on the defensive, stopping, but
     not returning. Broome followed him up, forced him on to
     the ropes, and rolled over with him.

     27th and last.――Broome came to the scratch cheerfully;
     his seconds certainly sent him up remarkably clean.
     Although Rowe, as before, stopped an experimental
     left-hander or two, Harry gave him two severe smashers
     on the mouth and cheek, then closing as Rowe was trying
     to get down, he gave him the crook, and fell heavily on
     him. It was all over. Rowe, though still strong on his
     legs, declined to continue the contest; and Bill Hayes
     threw up the sponge in token of defeat. Young Harry was
     highly elated. He jumped about the ring like a parched
     pea in a frying-pan, shook hands with his opponent, and
     performed a _coup de théâtre_ by pressing the
     winning-colours to his lips, and then waving them round
     his head. At this moment Harry showed no further
     discolouration of the face than a blue mark under the
     left eye. One of the bones of his right-hand, however,
     was broken, and from that round it was of little
     effectual service, though he used it several times. The
     fight lasted exactly fifty-seven minutes, and from
     first to last was conducted with the utmost fairness,
     and without the slightest interruption from the
     surrounding multitude, which was largely increased by
     the accession of several Whitsun clubs, who were
     celebrating their holiday in the neighbourhood.

     REMARKS.――Broome won the fight from superior tact, good
     in-fighting, and the clever use of his legs, both in
     getting away and throwing. To the quick use of his
     left――for he did but little with the right――the
     downfall of his game antagonist is also to be ascribed.
     Rowe, we must confess, from what we had previously
     seen, somewhat disappointed us. Not only was he slow,
     and generally short, but his hits were
     elbow-deliveries, while, before the battle was half
     through, he adopted such a determined line of mere
     defensive tactics as never could have gained him
     victory over such a courageous and active adversary as
     Young Broome. We almost suspected he had made up his
     mind to defeat early in the fight. Broome’s youth,
     though much against him, was relied on by Rowe,
     mistakingly, as the event proved. He was neither so
     much exhausted, or even tired, as his older opponent.
     It would be prudent, from the injury he has twice
     sustained in his right-hand, that he should, for a
     time, retire from the active pursuit of the profession
     he has adopted, until gristle has hardened to bone, and
     well-knit sinew and tendon replace his youthful rounded
     muscle. That Young Harry possesses steadiness,
     self-possession, game, and confidence he has fully
     shown, and these, aided by the increasing strength and
     stamina which time must bring, must ensure him a high
     position among pugilistic professionals. The weather
     was, throughout the day, most favourable, and order and
     regularity admirably maintained, Spring, Peter Crawley,
     Jem Burn, Owen Swift, Johnny Hannan, Jem Turner, Young
     Reid, Jemmy Welsh, and others of the _corps d’élite_,
     contributing greatly to this desirable state of things.

At this period (1846) there resided at Birmingham a boxer of high
local repute, some five years the senior of Harry, and still in his
prime, who, in the opinion of his fellow-townsmen, was well fitted to
check the triumphant career of the juvenile representative of the
house of Broome, which was considered to have transferred its
pugilistic fame from its native place to London. This was Ben Terry,
whose successive defeats of Jem Hodgkiss, Forster, Davis of
Birmingham, and Tom Davis, in 1841, 1842, 1843, and 1844, all
middle-weights, had earned for him a character approaching
invincibility. After some cavilling with Johnny Broome in times passed
by, before that boxer retired from the Ring, which, however, ended in
nothing. Ben now proposed a match for £100 a side, with Young Harry,
at 10st. 4lbs., and the youngster, nothing loth, closed with the
offer. There was much partisan feeling mixed up in the affair, and on
February 3rd, 1846, the men met at Shrivenham, Berkshire, on the Great
Western line. There was tedious disputation on the choice of a
referee; and the behaviour of the partisans of Terry was simply
disgraceful, and marked most significantly the falling fortunes of the
Ring. The unfinished battle, which occupies an immense and undue space
in the contemporary report, is not worth preserving. Suffice it to say
that for the first half hour the fighting of Harry was singularly
irregular and wild, and only accountable upon the supposition, loudly
proclaimed by Brother Johnny, that Young Harry had been stupefied by
the surreptitious introduction of some drug in his drink――in short,
had been “hocussed.” We, who witnessed the fight, however loth we
should be to admit such a shameful act without clear evidence, could
not resist the suspicion of some foul play. Terry, however, seemed to
fight very little better than his opponent. After the 35th round, the
confusion and disorder defied description. The ring was broken in, and
filled with an unruly crowd; repeated claims of “foul” were made from
both sides; the referee was sought to be intimidated by uproar and
threats; and finally the fight was claimed for Terry, without any
decision being given by the properly constituted authorities, and the
respective parties returned――the one to Birmingham, the other to
London, to wrangle over the destination of the £200 in the hands of
the stakeholder. After a tedious controversy and furious mutual
recriminations, it is clear that the Terry party did not fancy a
second meeting, and the affair ended by Johnny Broome, on behalf of
his brother, consenting to draw stakes on receipt of a douceur of £5.
Terry, who was subsequently beaten by Coates and Posh Price, died at
Birmingham, October 12th, 1862.

We have noted in the life of the Tipton Slasher, how, after his defeat
of Paddock, in December, 1850, he laid public claim to the
Championship; how Bendigo, after stating that he was prepared to fight
for £500, and no less, backed out when the Tipton offered to meet him
for that amount; and further, that he, the Tipton, would fight any man
for £100 or £200. This challenge was unanswered until May, 1851, when
Broome declared himself ready to make a deposit for an “Unknown,” for
£200 a side. This was accepted. At a subsequent meeting at Johnny
Broome’s, on the 2nd of June, the articles were completed, and the
battle agreed to take place within four months. On the occasion first
named poor Tom Spring, who had in this case undertaken to see to the
interests of the Slasher in London, lay stretched on a bed of
sickness, struggling with that grim antagonist who soon after gave him
his final fall; consequently Johnny Broome claimed and received
forfeit at the second deposit, the Slasher’s friends not putting in an
appearance. In the following week a gleam of hoped-for health on the
part of Spring, and the arrival of Perry himself in London, led to a
demonstration, and a sum of money was deposited in the hands of the
Editor of _Bell’s Life_ on the part of Tipton, to meet the “Unknown”
for the sum proposed. That the “Great Unknown” was a mystery, like the
authorship of “Junius,” and, for a time, the Waverley Novels, was
evident, for men did not scruple to say that Johnny had had a lucky
escape from “a bit of bounce” by the receipt of the small amount down.
The mystery, however, was quickly dissipated, for at the next meeting,
to the astonishment of all, Young Harry announced himself to be the
“mysterious stranger,” prepared to join issue with the ponderous
Slasher, and from that evening the match progressed satisfactorily.

In the interim, the Tipton, after a provincial tour, went into
training at Hoylake, in Cheshire, under the mentorship of Jem Ward,
and the superintendence of Jemmy the Black (Young Molyneaux). Harry
was, of course, looked after by his brother, but was unable to do so
much work as he required, owing to the necessity that arose of
constantly shifting his quarters. This, we may now state, was owing to
the embarrassed state of his pecuniary affairs, in connection with the
Opera Tavern, in the Haymarket, of which he was then the landlord.

When we last saw Harry in the lists, in his interrupted combat with
Ben Terry, he was looked upon as a “middle-weight,” his height 5 feet
9 inches, his weight 10½st.; and from this circumstance, despite the
assertion that he had grown nearly two inches in stature, and would go
to scale full two stone heavier in muscle and bone, there was an
obstinate incredulity on the part of many who thought they knew the
man, with respect to the 10½st. Harry and the 13st. Slasher ever
facing each other in the Ring.

The stakeholder, upon whom devolved the duty of naming the place of
fighting, selected Mildenhall. Johnny Broome had a predilection for
Six Mile Bottom, near Newmarket, as suitable for the convenience of
the sporting men going to the First October Meeting, but this he
subsequently abandoned. The place having been appointed, Johnny Broome
and Young Spring, on behalf of the Slasher, engaged a special train on
the Eastern Counties Line, which, it was notified, would start at
half-past eight. There was little excitement abroad, for the eve of so
important an event as that which was to decide the _vexata quæstio_ as
to who was to be Champion of England. It is true, the houses of the
two Broomes, and the Castle Tavern, were thronged, but we did not hear
of a bet being made, and a strong impression prevailed up to the very
day that something would occur to prevent the issue of the battle. On
reaching the platform whence the train was to start we found the
assemblage was limited, and we should calculate that not more than one
hundred took their places in the carriages, so that these who
speculated on gain were on the wrong side of the post. With the
exception of Peter Crawley and Old Tom Oliver, we recognised none of
the representatives of the old school.

The travellers having taken their seats――the Tipton, accompanied by
Nobby Clarke and Molyneaux, being among them――the whistle sounded, and
off went the party. A good deal of consternation was expressed by some
persons at the non-appearance of Broome; but, on the train arriving at
Bishop Stortford, all doubt was set at rest by his presence on the
platform. The train once more got under weigh, and shortly the goal
was reached. Pursuing a winding lane, the veteran Commissary led the
way to the field where Bendigo won his parting laurel from Paddock, in
1850. This ground, however, was found to be under plough, and the
travellers had to go further afield; nevertheless, all was soon in
apple-pie order for business. The London train band was reinforced by
a few of the Norfolk and Suffolk Militiamen, and a cavalry contingent
from Newmarket, and by one o’clock there was a tolerable muster round
the roped arena. At ten minutes after that hour the Tipton hero
advanced to the ring-side, and, removing his nob-cover, tossed it
gaily within the magic circle. Harry was not long in answering the
Tipton’s call for him to come forth, and was loudly cheered on
presenting himself. After shaking hands, the difficult point of
choosing a referee came on the _tapis_. This knotty question seemed
likely to occupy the whole day, for to each proposition a negative was
offered, chiefly by the Tipton and his friends. One hour and forty
minutes were thus cut to waste, but at twenty-five minutes past two
the differences ended by the selection of Peter Crawley, and the men
commenced their toilettes. Crawley had been previously rejected by the
Tipton, from an apprehension that his predilections were in favour of
Broome; and it was not until Harry offered to fight without a referee
that he at last consented. The choice made, the Slasher approached
Crawley, and said all he desired was a fair fight and no favour. If he
did anything foul he must abide by the consequences, and if his
antagonist did wrong he hoped an equal measure of justice would be
meted out to him. Crawley said he might rely on his performing his
duty strictly and impartially. All he desired was to see a fair and
manly contest, and to see it fairly and manfully fought out.

The attendants on the Slasher were Nobby Clarke and Jem Molyneaux. The
bold Harry was esquired by Callaghan, of Derby, and Bob Castles,
Johnny, of course, being in the corner. A little interlude, in the
shape of a shindy between Molyneaux and Callaghan, enlivened the
interval of suspense, but, on everything being ready, they were soon
quieted down. The ring was admirably kept throughout, Tom Callas,
Jerry Noon, Mallet, and others lending a helping hand. The betting at
the commencement was 2 to 1 on the Slasher; and at forty-five minutes
past two business began.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――And so the men stood up, and all doubts,
     fears, and suspicions as to whether there would or
     would not be a fight were at an end, and the question
     was now to be set at rest as to what sort of a fight
     those present were to witness, and we were to record.
     No sooner had the youthful Harry struck his canvass,
     and exhibited himself in Nature’s buff suit, than an
     almost audible buzz of surprise and admiration broke
     from the spectators. Never did gladiator of old offer a
     finer study for the chisel of the sculptor or the
     pencil of the painter. 5ft. 10½in. in stature, his
     height was only fairly proportioned to his weight,
     12st. 10lbs. on the morning of the battle, which,
     by-the-bye, was 10lbs. too much. His chest and scapulæ,
     with their masses of prominent and rigid muscle, were
     almost preternaturally developed; and as he swung his
     long, round arms, with the motion of one practising
     with the dumb-bells, closing and unclosing his hands
     (black with the astringent juices applied to them), to
     supple his joints for the impending encounter, all
     seemed to agree that he was up to the standard of
     weight and measure which the veteran Captain Barclay
     said “was big enough to fight any two-legged creature
     that ever walked.” There is much, however, in “a
     name”――despite Juliet’s declaration to the contrary,
     which, coming from a green young Miss, don’t carry much
     authority――and, accordingly, the old ring-goers were
     half inclined to a belief in the Slasher’s
     invincibility, and doubted whether the audacious “boy,”
     as the Tipton contemptuously called him in our hearing,
     would stand up to his ancient friend and fellow-trainer
     in bygone days. That this was a mistake was soon
     apparent. Throwing up his hands with smiling
     confidence, Harry toed the scratch, saying, as he did
     so, “Here I am, old boy, and I mean to win to-day.” The
     Tipton grinned――the absence of his incisors imparting
     that expression to his laugh. On the present occasion,
     though he looked brown, hardy, and sunburnt, there was
     somewhat of an antiquated cut about his figure-head
     which was not observable on his last public appearance,
     which, as we have already recorded, was with Paddock,
     in December, 1850. His frame, however, showed no waste
     or diminution of its formidable proportions. Poised
     upon his letter K-like pedestals, his huge upper works,
     broad shoulders, immense blade-bones, wide loins and
     well-ribbed carcase showed the ponderous athlete,
     though the bloom and freshness of youth had faded from
     his skin. It was clear he meant to give no rest, and as
     little room and opportunity, to his antagonist as he
     could help. Harry offered with his left high up, in the
     direction of the Slasher’s nob; it was a sort of
     measuring, and he stepped aside, breaking ground with
     graceful agility. Slasher followed him, when he stepped
     aside laughing, closing and unclosing his hands,
     playing about out of reach, and sparring. “Go to him,
     Tipton,” cried Jemmy Wharton; “he’s afraid of you.” The
     Tipton did as he was bid, and Harry retreated until
     near the ropes. The Tipton let go his right, and just
     reached Harry’s ribs, who rapidly caught him a
     cross-counter with the left on the face. A couple of
     rather hasty exchanges brought the men together; they
     separated, and Broome delivered an upper cut on the
     Slasher’s face, who retaliated on Harry’s body so
     effectively that he slipped in jumping back, and fell,
     throwing up his feet as he reached the ground, to
     prevent the Tipton falling on him, and, when he found
     himself safely landed, bringing his heels over his head
     with a spring, and turning a complete somersault. A
     claim for a knock-down; but it was anything but that.
     Four minutes. (6 to 4 on the Tipton, and no takers.)

     2.――Harry came up laughing, and nodded at the Tipton,
     who laughed and nodded in return. Nothing was the
     matter on either side. Slasher followed Broome, who
     retreated to the ropes. “Get nearer, Harry,” cried
     Brother Johnny. “Don’t go after him,” said Molyneaux,
     and the Tipton in turn retired to the scratch, to which
     he pointed down with his index-finger. Harry stepped
     right up to his head, and delivered his left flush on
     the Slasher’s mouth. (Cheers.) There was a momentary
     pause, Slasher pursued Harry to the ropes, where the
     latter jumped into a close, and caught his opponent
     round the waist. Harry tried to get the lock, but both
     were down, Tipton having hold of the upper rope with
     his right.

     3.――Broome was all confidence and elasticity. He went
     up to the Slasher, and reached his head, then retreated
     from the return. “He’ll stand it,” cried Callaghan. The
     Tipton got in his left on Harry’s right cheek, who, in
     return, gave him a sounding flush hit on the olfactory
     organ. The Slasher let fly right and left, and the men
     closed near the centre stake. Harry got an unmistakable
     outside look with his right leg over the crooked knee
     of the Slasher. There were a few seconds of severe
     struggling, when Broome, having fixed his hold, brought
     the Slasher over on his back. Down he came, shaking the
     earth with the concussion, his shoulders, neck, and
     back part of his caput first saluting the ground, while
     Harry rolled over on him. The effect was electrifying:
     even “Peter the Great” gave an audible grunt in unison
     with the “thud” that accompanied the Slasher’s
     downfall. There lay the crooked Colossus prostrate,
     till his active seconds, seizing him by the legs and
     wings, conveyed him to his corner, whither Harry
     followed him with inquiring eyes.

     4.――Tipton came well and boldly, but not till time had
     been several times vociferously called, the Broomites
     evidently in most hurry. Harry shifted round and round
     the corners, the Slasher following him. Harry reached
     the Tipton’s mouth smartly, who let go both hands. The
     hit sounded. Broome closed, and tried the lock again.
     The Tipton avoided his hips, and both were on the
     grass.

     5.――The Tipton had shaken off the effects of his fall.
     He tried to gammon Harry within reach of his formidable
     right by short feints with the left. As this did not
     have the desired effect, he went in, hitting out with
     both hands. Harry nailed him on the frontispiece, and
     as he came on again, administered an upper-cut. It was
     not quite close enough, or it might have told tales. In
     the close the Tipton was under at the ropes, but it was
     no detriment.

     6.――Broome went to the Slasher’s head in the most manly
     style, and popped in one. “Fortune favours the brave.”
     Tipton retorted, but missed one very mischievous hit.
     The men closed, Harry hit up, catching the Tipton on
     the nose, and both were down in the scramble――the
     Tipton, if either, first.

     7.――“First blood” for Broome, which was unmistakably
     distilling from the Slasher’s nose, to which he put his
     hand as if to feel it. The Tipton forced Broome to the
     ropes, threatening with his right, where they closed,
     and after some not very effective fibbing, Broome
     brought the Tipton down on his back, falling on his
     stomach with his latter end. (An offer to take evens on
     Broome.)

     8.――Smart active sparring and a bustling exchange.
     Harry gave the Slasher a very heavy hit on the jaw,
     producing a slight cut. The Tipton retorted with a
     nobber, and also sent home a body-hit. Whether the
     Tipton’s right hand had lost its cunning or not, these
     ribbers did not seem to stagger the Young One as they
     did former adversaries. Still, the old one rattled in,
     and in the scuffle was jobbed in the head, till at the
     end of the round Broome pushed him from him sideways
     with both hands, when he got down. Bellows to mend on
     both sides.

     9.――The Slasher came up grinning, but his merriment
     looked rather forced, although the hitting had left but
     little traces on his hard features. He hit very short
     with his left, and Broome walked round smiling. There
     was a close at the ropes in Harry’s corner, in which
     the Tipton got Broome awkwardly over them, and hung on
     him, holding the rope with his right, his left hand
     being across Harry’s face. The rope was slacked, and
     Harry was let down. The referee was appealed to, who
     ordered the fight to proceed.

     10.――Exchanges: Harry gave the Tipton a blow on the
     left eye that raised a lump, then swung round and broke
     away from the return. He jobbed the Slasher as he
     advanced, but was driven to the ropes, whence he
     suddenly sprang forward, took a half-arm hit, and
     making his favourite grip, brought the Tipton over――a
     heavy fall――tumbling on him with his knees. As Harry
     lay on the grass, he blew like a grampus.

     11.――The Slasher came slowly up. There was a short
     pause, when again Broome went up to his head. The
     Slasher’s right reached Harry’s body, who put in a
     sharp left-hander that cut the Tipton’s lip; there was
     some quick half-arm hitting, in which Broome delivered
     a clever upper-cut with his right, and both were down.
     Broome uppermost, the crimson fluid from the Slasher’s
     nose and lip smearing Harry’s frontispiece as they
     embraced.

     12.――The Tipton bored Harry to the ropes, was on to him
     before he got his chance for a lunge, and had him down
     in a scramble.

     13.――Harry retreated to the ropes. The Tipton followed.
     Broome stopped his left, and shifted from his right,
     but got a slight taste as he broke ground, and moved
     round his man. Harry dashed at the Slasher, and got
     within his guard. There was a short scrambling rally,
     when the Tipton got down to avoid the lock. Offers to
     take evens, and then to bet the short odds on “the
     Young’un.” Bob Castles retired from Broome’s corner in
     this round, and his place was supplied by Macdonald. An
     objection to the change of seconds overruled.

     14.――Broome milled prettily on the retreat, the Tipton
     hitting remarkably short with his left. Harry unclosed
     his hands, and shifting round towards the Slasher’s
     corner, said, cheerfully, “I’ll take odds ‘the boy’
     licks him without a black eye.” The Tipton was
     evidently more bothered than beaten, and the facility
     with which he was thrown made him put on his
     considering cap. Broome went up to his head, as if to
     attack, but as quickly stepped back. The Slasher
     followed, and let go both hands, his right alone
     getting home. Harry turned at the instant, hit up
     sharply with the left, and weaving away, the Tipton got
     down. In the in-fighting there were some heavy hits
     exchanged, and Broome’s over-weight told sadly on his
     bellows, which heaved and jerked like those of a
     pumped-out steeplechaser.

     15th and last.――There was a little squabble about time,
     the Slasher slowest from his corner. Both sides seemed
     somewhat inclined to spar for wind. Harry dashed in,
     evidently with the intention of closing and trying for
     a heave. He hit the Tipton on the chin, but the Ould’un
     got away, as if to get room for his right. Harry
     advanced, closed, and a struggle took place, each
     attempting to hit. The Tipton grasped him tightly with
     his left, and was trying to hit with his right, when
     Harry slipped down on both knees. The Tipton let go his
     right just as he reached the ground, giving him a
     decided nobber, which certainly did not reach its
     destination till Harry was down. It was the work of a
     moment. The shouts from all sides were tremendous.
     Broome’s seconds ran to the umpires and referee, as did
     the ever-active Molyneaux, on the side of the Tipton.
     There was a short pause, during which “Peter the Great”
     declared he had not yet been formally appealed to. This
     was done, the umpires, of course, disagreeing. “A most
     deliberate foul,” said “Peter the Great,” and the ring
     broke up. Thirty-three minutes had sufficed for the
     present decision of the question, “Who is the Champion
     of England?”

     As the ponderous Peter left the roped enclosure,
     another instance was added to the many previous of the
     suicidal conduct of the present race of Ring men. The
     referee was surrounded by a vociferous and violent mob,
     whose language was of the most outrageous description.
     The Tipton himself, too, so “raised the dander” of the
     referee by his remarks and conduct, that the veteran
     Crawley declared he would fight for his credit and
     integrity, and, to the no small amusement of many, was
     disencumbering his portly person of his outer coat, to
     inflict summary punishment on his assailants, when the
     Tipton was forced away.

     REMARKS.――Upon this battle, ending in a manner so
     unsatisfactory, few remarks are necessary. The style of
     fighting will speak for itself. It was clear that the
     Tipton was surprised by the vigour and determination of
     his youthful opponent, and not less so at the manner in
     which he exhibited his throwing powers; for, in
     closing, not only was Harry the better wrestler, but
     apparently the stronger man. How the battle would have
     terminated had it proceeded in the ordinary way it is
     impossible to say, and in this respect opinions
     naturally differed. For, on the one hand, the little
     punishment that was administered came from the Young
     One, while the Old One had evidently lost none of his
     personal confidence, and no doubt anticipated that
     Harry would out-fight himself, and, by the rapidity of
     his movements, increase that exhaustion which had
     already shown itself at the conclusion of some of the
     earlier rounds. The sudden termination of the battle
     came upon all by surprise, and few believed that there
     was a “deliberate” intention on the part of the Tipton
     to administer the blow which was pronounced “foul.”
     That Harry was on his knees when he received the ugly
     hit we can aver, as we were seated by the side of the
     referee at the time of the appeal. The men were
     certainly in a scrambling close at the moment; and it
     was obvious that, while Harry desired to get out of
     trouble, the Tipton felt inclined to make the most of
     his fancied advantage. Crawley’s experience thoroughly
     enabled him to form a correct opinion, and we have no
     reason to believe that his judgment was not given
     fairly and impartially. Of course those not over-honest
     persons, who always attribute unworthy motives to
     others, assert that Crawley’s prepossessions were in
     favour of Broome, and that this was the reason why the
     Tipton originally objected to his being selected as
     referee. To this we can distinctly oppose that, to our
     own knowledge, the bias of Peter, if he had any, would
     have carried him the other way. Such, however, was not
     the opinion of the Tipton nor of his friends, as the
     latter, on the following day, served the stakeholder
     with notice “not to part with their money,” and the
     Tipton still asserted himself to be “Champion of
     England.”

     Upon this unsportsmanlike proceeding the Editor
     commented with much severity, arguing that if such
     practices were pursued, there would be an end to all
     confidence between man and man in sporting matters, and
     would assuredly deter any one from posting money on any
     similar event, as well as from holding stakes.

Harry Orme having, as we have seen in the preceding chapter, defeated
Aaron Jones a second time, was strongly urged to put forth his claim
to the Championship, and to meet Harry Broome on his “advertised”
terms. Months, however, passed before the match was made. First Broome
made one stipulation, and then Orme’s friends showed their “stupid
cleverness” in a counter-proposition, and there was a cannonade of
angry correspondence of the most futile controversial character. Late
in the year 1852, however, articles were signed and delivered for a
fight to come off on the 18th of April, 1853, for £250 a side, the
Editor of _Bell’s Life_ to name the place of fighting, and also
appoint a referee.

Harry, who since developing into a Boniface had become excessively
corpulent, at once placed himself under the care of Levi Eckersley, at
Cleave Hill, near Cheltenham, and here diligently subjected himself to
an immense amount of work. Orme went into training near Maidstone,
whence, the Monday before the battle, he removed to Greenstreet Green,
in Kent.

It being stipulated in the articles that the stakeholder should name
the whereabouts for the event, a special train was engaged on the
Eastern Counties Railway, for “an excursion of 100 miles or
thereabouts,” the exact spot being undivulged to the general sporting
public, lest the gentry then known as “Cheapsiders” should get down
“by hook or by crook,” and, by alarming the county, spoil sport. The
arrangements with the railway company were made with despatch, and the
gentlemen at the Shoreditch Station took every care to make such
dispositions on the eventful morning as effectually to prevent any of
the unprivileged classes from obtaining admittance. The time for
starting was nominally a quarter-past eight, but long before that hour
the neighbourhood of Shoreditch was in a perfect ferment; the streets
and the station-yard were crowded with spectators anxious to get a
glimpse of the chief performers in the forthcoming drama; but in this
they were disappointed, as they had both proceeded a certain distance
on the line of march on the previous day. As the time for starting
approached, the arrival of cabs and other vehicles was incessant, and
it was perfectly clear that there would be a very large muster of
patrons of the sport, the majority of whom were what Pierce Egan would
have called “reg’lar nobs and tip-top swells,” but who are, in the
present Ring vernacular, classed as patrician and Corinthian patrons
of the noble art. At no fight for many years past had there been such
a congregation of noblemen and gentlemen; and certainly at no
encounter since that between Caunt and Bendigo, in 1845, was so much
interest excited. Among the company present we were glad to observe
some patrons of the Ring of the Old School――gentlemen who remembered
the battles of Cribb, Spring, Hickman (the Gas-man), Oliver, &c. There
was also a good sprinkling of Turfites present, attracted partly owing
to its being a bye-day in the racing world, and partly by the fact
that Orme’s backer was a gentlemen well known in the betting-ring.
Among the latest arrivals at the station was the “Arch” Bishop of Bond
Street, with a considerable number of his flock. The reverend “gent.”
although suffering from gout, had strained a point to be present at
such an important contest, no doubt anticipating that the winner would
insist upon his “crowning” him upon the spot; but in this the “mad
priest” was disappointed: his services were not required, and he had
to return to town after the battle, without being called upon to
distinguish himself in any manner except in the voracious devouring of
the contents of a huge sandwich-box, which he was compelled to attack
by the calls of appetite, and in the ceremony of swallowing which he
highly distinguished himself. At length the train was full, the
station-doors were closed, and at half-past eight precisely the
whistle sounded, and we were off. The caravan, consisting of some
sixteen carriages, all of which were crammed, proceeded steadily on
its way until we reached Bishop Stortford, where we took in Orme (for
the fight), and water (for the engine). The next stoppage was
Elsenham, where Broome got into the train, and the engineer received
his orders as to the final destination. He, acting under directions,
pulled up at Ely, where a pilot, who had gone on the previous day,
took up his position on the train, and informed us of that of which we
had already our misgivings――viz., that an immense number of persons
had gone by parliamentary train from London to Mildenhall, early in
the morning, and were there in waiting to receive the combatants and
their friends. This being the case, proved the correctness of the
precautions we had taken in sending on a pilot beforehand. That
gentleman now undertook to conduct us to a spot where business could
be proceeded with in peace and comfort, and the train once again sped
on its way. As we passed Mildenhall, we saw hundreds of disappointed
travellers, who had been patiently waiting all the morning, and who
were thus, very properly, baulked in their parsimonious intentions. At
Lakenheath, the next station, we perceived a company of mounted blues
in readiness to spoil sport. These worthies, like the would-be
spectators at Mildenhall, also had their trouble and expense for
nothing. There was no intention of breaking the peace within their
bailiwick, so still the train went on. At length the appointed spot
was reached, between two stations, and about 108 miles from London.
Here a hasty debarkation was effected, and the train returned to the
nearest station. Tom Oliver, his son, and Tom Callas, at once
proceeded to erect the lists, while Dan Dismore carried on a brisk
business in the sale of inner-ring tickets. Some idea of the number of
gentlemen present may be gathered from the fact that the tickets so
disposed of realised between £40 and £50. There were, of course, a
great number of outsiders on the ground, but owing to the precautions
that had been taken in keeping things dark, the total number of
spectators did not exceed 2,000. All these persons, by the admirable
arrangements, and the activity of the ring-keepers of the Pugilistic
Association, obtained an admirable view of the contest throughout, and
we did not, during the day, hear of a single disturbance calculated in
the slightest degree to interfere with the sport, or those anxious to
witness it. By a quarter-past one o’clock the ring was completed. Orme
immediately pitched his castor within the ropes, and followed himself,
attended by Tom Sayers and Jack Grant. He looked well and hardy, and
wore a smile of confidence on his good-humoured mug. In about ten
minutes more the other Harry made his appearance, closely followed by
Bill Hayman, of Birmingham, and Callaghan, of Derby, his brother
Johnny being, as he had promised, “in the corner.” Harry smiled, and
shook hands with t’other Harry, and both were loudly cheered. The
ceremony of peeling now commenced, and by half-past one the men were
delivered at the scratch in fighting undress.

On toeing the scratch, there was a very perceptible difference in the
appearance of the men. Broome overtopped his adversary a good two
inches, and was proportionably longer in reach. His weight, we are
told, did not exceed 12st. 5lbs., but of this he might well have
spared half a stone. There was much loose flesh about his back, chest,
and ribs, and although he was evidently in rude health, he had not
been drawn fine enough to stand a long day’s work under such a burning
sun as shone down upon the combatants during the fight. Broome, had he
been permitted to take that pains with himself requisite to make him
fit, would have been about as awkward a customer as could have been
well conceived. As it was, however, he was so much harassed with law
and other proceedings that he could not pay that attention to his
training that he otherwise would have done. We think at 11st. 8lbs.
his condition would be about perfection. His attitude, as he stood
awaiting the attack, was admirable, and, had it not been for his fat,
he would have looked all over a gladiator. Orme, whose colour is
almost mahogany, is barely 5ft. 8in. in height, but is a thick-set,
powerful fellow, with a frame of iron, long arms, a perfect bull-neck,
and a pair of understandings fit for an Atlas. His weight was 11st.
8lbs., and of this scarcely 2lbs. was superfluous stuff. His attitude,
when on the defensive, is not graceful, but he looks rough and ready,
his dangerous right being across his mark, but always ready to be
dashed out at the least opening on his adversary’s ribs. It was clear
that there was a determination on both sides “to do or die,” and the
spectators made up their minds that they were in for a good thing.
Before the men entered the ring, the betting was 6 and 7 to 4 on
Broome, but these odds were, previous to the fight, increased to 2 to
1, at which price a good deal of business was done. The colours having
been duly tied to the stakes (blue and white spot for Broome, green,
with small white rings thereon for Orme), the signal was given that
all was in readiness, and “time” was called.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Broome, after one or two feints, approached
     his man and attempted to draw him, but Orme was wary,
     and stepped back. They both then advanced and retreated
     several times, Broome repeatedly making attempts to kid
     his man within reach, but Orme was too wary. Broome
     scratched his ear, as endeavouring to rouse an idea
     what to do next, when Orme approached and lunged out
     heavily with his right out of distance; Broome then let
     fly both hands, but was neatly stopped. Orme now went
     up to his man and sent out both mauleys, but Broome
     jumped away. More sparring and fiddling, Orme several
     times stopping Broome’s left. At length Broome crept
     close again, lunged out one, two――his left was stopped,
     but his right just reached the left side of Orme’s nut;
     Orme returned very heavily with his right on the ribs,
     and after receiving a gentle tap on the forehead from
     Broome’s left, the latter closed, and both rolled over.
     This round lasted eight minutes, and at once showed to
     the spectators that Orme was much better on his legs
     and cleverer at stopping than the public had given him
     credit for.

     2.――Again did each man make ineffectual feints out of
     distance. Broome at length let go his left, but Orme
     jumped cleverly away. Broome tried it again, but was
     stopped. “There’s luck in odd numbers,” however, for,
     in a third attempt, he got home heavily on Orme’s left
     peeper, and then on his mouth, and, on Orme rushing at
     him to make a return, Broome turned his back and ran
     round the ring. They quickly got together again, when,
     after one or two very slight exchanges, Orme got down.

     3.――Broome, on nearing his man, led off with his left,
     and reached Orme’s kissing-trap. Sharp counter-hits
     followed, Orme reaching Broome’s left ogle with his
     right, and Broome getting heavily home on Orme’s right
     eye. A few weaving half-arm hits followed to a close,
     and both were down, Orme under.

     4.――Broome feinted with his left, but it was no go. At
     length he succeeded in drawing Orme, who rattled at
     him, when Broome propped him heavily on the left
     peeper, drawing “first blood” from a cut on the brow.
     Some heavy exchanges followed, Orme delivering his
     right with terrific force on Broome’s ribs three times,
     and receiving heavy spanks in return on his right ogle
     and mouth, drawing more claret, and in the end, as Orme
     lunged out with his right, his head came forward, and
     Broome administered a terrific upper-cut in the mark,
     which doubled him up completely. Orme turned round, and
     gradually fell to the ground. It was now thought to be
     all over, but Orme, being in good condition, quickly
     rallied.

     5.――Orme, on coming up, showed marks of Broome’s
     visitations on his right peeper, which was beginning to
     close, while the marks on Broome’s ribs proved that
     Orme’s right had done him good service in that quarter.
     Broome dodged his man, and on Orme poking his head
     forwards, instantly dashed in his left on the dexter
     optic. He tried to repeat it, but was stopped. Both now
     let fly out of distance, crept close, and Broome made
     his one, two, on the right eye and side of Orme’s
     canister. Orme returned with severity on the ribs, and
     then on Broome’s mouth. A pause ensued, during which
     Broome put down his hands. On lifting them again he
     approached Orme, planted one hand on the forehead, and
     the other on the left lug, and cleverly jumped away
     from Orme’s return. Broome made two attempts to repeat
     the dose, but Orme got quickly away. Orme now took a
     turn, swung out his right heavily on the ribs, and got
     away. Long sparring followed, during which the
     perspiration came from Broome’s every pore――the sun was
     insufferably hot for the time of year, and must have
     been distressing to both men. Caution was now the order
     of the day, until Broome got within distance, when he
     sent out his left and caught Orme on the right eye, but
     not heavily; this he repeated, when Orme again swung
     out his right, catching Broome heavily on the ribs, and
     jumped away. Some wild hitting out of distance
     succeeded, but, on their getting steadier, Broome let
     go his left spank in Orme’s mouth, and jumped away;
     again he crept close, made his one, two heavily on the
     left and right cheek, drawing claret from the latter.
     On Orme attempting to rush in, Broome again turned tail
     and ran across the ring. Orme followed him up, when
     Broome jumped quickly round and delivered his left
     heavily on the right cheek. Orme countered him heavily
     on the mazzard――received another spank on the right
     cheek, when Broome once more turned his back and
     retreated. Long sparring for wind now took place, after
     which there was some mutual stopping. Broome, at length
     caught Orme sharply on the mouth and right cheek, which
     brought them to a rally, in which Orme’s right was
     excessively busy on Broome’s ribs, while the returns of
     Broome did no execution. The repeated “thuds” on his
     ribs made Broome wince, and screw himself up, evidently
     with pain; he retired, blowing, while Orme (instead of
     following him up) stood in the middle of the ring until
     Broome recovered himself. The latter now popped in his
     left on the right cheek, but Orme countered him with
     the left heavily on the nozzle, drawing claret from a
     cut on the bridge of that organ, which, in Harry, as
     well as Johnny Broome, is slightly of the Roman order.
     Orme also caught Broome another spank on the ribs with
     his right, which led to heavy exchanges, in the course
     of which Broome reached Orme’s mouth and right cheek,
     while the latter caught Broome a tremendous hit on the
     left eyebrow, with his right, inflicting a deep,
     perpendicular cut, and drawing the ruby in profusion.
     Broome retired, and wiped away the fluid as it ran into
     his ogle, Orme again refusing to profit by opportunity,
     and go in while his man was confused. Broome soon
     recovered his presence of mind, went at his man, and,
     after some rattling exchanges, Orme was down, amidst
     the vociferous cheers of his friends, who considered
     that in this round he had infinitely the best of the
     hitting. It was a tremendous round, lasting sixteen
     minutes, during the greater part of which time the
     hitting was extremely severe.

     6.――Both came up puffing, and their countenances
     considerably changed since the last round. After a good
     deal of sparring out of distance, Broome opened the
     ball, just reaching Orme’s nose with his left. A second
     attempt was frustrated by Orme jumping away and lunging
     out his right most viciously at the body; luckily,
     however, for the Champion, it did not reach him, or it
     would most assuredly have “found him at home.” Broome
     again crept up, caught Orme on the potato-trap with his
     left, but was prettily stopped in a second attempt. He
     tried once more, reached Orme’s left whisker-bed, but
     napped it heavily on the sore spot, his left eyebrow,
     from which a fresh tap was instantly opened. Broome
     retreated to wipe away the carmine from his peeper, and
     as Orme attempted to follow him up, he met him with a
     straight shooter on the mouth, which opened up another
     spring. This caused Orme to rush in wildly, when he
     caught it severely on the smeller, from which more
     claret trickled; Broome then closed, and, after a long
     struggle, threw and fell heavily on Orme.

     7.――Broome led off with his left, but was neatly
     stopped; he tried again left and right, and was again
     parried, Orme returning a stinger with his right on the
     left eye. Orme now took the initiative, dashed in
     regardless of consequences, and was propped heavily on
     the left eye. This led to tremendous counter-hits with
     the left, each getting well home on his opponent’s
     smelling-bottle. A ding-dong rally followed, both
     getting it severely on the mouth and nose, left and
     right, and Orme punching Broome’s ribs with great
     severity. At length they closed, and rolled over
     together, Orme under.

     8.――Both came up much the worse for wear. They sparred
     cautiously for wind, until Broome got close and sent
     out his left, which Orme parried, and missed his
     return. Broome led off twice in succession; the first
     time Orme jumped away, but the second Broome paid a
     visit to his right cheek. Orme then made his left on
     the chest, Broome returning with both hands on the side
     of his opponent’s nut and his right cheek-bone. Two
     more attempts were cleverly stopped by Orme, after
     which they rested a short time. Broome was first to
     recommence, caught Orme on the left cheek, and received
     another awkward reminder on the left eyebrow from
     Orme’s right sledge-hammer. Heavy exchanges followed,
     Orme getting well home on Broome’s mug and nose, and
     Broome on the right ogle and mouth. Broome now resorted
     to his old system of turning his back and running away,
     Orme after him. Broome at length turned round, let out
     his left, but was countered heavily on the nozzle and
     mouth. Heavy hits were now exchanged, left and right,
     and in the end Orme caught Broome full on the point of
     his conk, drawing the ruby in profusion, and knocking
     the Champion off his legs; “first knock-down” being
     awarded to Orme amidst vociferous cheering. This round,
     which, like the fifth, was extremely severe, lasted
     twelve minutes.

     9.――Broome came up snuffling; the crack on his
     snuff-box in the last round had evidently been a
     teazer. His left eye was fast closing, and the hopes of
     the East Enders began to be in the ascendant. The
     betting receded almost to even money, and it was clear
     Broome had made the discovery that his adversary was no
     such catch as people had expected. He, nevertheless,
     opened the proceedings by dashing out his left, which
     was well stopped. Counter-hits followed, Broome
     reaching his opponent’s left cheek, and receiving in
     return on the mouth. Broome next made play left and
     right, caught the gallant Orme heavily on each cheek,
     and then, closing, threw and fell on him. (One hour had
     now elapsed.)

     10.――Broome once more took the lead, but was prettily
     stopped. Heavy counter-hits followed, Broome on the
     nose and Orme on the left cheek. A close at the ropes
     succeeded, when Broome hugged Orme round the neck.
     Orme, however, punched away at his ribs until Broome
     released him, and Orme retreated to the centre of the
     ring, whither Broome followed him, and some heavy
     exchanges took place, Orme reaching Broome’s nose and
     left peeper, and Broome punishing him severely on the
     mouth. In the end Orme got down.

     11.――Broome, first to open the ball, caught Orme
     sharply on the ivory box with his left, drawing claret
     and loosening several of his head rails. Orme would not
     be stalled off, but immediately rattled in, when some
     heavy counter-hitting took place, each getting it
     severely on the nose and mouth. A break away and at it
     again. The hitting in this round was really tremendous,
     both men staggering away after the counters, and each
     having his cork drawn to some purpose. At length they
     closed, and after a slight struggle Orme got down.

     12.――Broome, in coming up, looked weak and distressed.
     Orme was also by no means in good order; both his
     cheeks were considerably swollen, and his mouth was
     “reethur” out of shape. Orme led off, but was well
     stopped. A second attempt from his right reached
     Broome’s ribs very heavily, and caused the latter to
     wince like a galled horse. He quickly got over it,
     however, and dashed out his left on Orme’s mouth. He
     tried again, but Orme stepped back, propping Master
     Broome on the sneezer with his left as he came in.
     Exchanges followed, Orme inflicting a fresh cut under
     Broome’s left peeper, and receiving sharply on his
     damaged kissing trap. In the end Orme got down to avoid
     the fall.

     13.――Broome, after a little cautious sparring, let go
     his left and right, but was short, and Orme immediately
     returned on his right peeper; Broome retreated, and as
     Orme came after him Broome sent out his left on the
     mouth again, drawing the cork freely. Broome now made
     two attempts to get in his one, two, but on each
     occasion Orme was too quick for him, and jumped away.
     In a third attempt he reached Orme’s smeller, a heavy
     nose-ender, which again tapped his best October. He
     repeated the dose on the mug, whereupon Orme dashed in,
     caught him on the left cheek with his right, closed,
     and, after a short struggle, both were down.

     14.――Orme feinted with his left, and then dashed in his
     right on Broome’s left ogle, a very heavy hit. Broome
     returned on the mouth, and then retreated; some
     sparring at a distance followed, and on their again
     getting close, Broome sent out both mawleys, but was
     cleverly stopped. Orme then popped in his left on the
     right cheek, and Broome, in getting away from further
     visitations, fell through the ropes.

     15.――Both slow to the call of “time,” and on reaching
     the scratch they stood and looked at each other until
     Orme advanced, when Broome tried to meet him with his
     left, but Orme stopped him neatly twice, and at a third
     attempt jumped away. Orme then again crept in and made
     his right tell heavily on the ribs. Broome now sent
     home his left and right on the left ogle and nose of
     Orme, repeated the dose on the nose and mouth heavily,
     and as Orme dashed in with his right on the ribs,
     Broome caught him a tremendous upper-cut on the mark
     with his right, and Orme fell.

     16.――Orme, on coming up, appeared to have suffered
     severely from the upper-cut in the last round; he was
     evidently much shaken, in addition to which both his
     eyes were gradually going. He nevertheless tried to
     lead off left and right, but his blows wanted power.
     Broome returned on the left cheek, and then on the
     mouth, Orme’s return being out of distance. Orme still
     persevered, but got propped heavily on the nose from
     Broome’s left. Broome at length closed, when Orme
     punched him heavily on the ribs, but Broome succeeded
     in throwing and falling heavily on him.

     17.――Orme led off left and right, but was stopped; he
     then rushed in, and was propped heavily on the nose,
     and got down. (Time, one hour and a half.)

     18.――Broome rattled in left and right on the ogles of
     Orme, and got away. Orme followed him up, reached his
     chest with the left, and was propped heavily on the
     left cheek. Broome closed, and catching Orme round the
     neck, hugged him until Orme dropped on his knees. Orme
     then put his hands round Broome’s thigh, but Broome got
     away, and walked to his corner. A claim of “foul” was
     made on the part of Broome, on the ground that he
     (Orme) had attempted to pull him over by catching him
     below the waistband. The claim, however, was not
     allowed, the referee believing that Orme was utterly
     unaware as to where he had caught hold of Broome.

     19.――Broome again led off left and right, reaching
     Orme’s cheek and mouth heavily. A close, and some
     in-fighting in favour of Broome, followed by a
     break-away, and at it again, Broome delivering heavily
     on Orme’s nose and eyes, and drawing claret from
     several bottles. In the end Broome closed, and threw
     his man again, making the unpleasant addition of his
     own weight.

     20.――Both long in answering to the call of time, but
     Broome first up. On getting close Orme caught Broome on
     the ribs, and was countered sharply on the nose. Broome
     then took the lead, and planted on his right cheek
     heavily. This brought them to some sharp exchanges in
     favour of Broome. In the end, Orme got down on his
     knees, and Broome caught him on the _os frontis_ with
     his left while in that position. A claim of “foul” was
     now made by Orme’s friends, but it was clear Broome’s
     blow had started before Orme reached the ground, and
     could not have been withheld. The decision was again
     “fair,” and the mill proceeded.

     21.――Broome, after one or two feints, let go his left,
     reaching Orme’s snuff-box with effect; slight exchanges
     ensued, and Orme again got down weak.

     22.――Broome, seeing his man was much shaken, at once
     went to work, caught Orme heavily on the left cheek,
     and closed at the ropes, where he hung on Orme; the
     latter pegged away at Broome’s ribs until he let him
     go, and Orme then planted his right heavily on Broome’s
     left cheek. Tremendous exchanges followed, each
     staggering from the effects of the blows, Broome
     reaching Orme’s left eye and nose, and he receiving on
     the left peeper and ribs. Broome then stepped back, and
     as Orme came again caught him heavily on the left ogle,
     and Orme fell. Both were now much distressed, and lay
     on their backs on the ground until time was called.

     23.――Orme was the first at the scratch, and attempted
     to lead off, but Broome got cleverly away, and then
     went at his man, delivering both hands on the mouth and
     nose heavily, and jumped easily away from Orme’s
     returns, which were sadly out of distance. Orme,
     however, followed him up, and although Harry met him
     full on the snout, he planted his dangerous right on
     the ribs with astonishing effect. Harry then reached
     Orme’s sinister peeper heavily, drawing more of the
     Falernian, and finally shut up the shop. Rattling
     exchanges followed, Broome getting well home on the
     mouth, and receiving a slogging right-hander on the
     jaw, from the effects of which he staggered back and
     fell in his corner.

     24.――Orme came up almost blind, but still he
     persevered; he feinted, and tried to get on to Broome,
     who stepped cleverly away, and waited for the attack.
     Orme did not keep him long in suspense, but dashed out
     left and right; the former was stopped, but the latter
     reached Broome’s damaged peeper, drawing more blood.
     Broome, however, by way of retaliation, cross-countered
     him on the nose heavily, again drawing a crimson
     stream. Broome now walked to his corner, took a sponge
     and wiped his eye, and went at it again, caught Orme
     heavily on the point of the nose with his left, and
     Orme dropped on his knees, Broome again catching him a
     snorter just as he reached _terra firma_, giving rise
     to another appeal, which was not allowed.

     25.――Caution the order of the day, both evidently
     tired. Orme at last led off, and caught Broome with his
     right on the side of his cranium, on which Broome
     closed, and Orme immediately got down.

     26.――Orme led off with his left, but was short. Broome
     quickly returned one, two, on his left cheek and mug,
     and got away from Orme’s return. Orme persevered and
     bored in, but Broome hit him straight on the cheek,
     Orme being again out of distance with his returns. At
     last he reached Broome’s ribs with a heavy
     right-hander, and Broome returned on the mouth. Both
     now retired to their corners, and permitted their
     seconds to wipe their phisogs for them, and took a pull
     of “Adam’s ale,” after which refreshing ceremony they
     once more returned to the scratch, and Broome let fly
     his left on Orme’s left cheek, closed, and after a
     short struggle both were down. (Two hours had now
     expired.)

     27.――Broome set a good example by dashing out his left
     on Orme’s right cheek, which led to light exchanges at
     the ropes. Orme then walked to the middle of the ring,
     whither Broome followed, gave him a spank in the left
     eye, and walked away. He again approached his man,
     caught him heavily on the mouth, and in return received
     another rib-bender from Orme’s right. Broome now made
     his right tell on Orme’s ribs, and in getting away from
     the return fell.

     28.――Orme, although almost in darkness, led off with
     his right on the ribs――he attempted a repetition, but
     Broome caught him heavily on the mouth and then on the
     nose. After some slight exchanges in favour of Broome,
     they again retired to their corners and had a rest, and
     came at it again; Orme was receiver-general, and in the
     end got down.

     29.――Orme again led off, but was well stopped; he tried
     it yet once more, but from the style of his hitting it
     was pretty clear he could scarcely see his adversary.
     He, however, reached Broome’s ribs heavily after one or
     two attempts, and Broome missed a well-intended
     upper-cut in return. The latter, however, soon
     approached his now fast-sinking adversary, delivered
     his left and right heavily on Orme’s left ogle and
     smeller, drawing a fresh supply of claret from the
     latter, and knocking his man down.

     30.――Orme came up very groggy and wild, but determined;
     he led off with his right, but Broome laughingly
     stepped on one side; he tried again but was stopped,
     and received heavily on the left eye and mouth, and was
     again knocked down. His backers and seconds, seeing
     that it was useless to prolong the contest, wished to
     throw up the sponge, but the gallant fellow would not
     hear of it, and he laid on his back until time was
     called, when he again went to the scratch for the

     31st and last round.――It was evident that he came up
     only to receive, and that he was struggling against
     nature; he was all but blind, and tremendously punished
     about the head, but was still tolerably strong on his
     pins. He led off wildly, but of course was out of
     distance. Broome then went to him, administered the
     _coup de grâce_, in the shape of a gentle tap on the
     nose, and the brave fellow went to earth almost
     insensible. Tom Sayers now threw up the sponge, and
     Harry Broome was proclaimed the victor, and still
     Champion of England, amidst the vociferous cheers of
     his friends. The battle lasted exactly _two hours and
     eighteen minutes_. All being over, all at once made for
     the station to which the train had been removed, the
     vanquished man being conveyed there on a truck. The
     only personage left behind on the ground was Jem Burn,
     who, being still a martyr to the gout, declined
     attempting to walk a good mile along the railway to the
     station, and intimated his intention of remaining on
     the field of battle all night. All necessity for his
     imposing on himself such a penalty as this was,
     however, avoided by the engineer taking the engine and
     tender which had been attached to the train down the
     line to the place where “my nevvy” was located, and
     bringing him up, sitting on a heap of coke, to the door
     of the carriage in which his patrons were already
     seated. All now quickly ensconced themselves in the
     train, and the homeward journey was commenced about
     half-past four o’clock, and the Metropolis was reached
     about eight o’clock, after many stoppages. On the
     homeward passage a collection was made for the game and
     resolute Orme, which reached the handsome sum of £22,
     and this was considerably increased at the giving up of
     the stakes.

     REMARKS.――This battle took everybody by surprise. On
     the one hand, there had been continual rumours that
     Broome never intended fighting, that he could not
     possibly get himself anywhere near fit, and that the
     match would end in a juggle. On the other, it was
     asserted that Orme had overreached himself, and was
     flying at too high game; that he would never be able to
     reach Harry Broome, and must be beaten in half an hour.
     Our readers will perceive, by the foregoing account,
     that the “croakers” were far from the mark. The fight
     was the best we have had for years between two big men.
     Broome has lost none of his scientific acquirements. He
     is a good straight hitter, clever at stopping, an
     excellent wrestler, and quick on his pins. He is,
     however, remarkably awkward in getting away when in
     difficulty――instead of jumping back, as we are
     accustomed to see others do, he turns his back and
     runs, leaving himself open to severe punishment from a
     cleverer tactician than Orme. Although he was much out
     of condition, and was hit very hard, both in the ribs
     and on the frontispiece, and several times was in great
     difficulties, he persevered most gamely throughout, and
     took his punishment like a thorough glutton. Should he
     make another match, he ought to commence training much
     earlier than he did on the present occasion, and reduce
     himself certainly to 11st. 10lb., which is the outside
     weight at which he ought to fight. If he does this, we
     think, looking at the way in which he fought on Monday,
     he will prove himself a tough customer to all comers,
     and the man who wrests the laurels of the Championship
     from him will have reason to be proud of his
     achievement. Orme, since his last battle with Aaron
     Jones, has wonderfully improved in science and
     quickness. On Monday, for a considerable length of
     time, Broome found it exceedingly difficult to get on
     to him; he could stop well, get away sharply, and,
     directly he saw an opening, was ready with his
     dangerous right, which, as will be seen above, proved a
     dreadful teaser to the flesh-covered ribs of Broome. We
     consider him to be the severest hitter of the present
     day, and did he but understand leading off with his
     left, instead of giving his head, as he must
     necessarily do when he makes play with his right, would
     be “hard to beat.” The knock-down blow on Broome’s nose
     and jaw, and one or two of the punches in the ribs,
     administered early in the fight, were of such a nature
     as for the time to reduce Broome to a standstill, and
     had Orme only possessed the requisite skill to follow
     up his advantage, things might have presented a very
     serious aspect as regarded Broome’s chance of winning.
     By saying that Orme did not possess skill, we do not
     for an instant impute to him a want of ordinary boxing
     capability, but a want of tact in knowing when to
     “force the pace,” and prevent his opponent recovering
     wind and strength. Had Orme been capable of pursuing
     that system, the result might have been “a horse of
     another colour.” This only applies to the earlier part
     of the contest. After the upper-cut administered on the
     mark in the 15th round, a great deal of the steel was
     taken out of Orme, and we are informed that he felt
     sick during the remainder of the fight, while Broome
     slowly, but surely, improved his position. Although
     Orme now and then got again on the damaged ogle and
     ribs, Broome almost invariably met him on the eyes and
     mouth, gradually reducing his chance, until, in the
     last round, he was completely blind, and nature had
     deserted him. Some remarks were made on the novelty of
     the men retiring to their corners, and “taking a drink”
     during the rounds. We do not recollect ever witnessing
     a similar scene before; but the want of condition on
     the part of Broome, combined with the heat of the day,
     was a very good excuse for his adopting such a plan,
     and as it was resorted to by one, there could, of
     course, be no reason why the example should not be
     followed by the other. The battle, from first to last,
     was a manly, upright struggle for pre-eminence――neither
     man attempted to take an unworthy advantage――and had it
     not been for the ridiculous appeals made by the seconds
     on each side, would have been a model mill in every
     sense of the word. Such a fight for the Championship
     has not been seen for very many years.

Once again the Old Tipton made public his “grievance,” declaring that
the award of “foul” in their former encounter had deprived him of the
honour of the belt and the profit of the stakes, and that the bold
Harry held the Championship by “a fluke.” Harry accepted his offer,
and articles were entered into, but when £25 were posted, Broome
forfeited the money down; his plea being that he had an engagement
with Aaron Jones (this went off), and another with Paddock. Forfeits
seem to have been in fashion in 1855. On February 20th, 1855, Harry
Broome forfeited £180 to Tom Paddock, and on March 12th, £10 to the
same. In March, 1856, the Tipton received £70 forfeit from Aaron
Jones; and on October 2nd, 1856, he also received £80 forfeit from Tom
Paddock. Pleasant times for the _bonâ fide_ backers of men!

It would have been well for Broome’s fame had his hard-won victory
over the gallant Harry Orme been the closing scene of his Ring career;
his increasing bulk, as was evident to all who knew him, forbade the
absolutely necessary reduction of weight which must precede anything
like fitness for a pugilistic contest of a prolonged and severe
character. Not so, however, thought Harry Broome. On the 12th of
December, 1855, he signed articles with Tom Paddock, for £200 a side,
for a meeting on May 19th, 1856, and on that day experienced his final
defeat, of which the full details will be found in the Memoir of
PADDOCK in our preceding chapter (pp. 294-303).

From this time forth Harry fell out of the rank of claimants for the
“blue riband” of the P.R., leaving the struggle for supremacy to
Paddock, Aaron Jones, the Tipton Slasher, and the little pugilistic
phenomenon of 10st. 12lbs. who successively beat all three of them,
and whose exploits form the subject of our next chapter.

Harry left London in 1856, and became the landlord of the Albion
Tavern, in Warblington Street, Portsmouth, which was soon famous as a
sporting rendezvous. From this house he backed several good men, the
best known of whom was the unlucky Bill Bainge, or Benjamin, who as
“Broome’s Novice” was twice unsuccessfully brought out to check the
upward and onward career of Tom Sayers to the eminence of the
Championship. For a few years following Harry was a public caterer and
attendant at the principal race-meetings. The last time we met him in
the flesh――and he had then too much of it――was at Epsom in 1865, in
Gladiateur’s year, when, in reply to an inquiry after his health and
prospects, he told us he was “in charge” of the Count Lagrange’s
invaluable horse; we suspect as a “watcher,” for which he was
formidably well qualified, physically as well as mentally. He was,
however, aptly described by a friend as “all to pieces,” and this was
shown by his death, which soon followed, on the 2nd of November in the
above-named year, at the early age of 39 years.[27]


     [27] It may interest some readers to know that we are
     indebted to Harry Broome’s early opponent, Joe Rowe, for the
     original of the portrait which faces the first page of this
     memoir. In our search after authentic likenesses, we learned
     that “Joe” still flourished as the proprietor of a cigar and
     tobacco store in Sun Street, Finsbury. Thither we bent our
     steps, and there we found a pleasant-spoken and
     young-looking specimen of the fair sex, who, in answer to
     our inquiries, announced herself as Mrs. Rowe. Our first
     impression was that we had chanced upon “Young Joe’s” bride;
     but no, it was the spouse of “Old Joe,” who was “kicking up
     behind and before,” and in his sixty-second year is
     proprietor of the lady and the “Sultan Cigar Stores.” A
     shake of the hand and a recognition, a smoke, and a
     “liquor-up,” renewed acquaintance; and as Joe has a
     portfolio of “sporting celebrities,” he cheerfully placed
     them at our disposal, for which we thus record our thanks.




APPENDIX TO PERIOD VII.


Of the numerous pugilistic pretenders who did battle during the years
comprised between the Championships of Bendigo and that of Harry
Broome, few deserve the honour of a separate memoir, or even of a
recapitulation of their battles. The best of the fights, indeed, may
be safely credited to the middle and light-weight men, who were, by
their class, excluded from competing with the big ones for the
Championship.

Of these, Hammer Lane, Jem Wharton (Young Molyneaux), Johnny Broome,
Johnny Hannan, Owen Swift, Ned Adams, Mike Madden, Bill Hayes,
Donnelly, and others, will be found in the Author’s “Recollections of
the Ring,” to which the reader is referred. Here it is proposed to
insert, with a brief notice, the best battle of such heavy-weights as
appear in these pages as the antagonists of the men whose biographies
are included in this Period.




I.――BRASSEY (JOHN LEECHMAN), OF BRADFORD, AND YOUNG LANGAN, OF
LIVERPOOL, FOR £100.


In the Memoir of CAUNT (_ante_ pp. 60-69) will be found the details of
Brassey’s gallant contest with the gigantic Champion, October 26th,
1840. That John Leechman had fair pretentions to be selected by his
patrons to do battle with “Big Ben,” the subjoined account of his
fight with Young Langan, of Liverpool, in the October of the previous
year, will show.

John Leechman, whose height was six feet, and weight 12st. 7lbs., was
born at Bradford, in Yorkshire, on the 1st of January, 1815. His first
battle, recorded in “Fistiana,” was in 1831, when, at the age of 16,
he defeated one Thomas Hartley, at Eccles Moor, near Leeds, after a
tough fight of an hour and a quarter. On August 24th, in the same
year, he took the same time to batter one Ned Batterson, in 72 rounds.
He then fought, at Harpurhey, near Manchester, in May, 1833, Young
Winterflood, of Nottingham, for an hour, when the affair ended in a
wrangle. Brassey next met the well-known Jem Bailey, at Baildon Moor,
and beat him, on the 24th of April, 1835, in 74 rounds, occupying 2
hours and a quarter; Brassey being at the same time sadly out of
condition. Tom Scrutton was also disposed of in 20 minutes, 17 rounds,
on January 11th, 1836; and this brings us to Brassey’s battle with the
eccentric Bendigo. In the memoir of that boxer (_ante_ pp. 7, 8), will
be found the particulars of that defeat, which took place near
Sheffield, on the 24th of May, 1836. Brassey’s former antagonist, Jem
Bailey, now came out, and demanded a second trial, to which Brassey
assented, and the men met at Hales Green, near Pulham, Norfolk.
Although Brassey had won the fight in the 71st round, through the
indecision or misconduct of the referee, Bailey’s backers raised a
dispute, sued the stakeholder, and recovered back their money. We now
come to the battle with Young Langan, of Liverpool, which, except his
defeat by Tass Parker, is Brassey’s only fight worth preserving.

This contest, which was decided on the 8th of October, 1839, at
Woodhead, in Cheshire, excited an unusual degree of interest, not only
among the friends of each man, but throughout all sporting circles in
Yorkshire, Lancashire and the Midlands. Brassey was trained near
Norwich, under the personal superintendence of the veteran Ned
Painter, who accompanied his pupil to the scene of action. Langan took
his exercise at Bootle, near Liverpool, in company with Tommy Britton,
and his condition was pronounced “perfect.” The ring was formed by the
Liverpool Commissary, and at 25 minutes past one Brassey, accompanied
by Bill Hall, and Gregson Green, the “sporting sweep,” as seconds,
threw in his hat, and was quickly followed by Young Langan, amidst
loud cheering from the Liverpool contingent. The day was magnificent,
the sun shining with splendour, and as Langan lost the toss for
corners, Brassey was placed with his face to the north. Each man was
near upon 13 stone, but Brassey was a little the taller. An objection
having been taken to the length of the spikes in Langan’s shoes, “the
Morocco Prince,” who acted as his second, condescended to waive his
dignity, and a file being procured, he sat down, and in a most
workmanlike style reduced the sharp projections to the dimensions of
“sparrowbills.” Again some delay took place in the selection of a
referee; this point settled, the men stripped for action. The colours,
an orange bandanna for Brassey, and a green and yellow for Langan,
being knotted to the stake, at 23 minutes past two the men shook hands
and stood up for


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Each advanced to the scratch, Langan cool and
     smiling, Brassey looking serious and earnest. After
     slight manœuvring, Langan tried his left, and caught
     his opponent upon the mug. Brassey was impetuous, as if
     his anxiety was outstripping his prudence. He looked
     sternly at his antagonist, let fly, and planted two
     successive right-handers upon Langan’s
     frontispiece――one upon the left eye, and the other on
     the potato-trap; a close, and both down. Upon Langan’s
     rising “first blood” was claimed for Brassey, which was
     perceptible upon Langan’s mouth.

     2.――Langan still wore a good-natured smile, while
     Brassey appeared serious, and the eagerness which he
     displayed was checked by several of his friends, who
     saw that although “his soul was in arms and eager for
     the fray,” yet a little more of “the better part of
     valour――discretion,” might prevent an accident. A
     little sparring――Brassey using his arms _à la Bendigo_.
     Closer and closer went the men, and a few smart
     exchanges took place, when they fell upon the ropes; a
     brief struggle ensued, and both went to the ground.

     3.――No alteration of moment was to be seen upon either
     of the men, except that Langan’s left eye seemed rather
     inclined to renounce the plebeian cast, and become “a
     swell.” Langan held his right arm upon his breast, and
     his left a little advanced; feints from both, when
     Langan shot out with his left, caught Brassey upon the
     pimple, and sent him to grass. Brassey’s second
     objected to this being considered a knock-down blow,
     but the referee decided “first knock-down blow” in
     favour of Langan.

     4.――Brassey came to the scratch with as much eagerness
     as ever, and scowled upon his rival. Langan was not
     dismayed, and the smile of good-humour, before noticed,
     assumed, for an instant, that of derision; he was,
     however, cautious, and played about actively. Brassey
     tried his right, was well parried, ditto with his left,
     when Langan receded a pace or two, and escaped a nasty
     one for his nob. Langan tried his luck, when a rapid
     bout of in-fighting ensued, which terminated in
     Brassey’s being thrown.

     5.――Upon “time” being called, Langan marched to the
     centre of the ring, and as Brassey did not appear
     inclined to advance so far, Langan pointed to the
     scratch, as much as to say, “Come to the spot, my boy.”
     Brassey kept his station, when Langan “crossed the
     Rubicon,” and a long, dodging round took place, each
     trying his left mauley occasionally without effect,
     until they reached a corner of the ring, when a
     slashing rally followed――Brassey down.

     6.――Brassey was now more quiet in his demeanour, but
     still intent upon mischief; in fact, had he not
     softened down the very strong penchant for going in,
     which he evinced during the five preceding rounds, it
     is questionable whether his eagerness would not have
     led him headlong into mischief. Each man eyed the other
     with determination, Langan tried his left, no
     go――again, it would not fit――again he essayed, and
     caught Brassey a good left-hander upon his dial,
     receiving a straight left-handed one in return upon his
     snuff-box. A quick rally, mutual exchanges, when once
     more Brassey fell.

     7.――The visit which Brassey had paid to Langan’s snout
     was far from pleasant and the claret flowed profusely;
     the left eye also of the young Hibernian began to puff,
     and increase beyond its natural dimensions. Lengthened
     sparring. A close; Langan got away; the men closed
     again, when some severe blows from the right and left
     took place, the punishment being about equal, and in
     the struggle both went down, Langan first on the floor.

     8.――The concluding rally of the last round had not been
     mere play, for each man’s phisog bore _striking proofs_
     of handy work. Brassey was cut over the right eyebrow,
     and was bleeding copiously; and Langan’s left was
     following suit, except that his wound was under the
     eye, and his opponent’s over. Extreme caution was now
     the password. Sparring, and no attempt at a single blow
     for nearly six minutes, which drew forth some volleys
     of hisses at the tardiness of the performers. Two
     minutes more elapsed, and no inclination to go to work,
     when Langan tried his left, missed, and caught a
     tremendous left-hander upon his nut, which, we fancy,
     suffered less than his assailant’s knuckles, and
     Brassey slipped down.

     9.――Langan evidently wished to repay Brassey for his
     kindness, and planted two successive right-handers, one
     upon his weasand, and the other upon his nob. (Loud
     cheers for Langan.) A close, both down.

     10.――Sparring and manœuvring (5 to 4 on Langan).
     Brassey looked daggers, made a feint with his right,
     and made a lunge with his left upon Langan’s body
     corporate. Langan quickly tried a right-handed return,
     failed, immediately seconded his intention with an
     effectual one, when some excellent counters ensued, and
     Brassey went down.

     11.――The men met, when Brassey dropped his arms
     straight down, looked and nodded to his opponent.
     Langan maintained his position, and smiled (loud
     applause). Protracted sparring. Dodging all round the
     ring: another halt; more procrastination. (“Go to
     work,” cried the Morocco Prince; I’m tired of this sort
     of play.”) All was of no avail, the men still continued
     sparring, at last an indifferent rally ended suspense,
     and Brassey was thrown. This round lasted sixteen
     minutes and a half, and no real work done.

     12 and 13.――Mutual returns, with considerable bodily
     exertion, both down in the struggle.

     14.――Very slight variation from the two last.

     15.――Counters. Brassey lunged out, and gave Langan an
     effective muzzler, receiving an excellent left-hander
     by way of “change,” upon his brow, which set the
     crimson flowing. Langan went to his antagonist, when
     Brassey slipped and fell.

     16.――Langan’s lip began to swell, and the gash under
     his left eye still emitted the claret. Brassey’s first
     wound was quite dried up, and a stranger might have
     pronounced it three or four days old. After a little
     sparring, Langan shot out with his left, and fell from
     the over-reach of his own blow.

     17.――Give and take; Brassey down.

     18.――Langan was advancing to the scratch, when some
     cowardly rascal pitched a clod at him, which struck him
     on the hip, without doing any damage. A tedious round,
     when Brassey fell, escaping in his fall a right-handed
     upper-cut from Langan’s bunch of fives.

     19.――Hit for hit; when Langan, in striking out, as
     Brassey jumped back, caught him just below the belt
     with his right. An appeal, but the referee decided the
     blow to be unintentional, and consequently fair, and
     the fight proceeded, Langan getting the worst of the
     rally; both down.

     20, 21, 22, 23, 24.――All in favour of Brassey. A great
     uproar and confusion took place in the last round, in
     the outer ring, which threatened an interruption of the
     mill, but, after some delay, the tumult was quelled,
     and the spectators resumed their stations.

     25 to 33.――Each of these rounds were, more or less, in
     favour of Brassey, although he was invariably
     undermost.

     34.――Langan’s frontispiece was sadly disfigured, whilst
     Brassey’s was tolerably symmetrical. This may be
     accounted for from the fact of Brassey’s flesh not
     swelling, nor his wounds remaining fresh, but quickly
     assuming the appearance of cuts of some standing. From
     this to the 39th round, Langan gradually lost ground,
     though he never flinched from fairly meeting his man.

     40.――Another uproar in the outer ring, with the
     addition of a few heavy clods flying about, the
     Liverpool party containing some noisy members. The men
     proved themselves good ’uns in reality, for they paid
     no attention to the row, but kept to their work, caught
     each other’s open left hand, and delivered two terrific
     round swinging right-handers upon each other’s corpus.
     After some little fibbing Brassey went down, and Langan
     rolled over him.

     41 to 44.――Brassey was evidently gaining ground, and in
     the latter round Langan severely injured his right leg
     in falling against a stake, which made him lame for the
     remainder of the fight.

     45.――Nothing material in this round, except one
     dishonourable knave deliberately cutting the rope of
     the inner ring, and had it not been for the
     praiseworthy activity of little Billy Critchley in
     splicing the same, would doubtless have finished the
     mill with a wrangle.

     46 to 51.――Brassey’s friends were in transports.
     Victory was now booked as certain, and the rowdy upon
     Brassey could find no takers.

     52.――Langan rallied, and up to the 56th round may be
     said at intervals to have turned the tide in his own
     favour; nay, even bets were loudly proclaimed, but
     little tin was sported.

     57.――Brassey was evidently at sea, and the Langanites
     bawled most lustily. Compliment for compliment, each
     party alternately cheering on their man until Brassey
     fell.

     58 to 62.――Both men fought well and to win. Brassey’s
     lower lip had received some stingers from his opponent
     in the way of cutting and carving, while Langan’s
     phisog was quite the reverse of what Lavater would term
     “the exquisite,” strongly reminding us of Kenney
     Meadows’s “Gallery” portrait of the “Man wot won the
     fight.”

     63.――To all appearances it was now extremely doubtful
     which would be the victor. Hit for hit――right and
     left――give and take――advance and retreat, until both
     heroes fell over the ropes and out of the ring.

     64.――Brassey came up and lost no time in drawing the
     claret from Langan’s right peeper, but slipped down
     from exertion.

     65.――Langan’s mug was awful, his left ogle nearly
     closed, and he looked more languid than in any round
     previously; this and the 66th round told against him.

     67.――One effort more; Brassey missed his left, Langan
     grasped him, and with a vigorous strength which we at
     this time thought he did not possess, threw him
     heavily.

     68.――From this to the 73rd round Langan gradually
     continued losing, his left eye being quite closed, his
     right much swollen, and his lips as thick as those of
     Massa Molyneaux; Brassey seemed recovered, and was
     nearly as fresh as ever.

     74.――Brassey, bent upon finishing as soon as possible,
     met his man, delivered his left, then retreated, and as
     Langan stumbled forward, delivered two tremendous
     right-handed blows, which felled him to the ground.

     75.――Upon time being called, Langan was deaf to the
     cry, and Brassey was pronounced the conqueror after a
     protracted struggle of _two hours and thirty-five
     minutes_.

     REMARKS.――The instant the men had peeled the disparity
     in height and length of arm was apparent, which nothing
     short of superior science and activity on the part of
     Langan, which he certainly did not possess, could have
     overcome. In science Brassey is fully equal to Langan,
     while in lasting power he is his superior. In the
     quality of game Langan proved himself a hero; he only
     gave in when nature left him powerless to continue the
     contest. Brassey was quickly himself, and walked to his
     carriage, and Langan, though by far the most punished,
     said, soon after, that he was fairly beaten. Both men
     left the ground, as all British boxers should, with no
     feeling of ill-will towards each other.




II.――TASS (HAZARD) PARKER, OF WEST BROMWICH, AND JOHN LEECHMAN
(BRASSEY), OF BRADFORD, FOR £100.


After Brassey’s defeat by Caunt, already referred to, Tass Parker, of
West Bromwich, offered himself to the notice of Brassey, proposing to
meet him halfway between Bradford and West Bromwich, for £100. Parker,
(whose best fighting weight was 11st. 10lbs.) at catch weight, and
Brassey not to exceed 12st. 7lbs. on the day of fighting, which was
fixed for the 13th of July, 1841; a date which was subsequently
extended to the 10th of August, on which day the men met at Brunt
Lays, near Worksop, under the circumstances and with the result we are
now about to narrate.

Though the match was originally made in Manchester, the celebrity of
the men lent a metropolitan interest to the battle, and on the receipt
of a letter, dated the previous Friday, naming Lindrick Common, Notts,
near Eckington, on the borders of Yorkshire, as the rendezvous, the
writer booked himself, on the Monday, by the North Midland Rail for
Worksop. On arriving at that place he ascertained that Brassey was
already snugly ensconced at a small inn on the borders of Lindrick
Common, aforesaid, under the care of a liberal backer and Jemmy
Wharton (Young Molyneaux). Brassey was in high spirits and full of
confidence, yet we did not, upon a close scrutiny, consider him up to
the mark, and there was a feverishness in his pulse when we shook
hands with him that induced us to question the Black, whereon we were
informed that he had made an eccentric bolt from his training quarters
a few days before, and that otherwise he had not been strictly
observant of the rigid discipline indispensable to A 1 condition.
Nevertheless his friends not only declared him “all right,” but
offered the odds of 6 to 4 in proof of their good opinion. On the same
night Parker arrived, accompanied by Nick Ward, and by Jack Hunt, of
Birmingham. He domiciled at the “Red Lion,” where we saw him on the
following morning. He was in rude health, his corpus as firm as
collared brawn, and in expressing confidence he was by no means more
backward than his foe. The expediency of an early meeting at the scene
of action being admitted, it was agreed that Brassey should go to
scale at 10 o’clock, and that as soon as possible afterwards
operations should commence――a prospect extremely agreeable to some
hundreds, who were desirous of returning the same day to the distant
localities from whence they had come, among whom we noticed several
Corinthians of “the upper crust,” and staunch supporters of the fistic
art.

Precisely at 10 o’clock we reached the Common, where an immense
multitude had already assembled, in every order of vehicle, and
including an extraordinary field of equestrians, who were, however,
far out-numbered by the muster of _toddlers_, a vast number of whom
had devoted the night to the exercise of their pedestrian powers. The
scene was altogether most animated, and rendered not the less so by a
huntsman and a pack of foxhounds taking their morning exercise in the
distance. To all this, however, there were drawbacks which threatened
mischief; the first was the fact of our having passed a body of the
rural police for Nottinghamshire on their march to the Common, and the
next and more serious, the actual presence of a worthy beak for
the county of York, who, however loth, declared he could not
permit hostilities to take place within his jurisdiction. Thus
Nottinghamshire and Yorkshire were _tabooed_, but as Derbyshire, close
adjoining, was unrepresented, it was at once resolved to conduct the
candidates for milling fame to its hospitable meads. In the interim
Brassey was found to be as he should be in “pounds avoirdupois,” and a
general move to the “land of promise” took place. Of pilots there were
abundance, but, as it turned out, not equally happy in their knowledge
of the county; for while Parker and his friends took one road, Brassey
and the Commissary, with the ropes and stakes, took another. The
latter led through bridle paths of the most villainous description,
which had never been traversed but by farmers’ carts, and through
which it was with the greatest difficulty the carriages could be
dragged, not only from the narrowness of the roads, but from the
horrifying ruts by which they were cut up. At last, after
indescribable difficulties, this portion of the cavalcade reached a
field in which it was said the two counties of York and Derby were
divided by a small bank. Here, with great difficulty, from the rocky
character of the subsoil, the ring was formed, and all waited with
patience for the arrival of Parker and his division; but they waited
in vain. It was now ascertained that the ring was still in the county
of Nottingham; a fatal error. At last, when patience was exhausted,
news arrived that Parker had been more successfully led by turnpike
roads to a place called Brunt Lays, near Worksop, and to that place a
move became inevitable.

The materials of the ring having been once more transferred to the
cart in which they had been brought, another pilgrimage was commenced
through paths if possible more perilous than the former, till finally
by two o’clock the desired goal was reached, and a fresh arena formed.
But here a new difficulty arose: the carriages and carts drew so close
round the ring that it was impossible to drive back the dense masses
which had congregated. There was but one remedy, and this was to carry
off the _materiel_ to a new position, where in maiden ground a more
extensive field of action was secured, and the throng as it approached
being marshalled with a due regard to the formation of a spacious
area, the preliminaries were happily and conveniently adjusted for the
accommodation of all parties; the pedestrians forming the inner
circle, and the outer circle being composed of carriages, carts,
waggons, and horsemen. There were scarcely less than ten thousand
persons present, and a more imposing spectacle has seldom been
witnessed on any similar occasion. The police were in the rear of the
cavalcade as it moved, but they did not attempt to interfere, merely
intimating that “such scenes were contrary to Act of Parliament,” a
piece of information as novel as it was ineffective in preventing
sport.

All being in readiness, the heroes were summoned to the lists; Parker
from an adjacent farm-house, where he had been hospitably sheltered,
and Brassey from the carriage which had conveyed him to the ground.
Brassey first made his appearance, attended by “King Dick” and Hall,
with a host of friends sporting their bright “yellowmen.” On throwing
his castor within the ropes he was received with shouts. Parker next
presented himself, under the care of Hunt and Nick Ward, and also
escorted by his backers, displaying fogles bearing the insignia of the
Royal Standard of England in four compartments. His reception was far
from flattering, and the yells of the roughs completely drowned the
friendly cheers of his admirers, but they created a strong sympathy in
his favour among the advocates of fair play. Betting was commenced
with great briskness, and 6 to 4 were freely laid and taken――Brassey
being of course the favourite. There was the usual admission of
privileged spectators within the outer circle on the payment of a
stipulated fee, and the difficulty of preserving order was
proportionately increased; but at last all was tolerably well
adjusted, and the men commenced their toilettes. The toss for choice
of position was won by Brassey, who not only took the higher ground,
but placed his back to the sun, which was happily shining with great
brilliancy――more favourable weather could not in fact have been
enjoyed. The colours of the men having been tied to the stakes in the
usual way, a curious scene followed. Several of the partisans of each
who wore colours agreed to bet them one against the other, and these
were also entwined to different stakes, giving to the ring an
appearance of unusual gaiety, from the brightness of the kerchiefs as
they fluttered in the breeze. Umpires and a referee having been
chosen, little time was lost in commencing business.

On Brassey being stripped his appearance by no means altered the
estimate we had formed of his condition on the previous night. He was
“unshaven” and “unshorn;” barbers being unknown on Lindrick Common, he
had not been able to obtain the assistance of one of the fraternity.
This gave a haggardness to his countenance――not the most
prepossessing――which was not calculated to raise him in the estimation
of the spectators. His flesh, too, appeared flabby, and there was an
absence of that healthful glow and muscular development which was
observable at his contest with Caunt. He struck us, too, as being out
of spirits, although there was no indication of the want of personal
confidence. Parker, on the contrary, was obviously “up to the mark,”
his skin was clear and fresh in colour, and his muscles exhibited a
tensity indicative of rude health, while his bearing was marked by
unusual confidence. On standing together the disparity of size was not
so remarkable as might have been supposed, although in height and
frame Brassey had clearly the advantage. At twenty minutes to three
o’clock the men were conducted to “the scratch,” and their seconds
retired to their corners.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Brassey, on throwing himself into position,
     stood erect, with his hands well up and his head thrown
     back, but his manner was stiff and constrained. There
     was nothing of that graceful ease which distinguishes
     an accomplished master of the art, and which is
     characteristic of quickness and activity. Parker was
     more free in his action, his shoulder and head thrown
     slightly forward, and his arms free and in playful
     attitudes, low, but ready for a fly. Brassey waited for
     the assault, and on Parker making one or two dodges,
     showed himself well on his guard. Brassey advanced, but
     Parker broke away; at last Parker let go his left, but
     was stopped. Brassey again made a forward motion, and
     Parker retreated. Brassey let out his right, but was
     short, and Parker instantly popped in his left and
     fell. (Cries of “Nick Ward has come to town” from the
     Brasseyites.)

     2.――Parker evidently creeping in to hit, Brassey
     waiting. Slight exchanges with the left, when Brassey
     popped in his right on Parker’s nose, and in the
     scuffle Parker got down (cries of “First blood from
     Parker”), and in a short time the purple fluid was seen
     trickling from his nasal promontory.

     3.――Brassey on his guard, but Parker succeeded in
     popping in his right; his left went over Brassey’s
     shoulder. After slight exchanges, Parker was down, his
     nozzle still bleeding.

     4.――Parker tried his left and right, but did not get
     home. Brassey rushed to him and hit him slightly on the
     ear with his right. He was preparing for further
     mischief, but Parker slipped down, holding on by the
     ropes with his left.

     5.――Parker led off again, left and right, but without
     effect. Brassey followed him, and in a wild rally, in
     which trifling hits were exchanged, Brassey fell back
     on his knee.

     6.――Parker, who was the first to go to work, planted
     his left and right on Brassey’s dial. Brassey tried his
     left in return, but was short, and Parker slipped down.

     7.――Parker short with his left and right, Brassey
     stepping back. Brassey attempted to return with his
     left, but was also short. Parker, in a second attempt,
     was more successful, and delivered his left on
     Brassey’s ogle. Brassey returned a round hit with his
     right on Parker’s pimple. Slight exchanges, when Parker
     let go his left with dire intent, but Brassey ducked
     his nob and got away. In a scramble which followed
     Parker got down.

     8.――Parker dodging, Brassey waiting; Parker let go his
     right, which got home on Brassey’s cheek, but missed
     his left. Brassey made play, but Parker retreated and
     slipped on his knee, looking up at Brassey as he
     approached. Brassey walked quietly to his corner.

     9.――Brassey now changed his tactics and led off, but
     Parker got away. Slight counter-hits with the left.
     Parker retreated, but, waiting an opportunity, popped
     in his left twice in succession. Brassey followed,
     contemplating mischief, but Parker got down. (Cries of
     “Foul,” but no notice taken by the umpires.)

     10.――Parker tried his left and right, but Brassey got
     away. Brassey advanced, hit round with his right, but
     was short. Wild exchanges with no effect, and Parker
     down.

     11.――Parker was the first to make play, tried his left
     and right but did not get home. He retreated, when
     Brassey followed him up, shoved out his left, and
     Parker went down.

     12.――An exchange of trifling hits, and Parker down to
     avoid.

     13.――Up to this time there was no visible appearance of
     punishment on either, with the exception of the first
     blood already noticed. Parker put in his left and
     right, when Brassey caught him round his neck with his
     left, and gave him a crack on the ear with his right.
     Parker slipped down to avoid a repetition of the
     compliment.

     14.――(2 to 1 on Brassey). Counter-hits with the left,
     but that of Brassey was more like a shove than a hit;
     it wanted elbow-grease, and made no impression. Brassey
     closed, grasped his man with his left, and was about to
     fib him with his right when Parker slipped down to
     avoid.

     15.――Brassey came up eyeing his antagonist with
     contempt. Parker approached him slowly, and let fly his
     left and right, catching him on the phiz. Brassey
     rushed at him to return the compliment, but Parker went
     down “nasty,” quite in the Nick Ward style.

     16.――Parker, as usual, opened the ball, but was stopped
     left and right. Brassey ran to him, hit out slightly
     with his left, when Parker fell on his back, Brassey
     falling over him, with his knees on each side of his
     body.

     17.――Parker hit over Brassey’s shoulder with his left,
     and was going down to avoid when Brassey hit him with
     his right hand open on the back.

     18.――Parker again hit over with his left, and Brassey
     followed him to the ropes, hitting, without precision,
     left and right, while Parker retreated and fell on his
     knees.

     19.――Smart exchanges left and right, Parker napping it
     on the auricular, and down to escape a repetition of
     the dose.

     20.――Parker popped in his left heavily on Brassey’s
     mouth, from whence blood was drawn. It was a stinging
     smack Brassey rushed after him in the retreat, when
     Parker fell, Brassey upon him.

     21.――Smart counters with the left, and Brassey again
     paid a visit to Parker’s listener. Parker, on Brassey’s
     efforts to engage him in a rally, went down.

     [This falling system on the part of Parker caused many
     expressions of contempt on the part of Brassey’s
     friends, and he was called upon to “stand up and fight
     like a man.”]

     22.――Parker pursued his dodging system, and again
     delivered his left on Brassey’s mouth. Brassey caught
     him with his right on the side of the head, but was
     unable to get home with his left; Parker dropped.

     23.――A trifling exchange of hits left and right, when
     Parker got down, Brassey falling upon him.

     24.――Counter-hits with the left, but Brassey did not
     get well home. Brassey tried to bring his man to a
     rally, but he went down to avoid.

     25.――Parker hit short with his left and retreated to
     his corner. Brassey followed boldly, when he napped it
     from the right on the jaw. Brassey hit out left and
     right, missing his man, and Parker went down.

     26.――Parker hit slightly left and right, but in getting
     away from the return slipped down.

     27.――Brassey led off, missing his left and right, when
     Parker got away and went down.

     28.――Parker, as usual, led off with his left, but
     caught it in return from Brassey’s right on the lug. In
     the close Parker caught Brassey round the waist, threw,
     and fell on him, thereby showing that he possessed
     strength enough if he had but courage to use it.

     29.――Counter-hits, followed by a close, in which, after
     a slight struggle, Brassey threw Parker on his back and
     fell on him. Parker in going down caught at Brassey’s
     face open-handed, and drew blood from his mouth. (Cries
     of “He’s gouging him,” and exclamations of disgust.)

     30.――Wild fighting, in which trifling exchanges took
     place, and Parker went down, Brassey falling on his
     knees beside him.

     31.――Parker led off, but Brassey retreated, hitting out
     wildly. Parker rushed in to him, and Brassey fell as he
     stepped back. From this to the 38th round little
     mischief was done. Parker generally led off, and
     occasionally delivered heavy blows left and right,
     which began to tell on Brassey’s phisog; Brassey was
     far from idle, but Parker invariably pursued his
     dropping system when mischief was likely to ensue.

     39.――In this round they looked at each other for some
     time with their arms down, Brassey laughing and shaking
     his flabby sides, but still fresh and vigorous. At
     last, on approaching nearer, Brassey let go his left,
     with little effect. In the short rally which followed
     Brassey received a heavy right-handed thump on the jaw,
     and Parker went down.

     In a rally in the 44th round heavy blows were
     exchanged, Parker catching it on the nose, which again
     commenced bleeding, but he still pursued his getting
     down system. In the 46th round Brassey led off, hitting
     Parker on the ear with his right, and repeating the
     dose with his left on the mouth and nose; Parker down
     bleeding, and 3 to 1 offered on Brassey, although he
     had evidently received the worst of the punishment.
     Parker’s pusillanimous system of dropping excited
     general disapprobation, but he contrived so to time his
     tactics as to keep within the pale of the law.
     Brassey’s seconds, finding that Parker’s one two was
     invariably set aside when Brassey led off, urged him to
     let fly the moment Parker approached; from these
     assaults, Parker, stopping left and right, retreated,
     but in the 55th round went down so palpably without a
     blow, that cries of “Foul!” burst from all quarters. An
     appeal was instantly made to the referee, who, however,
     would not pronounce his judgment till properly applied
     to by the umpires, to whom no appeal was at all made,
     and Brassey, instead of retiring to his corner, as he
     ought to have done, to await a deliberate decision,
     rushed to take the handkerchiefs from the stake, an
     example which “King Dick” followed. At this moment
     Parker approached Brassey, struck him a heavy blow with
     his right, and a desperate rally ensued; heavy hits
     were exchanged left and right, and in the close both
     were down. On rising to their seconds’ knees both
     showed severe marks of punishment, Parker on his left
     ear, and Brassey on his mouth and left eye. This
     renewal of the combat with such mutual good will
     necessarily set aside the claim of “foul,” and thereby
     deprived Brassey of the verdict of “victory,” which
     would doubtless have been given in his favour.[28]

     56.――Counter-hits with the left, when Brassey caught
     Parker another of his terrific round hits on the ear,
     and after a short scramble Parker got down.

     57.――A rally, in which heavy hits were exchanged,
     Parker down, Brassey falling upon him with his knees.
     (“Foul” was claimed for Parker, but the intention was
     not sufficiently apparent to justify a decision in his
     favour, added to which, he provoked the act by his own
     tricks.)

     From this to the 100th round the same style of fighting
     was pursued, with alternate changes, Parker receiving
     some heavy lunges from Brassey’s right on his ear,
     which was dreadfully swollen, and presented a most
     unseemly aspect, and Brassey catching it repeatedly on
     the mouth and face――the former of which was cut, and
     the latter exhibited marks of repeated visitations.
     Parker went down at the termination of almost every
     round, obviously to avoid punishment; but although this
     system was cowardly, and opposed to the character of a
     fair stand-up fight, he contrived so to time his
     prostrations, as to keep himself within the pale of the
     law; blows, however slight, having been exchanged. The
     unnecessary length of the spikes in his shoes might
     have had some influence in the falls, but it was too
     clear that he wanted a heart to stand up manfully to
     give and take in the old English fashion. From the
     100th to the 117th round the same objectionable system
     was pursued; but although numerous hits were exchanged,
     and the marks of punishment on the side of Parker’s
     head and Brassey’s frontispiece increased in severity,
     there was still no decisive mischief done. Brassey’s
     left seemed to be of little use to him; and although
     with Caunt he used it with cutting effect, with Parker
     he did no execution, and the right side of Parker’s
     face was literally without a mark. Nevertheless, in the
     118th round, Brassey was the favourite at 2 to 1. From
     the 118th to the 127th round, during which time the
     same style of tactics was adopted, little visible
     alteration took place in the spirits of the men, both
     coming to the scratch with confidence, but slowly. In
     the latter round, however, Parker succeeded in
     delivering a heavy blow with his right on Brassey’s
     nob, who fell in a state of apparent insensibility. All
     was now thought to be over, and a simultaneous rush
     took place from all quarters to the ring. “Time” was
     called, to which Brassey did not respond. Parker, for
     whose personal safety from the crowd apprehensions were
     evidently entertained, was almost immediately taken
     away, his seconds and friends claiming the battle. To
     the astonishment of all, however, Brassey rose, and
     declared his readiness to renew the combat, a claim
     which the referee, when appealed to, allowed; for
     although more than eight seconds had elapsed, by which
     time he ought to have been at the scratch, still, as he
     had not been duly summoned――the umpires having, in the
     confusion, neglected their duty――he was fairly entitled
     to the advantage. In like manner it was determined that
     Parker, who quitted the ring without first going to the
     scratch, to which he had not been called, was absolved
     from the penalty of the loss of the battle to which his
     absence might otherwise have exposed him.

     [This, again, imposes on seconds and umpires the
     absolute necessity of obtaining a perfect knowledge of
     their duty, and strictly adhering to its dictates. From
     the great confusion which prevailed in this instance
     some excuse may be found, but it only confirms our
     repeated observations on the great disadvantage arising
     from permitting throngs of partisans to congregate
     close to the milling arena, who, by shouts and
     exclamations, tend to interfere with that cool and
     dispassionate judgment which the umpires and referee
     should be permitted to exercise, and which, in ancient
     times, was perfectly secured, none but the umpires and
     referee being then permitted to sit close to the ropes
     and stakes.]

     Some delay took place before Parker returned, one of
     his seconds declaring he had been knocked down, an
     assertion which proved without foundation, although on
     his way to his carriage he had certainly fallen, and
     execrations were showered upon him from the friends of
     Brassey.

     With the 128th round the fight was renewed, but amid
     such a riotous display of party feeling from the crowd,
     which could not be driven back from the ring, that it
     was difficult to note the changes which took place.
     Brassey exhibited unshrinking “game,” and succeeded in
     planting some heavy blows with his right on Parker’s
     ear, while the latter was occasionally equally
     successful in delivering his left and right on his
     opponent’s disfigured mug. Parker, as usual, preserved
     his cautious or rather questionable generalship, and no
     sooner found himself in danger than he got down. In
     point of freshness he had a decided superiority over
     the unfortunate Brassey, and not only hit oftener but
     harder. In the 143rd round he planted the first heavy
     body-blow with his right, the effects of which were
     instantly visible on Brassey’s countenance, who was
     almost doubled up with pain. In the next round he was
     equally successful with his left on the body, and
     Brassey was again down. For the three succeeding rounds
     Parker fought not only with renewed vigour but with a
     more manly and determined spirit, a change sufficiently
     amounted for by the almost helpless state of his
     antagonist, who was down in every round.

     The friends of Brassey now saw that all hope of a
     favourable change was extinguished. The ropes were cut,
     and a crowd armed with sticks and bludgeons rushed
     between the men, and prevented the possibility of the
     continuation of the fight. The most dreadful confusion
     prevailed, during which Brassey lay at full length with
     his head resting in his second’s lap, who sat down on
     the ground to receive him. He was evidently in a
     helpless state, but still he refused to give in,
     declaring himself perfectly ready to renew the contest
     whenever the ring was cleared. Persuasions and
     entreaties were all in vain to induce the interlopers
     to retire. Parker’s seconds claimed the battle; but
     this would not be conceded; and after a long wrangle
     between those who wished the fight to be drawn and
     those who wished it to be concluded, a body of horsemen
     were admitted within the outer circle, who instantly
     galloped round the fragments of the ropes and stakes
     yet left standing, and effectually succeeded in
     clearing the area. Those within the ring then retired,
     and with some difficulty the ropes were spliced and the
     ring assumed something of its original form. Brassey
     still continued to lie prostrate on the earth, but
     there being no further impediment to his once more
     resuming the battle he was again called to the scratch.
     He came up quite groggy, while Parker, on the contrary,
     was fresh, and apparently as strong as when he
     commenced the battle.

     It was soon seen that the forebodings of Brassey’s
     friends would be confirmed, and that his chance of
     success had indeed vanished. In fact, Parker hit him as
     he liked, his boldness increasing as his sense of
     danger diminished. Still, from the 148th to the 156th
     round, Brassey came valiantly to the scratch, but was
     down in every round, and was obviously incapable of
     stemming the current of misfortune. His friends again
     forced themselves into the ring; but “King Dick,”
     feeling the folly and foreseeing the danger which a
     repetition of punishment under such circumstances might
     incur, refused to second him any longer, and the
     unfortunate fellow at last consented to give in. He
     then shook hands with Parker, who although thus crowned
     with the wreath of victory, was certainly not entitled
     to praise for either manliness or gallantry. He retired
     from the field perfectly fresh with few marks of
     punishment, save those on his left ear and on the left
     side of his _caput_, which were certainly most wofully
     damaged. Brassey was completely exhausted, and almost
     in a state of stupefaction from the repeated
     visitations, left and right, to his knowledge box. His
     lip was split, and in other respects his punishment
     sufficiently testified that he had not left off till
     nature had deserted him. It is needless to say that his
     friends and himself were deeply mortified and
     disappointed by the result. The fighting was rapid,
     time called quick, and the rounds extremely short,
     which will account for the number of rounds is so
     limited a period.

     REMARKS.――We candidly confess that from first to last
     we never witnessed a fight the conclusion of which was
     less satisfactory. We have more than once expressed our
     disgust at that species of tumble-down fighting by
     which men, regardless of the principles of fair
     stand-up boxing, seek to punish others, while by
     cowardly subterfuges they escape punishment themselves.
     It is a species of paltry cunning to which no true
     British boxer would have recourse, and which in
     Parker’s case, as well as that of Nick Ward, admits of
     no apology. It is ridiculous to say that such manœuvres
     are consistent with good generalship, or excusable when
     small men are opposed to men of greater bulk; because,
     if small men are incapable of fighting men of larger
     size by fair means, it is not incumbent on them to
     enter the lists at all. But here the disparity of size
     was by no means such as to justify the adoption of such
     a mode of defence. From the first it was clear that
     Parker was not only the better fighter left and right,
     but was the harder hitter; and if he had had the
     courage to exercise those physical qualities which he
     possessed, and fought fairly and manfully at his man,
     there is little doubt that he would have brought the
     combat to a similar issue in one-third of the time.
     That he actually went down without a blow in more
     instances than one the spectators must have been
     perfectly satisfied, although on those particular
     occasions the appeals to the referee were not legally
     and properly made; and that he frequently went down
     equivocally is equally certain, but he had always
     self-possession and cunning enough to take care that he
     did not have recourse to these tricks except under
     circumstances where no adverse decision could be
     formed. He was repeatedly warned by the referee, but he
     declared solemnly he could not help it. On quitting the
     ring he vauntingly forewarned Caunt, who was present,
     that he would ere long have a tussle with him for the
     Champion’s belt, but we apprehend this is idle bounce,
     which he will be very unlikely ever to realise. With
     regard to Brassey, he utterly disappointed the
     anticipations of his friends. He no longer presented
     the formidable front by which he was distinguished in
     his contest with Caunt; he seemed, in fact, to have
     lost that gift of hitting left and right of which the
     head of Caunt, after their fight, afforded such signal
     testimony. His left hand appeared to be utterly
     ineffective, and when he did hit with it it was rather
     a shove than a blow, while the hits with his right hand
     were anything but decisive, although from their
     repetition they seemed at one time to threaten the
     ultimate defeat of his shifty antagonist. Of Parker’s
     cleverness and pusillanimity the reader will find
     further examples in the account of his defeat by Perry,
     the Tipton Slasher, in our memoir of that boxer,
     forming Chapter IV. of this volume.

This was the last appearance of Brassey in the P.R. The poor fellow
was evidently on a downhill course, and died at his house, the “Coach
and Horses,” Todd Street, Manchester, in 1845.


     [28] It should never be forgotten by seconds that the
     referee is distinctly bound by the 4th of the New Rules of
     the Ring, to “withhold all opinion till appealed to by the
     umpires.” And it is to those umpires alone that the first
     appeal should be made; not by bystanders, who may be
     influenced by personal interest, but by the seconds alone, a
     rule which is unfortunately but too frequently forgotten,
     and which was in this instance attended by unfortunate
     consequences to Brassey――ED.




III.――TASS PARKER, OF WEST BROMWICH, AND HARRY PRESTON, OF BIRMINGHAM,
FOR £100.


As the name of Harry Preston has more than once occurred in connection
with the subjects of Memoirs in our history, and was at one period of
his career thought good enough for a match for £300 with Young Dutch
Sam (see PUGILISTICA, Vol. II., p. 388), we shall here give his last
battle, which was also memorable as being Tass Parker’s first Ring
victory. The articles, which fixed the 8th of May, 1838, as the day of
meeting, and the stakes to be fought for at £200, and further
stipulated that Preston should confine himself to 11st. 7lbs., were
duly complied with, Preston, on the morning of fighting, balancing
11st. 6lbs., which many considered 8lbs. below his best standard.
Harry, it must be borne in mind, was an “old stager,” having credited
to him, in the previous ten years, seven victories, two draws (one
with Young Dutch Sam, already alluded to, the other with Davis, of
Birmingham, whom he afterwards conquered), and but _one_ defeat, and
that by the scientific Jem Wharton (Young Molyneaux). It was,
therefore, to be expected that 6 to 4 was readily offered on Preston,
and that the defeat of Parker, who, notwithstanding his admitted
superior skill with the gloves, had been twice beaten by the renowned
Hammer Lane, with a prevalent doubt of his gameness, should have been
booked as a certainty; the sequel, however, proved that in the Ring,
as on the Turf, “public running” is not always to be implicitly relied
on.

On the morning of the event we found ourselves in Sawley, a village in
Derbyshire, eight miles south-west of Nottingham, where we were
introduced to Preston, at a “public” on the banks of the Trent,
wherein he had taken up his quarters. He spoke confidently of his
prospects of success, and treated his reduction of weight as by no
means reducing his capabilities. We, however, did not share his
opinion; though lighter bodily, his face struck us as more puffy than
is consistent with perfect training, and he did not impress us with
the idea of a man hardened by his exercises. Of Parker’s whereabouts
we could learn nothing; and a warning being given that “a magistrate
was in the village with an escort of police,” Preston was hastily
disguised and got out of danger; and not a bit too soon, for scarcely
was Preston on the road to Appleby, when a clerical “beak,” with a
constable and three or four “specials,” armed with a warrant for
“three counties,” as we were informed, made their unwelcome
appearance. In justice to these officials, however, we must say that
they behaved in what poor Jack Scroggins called “a gentlemanlike sort
of a way,” and gave all to understand that they should exercise their
undoubted powers with moderation, and that if “the peace” of
Derbyshire was unmolested, their function would then and there cease.
Away, then, for Leicestershire, towards Ashby-de-la-Zouch――renowned in
days of old for its tournaments and “passage of arms”――was the word.
Now, as fighting Ashby (fifteen miles from Leicester) was about
seventeen from where we then were, and as it was already past twelve
o’clock, the “fixture” was indeed a damper, many remembering how they
were thrown out when Caunt and Bendigo held their first “joust” at
Appleby. The cloud, however, passed away when, about a mile and a half
beyond Castle Donington, a hint was given that in a field not three
hundred yards from the turnpike-road, yet out of view of it, a
secluded spot was at the service of the weary wayfarers. A general
halt was made; each man was temporarily housed in an adjacent “Tom and
Jerry;” and these establishments being each luckily provided with
considerable stabling, every stall and shed was at once occupied by
vehicles and quadrupeds, while the bipeds consumed every eatable and
drinkable, to the last loaf and the last “tilt of the barrel,” in both
establishments. These despatched, word was brought that the Birmingham
Commissary had pitched his stakes, and all moved off to a pretty dell,
where, on a nice bit of turf, surrounded by gentle slopes thickly
wooded, the lists were formed; not a few aspiring countrymen and
youths ascending the trees nearest the ring, and forming a “rookery”
whence a vocal, but not very musical, “cawing” was heard at intervals
of the fight.

At two o’clock precisely, Preston made his appearance, and shied his
pimple-coverer into the ring; an example immediately followed by
Parker, who stepped briskly into the arena, and with a good-humoured
smile went up to Preston and shook hands with apparent cordiality.
There was a buoyant springiness in Parker, and a confidence in his
appearance, which seemed to say “I mean winning, and nothing else.”
Preston’s manner was more subdued――he looked serious, but exhibited
nothing like distrust in his own powers. Betting was 6 to 4 on
Preston, which, in a few instances, was taken, Parker’s partisans
seeming doubtful of their man. The colours having been fastened to the
stakes, and umpires and a referee chosen, the men stripped. Parker’s
condition appeared excellent――he looked as fine as a star, and weighed
exactly 11st. 4lbs. Preston looked delicate――his flesh did not appear
firm, nor had it the roseate hue of health. At fourteen minutes after
two the men came to the scratch――Peter Taylor and Nick Ward seconding
Parker; and Dick Davis and Holland, both of Birmingham, performing the
same friendly office for Preston. After the usual formalities,


     THE FIGHT

     Commenced, Preston having the sun shining brilliantly
     in his face. “It will be a merry fight,” said Taylor,
     who had been taking the odds of 3 to 2; “but my man is
     in a merry mood, and means winning, and nothing else.”
     Preston’s attitude was good; he appeared ready either
     for the offensive or defensive, and watched his man
     closely, who was also on the alert; Preston trying to
     draw him, and making two or three feints, but Parker
     was wide awake. Preston made a hit, but Parker jumped
     back, keeping his hands well up. After two or three
     feints, Preston hit right and left; Parker countered;
     several exchanges, slightly in favour of Preston. A
     smartish rally, each trying to give the upper-cut; a
     short struggle, and both down, Preston under. “First
     blood” was claimed for Parker, and admitted; it was
     from a slight blow on the mouth. This round occupied
     four minutes, and was in favour of Preston; but the
     Parkerites were uproarious, Tassey having gained the
     first event.

     Round 2.――After sparring for some time, neither man
     liking to commence operations, Preston put in a tidy
     one with his left on the ribs without a return; more
     sparring; Preston got in his left, and Parker countered
     well. Both on their mettle, and rapid exchanges of
     compliments passed, each anxiously trying to give the
     upper-cut. Parker planted a facer, and Preston returned
     under the left ear. Loud cheering for both men animated
     them to redouble their exertions; and after a sharp and
     merry round, in which there was good fighting on both
     sides, both down, Preston under. Preston had rather the
     best of this round. This round lasted 16 minutes.

     3.――Long sparring; Preston trying to “gammon” his man
     to begin, but Parker seemed to be down to Preston’s
     moves. At length Preston led off with his left, which
     was well stopped; Parker countered smartly, and fought
     well before him, boring his man, who gave his head
     away. Preston tried to give the upper-cut, but failed.
     “Give and take as much and as quickly as you can”
     appeared to be the motto of each, and they rattled away
     merrily without any decided lead to either. This was
     the best-contested round in the fight, and Parker
     proved himself a better man than many anticipated. He
     stood well to his gun, and not a few thought Preston
     began not to fancy his man quite so much. Indeed, Harry
     found him stick closer to him than he expected, and a
     much sharper fighter than he had calculated upon;
     still, the round was, if anything, favourable to
     Preston. 25 minutes had elapsed.

     4.――The effects of the last round and the heat of the
     day appeared not to suit Preston. He had a slight mouse
     on the left eye, when he came to the scratch, and
     hemmed several times, as if a “little” touched in the
     wind. Preston manœuvring to draw his man; Parker hit
     short. After sparring for some time, Parker put his
     hands down as a “ticer.” After a little more sparring,
     Parker made his one-two without a return, and followed
     his man briskly. Preston’s face covered with
     perspiration, both hit together; exchanges, Parker
     driving his man to the ropes, where he fell, Parker
     upon him. (Shouts for Parker, and cries of “He’s got
     Harry; where’s your 6 to 4?”)

     5.――This was a short round; Parker took the lead, and
     hit his man well and smartly, gave him no time for
     parrying, but bustled away. Preston relished this mode
     of attack so little that he turned from his man. (“What
     do you say now? Why it’s Donington Hall to a cowshed!”
     exclaimed Peter Taylor. “Oh, my man’s got him
     beautifully――it’ll soon be over.”) Parker stuck to his
     man; delivering rapidly as he went in, and Preston went
     down.

     6.――Preston looked as if he meant mischief, but was
     fearful of going in; after he had made a few feints,
     Parker went boldly in, hitting away right and left,
     and, to avoid punishment as well as fatigue, Preston
     went down in a short rally. (“He’s coming it”――the
     Tassites uproarious, and the layers of odds rather
     blue.)

     7.――Parker found he had got his man, went to work
     instanter, and drove him before him, and Preston fell
     outside of the ropes. (“He’s done for!” was the general
     exclamation of the Parkerites).

     8.――Parker determined not to give a chance away,
     commenced fighting instanter; Preston giving his head,
     and making no defence, slipped down. (Cries of
     disapprobation.)

     In the next round Preston was driven out of the ropes;
     and the three following rounds were all one way. It was
     clear that Preston’s chance was gone. From the fourth
     round he appeared to fight like a man who had either
     made up his mind to be beaten, or was so dreadfully out
     of condition that he had not the power to make any
     defence. At the end of the thirteenth round, on being
     lifted up, he could not, or would not, stand; and his
     seconds gave in for him. Preston’s friends said he was
     seriously hurt, in a very tender part of the body, by
     Parker falling upon him. He certainly looked faint and
     ill, but Parker’s friends denied the assertion, and the
     Brums were loud and deep in their expression of disgust
     and indignation. Time 40 minutes.

     REMARKS.――The fight was over at twenty minutes to
     three, and certainly disappointed every one who saw it;
     after the third round Preston appeared to be “down on
     his luck;” still, many thought he was only “gammoning,”
     but the conclusion of the fourth round convinced the
     most sceptical that the glory of Harry had departed,
     for he never stood well up to his man afterwards. He
     gave his head every round, and fell to avoid punishment
     in a manner that excited feelings of contempt. Parker
     from the first showed great confidence; when he found
     he had “got his man,” he bustled in and gave him no
     time for breathing, and although two pounds the
     lighter, proved himself by far the stronger man; he
     used both hands well and quickly. Among the members of
     the Ring on the ground were Hammer Lane and his brother
     Surrender, Lazarus, Johnny Broome, and Bill Atkinson;
     Caunt, Merryman, and several others were thrown out.
     Preston exhibited no severe marks of punishment,
     excepting a mouse under the left eye, and a swelling of
     the left ear, although Parker appeared to have given
     him several “hot ’uns.” Parker appeared as fresh as
     when he began. If, as Preston said, “He never was
     better,” it is clear he never used his physical
     advantages to less effect. That he is a game man he has
     on more occasions than one signally proved, and his
     defeat can only be attributed to a falling off in power
     and lasting quality; while the proverb that “youth will
     be served” receives another illustration in Parker’s
     rapid success when he found his adversary’s strength
     had left him. Tom Spring being stakeholder the money
     was handed to the victorious Tass at the “Castle,”
     Holborn, on the ensuing Thursday week, who then and
     there challenged Britton of Liverpool. With that boxer
     Tass fought, on the 8th May, 1839, a drawn battle.
     Britton was subsequently arrested, and bound over for
     twelve months. The men met again on the 9th of June,
     1840, when Parker was victorious after 77 rounds fought
     in 1 hour and 50 minutes, and was thereafter matched
     with Brassey of Bradford, with the result we have
     already narrated in a former page.

Harry Preston appeared no more in the 24-foot after this defeat. He
died at Birmingham on the 25th of February, 1850, in his 41st year.




IV.――AARON JONES AND BOB WADE (THE DOVER CHAMPION).


“’Tis not in mortals to command success,” says Addison in his
sententious “Cato,” though they may “do more――that is, deserve it.”
Aaron Jones, born in 1831――who, in his first essay in the Ring, at the
age of 18, had the ill luck to encounter the formidable Harry Orme (in
1849), when he fought him for 2 hours and 45 minutes, at Frimley, as
we have already narrated――was a notable instance of this. Jones’s
after-defeats by Orme, Paddock, and Tom Sayers being herein set down,
we now propose to resuscitate and “photo” the only gleam of sunshine
in Aaron’s clouded career. This was his battle with Bob Wade, called
the Dover Champion, on the 24th September, 1850.

From the time of Jones’s first defeat he had been anxious for a second
customer; but his friends dissuaded him, and gave him the good advice
to wait until another year or two had hardened gristle into bone, and
set the stamp of endurance on his frame. The youngster, however, was
impatient and importunate, and a cavalry officer, to whom Jones had
been known in his boyhood, and who was a constant visitor at Jem
Burn’s, on Jones calling his attention to a challenge from Bob Wade,
offering himself as a candidate for the favours of any 12 stone man,
for the small stake of £25 a side, consented to find the quarter of a
hundred needful for the match. To improve the amount for the men, it
was arranged that they should join in hiring a train on the South
Eastern line, in conjunction with the clever little Joe Hoiles (“The
Spider”), who was articled to do battle with Jemmy Madden, on the 24th
of September. Accordingly, the “excursionists” repaired, on the
morning of that day, to the London Bridge terminus of the South
Eastern; for as yet the London, Chatham, and Dover was not. The day
was delightful, and the destination, Edenbridge, Kent, was reached by
noon. Here the travellers alighted at the foot of a rude set of steps
cut in the turf embankment. These surmounted, a walk of a few hundred
yards down a shady lane, out of sight of travellers by the rail,
brought Tom Oliver’s roped square in view, and the smaller couple of
heroes were soon at work. After a lively exhibition of game and
resolution on one side, and artistic skill, with precise and cutting
execution, on the other, “The Spider” succeeded in knocking his sturdy
little opponent out of time.

The bantams having settled their difference of opinion, the bigger
brace of “unfeathered bipeds” appeared in the pit――we beg pardon, the
ring. Jones looked youthful, fair, cheerful, and symmetrical; his
height 5 feet 11 inches, his weight 11st. 7lbs. Wade, on the other
hand, was a brown and hardy veteran, his look as solid as his carcase,
and his weight the same as Jones. His more compact frame, however,
gave him quite two inches less stature than the Young’un. Jones had
two excellent seconds in Alec Keene and Bob Fuller, while Wade had no
reason to complain, having the services of the gallant Jack Grant and
the accomplished Bill Hayes. It was currently reported that Jones had
made rapid improvement since his encounter with Harry Orme, in the
previous December, and hence he had the call in the betting at 5 to 4.
We prefer giving a description to a mere numbered detail of the
rounds.

In leading off, after a few seconds spent in manœuvring, Jones got in
his left so cleverly and effectively on Wade’s jaw-bone that he not
only staggered the veteran, but sent him against the centre stake with
such force that his head was cut severely, and bled profusely
throughout the after rounds of the fight. Wade, nevertheless, returned
to the charge, and in the exchanges caught Jones a sounding
right-hander in the ribs, after which both were down in a scrambling
rally. In the second round Jones displayed superior science, nobbing
Wade neatly, who, however, when he got to half-arm hitting, pegged
away with resolution and effect, until again both were on the grass,
with hardly any “best” in the matter, though Jones’s friends were
uproarious in their encouragement of their man.

From the third to the tenth round Wade worked away well, Jones not
seeming able to meet him with sufficient precision and certainty as he
came in. When the men got together, ding-dong hitting and give and
take was the order of the day; thus they roughed away until one or the
other was down in the hitting, Wade the most frequently, Jones’s
superior and straighter style gradually improving his position. In the
twelfth round Wade, who had certainly by far the larger share of the
punishment, caught Aaron a stinging hit on the nose, and so severe was
its effect that for the moment it brought the Young’un forward in a
state of mystification, and, hitting out at random, he came upon his
knees. The Dover lads were vociferous in their acclamations, but Jones
came up steady, and in the next round, nailing Wade as he came rashly
in, balanced the account by battering his already damaged figure-head.
In the succeeding three or four rounds Jones stopped Wade’s rush
effectually. Both men rallied with great determination, and many
thought that the lasting stamina of Wade must wear out the active
spurts of Jones. In a rally in the 25th round, the Dover veteran hit
Jones down with a swinging body-blow, and the hopes of his partisans
were again buoyant. Wade, however, was too much abroad from severe
hitting to take full advantage of his chance, and again and again his
adversary administered punishment, as he followed him up to force the
fighting. In the 39th round, Jones having propped Wade three or four
times in succession without a return, the Old’un fell. Fifty-six
minutes had elapsed, and amidst cries of “Take him away!” Wade came up
for the 40th round, and Jones, in a half-arm rally, milled him down.
The 41st and 42nd rounds presented little variation, Wade obstinately
refusing to give in, though so advised by his friends; and at length,
just as the hour had expired, and Wade had come up for the 43rd bout,
Jones nailed him two straight ones, the first on the side of the head,
the second on the mouth, and down went poor Bob, to all intents and
purposes a beaten man. Jones was highly elated at his conquest, which
was certainly creditable to the youngster, as his experienced
antagonist was one of that old-fashioned “give and take” school, the
members of which are not to be beaten by any boxer who cannot stand
heavy retaliation in return for the favours he may bestow upon his
opponent, even by superior skill or activity. The money, £50, was
given up to Jones on the following Thursday, at Mr. Prior’s, South
Audley Street, when the brave Old Bob received a liberal supply of
“golden ointment” to heal his disappointment and his bodily hurts.

Jones, for a long period, up to the present year, 1881, has been
living in America, where he has earned respect for his civility,
steadiness, good behavour, and his skill as a teacher of the art of
boxing. A paragraph in a recent newspaper informs us of his return to
the Old Country at the age of fifty-one.




  [Illustration: TOM SAYERS (CHAMPION)]

PERIOD VIII.――1846-1863.

FROM THE CHAMPIONSHIP OF TOM SAYERS TO THE FIGHT BETWEEN HEENAN AND
KING.




CHAPTER I.

TOM SAYERS (CHAMPION).――1849-1860.


As seven cities contended for the honour of being the birthplace of
Homer, so, _parvis componere magna_, half a dozen places, English and
Irish, have been named as the spot of dull earth whereon the last
Champion of England opened his sharp little grey eyes. Somers Town and
Camden Town, his favourite haunts in later life; Pimlico, now a
palatial precinct of Belgravia, and several other places, have been
oracularly declared, in “Answers to Correspondents,” in sundry
sporting journals, to have been the _locus in quo_ Tom struggled into
what proved in his case literally “the battle of life.” A clever
sporting writer (“Augur”) remarks with truth that “Ireland makes it
her rule of faith always to claim the winner, be it man, woman, or
quadruped. The ‘divided honours’ of Farnborough presented no obstacle
to this. She adopted the maternity of Heenan out of hand, and with
fair pretence, and now she has put in a _post mortem_ claim to Tom
Sayers. A regular county Kerry genealogy has been found for him,
including a maternal aunt, who, naturally and nationally attributes
his valour to her family infusion of the ‘blood of the Fitzgeralds!’”

In the memoir in _Bell’s Life_, at the date alluded to (which to our
knowledge was from the pen of a trueborn Celt), we read “Tom Sayers,
whose parents came from Dingle, in the county of Kerry,” &c. This
gossip we pass, being able to state from personal knowledge, not only
that Tom was born at “Pimlico,” a place of “fish-like smell,” in the
middle of Brighton, Sussex, on May 25th, 1828, but that his father,
“Old Tom,” so called from the bronzed complexion he transmitted to his
son, whom he survives, is a genuine Sussex man, born at Storrington,
near Steyning, in that county, where he was baptised in 1793, and in
1819 married a home-born and home-bred Sussex woman. Tom’s pedigree,
therefore, is indisputably that of an Englishman. How he passed his
youth, pushing off the Brighton hog-boats from the shingly beach of
London-super-mare, we may also pass. In due time he was placed out to
the trade of a bricklayer, and we have heard him say his first “big
job” was on the Preston Viaduct of the Brighton and Lewes Railway, a
noble structure of stone and white brick, visible from the Brighton
terminus, crossing the Preston Road. Tom quitted Sussex, and in 1848
he was following his vocation on the extensive works of the North
Western Railway at Camden Town, a locality for many years a favourite
with the departed Champion.

Sayers’s Ring career was doubtless one of the most remarkable on
record, his fights extending over twelve years, 1849-1860, besides
numerous earlier battles. They were, within the regular P.R. ropes,
sixteen in number, including one defeat and a wrangled “draw;” and in
all but three cases against heavier and bigger men; for soon after the
opening of his career no professional of his weight and inches cared
to tackle him.

Tom was in his twenty-third year when, having migrated in the pursuit
of employment from Brighton to Camden Town, he was induced by the
challenge of one Aby Couch, and the stake of a “fiver,” to meet his
opponent “down the river,” in the ropes of old Commissary Oliver. The
affair came off on March 19th, 1849, near Greenhithe, when Tom sent
Couch to rest in less than 13 minutes. For more than a twelvemonth
Tom’s friends looked in vain for a customer at 10st., or thereabouts,
but could not find one, though they declared him not particular to a
few pounds.

  [Illustration: A TRIO OF CHAMPIONS――THE THREE TOMS.]

At length “Tom Spring’s waiter,” Dan Collins, whom we remember as a
civil, smart, intelligent news-boy, petitioned his worthy master for a
shy at Master Thomas, and articles were agreed for £25 a side, to
fight on October 22nd, 1850. Dan was about an inch taller than Sayers,
and a trifle heavier, though each on the day was under 10st. His known
skill, too, from his exhibitions at Spring’s, made him the favourite,
though he had been defeated by Ned Donnelly in the previous year. We
well remember the surprise of the veteran Vincent Dowling (Editor of
_Bell’s Life_ for more than its first quarter of a century), and of
Tom Spring, not only at the tough resolution and remarkable endurance
and strength of the “novice,” as the Camden Town hero was called, but
at the gameness with which poor Dan, sadly overmatched, took his
“gruel.” At Edenbridge, Kent, in the first ring, they fought nine
resolute rounds in 27 minutes, when, the rural constabulary intruding,
the belligerents retired to Red Hill. Spring considerately proposed to
Dan to decline, saying “He had fought quite enough for his money,” but
Dan earnestly entreated, and was indulged, when thirty-nine more
rounds were fought in 1 hour 52 minutes, both men being heavily
punished. Darkness now interposed, and the final trial was postponed
to December 10th, to meet in the same ring as Young Sambo (Welsh) and
Cross. This draught-board game proving a draw between black and white,
burned out two hours and a half of the short daylight, and there was
no time for Sayers and Dan to exhibit; so once more the decision was
deferred.

On April 29th, 1851, Sayers and Collins met in fistic fray at Long
Reach. The improvement of Sayers in skill made poor Dan appear to have
fallen off, and though he struggled gallantly through forty-four
rounds, occupying 84 minutes, the tide never turned in his favour.
Collins scaled 10st. 2lbs. at this second meeting, Sayers 9st. 10lbs.
If Tom reaped fame by this contest, there was but little profit in
training three times for a quarter of a hundred “yellowboys.”

The great improvement of Sayers on this occasion was evident to every
judge of boxing; he took a strong lead, was never headed, and won in a
canter. If there was little profit in three trainings and three fights
for one stake, Tom gained confidence and lots of friends. His weight,
however――too heavy for the nine-stone men, and underweight for the
“middles” and “heavies”――kept him without a match for nearly a year.
The “empty praise” of his friends, too, kept him from the “solid
pudding,” so that none of the 9st. men cared to meddle with him.
Various challenges in the columns of _Bell’s Life_ show the impatience
with which Tom bore this enforced inactivity. At length, to the
surprise and delight of the Southwarkians, Tom had, what they thought,
the presumptuous hardihood to offer to meet the renowned Jack Grant,
for £100 a side. Jack was at the top of his renown. He had beaten
James Haggerty, drawn with Mike Madden (daylight failing), beaten Alec
Keene, and received forfeit from the talented Callaghan of Derby.
Winning, and nothing else, was the idea of the Borough lads. The mill
came off at Mildenhall, Suffolk, June 29th, 1852, for £100 a side.
Grant was attended by Harry Orme and Jemmy Welsh; Sayers by Nat Adams
and Bob Fuller the pedestrian. Betting 6 and 7 to 4 on Grant.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On appearing at the scratch, the condition
     and general appearance of Sayers was the theme of
     admiration: there was not an ounce of superfluous flesh
     about his body――he appeared all wire and muscle. His
     phiz wore a good-humoured smile of confidence, and
     there was a ruddy glow upon his cheek which told of
     good health and condition. His attitude was graceful
     and firm, and, to a good judge, it was apparent that if
     he was as good as he looked the Borough Champion had
     his work cut out. Grant seemed not quite up to the
     mark. His arms, it is true, were muscular and brawny,
     and his good-tempered mug looked healthy; but there
     were certain accumulations of fat upon his chest and
     ribs which sufficiently indicated that his exercise had
     not been so severe as it might have been, and we were
     informed that, instead of weighing about 10st. 2lbs. he
     turned the scale at 10st. 6lb. Notwithstanding his
     lustiness, however, he appeared to look upon the result
     with quiet confidence, and to hold his adversary at a
     very cheap rate. His position indicated the old
     tactician――the arms well up, and not too far from his
     body, his head back, and his eye fixed upon that of his
     adversary, who stood well over him, and was longer in
     the reach. After a little dodging, Grant, who was
     anxious to begin, led off with his left, slightly
     reaching Tom’s forehead, and jumped away from the
     return. Sayers followed him up, when Grant tried to
     repeat the dose on the forehead, but was prettily
     stopped. Sayers at length got home with his right on
     the ribs, which was followed by heavy counter-hits,
     Grant on the left cheek, and Sayers heavily on Grant’s
     nose. Ditto repeated, when Sayers gained “first blood”
     from a cut over that organ. Grant then went in to force
     the fighting, but Sayers stepped back, jobbed him again
     on the nose, cleverly stopping the return. Counter hits
     succeeded, Sayers catching a nasty one on the left side
     of the head, and on getting back slipped down.

     2.――Grant tried to lead off several times, but was on
     each occasion well stopped. He returned the compliment
     by twice stopping Sayers, and then lunged out his
     right, catching Sayers heavily under the left ear. Tom
     countered him with effect on the nose, and a close
     following, both were down; Sayers under.

     3.――Grant took the initiative, but Sayers jumped away
     smiling; he, however, came again directly, and led off
     with his left, but was stopped. He was more successful
     a second time, and reached Grant’s damaged nose. Grant
     closed for the fall, but Sayers would not struggle,
     contenting himself with fibbing Grant on the nose and
     left ear until both rolled over.

     4.――Mutual good stopping, after which Sayers delivered
     his left heavily on Grant’s ribs and jumped away.
     Counter-hits with the left followed――Sayers on the
     nose, and Grant on the ribs. A close, and some sharp
     fibbing. A break away, and at it again, Grant
     delivering his right heavily on Tom’s left eye. Slight
     exchanges, Grant again getting it on the nose, and
     Sayers slipped down.

     5.――Both, on coming up, looked flushed. Sayers smiled,
     while Grant looked grim. The latter led off, but was
     twice stopped. They then got to work; sharp
     counter-hits were exchanged, Sayers receiving heavily
     on the left cheek, and Grant on the nose and jaw. A
     close and struggle for the fall ended in Grant being
     thrown, but not heavily.

     6.――Sayers tried to lead off, but Grant was wary, and
     stopped him. He was not to be denied; however, he made
     another attempt, and again reached Grant’s smeller,
     getting well away from the return. Sayers then repeated
     the dose heavily with both hands, and followed this up
     by one or two punches in the ribs. At length Grant
     swung round his dangerous right, and caught Master Tom
     a tremendous whack on the left ear, which staggered
     him. Grant then closed, but Sayers declined to struggle
     for the fall, and fibbed away at his man until he
     allowed him to slip down.

     7.――Sayers showed the effects of Grant’s visitation to
     his left ear, which was considerably swelled. Grant
     looked flushed from the taps on the nozzle. The latter
     led off, but was quite out of distance, and Sayers
     followed his example by delivering too high to be of
     any service. Exchanges then took place, each catching
     it on the right eye, Sayers’ delivery appearing to be
     the heavier. In getting away Sayers slipped down.

     8.――Grant took the lead, but was again stopped, and
     caught an awkward one on the left listener for his
     pains. He then succeeded in planting his left on Tom’s
     forehead. Grant bored in, but Sayers stepped back,
     administering an upper-cut, which led to a rally, in
     which some sharp hitting took place, and Sayers
     scrambled down.

     9.――Both slightly blown. Tom stopped Grant’s attempts
     to plant on him, and then delivered his left on the
     nose twice in succession. Grant again made his right
     sound against the left side of Tom’s head, and then
     sent in a heavy one on the ribs. Sayers, nothing
     daunted, was at him again, popped in his left on the
     cheek and his right on Grant’s left ear, and this
     bringing them to a struggle, Sayers letting himself
     down easy.

     10.――Grant tried to force the fighting by boring in,
     but got it on the left eye rather heavily. Sayers,
     however, had not the strength to stall him off. He
     again went in, caught Sayers on the left eye, and in a
     struggle which followed the latter again slipped down
     to avoid being thrown.

     11.――Grant led off, got well home on Sayers’ left ear,
     and then closed, and both rolled over together.

     12.――Sayers’ left ear and left side of his head were
     much swollen; still he smiled, and calmly awaited the
     attack, which was not long in coming. Grant dashed in,
     and commenced hitting away with both hands; he drew
     blood from Tom’s mouth by a heavy spank from his left.
     Sayers delivered on the left cheek, and the round
     finished by both falling together at the ropes.

     13.――Grant made his right with severity on the ribs,
     getting away from Sayers’ return. Sayers followed him
     up, and some sharp hits were exchanged left and right,
     both catching it on the nose and cheek, and Grant at
     length got down.

     14.――Grant dashed in resolutely, but twice was well
     stopped. Sayers then delivered his left and right on
     the nose and left eye. Grant, not liking this, bored
     in, made his right on Tom’s left cheek, closed, but
     Sayers catching well hold of him, threw him a
     cross-buttock and fell on him.

     15.――Both, anxious to get to work, led off at the same
     time, and each got it on the left eye. Grant was then
     neatly stopped twice in succession, but at length
     closed, and some sharp in-fighting took place, Sayers
     catching it on the left eye, and Grant on the left ear.
     The round ended by both going to grass. (Forty minutes
     had now elapsed, and those who had backed Grant to win
     in an hour began to look blue.)

     16.――A capital round. After some excellent stopping and
     manœuvring on both sides, they got close together, and
     some sharp exchanges took place, each catching it on
     the nose and left cheek. A close ensued, followed by a
     break away, and both at it again, left and right, until
     Grant got down, somewhat blown, his want of condition
     evidently beginning to tell.

     17.――Somewhat similar to the last, each catching it
     severely on the side of the head. The hitting appeared
     rather in favour of Grant, who drew more claret from
     Tom’s mouth. Both were eventually down.

     18.――Grant dashed in and closed for a fall, but Sayers
     declined the struggle, fibbed him severely on the left
     ear several times, and Grant slipped down. He lay on
     his back where he fell, blowing like a grampus until
     time was called, when he was carried to his corner,
     from whence he walked to the scratch.

     19.――Some good exchanges, Sayers on the right eye, and
     Grant on the nose, removing the bark, and drawing a
     fresh supply of the ruby. Quick exchanges, but both
     apparently hitting open-handed, were followed by Tom
     getting down cleverly.

     20.――Grant, whose ear had been lanced, came up bleeding
     from that organ, which was much swelled from the blows
     in the 18th round. He rushed in, but Sayers caught him
     heavily on the damaged listener. Grant, still
     determined, persevered, caught Tom on the left side of
     the head twice in succession; exchanges followed in
     favour of Grant, and at last Tom got down.

     21.――Sayers’ left eye began to show symptoms of
     adopting the early closing movement. He tried to lead
     off, but was stopped by Jack, who made his left again
     on the closing peeper, and then closed. Sayers fiddled
     away at his left ear until both were down.

     22 and 23.――Both slow but steady, and the rounds ended,
     after a few exchanges, in the men slipping down at the
     ropes. In the latter round Grant pursued Sayers, who
     ran round the ring until he got to his own corner, when
     he turned sharp round, caught Grant left and right on
     the nose and left eye, which led to the close and fall.

     24.――Grant came up bleeding from a cut over his left
     eye. Sayers attempted to take the lead, but was well
     stopped, Grant making his right heavily on his left
     ear, and Sayers fell through the ropes.

     25.――Sayers was again neatly stopped, and in stepping
     back from Grant’s return, caught his heel and fell.

     26.――Mutual good stopping, Sayers evidently the more
     active; he caught Grant again on his left ear, which
     was terribly swollen, received a heavy thump on the
     ribs from Grant’s right, and dropped on his south pole.

     27.――Grant dashed in with his left on the mouth, and
     then his right on the side of Sayers’s head.
     Exchanges――Grant drawing blood from Tom’s nose. Some
     good in-fighting in favour of Sayers, and Grant got
     down.

     28.――Good counter-hits, each catching it heavily on the
     nose. They now went to work in earnest; the hitting on
     both sides was tremendous, but owing to the excellence
     of Sayers’s condition, he did not show it much, while
     Grant, who received principally on the left ear and
     nose, looked considerably the worse for wear.
     Eventually Sayers slipped to avoid Jack’s friendly hug,
     and Grant, who fell over him, cleverly avoided touching
     him with his spikes.

     29 to 32.――In these rounds Grant led off, but his want
     of condition prevented his being as quick as he
     otherwise might have been, consequently he was often
     stopped, and of course exhausted himself by throwing
     away his blows. When, however, they got at it he gave
     as good as he got, and the rounds ended by Sayers
     slipping down. In the 32nd, however, Grant threw
     Sayers, and fell heavily on him.

     33.――Grant came up bleeding from the mouth and left
     ear; he tried to lead off, but was stopped. Sayers
     popped in his left and right on the mouth and throat,
     getting it in return on the nose heavily, more of the
     bark being displaced, and in the end both were down.

     34.――Grant planted both hands, but the steam was gone;
     Sayers returned on the mouth and left eye. A rally,
     Grant delivering on the damaged cheek-bone of his
     adversary, and receiving another gentle tap on his
     nose, which drew more fluid. A close struggle for the
     fall, and both down, Sayers under.

     35.――One hour and a half had now elapsed, and both
     appeared fatigued from their exertions. Grant stopped
     several well-intentioned deliveries, and returned on
     Tom’s left eye and nose, drawing blood from both. Good
     exchanges led to a close, when both were down.

     36.――Sayers came up weak, while Grant had slightly
     recovered. The latter led off, was twice well stopped,
     but ultimately sent home his right on Sayers’ left
     cheek and the latter slipped down.

     37.――Sayers, whose left cheek and eyebrow were much
     swollen and discoloured, led off, and caught Grant on
     the left eye and nose, but not heavily, and in
     retreating fell.

     38.――Grant took the lead, but was propped in the throat
     by Tom’s right. Grant, however, found out the side of
     his head with effect. Exchanges followed, both
     receiving on the nose; but Sayers, who was the weaker,
     got down on the saving suit.

     39.――Grant dashed in with his right on Tom’s left
     cheek, who closed, fibbed him heavily on his damaged
     ear, and then slipped down.

     40 to 42.――In these rounds but little mischief was
     done, both sparring for wind, and eventually Sayers got
     down cleverly.

     43.――Grant, who seemed to have got second wind, led off
     quickly, but Sayers jumped away. Grant followed him up,
     caught him on the ribs, heavily with his right, and
     then on the nose with his left. Sayers returned on the
     throat, and some heavy deliveries on both sides took
     place, both standing and hitting away for some time
     without an attempt at stopping, and there appeared to
     be no decided advantage on either side; at length
     Sayers slipped down exhausted. This was unexceptionally
     the severest round in the fight. The men appeared to
     think this was the turning-point, and each wished to
     make some decided impression on his game adversary.

     44.――Both were the worse for the exertions in the last
     round. Grant’s left ear bore marks of having been again
     severely visited, and we believe his seconds again
     found it necessary to lance it. Sayers did not show
     such decided marks of Grant’s handiwork, but this was
     mainly accounted for by his excellent condition. His
     left eye was, however, closing, and his left cheek much
     swollen. Both unwilling to begin, and some slight blows
     having been exchanged, Sayers slipped down.

     45.――Grant went into mill, but napped it on the left
     ear and nose with severity. Good exchanges followed,
     and Sayers again slipped down.

     46.――Grant still first to fight, but was cleverly
     stopped by Sayers, who was getting more active. They
     quickly got to in-fighting, when after a few exchanges
     they rolled over, and Grant excited the admiration of
     all by the careful manner in which he avoided falling
     on his man with his feet or knees.

     47, 48.――Grant took the lead in both these rounds, but
     was stopped in each instance, and received deliveries
     from Sayers’s right on his left ear. He nevertheless
     succeeded in each round in planting on Sayers’s left
     ear with his dangerous right; but the blows had not
     that vigour we have seen him exhibit on former
     occasions. Both were down in these rounds.

     49.――Some rattling exchanges took place in this round;
     Grant getting it on the throat and ribs, and Sayers on
     the chest and mouth and eventually slipping down.

     50.――Sayers made play on the ribs with his left
     heavily, Grant returning on the nose with his left;
     Grant then stopped two attempts on the part of Sayers,
     made his left and right on the nose and left cheek, and
     Sayers slipped down.

     51.――Grant again popped in a spank on Tom’s nut,
     receiving in return on the smeller heavily, and losing
     more claret. Good exchanges followed, when Grant rushed
     in and bored his man over the ropes.

     52.――Sayers attempted to make the running, but was
     stopped by Grant, who went in to mill, and planted both
     hands, one on the nose and the other on the left side
     of the head heavily. Another on the nose succeeded,
     which opened the claret jug again. Sayers only planted
     his left once on the nose and slipped down. This round
     was decidedly in favour of Grant.

     53.――Sayers made his left on the ribs, and tried to
     plant the same hand on the nose, but was well stopped.
     He received one from Grant’s right on the side of his
     head; this brought on a rally, in which he caught it on
     the eyebrow heavily, and slipped down.

     54.――Grant, thinking the game was now his own, again
     rushed in, but Sayers was with him and in the exchanges
     which followed he visited Grant’s left ear with great
     severity, catching it slightly on the side of the head,
     and then getting down cunning.

     55.――Grant again first, but stopped; he however, made
     good his right on the ribs directly afterwards, and
     then his left on the right eye of Sayers, who sent home
     his right on the neck, and his left on the left ear.
     Grant bored in again, received one on the left ear,
     which bled freely, and Sayers slipped down.

     56.――A close, and Sayers got down.

     57.――No mischief done. Some slight exchanges, and
     Sayers slipped down.

     58.――Sayers caught Grant as he came in on the nose and
     throat, and then on the mazzard heavily, drawing more
     of the ruby. Grant then closed, struggled, and both
     fell heavily to the ground――Sayers uppermost.

     59.――Grant, who seemed weak and exhausted, was twice
     stopped; but in a third attempt caught Sayers on the
     left ear with his right, and the latter slipped down.

     60.――Grant led off, reached Sayers’ left eye, received
     one on his damaged listener, and slipped down.

     61.――Grant appeared determined to finish the matter off
     hand, rushed in left and right on Sayers’ cheek and
     nose. Sayers put in both hands on the left eye and
     nose; a rally, close, and short struggle, both again
     coming to the ground heavily――Grant under.

     62.――Sayers tried to lead off, but was short; Grant
     just contrived to reach his nose, but the blow had no
     steam in it, and Sayers in getting back slipped down.

     63.――Both slow to the call of time, and both evidently
     exhausted. Grant was first up, but he looked much
     flushed; his face was much swollen, his nose anything
     but Roman in its appearance, and his left ear
     presenting an unpleasant spectacle. He rushed in, but
     Sayers, whose good-natured mug still bore the ghost of
     a smile, although nearly on the wrong side of his
     mouth, stopped him cleverly and got away; Grant
     followed him up, got home with his right on the side of
     his head, receiving, in return, on the left ear. A
     close, and long struggle for the fall, which Grant got,
     throwing his man and falling on him.

     64 and last.――Grant came up looking very groggy. The
     falls in the few last rounds had evidently shaken him.
     He appeared to be suffering from cramp, but still was
     determined. He led off, getting slightly home on
     Sayers’ left cheek bone. Tom retaliated on the left
     ear. A few sharp exchanges were succeeded by another
     struggle for the fall, and ultimately both came very
     heavily to the ground――Grant being undermost――Tom
     falling across his stomach. Both were immediately
     picked up and carried to their corners, and on time
     being called, Jemmy Welsh, on the part of Grant, threw
     up the sponge in token of defeat. On our inquiring as
     to the cause of this rather unexpected termination of
     the affair, we were informed that Grant was severely
     suffering from cramp, and had moreover injured some
     part of his intestines in such a manner that it was
     feared he was ruptured, and he was in such pain that he
     could not stand upright. Sayers went up to his fallen
     but not disgraced adversary and shook him kindly by the
     hand, and was proclaimed the victor amidst the shouts
     of his friends. Grant was conveyed on a railway truck
     to a small public-house in the neighbourhood, where
     every attention was shown to him, but he continued in
     great pain for some time afterwards. The poor fellow
     was not actually ruptured; but he had received a severe
     internal strain, which caused him considerable
     uneasiness for some time. Grant met with an accident
     some time before at Manchester, which always rendered
     him weak in the muscles of the stomach, and he
     considered that being not fully up to the mark, he was
     more than usually susceptible of injury. The fight
     lasted exactly _two hours and a half_.

     REMARKS.――The great length to which our account of this
     “model mill” has extended imposes upon us the necessity
     of being brief in our remarks. Tom Sayers by this
     victory established for himself a reputation as a man
     of science, courage, and endurance, for which few were
     disposed to give him credit. The manner in which he
     stopped the determined attacks of his adversary, and
     the judgment with which he extricated himself from
     difficulty, and continually refused to struggle for the
     fall with a man stronger than himself, proved that his
     headpiece was screwed on the right way, and that
     although, compared with his opponent, a novice in the
     Prize Ring, he was perfectly acquainted with the theory
     of his art, and only wanted the occasion to arise to
     put that theory into practice. He proved himself a very
     hard hitter, and managed to get on to his opponent so
     frequently that even Grant’s iron mug displayed such
     bumps and contusions as the gallant hero has seldom
     exhibited in his former engagements. Sayers is a
     good-tempered, well-behaved young fellow, and bears a
     high character for honour and integrity. He is by this
     victory nearly at the top of the tree, and we trust
     that by his future conduct he will show that prosperity
     has not, in his case, as it has in many we could name
     in his profession, had the effect of destroying his
     good principles. Grant, although not destined on this
     occasion to wear the crown of victory, was not
     disgraced by his fall. He manfully disputed every inch
     of ground with his clever opponent, and showed that his
     qualifications as a sparrer were quite equal to those
     of Sayers. His stopping and wrestling were universally
     admired, while the manliness and care with which he
     avoided falling upon his adversary in such a way as to
     cause any dispute, obtained for him the repeated
     plaudits of the surrounding throng. The fight, as we
     have before observed, was conducted throughout in a way
     to leave nothing to be desired.

Tom now remained idle until January of the following year, 1853, when
a game, resolute fellow, named Jack Martin, who had disposed of
several countrymen, and grown into high favour with Ben Caunt, was
brought forward by “Big Ben” to uphold the honour of the “Coach and
Horses.” Tom’s standing challenge was accordingly accepted for £50 a
side, and Wednesday, January 26, 1853, named as the day of battle. A
foggy trip per steamer landed the voyagers in Long Reach, and, the
preparations being made, the men stood up and shook hands; Alec Keene
and a friend, for Sayers, and Tom Paddock and Jerry Noon as seconds
for Martin, joining in the friendly ceremony.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On toeing the scratch it was clear to all
     that Sayers was a bigger man than his adversary; and,
     if possible, in better condition. His eye had resumed
     its brightness, and there was a hardness in his general
     appearance which made him look all over a perfect
     gladiator. Martin, who was shorter in the reach than
     his opponent, showed great muscularity of arm and
     thighs, but elsewhere he was not nearly so well
     furnished. He was pale, but there was a good-humoured
     smile on his mug, which showed that the word fear was
     unknown in his vocabulary. Little time was lost in
     sparring――Sayers led off, catching Martin slightly with
     his left on the nose. Martin immediately rushed to
     in-fighting, when some heavy hits were exchanged, each
     catching it on the left eye, and each showing claret at
     the same moment from cuts on the brow. After a few
     random shots both were down together. “First blood” was
     claimed by each party, but was decided by the referee
     to be a drawn event.

     2.――Both bleeding from the left eye, Sayers appearing
     to have the worst of it. He was undaunted, smiled, led
     off with his left, catching Martin on the right cheek.
     Martin again went in, and commenced pegging away with
     both hands. Sayers was with him, hitting with most
     precision, and the round ended in both again falling
     together.

     3.――Sayers commenced the ball, caught Martin a spank on
     the right cheek, received slightly on the body, and
     then catching Martin full with his left on the nose,
     sent him to grass, a clean “knock-down blow,” and thus
     won the second event.

     4.――Martin came up bleeding from the nose, but with a
     smile of confidence. Sayers led off, but Martin jumped
     cleverly back. He then stepped in, caught Sayers on the
     damaged optic, drawing more of the ruby. Heavy
     exchanges followed; Martin delivered his right heavily
     on the ribs, Sayers returning with effect on the nose.
     A close at the rope followed, and both were quickly
     down.

     5.――Martin attempted to take the lead, but was neatly
     stopped; he then swung round his right at the body, and
     immediately closed for the fall. Sayers, instead of
     struggling, fibbed away at Martin’s head until Martin
     forced him down.

     6.――Sayers led off on the nose with his left; Martin
     countered on the side of the head. A tremendous rally
     followed, the hits on both sides succeeding each other
     with great quickness. Each caught it on the side of the
     head, but the blows of Sayers, from his superior reach,
     told with most force. In the end both were down.

     7.――Martin led off, was well stopped, and received a
     nasty one on the nose; he then closed, but Sayers
     refused to struggle with him, and got down, Martin
     following suit.

     8.――Sayers commenced by planting his left on Martin’s
     nose with effect, and immediately repeating the dose.
     Martin returned on the left eye heavily, enlarging the
     old cut; and Sayers, in stepping away, slipped down.

     9.――Martin showed a bump on each side of his nose from
     the heavy blows in the last round. He tried to take the
     lead, but was well stopped. Ditto repeated. After which
     he bored in, Sayers catching him heavily on the left
     cheek. Martin succeeded in reaching Sayers’ damaged
     brow; good exchanges followed, Sayers getting, however,
     on Martin’s right eye, and Martin on the ribs with his
     right. Another tremendous rally followed, each getting
     heavy pepper, Martin, however, having the worst of it,
     and receiving on the mouth and left eye with great
     severity. At last they got close together, and, after a
     short struggle, Sayers eased himself down, and Martin
     fell on him.

     10.――Martin, on coming up, showed marks of the efficacy
     of Sayers’ handiwork in the last round. His right eye,
     which was previously “all serene,” was now completely
     closed, and his right cheek much swollen, while Sayers
     appeared little the worse for wear. Sayers led off, but
     was short; Martin then made an attempt, but failed in
     like manner. Counter-hits followed; Sayers again
     reached the right ogle of his adversary, who took all
     in good-humour, and still smiled with one side of his
     face. He now dashed in, and more exchanges took place,
     Martin succeeded in inflicting a cut over Sayers’ right
     eye, which had been hitherto unscathed. At length,
     after some sharp in-fighting in favour of Sayers,
     Martin slipped down on one knee. Sayers, who might have
     hit him, laughed and walked away, amidst cries of
     “Bravo” from both sides.

     11.――Sayers led off with his left, reaching the side of
     Martin’s nose. A rattling rally followed, at the end of
     which Sayers threw his man, and fell heavily on him.

     12.――Martin came up bleeding at all points, but still
     the same good-humoured fellow as ever. Sayers led off
     short, ditto Martin; Sayers in on the ribs with his
     left. Counter-hits, Sayers on the nose, and Martin on
     the cheek, drawing more of the ruby fluid. A close
     followed, and some more heavy infighting, after which,
     Martin contrived to swing Sayers over.

     13.――Sayers on coming up was bleeding rapidly from a
     severe cut on his left hand, evidently inflicted
     against Martin’s teeth. The men quickly got to it,
     counter-hits were exchanged, Martin on the ribs, and
     Sayers on the right cheek, followed up by two spanks,
     left and right, on the nose and mouth. More heavy
     pounding in favour of Sayers, who hit at points, while
     Martin hit round, and principally at the body. At
     length they closed, and both were down, side by side,
     each looking at his adversary and smiling.

     14.――Martin led off with his left, but was out of
     distance. Sayers, with great quickness, let go his
     left, and reached his opponent’s mouth. Martin merely
     grinned at the visitation, bored in, but only to
     receive another severe prop on the right eye and a
     spank on the nasal organ. Still he was determined, and
     again went at his man, who, in getting away, slipped
     down.

     15.――Martin’s phisog in anything but picturesque
     condition, his right cheek much swollen and bleeding,
     and his mouth completely out of kissing condition.
     After a few passes, slight counter-hits were exchanged,
     Martin getting home on the body, and Sayers on the left
     cheek. Martin, not to be stalled off, rushed in and
     delivered a heavy round hit on the ribs with his right;
     Sayers was with him, and visited his damaged smeller
     with severity. This led to another good rattling rally,
     in which Sayers inflicted more heavy punishment on poor
     Martin’s nose and right eye, while Martin only
     succeeded in delivering some sounding punches on his
     ribs. They broke away, again got at it ding-dong, and
     finally, in the close both were down. Martin apparently
     as strong on his legs as his opponent.

     16.――Good counter-hits with the left, each catching the
     other on the mazzard. Sayers now stopped one or two
     attempts on the part of his adversary very neatly, and
     returned heavily on the nozzle. An attempt to repeat
     the dose was unsuccessful, Martin quickly jumping back.
     Martin came again, and swung round his left on the
     ribs, but napped it again on the nose for his
     imprudence. More mutual punching in favour of Sayers
     followed, but still Martin’s deliveries were
     occasionally severe. A close, in which both fibbed away
     hammer-and-tongs. Sayers reaching Martin’s remaining
     optic, but not with sufficient force to put up the
     shutter, and Martin drew more claret from his
     opponent’s left ogle. A break away, and at it again,
     until Martin slipped down on one knee; Sayers again
     walking away smiling. This round, which was one of the
     best fighting rounds we have seen for many a day,
     elicited universal applause.

     17.――Martin came up piping, and rather slow, but still
     smiling, as well as his damaged phiz would allow. He
     endeavoured to lead off, but was easily stopped. In a
     second attempt he reached Tom’s left cheek, but Sayers
     countered him on the left eye heavily, his superior
     reach giving him the advantage. Martin, not to be
     cowed, popped in a heavy right-hander on the ribs;
     received again on his left eye, and, in retreating,
     slipped down.

     18.――Sayers let fly his left, but was short; both
     appeared fatigued from the quickness with which they
     had worked, and sparred a few seconds for wind. Sayers
     at length again led off, and caught Martin on the left
     eye, Martin returning on the same suit with
     considerable quickness. Both were now short in their
     deliveries. Martin at length bored in and reached Tom’s
     ribs with his right. Sayers returned on the right
     cheek, and both slipped down.

     19.――Sayers again out of distance. He soon crept
     closer, however, sent out his left, was neatly stopped,
     and cleverly got away from Martin’s return. Martin
     followed him up, caught him on the left cheek, and then
     on the body, receiving a nasty one in return on the
     left eye. In the close which followed he succeeded in
     throwing Sayers heavily, amidst the cheers of his
     friends, who did not think he had so much strength in
     him.

     20.――Sayers led off, caught Martin on the mouth, was
     unsuccessful in a second attempt, and then caught a
     heavy right-hander on the ribs. Martin sent out his
     left and was stopped, Sayers returning with effect on
     the right eye, and then on the left, from which he drew
     more claret. Martin, whose head was much swollen, again
     planted a rib bender, closed, and after a short
     struggle both were down.

     21.――Martin took the lead, but Sayers jumped away
     laughing; Martin returned the grin, and again sent out
     his left, which was easily stopped. Sayers once more
     reached his adversary’s blind side, and Martin slipped
     down weak.

     22.――Any odds on Sayers, who was as fresh as possible.
     Martin made an effort to turn the tables, but was
     stopped several times; he at length reached Tom’s ribs,
     and the latter stepping back, steadied himself, waited
     for Martin’s rush, and then sent out his left with
     terrific force, caught poor Martin on the right jaw,
     and the latter tumbled over on his face apparently out
     of time. It was thought all over, and the poor fellow
     was carried to his corner, but when time was called, to
     the surprise of all he came up for round

     23, and last.――He was evidently all abroad, and
     staggered about the ring. Sayers went up to him,
     delivered his left on the right cheek, and following
     this with a right-hander on the nose, down went Martin
     for the last time, and Sayers was proclaimed the winner
     after fighting 55 _minutes_. Sayers, although severely
     handled about the mug, was still fresh on his pins;
     both his eyes were fully open, and it was evident that,
     had it been necessary, he was good for many more
     rounds. Martin, on being conveyed to his corner, was
     laid upon the ground, and every effort made to restore
     consciousness, but it was fully five minutes before he
     could be made to understand what had happened. As soon
     as possible he was conveyed on board the steamboat, and
     made as comfortable as could be expected under the
     circumstances.

     REMARKS.――A few more such battles as that we have just
     recorded would go far to restore the fallen fortunes of
     the Prize Ring. It was, in truth, as we have styled it
     above, a mill of the old school. More punishment was
     inflicted in 55 minutes than we have seen in two hours
     in any encounter during the last few years. There was
     not a single appeal to the referee, nor was there a
     single action on the part of either man throughout the
     fight at which the greatest stickler for fair play
     could take exception. Both had evidently made up their
     minds to a fair and manly struggle for victory, and
     their friends ably supported them in their laudable
     resolution, by rigidly abstaining from any
     interference. In fact, the only thing at which we felt
     inclined to cavil was the manner in which Jerry Noon
     seconded the losing man. A good second always remains
     quiet until the round is over, then picks his man up,
     carries him to his corner, and cleans him as tenderly
     as possible. Roughness, or interference during the
     round, only tends to confuse a man’s ideas and lead him
     into jeopardy. As to the merits of the men, there
     cannot be two opinions. Martin was clearly overmatched.
     He was opposed to a taller, longer and stronger man,
     one, moreover, possessing greater knowledge of the art
     of self-defence than himself. That he (Martin) is a
     game, resolute fellow no one will deny. A greater
     glutton we have seldom seen. He is, also, an
     exceedingly fair fighter, scorning to take the least
     advantage, and is possessed of that greatest of all
     requisites to a boxer――unwavering good-temper. The
     terms of praise in which he was mentioned by all
     clearly showed that his conduct was appreciated as it
     deserved to be. Of Tom Sayers, and his manly,
     good-tempered style of fighting, we have before spoken
     in the highest terms, and it is only necessary for us
     to state that his conduct was as upright and his
     tactics were as fair as ever. He, on several occasions,
     refrained from punishing his adversary when he was down
     on one knee only――a position in which he was perfectly
     entitled to strike him, and one in which he might have
     administered pepper with effect. He used his left hand
     with greater precision than in his battle with Grant,
     and his deliveries appeared altogether heavier than in
     that encounter. As we have before observed, the ring
     was exceedingly well kept throughout, and all had an
     uninterrupted view of the encounter from its
     commencement to its conclusion. As soon as possible
     after the event was decided, the crowd that had
     assembled took its departure――some returning by the
     boat, while others, who did not fancy a return trip up
     the river in the dark against an ebb-tide, struck
     across the marshes to Dartford, and thus reached town
     at seven o’clock by the North Kent Railway. Among the
     latter was our eccentric friend, Bendigo, who quite put
     out the pipe of the milling orator and poet, Charley
     Mallett, as, while waiting at the station, he composed
     and sung a long extempore poem, descriptive of the
     day’s sport, and laudatory of the heroes and of
     himself, which elicited uncontrollable laughter and
     applause from his Corinthian auditors, and sent all
     back to the Metropolis in perfect good humour, caused
     as much by the ready wit and “hanky-panky” performances
     of that eccentric individual, as by the extraordinary
     treat they had enjoyed on the field of battle.

The year 1853 was not to expire without witnessing the first and last
defeat of the gallant Tom.

Nathaniel Langham, for many years known as “mine host” of the “Mitre,”
in St. Martin’s Lane, Leicester Square, whose biography illustrates a
former portion of this volume, was, as the reader is already aware, of
that unlucky weight, 11st., which is so difficult to match when
accompanied by first-class pugilistic capabilities. Too heavy for the
light men, whose average lies between 9st. and 9st. 10lbs., and too
light for real “big-uns,” provided they possess skill and pluck, men
of this size can find fair competitors only among men of their own
weight and inches. Nat’s earlier combats, therefore, as we have
already seen, were with heavy men; and his only defeat had been by
Harry Orme, his superior by more than half a stone, under
circumstances fully detailed at page 244 of this volume. Two years had
elapsed since Nat’s defeat, and public talk had prophesied in fistic
circles of “the coming man” in the person of the conqueror of Jack
Grant. “Ould Nat,” who seemed for the moment laid on the shelf,
pricked up his ears when he heard that Tom, whose motto was
“Excelsior,” was ready to make a match with the “Champion of the
Middle-weights.” Nat picked up the gauntlet, and all was soon
arranged. At Lakenheath, Suffolk, on the 18th October, 1853, they met,
with the result already recorded.

Defeated, but not disgraced, Tom lost no time in challenging Langham
to a second trial; but the latter, for good and sufficient reasons,
which we have fully set forth in our memoir of that boxer (_ante_ p.
251), declined the invitation.

Sayers was, therefore, on the look-out for a new competitor, and
although Tom “proposed” to several of the provincial “ten stunners”
and upwards, none listened to his suit.

One evening, after some “chaff,” George Sims, a long-limbed professor
of the art, immensely fancied by some of the “locals,” threw down the
gauntlet to Tom, professing regret that £25 was all he could raise for
the experiment, and that Tom could easily post £50. Finding that the
professor was serious and “meant business,” Sayers, who declared
himself “blue mouldy for want of a bating,” accepted the chance, as he
said, “to keep his hand in.”

The day fixed was the 2nd of February, 1854, and on a miserably foggy
morning the principals and their friends took steamer to Long Reach,
below Gravesend, and soon were face to face, near the river wall.
Sayers, who weighed 10st 6lbs., looked remarkably well. Sims, who
stood over him, was 5 feet 10 inches, and said to be under 11st. We
doubt if he were so light, despite his leanness. Sims was waited upon
by Jemmy Welsh and Harry Orme, so that he had talent behind him;
Sayers had Jemmy Massey and Bob Fuller as counsel. 7 to 4 and 2 to 1
on Sayers.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Sims was so much taller than Sayers that he
     seemed quite a lath before him, and, as soon as he held
     up his hands, displayed such awkwardness that it was
     evidently “sovereigns to sassingers” on Sayers, and Dan
     Dismore immediately offered 4 to 1 on him, which was
     taken by Jem Burn on the off chance. Sims, after a
     little unartistic squaring, lunged out awkwardly, and
     caught Tom on the chest with his left. Tom, who was
     evidently waiting to find out what his adversary could
     do, returned smartly on the mouth, and in getting back
     fell on his corybungus.

     2.――Tom grinned, dodged his man, and, on the latter
     wildly sending out his left, countered him on the
     nozzle heavily. Sims immediately closed, and Tom,
     seizing him round the neck, pegged away with his right
     at the ribs and left eye until both fell.

     3.――Sims led off, evidently without any settled plan;
     he caught Tom slightly on the mouth, and the latter
     again countered him heavily on the nose, deciding the
     first event in his favour by producing an excellent
     supply of the best crimson dye. Sims did not like this,
     and again closed, when Tom fibbed him heavily on the
     proboscis, drawing more of the ruby, and then on the
     left eye, and both again fell.

     4th and last.――Sims on coming up looked much flushed;
     his left ogle winked again as if it saw so many bright
     stars as to be perfectly dazzled. He attempted to lead
     off, but was countered with the greatest ease by Tom on
     the left eye and mouth. He retreated as if bothered,
     and then went in again, when Tom let go both hands, the
     left on the smeller, and the right with terrific effect
     over the left brow, inflicting a deep cut, and drawing
     a copious supply of the best double-distilled. Sims was
     evidently stunned by the hit; for, as Sayers caught
     hold of him, he fell back and rolled over him. It was
     at once perceptible that it was all over; poor Sims lay
     perfectly insensible and motionless. His seconds did
     their best to stop the leak in his _os frontis_, but
     for some time without effect; and, as for rendering him
     capable of hearing the call of “Time,” that was quite
     out of the question, and Tom Sayers, to his own
     astonishment and the disappointment of those who had
     expected a rattling mill, was declared the conqueror,
     after a skirmish of exactly five minutes. Sayers was so
     bewildered that he could not make it out; he evidently
     did not know he had made so decided a hit, and
     displayed considerable anxiety to ascertain the fate of
     his less fortunate opponent. A medical gentleman was
     present, who soon did the needful for the poor fellow,
     and in about five minutes more he was himself again,
     and was able to walk about. He was quite dumbfounded as
     to the result, and expressed a strong wish to be thrown
     into the river; but, after some persuasion from his
     friends, became more calm, and thought it better “to
     live to fight another day.”

     REMARKS.――A few words are all that are called for in
     the shape of remarks on this mill. Sims was from the
     first overmatched. He is a civil, well-behaved,
     courageous fellow, ridiculously over estimated by his
     friends. Tom Sayers and his tactics are too well known
     to require comment. He did all that was required of
     him, and left the ring without a scratch. We never saw
     him in better fettle; and if he ever had a day on which
     he was better than he ever had been before, that day
     was Tuesday. An easier job never fell to man’s lot; and
     the best wish that his friends can express is, that he
     may never have a worse.

This brief episode left Sayers literally without a chance of
continuing the main story of his battles, of which this could be
hardly reckoned more than “_un affaire_,” as French _militaires_ would
call it. Tom looked round and round, he sparred, and challenged, and
travelled, but he was not fancied as a customer by either Londoners or
provincials. He was too good a horse, and handicapping him was not so
easy. There was much “talkee, talkee” about a match between himself
and Tom Paddock, then claiming the Championship, and a proposal for
Paddock to stake £200 to Tom Sayers’s £100, Paddock weighing 12st.
8lbs. to Tom’s 10st. 1lbs., or thereabouts. It came to nothing,
however; and Tom, in despair, announced his intention of going to
Australia.

Harry Poulson, of Nottingham, whose three tremendous battles with
Paddock, in the first of which he was victorious, though defeated in
the second and third encounters, had raised his fame deservedly, was
now talked of, and Tom was induced to match himself against him. Here,
again, Sayers was giving away “lumps of weight;” for Poulson, though
an inch shorter than Sayers (namely, 5ft 7½in.) was a perfect Hercules
in the torso, weighing 12st. 7lbs. in hard condition. He had thrashed,
in provincial battles, all comers, and was known as one of the
coolest, most determined, and game fellows that ever pulled off a
shirt. True, he had come into the London Ring rather late in life,
having been born in 1817, but his endurance and strength were
considered an overmatch for Sayers. So, too, thought Jem Burn, a
staunch friend of Poulson, and he proposed to stake £50 on his behalf.
Sayers accepted it, and Bendigo, who was Poulson’s friend and adviser,
snapped at what he declared to be “a gift” for his townsman Harry.

Many of Tom’s friends were displeased with the match, which they
considered presumptuous on his part, and declared that he was
completely overmatched, as it was known Poulson could not fight under
12st., and Sayers to be well ought to be more than a stone under that
amount. At first he had some difficulty in finding supporters, but
that was happily got over by the influence of one of the staunchest
Corinthian fanciers of modern times. After he was matched, Sayers
remained longer in town than was prudent, and, as a natural
consequence, was too much hurried in his preparations. He was not
quite a month at country quarters, and on arriving in London looked
fleshy, and had evidently done insufficient work. Had he been about
five pounds lighter he would have been all the better. He was,
nevertheless, extremely sanguine of success, and assured his backers
that he would fully justify the confidence they had placed in him. We
saw Tom at Nat Langham’s, the “Cambrian,” on the Monday evening. He
was surrounded by an extensive circle of the upper-crust supporters of
the P.R. His weight was about 10st. 12lbs. or 13lbs.

Poulson, after his last defeat by Paddock, had remained at Nottingham,
where he followed his laborious occupation as a navvy until informed
of the proposed match, in which, as already stated, he was taken in
hand by Jem Burn. That facetious worthy, determined that no pains
should be spared, summoned Bendigo to his assistance, and under the
able tutelage of that eccentric but painstaking ex-champion did Harry
get himself into very first-rate trim. Every muscle in his powerful
frame was beautifully developed, and there did not seem to be an ounce
of superfluous meat in any place. As the men were not tied to weight,
no scaling took place at the last moment on which dependence could be
placed. He was certainly not less than 12st., and might have been a
pound or so more. His height 5ft. 7½in., and in figure and general
appearance, although shorter and thicker set, marvellously like “the
renowned” Bendigo. On the Monday before the battle Poulson took up his
quarters under the hospitable roof of “My Nevvy,” at the “Rising Sun,”
where he was greeted by an admiring circle, including many patricians.
He retired to his “flea pasture” at an early hour; but the eccentric
Bendy kept the company at the “Rising Sun” in a perpetual grin until
the approach of the small hours reminded him that he, too, had work to
do early in the morning, upon which he retired to roost, as did the
host himself, who, although suffering from gout, had made up his mind
to be present. The betting, at both Jem’s and Nat’s, varied between 6
and 7 to 4 on Poulson――odds which the superior strength, weight, and
condition of the countryman fully justified. The betting was tolerably
brisk, but there were more layers of odds than takers.

By six o’clock in the morning all the Fancy were astir, and great was
the difficulty in getting cabs. A hard frost had set in, and most of
the vehicles were detained at home to get the horses “roughed.”
Several, owing to this unforeseen occurrence, were unable to catch the
train at eight o’clock; and, had it not been for the opportune arrival
of the drag of an old friend, Sayers would, in all probability, have
been left behind. As it was, he cut it so fine that he only arrived as
the station-doors were closed. The journey down was performed by
eleven o’clock, and within half an hour the ring was ready at
Appledore. The men lost no time in entering its precincts, Poulson
attended by Bob Fuller and Bendigo, and Sayers receiving the friendly
assistance of Nat Langham and Jemmy Massey. Umpires and a referee were
soon appointed, and at six minutes to twelve the men toed the scratch.
The betting now was tolerably brisk at 7 to 4 on Poulson――odds which,
at one period of the fight, advanced to 3 to 1, which was laid by Tom
Paddock, whose confidence in his old opponent’s tried game and
resolution tempted him to overstep the bounds of prudence in his
investments.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――The disparity in weight was very perceptible,
     as was also the superior condition of Poulson. Sayers,
     however, had the advantage in height and length.
     Poulson threw himself into the old-fashioned attitude,
     with both hands held somewhat high, and planted firmly
     on both pins. Sayers, on the contrary, assumed an
     elegant position, resting most upon his left foot, his
     right arm across the mark, and the left well down. He
     fiddled a little, until Poulson went in and let go his
     left and right. The former was stopped; but with the
     latter he got home on Tom’s nut. A sharp rally
     instantly took place, which brought them to close
     quarters, in which Sayers fibbed his man very cleverly,
     catching him heavily on the conk, and in the end both
     were down, Poulson under.

     2.――Both were flushed from the rapid in-fighting in the
     last round, which had evidently been severe. Poulson
     tried to lead off, but was too slow for his active
     opponent. He persevered, and at last got home with his
     right over Tom’s left ear. This led to more heavy
     exchanges and a close, in which Poulson caught Sayers
     round the neck. Sayers hit up, but without doing any
     damage, and in the end was down, Poulson on him.

     3.――Sayers came up smiling but cautious. He fiddled his
     man until he got within distance, when he lunged out
     his left on the right brow, but too high for mischief.
     Poulson returned heavily on the ribs with his right,
     when Tom retreated. Poulson followed him again, let go
     his left and right, was beautifully countered, but
     again too high and on the side of the nut, and Poulson
     slipped down.

     4.――Sayers feinted and let go his left on the nose, but
     not heavily. Poulson was wild and missed his return,
     whereupon Sayers put in his left very neatly on the
     right cheek. Poulson now went in ding-dong, but his
     blows wanted precision. He got close, when Sayers
     caught him on the right peeper and the right lug, from
     each of which there was a tinge of blood. Tom then
     closed and threw his man very neatly, falling on him.
     (“First blood” for Sayers.)

     5.――Sayers again feinted to draw his man, who came in,
     and Sayers sent his left over his shoulder. Poulson
     then closed, threw, and fell on him.

     6.――Tom, after one or two feints and dodges, again let
     fly his left, but was well stopped. Poulson, however,
     missed his return with the right at the body. He now
     rushed in determined, and some tremendous punching,
     left and right, ensued, in which Sayers hit straighter
     and oftener, but Poulson heavier with his right, which
     paid some heavy visits to Tom’s nut.

     7.――Sayers again feinted and succeeded in drawing his
     man, who let go both hands, but out of distance. Sayers
     with quickness returned on the forehead, but was too
     high. Heavy counter-hits followed to a close, in which
     the fibbing was severe, Sayers receiving on the left
     side of his head and returning on the mouth.

     8.――Both, much flushed on the dial, came up laughing.
     Poulson lunged out his right, catching Tom heavily on
     the ribs and then on the cheek, Tom instantly closed,
     and, after a sharp struggle, in which it was thought
     Poulson had the best of it, Sayers cleverly back-heeled
     him, throwing him heavily and falling on him.

     9.――Poulson tried again to deliver his right on the
     ribs, but Sayers was well away. Harry rushed after him,
     slinging out both hands, when Tom ducked and escaped.
     Poulson persevered, and at last caught him with his
     right on the ribs, when some more severe in-fighting in
     favour of Poulson took place. In the end both were
     down.

     10.――On coming up Tom’s nose showed that Harry had been
     there in the last round; his ribs, also, were
     unmistakably bruised. He feinted to draw his adversary,
     and let go his left, which was stopped, and Poulson
     returned on the ribs. Sayers, with great quickness,
     countered him as he delivered this blow, and sent him
     to grass by a sharp left-hander on the right temple.
     (“First knock-down blow” for Sayers.)

     11.――Poulson came up slow, as if posed by the blow in
     the last round. Sayers dodged with his left, and popped
     it over Harry’s right peeper, getting quickly away from
     the return. Poulson followed him up, but missed his
     right; he persevered until they got to close quarters,
     when Sayers again knocked him down by a heavy
     right-hander on the jaw. (Loud cheers for Sayers, the
     Poulsonites looking blue.)

     12.――Tom came up smiling and all alive, dodged, and put
     in his left very straight on Harry’s nasal promontory.
     Poulson instantly rushed in, but napped it on the right
     side of his nut and slipped down.

     13.――Poulson, who had been called on to fight with his
     left, waited for Sayers, and, on the latter coming
     near, caught him heavily with that hand on the
     proboscis, staggering him. Tom soon came again, and
     retaliated by a heavy delivery on the mouth with his
     left. After some mutual sparring, Harry was short with
     his left, and Tom countered him with the right on the
     left peeper, and then with the left bang on the
     olfactory organ. Some sharp exchanges ensued, in which
     Poulson drew the ruby from Tom’s snout, and Tom slipped
     down.

     14.――Both got quickly to work. No stopping; and, after
     one or two harmless cracks, Sayers got down.

     15.――Poulson again attempted to fight with his left;
     but Sayers was too quick for him, and nailed him on the
     right cheek. Harry tried it again, but was stopped; and
     Sayers then let drive with his left on the
     smelling-bottle very heavily; he retreated, feinted,
     and, by putting the double on, succeeded in delivering
     another smack on the same organ. Some very heavy
     exchanges followed, in which Sayers got home on the
     right eye and Harry on the sneezer; Sayers slipped
     down.

     16.――Tom came up filtering the juice from his beak.
     Poulson tried to plant his favourite right, but was
     stopped. He then tried his left, but was out of
     distance. After several more wild efforts, Sayers
     caught him with his left heavily on the right cheek,
     and retreated. Poulson followed him to the corner and
     let go his left and right, when Sayers countered him on
     the cheek. Poulson retaliated on the mouth very
     heavily, and Tom slipped down.

     17.――Tom was now bleeding from the mouth and nose. He
     was as steady as ever, and planted his left on the side
     of the head. This led to some sharp in-fighting,
     without material damage, and in the end Sayers slipped
     down, tired.

     18.――Poulson bored in, let go his left, which was
     stopped, and Sayers was out of distance with his
     return. The same thing was repeated on both sides; but,
     on their getting closer, some good counter-hits were
     exchanged, Poulson getting it on the jaw and Tom on the
     damaged nose. Tom retreated, followed by Harry, who let
     go both hands, but was prettily popped on the nozzle.
     Some more sharp exchanges followed, Tom getting it
     heavily on the left eye, and in the end Tom was down.

     19.――Tom’s left peeper showed signs of closing.
     Poulson, seeing this, bored in, but was propped on the
     forehead and cheek. He persevered, when Tom succeeded
     in planting a very straight nose-ender, which removed
     the bark from Harry’s proboscis. The force of his own
     blow staggered Tom, who slipped down.

     20.――The gnomon of Harry’s dial was by no means set
     straight by these visitations. He tried his dangerous
     right at the body, but missed. Sayers nailed him again
     on the snout, and got down.

     21.――Tom again put in his favourite double on Harry’s
     _os frontis_ and nose, and, on receiving Poulson’s
     right on the ribs, fell.

     22.――Harry, in his usual style, lunged out his right at
     the body, but was short; Tom returning on the right
     peeper, and getting cleverly away. Poulson followed him
     up, and, after innocuous exchanges, Sayers went down.

     23.――Poulson again led off, but was propped neatly on
     the forehead and nose. This led to sharp
     counter-hitting in favour of Poulson, and Sayers was
     again down.

     24.――Tom tried his double and got home his left on the
     frontal bone, to the detriment of his knuckles, and
     again too high to be effective. Poulson pegged away at
     the ribs and the side of his head very heavily, the
     latter blow knocking Tom off his pins.

     25.――Tom seemed much fatigued; he nevertheless led off,
     but without effect. Poulson tried to return, when Tom
     met him on the nose with his left, and then on the
     forehead. Poulson once more reached Tom’s nose with his
     right, and Tom was down.

     26.――Harry tried his left, and succeeded in reaching
     Tom’s right peeper, but not heavily. Tom returned on
     the forehead, and then delivered his left on the snout.
     He retreated to draw his man, and as he came caught him
     a tremendous spank on the potato-trap with his right,
     but in retreating caught his foot against the stake and
     fell.

     27.――Harry’s mouth much swollen from the hit in the
     last round. He rushed in, when Tom caught him on the
     nasal organ heavily with his left, and got away.
     Poulson now tried his left, but was short; and Sayers
     caught him once more on the lips, renewing the supply
     of carmine. Poulson rushed after him, and Tom in
     getting away again caught against the stake and fell
     heavily.

     28.――Tom smiling, dodged and popped in his left on the
     mouth, and then on the nose with great quickness,
     drawing more gravy. Poulson rushed after him, but
     missed his right; some slogging punches followed on
     both sides to a close, in which both fell, Sayers
     under.

     29.――They immediately closed, and after some sharp
     fibbing, in which Sayers was the quicker and
     straighter, both were again down. One hour had now
     elapsed.

     30.――Tom led off, and again reached Harry’s nose. It
     was a long shot, and not heavy. Poulson missed his
     return, whereupon Sayers planted his left twice in
     succession on the nose, and, after receiving a little
     one on the chest, slipped down.

     31.――Poulson led off with his left, but was stopped,
     and Sayers was short in his return. Harry then missed
     his right on the ribs, and napped a hot one on the
     kisser from Tom’s left. This visitation Tom repeated,
     and then got on Harry’s nose. Harry rushed at him, and
     Tom slipped down, the ground being in a dreadful state.

     32.――Sayers feinted and again got well on the mug and
     nose with his left, and Harry was short with his
     return. Tom drew him, and as he came got home on the
     right eye. Harry now reached his left cheek heavily,
     and Tom got down.

     33.――Tom planted his left slightly on the dexter ogle,
     and then in the mazzard, getting cleverly away from the
     return. Poulson followed him up and delivered another
     terrific smack with his right on the nose, drawing a
     fresh supply of the sap. A close followed, in which Tom
     slipped down, bleeding from his proboscis.

     34.――Poulson tried both mauleys, but was short. He then
     rushed in again, missed, and Tom, in getting back,
     fell. He was evidently weak, and it was now that
     Paddock laid 3 to 1, thinking, no doubt, that Poulson,
     who from his fine condition showed scarcely a mark,
     would tire him out.

     35.――Poulson went to work, missed his left, but caught
     Tom with his right on the larboard cheek, which was
     much swollen, and in the close which followed Tom was
     down.

     36.――Tom led off with his left on the nose, but not
     heavily. Harry returned on the nose and the side of his
     head, and Tom slipped down.

     37.――Harry let go, and planted his right on the nose.
     Exchanges followed in favour of Poulson, and Sayers got
     down.

     38.――Tom collected himself, waited for his man, and
     nailed him twice in succession on the right eye. Slight
     exchanges followed, and they fell opposite to one
     another on their knees, the ground being more slippery
     than ever, and their spikes almost useless.

     39.――Tom dodged, put in his left and right on Harry’s
     optics; the latter then went to work, and some heavy
     exchanges ensued in favour of Poulson who nailed Tom
     with effect on the left eye, and Tom fell. His left eye
     was nearly closed.

     40.――Tom still took the lead, caught Harry on the
     snuffbox heavily, and in retreating slipped down.

     41.――Tom busy with the left on the right eye, and then
     on the mouth. Poulson returned heavily on the left
     goggle, and then bored Tom down through the ropes, his
     left daylight being quite extinguished.

     42.――Sayers tried his left on the mouth, but was
     stopped, and Poulson dashed in, nailed him with the
     right on the mouth, closed, and fibbed him until Tom
     was down.

     43.――Tom, although evidently tired, came up smiling,
     feinted, and let go his left on the right cheek.
     Poulson dashed in, when Tom met him heavily over the
     left eyebrow. Poulson still followed him as he
     retreated, and Tom nailed him on the nose. In the end
     Tom got down in his corner.

     44.――Tom “put his double on,” but it wanted steam.
     Poulson then bored in, closed at the ropes, and, after
     a short struggle, both were down.

     45.――On getting close, some heavy counter-hitting took
     place, Tom getting on to the right peeper, and Poulson
     on the mouth, renewing the supply of crimson. Tom
     retreated, came again and caught his man on the temple,
     and then on the mouth. Poulson returned on the latter
     organ and ribs with his right.

     46.――The left side of Tom’s nut was much swollen, and
     his nose all shapes but the right. He came up
     undaunted, let go his left well on the right ogle,
     which at last began to show signs of a shut-up. Tom
     retreated, followed by Poulson, and as the latter let
     go his right, Tom countered him bang on the right eye.
     Poulson returned slightly on the nose.

     47.――Sayers once more tried his double with effect, and
     got on the right eye. Poulson rushed after him, when
     Tom slipped down in rather a questionable manner, but
     there was no appeal.

     48.――Tom crept in and popped his left on the nose. A
     close followed, in which Tom got down on the saving
     suit.

     49.――Poulson tried to take the lead, but was too slow
     for the nimble Tom, who got quickly away. Harry
     persevered, and got well on the ribs twice in
     succession very heavily.

     50.――Tom evidently felt the effects of the visitations
     to the ribs, for his left arm certainly did not come up
     with the same freedom as before. Poulson went in,
     delivered another rib-bender, and Tom got down.

     51.――Harry tried to improve his advantage; but Sayers
     propped him beautifully on the nose, received another
     little one on the ribs, and dropped.

     52.――Poulson once more swung out his right; but Tom got
     away, and, as Harry followed, planted his left on the
     smeller. Poulson then bored him down, and falling
     himself, carefully avoided dropping on Sayers by
     placing a knee on each side of him. This manly
     forbearance on the part of Poulson elicited loud
     applause on all sides, the more particularly as it was
     not the first time during the fight.

     53.――Poulson again let go his left and right, but Tom
     was away, planting his left on the jaw as Harry came
     after him. Poulson succeeded in delivering his right
     slightly on the cheek, and Sayers got down.

     54.――Poulson led off left and right, but was stopped,
     and he, in turn, stopped Tom’s attempted deliveries.
     Tom then made his left on the throat and mouth by one
     of his clever doubles, and, after napping a little one
     on the proboscis, dropped.

     55.――Poulson popped his right on Tom’s damaged peeper,
     and then on the jaw very heavily. Heavy exchanges
     followed, each getting it on the side of the cranium,
     and in the end Sayers was down.

     56.――Tom feinted, put his double on the mouth and
     throat, and, as Poulson followed him up, he took
     advantage of a slight hit to go down.

     57.――Poulson dashed his right on the left cheek, and
     Tom was again down, evidently requiring rest.

     58.――Harry got well on to Tom’s conk with his right,
     and then with his left, and Tom dropped.

     59.――Harry again led off, but the blow was of no
     effect; he followed it by another on the nose, and a
     third on the side of the head, and Tom went to earth.

     60.――Harry made his left and right, but they were very
     slight, and Tom got down.

     61.――Sayers was now recovering his wind, and, waiting
     for his man, countered him very straight on the right
     eyebrow as he came in, inflicting a cut, and drawing
     the carmine. Exchanges in favour of Sayers followed,
     who again caught his man over the right peeper, and, in
     the end, Tom got down, the Poulson party asking why he
     did not stand up, and claiming a foul, which was not
     allowed, there being no ground for it.

     62.――Tom led off, but missed, and napped a heavy smack
     on the whistler from Poulson’s left. On getting close,
     a tremendous counter-hit with the right was exchanged,
     Sayers getting it on the jaw, and Poulson on the right
     eye, each knocking his adversary down.

     63.――Both slow to time, the counter in the last round
     having been a shaker for each. Poulson was bleeding
     from the right ogle, and Tom from the mouth. Tom again
     got on to Harry’s right eye, and, on getting a little
     one on the mouth, once more fell.

     64.――Tom, again very weak and tired, waited for his
     man, caught him slightly on the left cheek, and slipped
     down. Another claim that he went down without a blow
     disallowed, the ground being very bad; the referee,
     however, cautioned him to be careful.

     65.――Tom tried his left, which was easily stopped, and
     Poulson nailed him on the mouth. A close and fibbing
     followed, when Tom, having all the worst of this game,
     got down.

     66.――Poulson led off with his right, which was stopped,
     and Sayers missed his return; Poulson then caught him a
     little one with his right on the side of his nut, and
     Tom, glad of the excuse, got down.

     67.――Harry tried his left, and succeeded in reaching
     Tom’s right cheek. Heavy counter-hits followed, Poulson
     on the nose, and Tom on the left cheek; and Tom, in
     turning, after getting another crack on the side of his
     occiput, dropped.

     68.――Poulson dashed out his left, but Sayers got
     cleverly away. He tried it again with the same result,
     and on making a third essay, Tom countered him well off
     on the right ogle. He then made his left twice on the
     left eye, and, as Poulson rushed at him, got down. Two
     hours had now passed, and the punishment was pretty
     equally divided. Poulson’s right eye, like Tom’s left,
     was completely closed, and each of their noses was much
     out of shape. The right side of Tom’s face was
     unscathed, but his ribs bore heavy marks of punishment.
     Poulson had a mouse under his left eye, but was much
     stronger on his legs than Sayers, and it was still
     thought he must wear him out. Many also imagined that,
     as Tom was getting slower, Poulson would knock him out
     of time with his dangerous right.

     69.――Tom tried to lead off with his left, but was
     stopped twice in succession, and Poulson nailed him on
     the snorer. Tom returned the compliment by a tidy smack
     with his right on the mouth, drawing more of the
     cochineal; slight exchanges followed, and Sayers got
     down.

     70.――Tom’s left was again stopped, and Harry was short
     in his return. Tom then feinted and popped his double
     on the nose and right cheek, which he cut slightly.

     71.――Poulson let go his left, but did not get home. On
     Sayers attempting to return, Harry popped him on the
     nose, and Tom got down.

     72.――Poulson’s left was stopped easily; he then tried a
     one, two, and reached Tom’s mouth with his right; the
     left, however, did not reach its destination (the
     unscathed side of Tom’s phisog). In the end Tom got
     down.

     73.――Sayers stopped Poulson’s one, two, and then got
     home on the right eye. Poulson returned on the chin.
     Some rapid exchanges followed, Tom making both hands on
     the mouth and left cheek, and Poulson getting in on
     Tom’s nose. Poulson closed, when Tom caught him heavily
     on the mouth, and Poulson got down.

     74.――Tom put in a well-delivered left-hander on the
     damaged peeper. Slight exchanges followed, and Tom got
     down.

     75.――Tom getting more lively every round, and Poulson’s
     head at last beginning to swell. Tom let go his left on
     the throat; good counter-hits followed, Poulson on the
     mouth, and Tom on the side of the head. Poulson then
     dashed in with his right on the ribs, leaving marks of
     his knuckles. Tom retaliated on the right eye, and a
     determined rally followed, in which each got pepper;
     but Sayers was straighter in his deliveries. In the end
     he was down. The Poulson party began now to look
     serious; their man was gradually going blind of both
     eyes, and Sayers appeared to be no weaker than he was
     an hour ago, added to which he had still a good eye.

     76.――Both came up piping from the effects of the last
     round. Poulson tried his left twice, but Sayers got
     away, and, as Harry came after him, met him well on the
     mouth, and then on the right eye, and in the end both
     fell side by side.

     77.――Sayers came up smiling as well as his distorted
     mug would allow; he dodged, and then got well over
     Poulson’s guard on to his left eye. Harry instantly
     returned on the chin, when Tom once more popped his
     left on the mouth heavily, and got away. He played
     round his man and at last sent home another left-hander
     on the left eye――a cross hit. Poulson just reached his
     jaw with his right, and Tom got down.

     78.――Tom made play with his left on the right ogle, and
     avoided the return. Poulson persevered, and at last Tom
     got down in his corner.

     79.――Poulson dashed in his right on the nose, but not
     very heavily; Sayers returned on the right gazer, and
     napped a heavy right-hander on the cheek, from the
     effect of which he went down weak.

     80.――Tom steadied himself, crept close, and popped his
     left on the left eye. Poulson rushed at him, and heavy
     counter-hits were exchanged on the jaw, both coming to
     the ground side by side.

     81.――Tom missed two attempts to deliver, and received
     another heavy thwack on the bread-basket. Heavy
     exchanges ensued in favour of Poulson, who was always
     best at close quarters, and Sayers got down.

     82.――Tom came up a little stronger, and let go his
     left, but not heavily, on the right cheek. Poulson
     tried a return, but Tom, who gradually retreated,
     propped him as he came in, on the right eye and nose.
     Poulson, determined if possible, to make a decided turn
     in his favour, persevered, and some rattling ding-dong
     fighting took place, each getting it heavily on the
     dial, and in the end both were down.

     83.――Both looked the worse for the last round, but
     Poulson’s left eye was fast following suit with his
     right, and it was evident to all that if Sayers kept
     away it was a mere question of time. Sayers feinted,
     put in his double very neatly on the mouth, and then
     got a hot one on the left cheek. Good exchanges at
     close quarters followed, in which Poulson’s visitations
     to Tom’s snout were anything but agreeable, while Tom
     was busy on the right eye. This was another ding-dong
     round, and astonished every one after the men had
     fought so long. In the end Sayers got down, and Poulson
     fell on his knees at his side.

     84.――Tom’s double was once more successful, and he got
     well on Harry’s smeller. Poulson once more reached the
     left side of the nut, just by the ear, and Tom fell.

     85.――Poulson led off with his left, getting well on
     Tom’s nose. Good counter-hits followed, Tom getting it
     on the mouth, and Harry on the left eye. Poulson now
     dashed in, but got one on the right eye; he, however,
     nailed Tom on the right ear, drawing claret. Another
     desperate rally followed, in which Jack was as good as
     his master, and in the end Sayers got down. Two hours
     and thirty minutes had now elapsed.

     86.――Poulson dashed in, but Sayers stepped nimbly back,
     propping him as he came on the left eye. Harry at last
     made his right on the left ear, and Tom got down.

     87.――Poulson again rushed in, but Sayers, after
     propping him over the right eye, dropped. Another claim
     of foul not allowed.

     88.――Tom tried his left, but was short; Poulson then
     rattled in, caught him on the left side of his
     knowledge-box, and Tom dropped.

     89.――Poulson, after being short with his one, two, made
     his right on the ribs, and Tom fell.

     90.――Poulson again hit out of distance; he persevered,
     and eventually nailed Tom slightly on the nozzle, and
     that hero wisely got down, by way of a rest, finding
     that Harry was still dangerous at close quarters.

     91.――Tom stopped Harry with great neatness, and then
     planted his left on the throat; heavy exchanges
     followed in favour of Poulson, who again reached Tom’s
     left ear very severely, drawing more of the Burgundy,
     and Tom fell very weak.

     92.――Tom, who staggered up, received a heavy one from
     Harry’s right on the brow, and got down.

     93.――Neither very ready at the call of “Time,” but Tom
     slowest; he nevertheless came up steady, and, as
     Poulson rushed in, planted his left very heavily, first
     on the right eye and then on the nose, and got away,
     followed by Poulson, who forced the fighting. Heavy
     exchanges followed, Harry on the ribs and Tom on the
     forehead, and Tom down.

     94.――Poulson for the first time got on to Tom’s right
     eye, but not heavily; he then popped his right on the
     ear, and also on the ribs very heavily, staggering Tom,
     who evidently winced under the latter visitation. Tom,
     however shook himself together, and some sharp
     exchanges took place, which ended in Sayers dropping to
     avoid a fall.

     95.――Poulson’s right neatly stopped. He tried again
     with a rush, but Tom cleverly ducked and got away.
     Poulson followed him up, and napped a sharp reminder
     over the right brow; Poulson returned on the chest, and
     Tom got down.

     96.――After some harmless exchanges, Sayers got down,
     amidst the groans of the Nottingham party.

     97.――Poulson was again neatly stopped, and Tom returned
     heavily on the mouth, turning on the main once more.
     Poulson made his right on the ribs, and then on the
     left cheek, and, after one or two harmless passes, Tom
     got down.

     98.――Sayers put in his double on the throat, and
     Poulson rushed to a close, and, after a brief struggle,
     Sayers fell; Poulson again, and in the most manly way,
     avoiding failing on him.

     99.――Tom, evidently the best man, dodged, and put in
     his left on the side of Poulson’s head; Harry wide of
     the mark with his return. Tom came again, dodged him,
     and whack went his left on the smelling-bottle. Slight
     exchanges followed, and then Poulson, as Sayers was
     retreating, caught him a heavy right-hander on the jaw
     which knocked him down.

     100.――The Poulsonians anxious for the call of “Time;”
     but to their surprise Tom came up quite steady. He
     dodged his man, popped in his double on the nose and
     left peeper without a return, and then on the throat,
     and in getting back fell.

     101.――Poulson, nearly blind, dashed in with
     determination, and heavy counter-hits were exchanged,
     Tom getting well on the mouth and Harry on the nose,
     and Sayers slipped down. Three hours had now elapsed.

     102.――Sayers drew a fresh supply of the ruby from
     Harry’s right cheek, and, in retreating, fell. Another
     claim of foul.

     103.――Poulson went in and made his right on the side of
     Tom’s head. Tom retreated, advanced, making his usual
     feint, but, on seeing Poulson coming at him, he tried
     to get back, and, his legs slipping apart, he could not
     get himself into a defensive position, and fell.
     Another claim of foul was here made; but the referee,
     who had not seen the round, owing to the interposition
     of the bodies of the seconds and backers of Poulson,
     pronounced “fair;” and in his decision we decidedly
     concur, as, in our opinion, the fall on the part of
     Sayers was entirely unpremeditated and accidental. It
     was for some time before order was restored; and the
     delay was of the greatest advantage to Sayers, while it
     had an opposite effect on Poulson, whose left eye was
     now all but closed.

     104.――Tom came up gaily, dodged his man, who came
     towards him, and then nailed him heavily on the
     proboscis and left peeper. A close followed, and Sayers
     got down.

     105.――Slight exchanges, in which no damage was done,
     and Sayers slipped down.

     106.――Poulson dashed in to make a last effort, and
     heavy counter-hits were exchanged. Sayers caught him on
     the left eye, and received a heavy rib-bender and then
     a crack on the left ear, whereupon he dropped.

     107.――Sayers, bleeding from the left ear, came up
     slowly and feinted in his usual style; caught Harry on
     the right eye, and then on the mark. Poulson popped his
     right heavily on the ribs, and another give-and-take
     rally followed, at the end of which Sayers, who was
     still weak on his legs, got down.

     108.――Poulson’s face was now much swollen and there was
     scarcely a glimmer from his left peeper. He was,
     however, still strong as ever on his pins. He rushed
     in, knowing he had no time to spare, and caught Tom
     heavily with his right on the left ear. Exchanges
     followed, Sayers being straightest. Poulson bored in,
     and got home heavily with his right on the ribs, when
     Tom delivered his left heavily on the jaw, and knocked
     him down.

     109, and last.――The last blow had evidently been a
     settler for the gallant Poulson: he came up slowly and
     all abroad. The game fellow tried once more to effect a
     lodgement, but missed, his head came forward and Tom
     delivered the _coup de grâce_ by a heavy right-hander
     on the jaw, which again knocked the veteran off his
     legs, and, on being taken up, he was found to be deaf
     to the call of “Time.” He recovered in a few minutes,
     and shed bitter tears of disappointment at the
     unsatisfactory and unexpected termination of his
     labours. Sayers walked to a public house adjoining the
     field of battle, and of course was vociferously
     congratulated by his friends and admirers upon his
     triumphant success. Poulson was also conveyed to the
     public-house, and, after taking some refreshment,
     became himself. He was quite blind, and his mug
     otherwise much battered, but beyond this had sustained
     no serious injuries. Sayers complained a good deal of
     the punishment about his body, and the repeated
     visitations to the side of his head, but of course the
     fact of his being the winner went far to allay the
     physical suffering he endured. Both were enabled to
     return to town in the same train with their friends,
     and arrived at their respective houses about half-past
     nine o’clock. The fight lasted three hours and eight
     minutes.

     REMARKS.――Owing to the minute details which we have
     given of all the material incidents in this really
     extraordinary battle, we may spare our readers the
     trouble of reading many observations upon the
     respective merits of the men, of which the account of
     the different rounds will have enabled them to form as
     correct an opinion as ourselves. Tom Sayers, by his
     quickness on his legs, his steadiness and excellent
     judgment, not only astonished his adversary and his
     backers, but completely took his own friends by
     surprise. He had evidently much improved, in every
     possible way, since his defeat by Nat Langham. Great
     fault was found with him for his too constant resort to
     the dropping system; but for this he had every excuse.
     He scarcely ever went down without having had a
     bustling round, and once only during the battle did we
     observe anything at which an impartial man would cavil.
     This was at a period in the middle of the fight when he
     was extremely weak, and at the time no appeal was made
     by the friends of Poulson. It must be taken into
     consideration that Tom was anything but himself, and
     the ground was far from favourable for keeping on his
     legs and getting out of the reach of his weighty and
     powerful adversary. It has been urged that the ground
     was as much against Poulson as Sayers; but this was
     hardly so. Poulson is a steady ding-dong fighter, of
     the squarest build, does not depend much on his
     defensive tactics, and makes little use of his legs;
     while Tom had to be continually jumping back, and, when
     opposed to such superior weight, would of course find
     proportionate difficulty in keeping on his pins.
     Indeed, many times when he fell he came to the ground
     with such a “thud” as must have shaken a good deal of
     his strength out of him. We are aware that since the
     match had been made many things had occurred to harass
     Tom’s mind, and that he had pecuniary difficulties to
     contend with which, we trust, will not exist in future
     matches; and this, again, must be taken into
     consideration. He does not want for friends, and, we
     doubt not, with steadiness and good conduct, will find
     himself on the high road to prosperity. Of Harry
     Poulson’s gallantry and manliness we cannot say too
     much. He fought from first to last in a game,
     straightforward manner, with an evident determination
     to do his best to win in a fair and honourable way. He
     scorned to take advantage of many opportunities of
     falling on his man, when he might have done so with
     perfect fairness, and otherwise comported himself in a
     manner as reflects the very highest credit upon his
     character as a man, and a demonstrator of the noble art
     of self-defence. Although evidently annoyed at being
     unable to get home as he expected, he still never
     allowed his temper to get the better of him; and often
     when Tom, from his shifty tactics, evaded what had been
     intended as a finisher, he stood and shook his head at
     him, as much as to say it was too bad, but not once did
     he allow a harsh or angry expression to escape him. He
     is truly one of the gamest of the game; but he is too
     slow, and depends too much on his right hand, to have
     much chance of success against a really finished boxer.
     We do not consider that his age had anything to do with
     his defeat, for he is as fresh as most London boxers
     who are ten years his juniors. His bravery and
     universal good conduct cannot but secure him the
     respect and support of all admirers of such good
     qualities.

The conquest of Poulson was unquestionably the greatest achievement of
Sayers’s pugilistic career. He was now established as a man with whom
the men under 12 stone on the boxing list must not meddle; at any
rate, none other were likely to get backers against him.

From this period the name of Tom Sayers mixes itself with every
question of the belt and the Championship.

In the year 1855, a proposition was set on foot by a number of patrons
of the Ring, to raise, by subscription, a sum of money to purchase a
belt of greater intrinsic value than anything of the kind previously
presented, in lieu of the belt which had “gone astray” during the
squabbles between Bendigo, Caunt, and the Tipton Slasher. Lists were
opened, and before long a sum of nearly £100 was collected. To Mr.
Hancock, of New Bond Street, was entrusted the manufacture of the
trophy, and from that gentleman’s establishment was produced the
elegant badge of the highest fistic honours which Tom Sayers so well
and so worthily won. On the belt being ordered, the committee who
undertook its management issued the following as the conditions on
which it should be held: “That it should not be handed over to any
person claiming the Championship until he had proved his right to it
by a fight; that any pugilist having held it against all comers for
three years, without a defeat, should become its absolute possessor;
that the holder should be bound to meet every challenger of any weight
who should challenge him for the sum of £200 a side, within six months
after the issue of such challenge, within the three years; that he
should not be bound to fight for less than £200 a side; that at the
final deposit for every match within the three years the belt should
be delivered up to the committee until after the battle; and, finally,
that on the belt being given to the winner of any Champion-fight, he
should deposit such security as should be deemed necessary in the
hands of the committee to ensure the above regulations being carried
out.”

No sooner did it become known that the belt was ready for whosoever
could win it, than there was a general stirring up of the dormant
energies of the big men who had retired, or thought to be about to
retire, from the Ring. Harry Broome shook himself together; the Tipton
Slasher roused him from his lair; Tom Paddock’s hair stood on end
between hope and fear of disappointment; while Aaron Jones, who about
this time (1855) had fought the second of two tremendous battles with
Paddock, and, though defeated, had entirely removed any impressions as
to his want of pluck caused by his battles with Harry Orme, also
pricked up his ears, and issued a defiant grunt. The only man among
the recent combatants for Champion’s honours who made no sign was
Harry Orme, who was content to rest upon his well-earned reputation.
At first it was thought there would not be found a man sufficiently
venturous to tackle the “Ould Tipton,” but this was soon seen to be a
fallacy; for not one only, but each and every of the aspirants sent
out a defiance to the crooked-legged hero of the hardware districts.
The first cartel that reached him was that of Aaron Jones, and with
him preliminaries were at once arranged.

The challenges of Broome and Paddock arriving afterwards, the Slasher
informed them that they must wait the issue of the struggle with
Jones. Broome and Paddock seemed both disinclined to wait for this
event, and neither was desirous of postponing his claims to those of
his co-challenger, and, as a natural consequence, a good deal of
badinage took place between them, which ended in their being matched
for £200 a side, to ascertain which should have the preference. While
they were in training Aaron Jones was compelled to forfeit to the
Tipton Slasher, through meeting with an accident during his training;
so that there appeared a clear course for the winner.

The fight between Broome and Paddock took place on the 19th of May,
1856, and was won by Tom Paddock with ease in 51 rounds, and 63
minutes, it being at once apparent that, though Harry Broome had all
the will and the courage to do deeds of valour, the power had deserted
him, and he had become prematurely old and stale. (See page 294.)

Soon after Paddock’s defeat of Broome, Paddock obtained the acme of
his desires――viz., a match with his old opponent, the Slasher; but
when £80 a side had been staked Master Tom allowed his temper to get
the better of his judgment, and, having offended his best friends, had
to forfeit through a scarcity of “ochre.” This was not only a
disappointment to himself, but also to his opponent, who was thus
foiled in his efforts to get hold of the belt, which could not be
obtained without a mill, and which he had made sure of winning from
Tom Paddock. Just previous to this mishap Jones had recovered from his
accident, and, to the surprise of all, had been matched with the
“coming man,” Tom Sayers; so that even here the “Old’un” was again
done out of an opponent, and the belt still remained in abeyance, to
abide the issue between Sayers and Jones, the winner to meet the
ponderous Tipton for the coveted trophy. This fight, which took place
on the banks of the Medway, on the 19th February, 1857, we now propose
to narrate.

Owing to the puritanical persecution to which the Ring had been for
some time subjected, a line of country had to be selected which had
for a long time been untried, so that there was every prospect of
matters being adjusted in that quarter without let or hindrance.
Although bills were circulated, stating that a train would leave the
Great Northern Station at King’s Cross on Tuesday at nine o’clock, it
was at the eleventh hour considered that the locality would on the
present occasion be too “warm,” and therefore, an alteration was
deemed prudent. This alteration could not be made public at so late a
period, and it was only those who happened to consult the initiated at
the benefit of the Pugilistic Benevolent Association, on the previous
Monday evening, who got a due to the real state of the case. The
consequence was that on Tuesday morning, at the Fenchurch Street
Station, there were at the utmost 180 persons, including a
considerable number of patricians and a very small proportion of the
professors of the noble art, while of the “roughs” and other noisy
demonstrators there was an almost total absence. These gentry and some
few unfortunates of the higher class hastened to the Great Northern
terminus at the hour named in the handbills, and great was their
disappointment, and loud their indignation, at finding themselves
sold.

The start from Fenchurch Street took place at eight o’clock precisely,
and by nine o’clock Tilbury was reached, where all at once embarked in
a vessel provided for the purpose, and by twenty minutes to ten were
safely on board, and, greatly to the credit of the managers of the
expedition, a start was at once effected. In order to throw dust in
the eyes of the Blues, it was determined to proceed straight to the
mouth of the river; and, in the face of a stiff gale from E.N.E., the
journey to the Nore was effected in excellent style. The lumpy water
in this locality had, as may be imagined, a most unpleasant effect
upon many of the voyagers, whose stomachs, unaccustomed to salt water,
and anything but improved in tone by their nocturnal vigils (as they
had sat up all night in order to be early in the morning), were turned
inside out; and the consequence was that swabs and buckets of water
were in strong demand. After about an hour’s tossing among the
billows, “’bout ship” was the cry, the river was re-entered, and the
vessel sped homewards until a spot was reached not far from Canvey
Island, where Freeman and the Tipton Slasher fought. With some
difficulty a landing was effected, and Tom Oliver, Tom Callas, Puggy
White, &c., proceeded to form the lists, although it was not without
extraordinary exertions that anything like a favourable spot could be
found, and even this was rough and extremely uneven, from the late
heavy weather. Numerous were the mishaps of the company on landing,
but by no means equal to those they experienced on attempting to
regain the vessel after the battle was over, when thick darkness
overspread the land, and led many an unwary traveller into mud and
mire of the most consistent character. The ring was pitched by
half-past twelve o’clock, and a tolerable outer ring was established;
but, as usual when the attendance is small, the difficulty of
preserving this outer circle intact was very great, and towards the
close of the fight, notwithstanding the exertions of some of the
ring-keepers, the spectators crowded close to the ring, but,
fortunately, did not disturb the ropes and stakes.

The combatants, who had made a sort of demi-toilette on board the
steamer, quickly entered the ring, Sayers attended by Jemmy Welsh and
George Crockett, Jones advised by Alec Keene and Mike Madden. The
stake was £100 a side. The career of Tom’s youthful antagonist will be
found sketched at pages 253, 283, and 289 of this volume. Jones had
the advantage of Sayers in age by five years; his height 5 feet 11½
inches, and his weight 12st.

Jones, after his defeat by Orme, was on the shelf for a period of two
years. He then came out with a challenge to Tom Paddock, which was
accepted, and the men met July 18, 1854, at Long Reach, for £100 a
side, and, after as gallant a struggle as was ever witnessed, Jones
became blind, and his friends gave in for him, after fighting 121
rounds in two hours and twenty-four minutes. So satisfied were his
backers on this occasion that they at once expressed their willingness
to make a fresh match. After some little time articles were entered
into, and they went into training for the second mill. This affair
came off at Mildenhall on the 26th of June, 1855, and was another
display of manly courage and perseverance on both sides. Towards the
close Jones, who for some time had the best of it, fell off very weak,
and Paddock, who, like his opponent, was much punished and exhausted,
saw that his time was come, and, shaking himself together, he rattled
away in style until poor Aaron was once more compelled to cry “a go,”
after a contest of sixty-one rounds, in one hour and twenty-nine
minutes. Jones after this was matched with the Tipton Slasher, as we
have already stated, but this went off; and this brings us to the
present meeting.

On entering the ring both men were loudly cheered, and both looked
equally confident. No sooner had they put in an appearance than
speculation began. The Sayers party originally stood out for 6 to 4,
but being unable to get on at that price, they reduced their demands
to 5 to 4, at which price considerable business was done, and a bet of
£10 to £8 was made and staked between the men. It was piercingly cold;
and, the ground being in a moist state, all looked anxious for
business, in the hope that the excitement of the combat would dispel
some of the shivering fits to which the spectators, one and all,
notwithstanding their Crimean-looking outfits, seemed to be subject.
Little time was lost by the men in denuding themselves of their
remaining outer-garments, and, the handkerchiefs having been tied to
the stakes (a light grey and white for Sayers, and a neat white and
blue check for Jones), at one o’clock precisely “Time” was called,
hands were clasped, and the men began


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On baring their forequarters to the piercing
     breeze, a perceptible shiver ran through the carcases
     of the combatants. Sayers looked in perfect condition;
     every muscle was perceptible, and we doubt whether
     there was an ounce of superfluous flesh about him.
     There was a smile of confidence on his lips and bright
     sparkle in his eye that betokened extraordinary health
     and spirits. His attitude was artistic and firm, yet
     light. Of course he stood on the defensive, and eyed
     his heavier opponent. There did not appear to be that
     disparity of size that really existed; for Jones
     stooped rather on throwing himself on guard, and thus
     reduced his height almost to a level with that of the
     gallant Tom, who was upright as a dart. Aaron’s
     condition did not seem to us so first-rate as the first
     glance at him had led us to suppose. His muscles,
     though large, were too well covered, while his back and
     chest also displayed much superfluous meat, and we
     should say that his weight could not have been less
     than 12st. 4lbs. He, like Sayers, looked confident, but
     was far more serious in his demeanour. They both
     commenced the round with the utmost caution, sparring,
     and attempting to draw one another into something like
     an opening; but for a long time neither would throw a
     chance away. At length Jones dashed out left and right;
     but the blows passed over Tom’s shoulders, and Tom with
     quickness tapped Aaron on the face, but without force.
     Sayers now let go his left, but Jones retreated. Tom
     persevered, and was cleverly stopped. In a third
     attempt, after more dodging, he got heavily on Aaron’s
     mouth and stepped back without a return. Jones now
     assumed the offensive, but was stopped, and Tom, after
     another dodge or two, planted his left heavily on the
     mark, and then the same hand on the side of Aaron’s
     nut, but not heavily. Jones returned heavily on the
     right peeper, and shortly after made a second call at
     the same establishment. More stopping and dodging,
     until Sayers paid another visit to Aaron’s kisser,
     Jones missing his return. Each now stopped a lead; but
     immediately afterwards Jones popped in his left on the
     snuff-box, a heavy hit without a return. Tom grinned a
     ghastly grin; but the crack evidently made him see
     stars. Jones attempted to repeat the dose; but Tom got
     well away, and, as he retreated, popped his left on the
     neck. More excellent stopping on both sides, and, after
     a few harmless exchanges, Tom tried a double with his
     left and got on the throat, but the blow lacked steam.
     Jones returned with quickness over the left peeper,
     inflicting a cut and drawing the claret. (“First blood”
     for Jones.) Tom, although staggered, was undaunted, and
     went at his man with determination. He once more got on
     the bread-basket heavily. Good counter-hits followed,
     in which Jones again reached Tom’s damaged peeper,
     drawing more of the essential, and Tom delivered a
     straight one on the snout, removing a small portion of
     the bark. Tom then got on the left eye, and, after some
     sharp punching at close quarters, both fell. This round
     lasted exactly half an hour.

     2.――Tom came up much flushed, and the crimson
     distilling from his damaged eye. After a little
     dodging, he tried his double, but did not get it home.
     He tried a second time, but was stopped, and Jones
     returned on the left eye. This led to very heavy
     counters, each on the larboard goggle. Jones now
     feinted, and popped his left on the nose. They got hold
     of one another, swung round, broke away, and Sayers
     then popped his left again on the left eye. Severe
     exchanges followed at close quarters, and both in the
     end were down.

     3.――Sayers quickly led off with his left, and was
     stopped. He then tried his double, but was short. In a
     third essay he got home on Aaron’s nose, but not
     heavily. Twice again did he pop in gentle taps, but he
     now napped another rattler on the left eye. Severe
     exchanges followed, Aaron again turning on the stream
     from Tom’s left brow, and Tom tapping his opponent’s
     snuff-box. More exchanges in favour of Jones; and in
     the end both fell in a scrambling struggle, Jones
     under.

     4.――Tom’s left brow and the left side of his canister
     were much swollen, but he was still confident, and led
     off, Jones countering him well on the mouth. Heavy
     exchanges followed, Tom on the nose, and Jones on the
     left cheek, and both again slipped down, the ground
     being anything but level.

     5.――Tom let fly his left, but was neatly stopped; Jones
     returned on the side of the brain pan, and got down.

     6.――Sayers came up, looking very serious, and it
     subsequently turned out that he was suffering from
     severe cramp in the stomach and lower extremities. He
     went in, feinted, and got well home on Jones’s left
     eye. This led to sharp exchanges and a close, when both
     were down, Jones being underneath. Aaron had now a bump
     on his left peeper, which was apparently closing.

     7.――Aaron lost no time in sending out his left, which
     fell on Tom’s chest. Heavy counter-hits followed, Jones
     on the nose, and Tom on the mouth. More exchanges in
     favour of Sayers, who again got on Aaron’s damaged
     optic, and the latter got down.

     8.――Sayers went to his man, and tried his double, the
     second blow dropping on Aaron’s sneezer, and Tom then
     got cleverly away from the return. Exchanges ensued,
     Tom on the mark, and Aaron on the mazzard; Aaron then
     got home his right heavily on the left side of Tom’s
     knowledge-box, then his left on the left eye, and in
     the close Sayers was down.

     9.――Aaron led off, but was well stopped, and this led
     to some sharp exchanges, Jones on the bad peeper, and
     Tom on the left brow. Sayers tried another double, and
     once more visited Aaron’s nose, but not heavily. More
     mutual stopping, and Jones, at length, in getting away,
     slipped and fell. One hour had now elapsed.

     10.――Tom planted his left on the beak, and received a
     little one in return on the forehead. Jones now let fly
     his left and right, but was cleverly stopped. In a
     second essay he got home on the left cheek. Heavy
     exchanges followed, Tom getting on both peepers, and
     Jones on the side of Tom’s cranium with both daddles,
     and Tom fell.

     11.――Aaron had now a mark on each peeper, the left fast
     closing. Tom’s left, too, appeared almost shut up.
     Jones tried to take the lead, but missed; Sayers
     likewise missed his return. Exchanges followed in
     favour of Jones, who, in the end, closed, and in the
     struggle both fell, Jones uppermost.

     12.――No time lost; both quickly at it, and some sharp
     exchanges took place in favour of Jones, who got
     heavily on Tom’s nose. Tom made his left on the body
     heavily, and they then pegged away wildly at close
     quarters until Jones got down.

     13.――Aaron dashed in and pegged away left and right,
     but without precision, and ultimately bored his man
     down.

     14.――Jones feinted and popped his left on the left eye,
     without a return. Tom then let go his left, but was
     short, and Jones, in dashing at him in return, slipped
     and fell.

     15.――Aaron led off, left and right, but Tom got away.
     He came again, and tried to plant his left, but was
     short. He then tried his double, but Jones got away.
     Both now sparred and dodged, but nothing came of it. At
     last Jones dashed in, and heavy exchanges took place in
     favour of Jones, who, however, in the end, fell.

     16.――Both at once went to work, and heavy exchanges
     took place, each napping it on the left ogle, and both
     fell through the ropes.

     17.――Tom’s forehead and left eye much disfigured. Jones
     let fly his left and right on the sides of the nob very
     heavily, and both again fell through the ropes.

     18.――Tom came up slowly, and was nailed on the damaged
     peeper. In return he caught Aaron on the brow, but not
     heavily. Jones then made his left and right on the side
     of the head and left eye, and Tom retaliated on the
     nose a little one. A close followed, and in the end
     both were down, Jones under.

     19.――Tom dodged and got home on Aaron’s smeller with
     his left, and Aaron then made both hands on the left
     side of Tom’s wig-block. A close and sharp struggle,
     when both fell, Tom under.

     20.――Jones dashed in and let go both hands on the head.
     Tom returned on the left brow, and both fell backwards.

     21.――Aaron again dashed in. He missed his right,
     closed, and both fell, Jones under.

     22.――Tom now led off, but missed, and Jones caught him
     heavily with his right on the frontispiece, and knocked
     him down. (“First knock-down for Jones.”)

     23.――Tom, on coming up, showed the effect of the last
     blow on his forehead. He attempted to lead off, but was
     very short. He tried again with a like result; and
     Jones, in letting go both hands in return, overreached
     himself and fell.

     24.――Aaron rattled in, planted his left and right on
     the scent-box and left ear, the latter very heavy, and
     bored Tom down.

     25.――Tom came up bleeding from a severe cut on the left
     lug, and his gnomon much out of straight. He tried to
     lead off, but Jones caught him on the right brow, but
     not very heavily. Tom then got home on the body, and
     tremendous counter-hits followed, in favour of Jones,
     who, in the end, slipped and fell, Tom catching him,
     just as he reached the ground, on the side of the head.

     26.――Jones went in left and right, closed, and both
     were down. Sayers was now very weak, and the Jonesites
     were in ecstasies.

     27.――Aaron led off, getting well on the side of Tom’s
     nut with his right. Tom missed his return, and Jones
     then planted his left and right on the top of the
     skull; closed at the ropes, where Tom managed to throw
     him but not heavily.

     28.――Jones led off, and got well on Tom’s nose with his
     left, and Tom returned on the side of the head. After a
     little dodging, Jones popped his left on Tom’s left
     peeper, and his right on the jaw, again flooring Tom
     and falling on him.

     29.――Tom, who was excessively weak, came up slow, but
     determined; he tried his left at the body, but was
     short. Jones then let fly his left in return, but was
     countered on the mouth. He then planted his left and
     right on Tom’s damaged listener, and in the end fell.

     30.――Aaron, after a few dodges, once more popped a
     little ’un on Tom’s ear. Tom thereupon dashed in, but
     got a little one on the nose, and another on the side
     of the head, and Jones, in getting away, fell,
     laughing.

     31.――Jones attempted to lead off, but Tom got away.
     Jones followed him up, caught him again on the side of
     the nob, closed, and both rolled over together.

     32.――Jones dashed in, planted both hands on the
     brain-pan, closed, and forced Tom down.

     33.――Jones again rushed in, but inflicted no damage,
     and again bored Tom down.

     34.――Jones still forced the fighting, and caught Tom,
     who seemed very tired, on the side of the head, and, in
     the end, both slipped down.

     35.――Sayers was forced down, after getting a gentle
     reminder on the side of his damaged figure-head.

     36.――Tom, a little refreshed, sparred about for wind,
     until Jones went in, and heavy exchanges took place, in
     favour of Jones, when both fell backwards.

     37.――Tom, recovering a little, tried his double, but
     Jones got away, and, as Tom came, he nailed him on the
     left brow. Tom then made his left on the mark, but
     again napped it heavily on the left eye. Aaron now got
     on the nose with his left――a heavy spank――and, in
     getting back, he staggered and fell.

     38.――Jones dodged, and planted his left on the mouth
     heavily, and his right on the side of the head. Tom
     returned slightly on the nose, and, after slight
     exchanges, both fell.

     39.――Very slight exchanges, and Sayers slipped down.

     40.――After a little sparring they got close, and
     exchanges took place, each getting it on the mouth.
     Sayers then tried his left at the mark, but Jones got
     away. Tom followed him up, and was caught by Aaron,
     left and right, on the side of his head and fell.

     41.――Tom came up, shook himself, and rattled in, but he
     got it on the top of his cranium. Jones, in stepping
     back, fell. Two hours had now expired.

     42.――Jones, steady, let go his left on the side of
     Tom’s head, and then both mauleys on the same spot. Tom
     followed him up, but got it again on the brow. He,
     however, got home on Jones’s body, and, in retreating
     slipped and fell.

     43.――Long sparring for wind, until Jones once more made
     play on the left side of Tom’s occiput, and then on his
     snout. Tom returned on the latter organ, but not
     heavily. He now tried his favourite double, but did not
     get home. In a second attempt he got heavily on Aaron’s
     proboscis, and got away. Exchanges followed, in which
     Tom again delivered heavily on the nose with his left,
     and in the end Jones dropped.

     44.――Tom was now evidently recovering from his
     exhaustion. He came up steadier, and sparred shiftily
     until Jones commenced the attack, when he stopped him
     neatly. Heavy counter-hits followed on the jaw, after
     which Sayers tried the double once again, but was
     stopped. More good counter-hits, Tom getting well on
     Aaron’s left eye, and receiving on the mouth. Aaron’s
     left eye all but closed.

     45.――More sparring, until Jones let fly his left, but
     Sayers got away. Exchanges followed, Tom on the
     whistler, and Jones on the nose, but not heavily. More
     sharp counter-hitting, Tom once more getting on the
     left eye severely. Jones returned, but not effectively,
     with both hands on the side of the head, and in getting
     away from the return he fell.

     46.――Jones succeeded in planting a spanking hit from
     the left on the left eye, and then another with the
     same hand on the left cheek. In a third attempt he was
     stopped. Heavy counter-hits followed, and in the end
     Jones fell, Sayers falling over him.

     47.――Aaron feinted with his left, and got well on Tom’s
     nose; a very straight hit. Tom, in return, tried his
     double, but was short. After some more ineffectual
     attempts they got to it, and tremendous exchanges took
     place, each getting it on the nose and left eye, and in
     the end Jones got down. Two hours, fifteen minutes.

     48.――Tom tried to lead off, but was stopped, and Jones
     planted his left on the cheek. Tom now stopped two of
     Jones’s hits, after which heavy exchanges took place,
     Tom getting well on to the left eye, and Jones on the
     nose. More sharp exchanges, left and right, each
     getting pepper in earnest, and the favours mutually
     divided. A break away, and to it again, ding-dong, and
     Tom drew the crimson from Aaron’s left peeper, which
     was now effectually closed. In the end Jones fell. It
     was now anybody’s battle; Tom had quite recovered his
     wind, and was nearly as strong as his heavier opponent.

     49.――Both much punished. Sayers sparred until Jones
     tried to lead off, when he got away. Jones followed him
     up, but was short in his deliveries. In the end they
     closed, and as they were falling Tom popped his right
     sharply on Aaron’s back.

     50.――Jones, after sparring, led off, and got home on
     the nose, but not heavily; Tom returned on the right
     peeper, and some pretty exchanges, left and right, took
     place, followed by a break away, and Jones then stopped
     Tom’s left; Tom, in return, stopped Aaron, and planted
     his left on the mark, and then on the left eye, and
     Jones got down.

     51.――Jones led off, but was stopped. He persevered, and
     a good give-and-take rally followed, Jones getting on
     the left eye, and Tom on the left cheek heavily. Tom
     next got on the mouth, drawing the Burgundy, and then
     on the nose and left cheek. Another sharp rally
     followed, after a break away, and in the end both down.

     52.――Sayers visibly improving while Jones fell off.
     Jones was short in his lead, and Tom returned on the
     smelling-bottle, and got away. Jones followed and
     dashed out his left, but Tom ducked his head. Tom then
     got home on the mouth and nose, and drew more of the
     ruby from the latter ornament. Jones succeeded in
     returning a little ’un on the left eye, and Sayers
     slipped down.

     53.――Jones, who was bleeding from the left eye and
     month, led off, but was well stopped. He then missed
     his left, but in the end heavy exchanges, left and
     right, took place, Jones on the side of the nut and the
     neck, and in getting back he fell.

     54.――Tom now essayed a lead, but was stopped. A second
     attempt reached Aaron’s body, but not heavily, and
     Jones returned on the nose. Tom tried his double, but
     missed, and Jones popped a little one on the mouth, and
     then his left on the left eye, and fell in the corner.

     55.――Tom dodged about until he got within distance, and
     then got home heavily on the mark. Jones returned on
     the jaw with his right, but not heavily. After some
     more sparring, Jones dashed in, when Tom met him very
     sharply on the right cheek-bone with his left, and
     Aaron fell all of a heap. He was carried to his corner,
     where it was with the utmost difficulty he could be got
     round at the call of “Time.”

     56.――Jones came up all abroad, and Tom popped in
     another spank on the same spot, whereupon Jones again
     fell. It was thought to be all over; but, by dint of
     shaking him up, Aaron was again enabled to respond to
     the call.

     57.――Tom rushed at his man to administer the _coup de
     grace_, but, going in without precision, he contrived
     to run against Aaron’s left, which was swung wildly
     out, the blow, which alighted on Tom’s nose, regularly
     staggered him. He quickly recovered himself, and went
     in again, but Jones fell weak.

     After this, the battle continued to the 62nd round,
     Jones getting gradually blind, and Sayers becoming very
     tired. At length in the 62nd round, after slight
     exchanges, the men, who were much exhausted, stood
     still, looking at each other for some time, their
     seconds covering them with rugs. Upon this the referee
     and umpires called on them to go in and finish. Both
     went to the scratch, but on Sayers approaching Jones,
     the latter retreated to his corner, and Tom, in
     obedience to the orders of his seconds, declined going
     to fight him there. It was getting dark, and it was
     clear that Jones and his friends were determined not to
     throw a chance away. The referee once more called on
     Jones to go to the scratch, which he did, but with
     precisely the same result; and the referee, seeing that
     Tom was not strong enough to go with prudence to finish
     on his adversary’s ground, and that Jones was unwilling
     to try the question at the scratch in his then
     exhausted state, ordered the men to shake hands,
     leaving the motion as to further hostilities to a
     future day. Both were severely punished; each had a
     peeper closed; Jones’s right was fast following his
     left, and his right hand was injured; so that a second
     meeting the same week was not to be thought of. The
     fight lasted exactly three hours. The men and their
     friends now hastened to regain the vessel, and it was
     dark long ere the last of the company were safely on
     board. Of course there were many laughable accidents in
     the mud through which all had to wade; but luckily,
     nothing occurred of a serious nature to mar the
     pleasures of the day, which, although in some measure
     clouded by the fact that the battle was not finished,
     still left sufficient impression on the minds of the
     spectators to cause them to remember this brilliant
     passage of arms, which formed so hopeful an opening to
     the pugilistic year 1857. The vessel conveyed the
     company with all due speed to a convenient place for
     debarkation, whence they obtained a passage by railway
     to the Metropolis, which was reached in safety by nine
     o’clock. Numerous complaints were made by the
     disappointed ones who went to the Great Northern
     Railway, at the manner in which they were deceived; and
     the only consolation is that we are sorry for those
     whom we should have been glad to welcome at the
     ring-side, but who have themselves alone to blame for
     not finding out the final fixture as many others had
     done; while as to others of a certain class, who are
     always more free than welcome, we can with truth say
     their room was better than their company, and we
     rejoice, with others who were present, that they were
     so completely sold. Some unlucky wights got a sort of
     hint as to the fixture, and arrived within a few miles
     of the spot at a late hour in the afternoon, and were
     landed, but unluckily for them, on the wrong island,
     and here the poor fellows had to remain all night, and
     sleep under a haystack. The boats that landed them had
     departed, and they could make no one hear; so that,
     cold, hungry, and thirsty, they had to weather the
     cold, severe night in the best way they could.

The renewed battle, which was for £200 and an additional bet of £100,
was fixed for Tuesday, the 10th February, 1857, on the same spot as
the previous gallant encounter. On this occasion Sayers was seconded
by Jemmy Massey and Bill Hayes, with Jemmy Welsh as bottle-holder;
Aaron Jones by Alec Keene and Jack Hicks, Jack Macdonald taking care
of the restoratives. 7 to 4 on Sayers.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On toeing the scratch the condition of both
     men struck the spectators with admiration. In our
     opinion it was perfect on both sides, but the
     development of muscle was decidedly in favour of
     Sayers, who is better ribbed up, and has his thews and
     sinews laid on in the right place. He looked brown,
     wiry, and healthy, and, for a middle weight, seemed
     wonderfully big. Jones, who is of fairer complexion,
     was altogether more delicate in appearance than Sayers,
     and, although so much taller, heavier, and longer, did
     not loom out so much larger as might be expected. He is
     a fine-made, muscular young fellow, but still there is
     an appearance about him which at once leads to the
     conclusion that his stamina is scarcely fitted for the
     wear and tear of gladiatorial encounters. He is about
     twenty-six years of age, and in height is over 5 feet
     11 inches, while Tom Sayers is thirty-one, and is
     little more than 5 feet 8 inches. It was soon seen that
     Sayers intended to pursue different tactics to those he
     adopted on the previous occasion. He dodged about for a
     few seconds, and then let go his left and right with
     great quickness, but Jones stopped him neatly, and in
     getting back fell.

     2.――Tom came up smiling, feinted with his left, and
     then tried his favourite double; the first hit was
     stopped, but the second caught Aaron on the chin. This
     he repeated, and got away without a return. After
     trying his double once more without success, he planted
     his left very heavily on the mark. Jones at once went
     to close quarters, and some quick in-fighting took
     place in favour of Sayers, who got well on to Aaron’s
     snuffbox with his left, drawing “first blood.” Jones
     got on the left side of Tom’s head, but not heavily,
     and at length both fell.

     3.――Both quick to the call of “Time,” and Sayers at
     once went to work with his left, Jones countering him
     heavily, each getting it on the forehead. Tom then
     popped his left on the mark, and Aaron returned, but
     not heavily, on the nose. Tom now again planted the
     left on the mark, and was stopped in a second effort.
     Heavy exchanges next took place, Tom once more drawing
     the cork from a cut on Aaron’s sniffer, and receiving
     on the left ear. After a few dodges, Tom again
     approached, and made a heavy call on Aaron’s
     bread-basket, then planted a stinger between the eyes,
     and got away laughing. He attempted to repeat the dose,
     but was stopped. Another effort was more successful,
     and he dropped on the mark, staggering Jones, who,
     however, recovered himself, and popped his left on the
     chest, then on the left cheek, but not heavily.
     Sparring until Tom got within distance and shot out his
     left heavily on the proboscis, without a return, Jones
     being a little wild. Tom now essayed his double, but
     Jones got away, and returned on the mouth. Tom
     persevered, and napped a little ’un on the left eye for
     his pains; still, he would be at work, and got well on
     Aaron’s left peeper, drawing the ruby. Heavy exchanges
     followed, Jones getting on Tom’s left brow, and Tom
     turning on the home-brewed from Aaron’s nasal organ.
     After two or three slight exchanges in favour of
     Sayers, he again put the double on, reaching the left
     cheek and bread-basket. Next he popped another hot one
     on the victualling department, receiving a slight
     return on the forehead. After a break away he stole in,
     and bang went his left on Aaron’s damaged eye, drawing
     more of the ruby. A merry little rally followed in
     favour of Sayers, who at last broke away, and sparred
     as if blown from his fast fighting. Jones approached to
     take advantage of this, when Tom propped him on the
     brow, and then on the forehead. Jones returned with
     both hands, but not heavily, on the brow and body, and
     another bustling rally came off, Tom getting home on
     the left ogle and throat heavily, and Aaron on the
     larboard cheek. Another break away, and Tom, on getting
     himself together, resumed the double, got on the mark
     very heavily, and then popped his right on the left
     side of Aaron’s nob; he got away laughing, and as Jones
     tried to follow him up he warned him off by a pop on
     the left eye. A heavy rally at last took place, in
     which Jones got sharply on the left ear, and Sayers on
     the left eye, and this protracted and well-fought round
     was concluded by Tom slipping down.

     4.――Sayers, on coming up, showed a mark on his
     forehead, and another on his left ear, while Aaron’s
     left eye and nose were much out of the perpendicular.
     Tom lost no time in going to work, and planted his one,
     two, the left on Aaron’s right eye, and the right on
     the left jaw, knocking Aaron off his pins. (“First
     knock-down” for Sayers.) Jones seemed all abroad, and
     it was with the greatest difficulty that he was got
     round to the call of “Time.”

     5.――Sayers at once went in left and right, but he was
     too anxious to finish his handiwork, and the blows
     lacked precision. He reached the side of Aaron’s nob,
     and Jones returned slightly on the same spot, and after
     mild exchanges, both fell. This gave Jones time to get
     round, and by the commencement of the next round he had
     shaken off the nasty one he had got in the fourth.

     6.――Tom tried his double, but missed, and Jones rushed
     in to close, when Tom caught him round the neck and
     punched him heavily on the left peeper and nozzle,
     drawing more of the ruby, In the end both fell, Sayers
     under.

     7.――Aaron came up with his left eye all but closed. Tom
     let go his left, but Jones returned on the nose. Tom
     tried again and got on the ribs; Jones returned merrily
     left and right, but did little damage, and Tom fell in
     his corner.

     8.――Jones dashed in and pegged away with both mauleys
     on the left side or Tom’s knowledge-box; Tom returned
     on the left brow and closed, when both fell, Tom under.

     9.――Jones again dashed in, and some sharp in-fighting
     took place, followed by a close, in which both fell,
     Jones, this time, being underneath.

     10.――Tom’s dial seemed flushed, but his eyes were still
     uninjured. Jones rattled in to close, some quick
     fibbing took place, followed by a long struggle for the
     fall, which Sayers got and fell on his man. In drawing
     his legs away, he brought one foot in smart contact
     with Aaron’s leg, which was claimed as a foul kick, but
     disallowed by the referee, being evidently accidental.

     11.――Jones again took the initiative, and let go both
     hands on Tom’s forehead, and then his left on the nose.
     Tom returned on the left eye, and then a squasher on
     the mark. Exchanges, and Sayers fell, evidently
     fatigued by his fast fighting.

     12.――Jones persevered in his forcing system, and got on
     the left side of Tom’s cranium, Tom returning very
     heavily on the nose. Jones again went in, and planted
     his left under the left optic, closed, and both fell,
     Tom under.

     13.――Jones rushed at Tom, and pegged away at him in his
     corner. It was a rambling, scrambling round, and both
     fell, no mischief being done.

     14.――Jones again led off, but Tom propped him well on
     the left eye, and Aaron fell on his face.

     15.――Good exchanges on the left cheek, after which
     Jones got well on Tom’s throat, closed, and both were
     down.

     16.――Jones dashed at Tom, popped in his left and right
     on the frontispiece and nose, and bored Tom through the
     ropes.

     17.――Jones again opened the ball, got on to Tom’s left
     ear, closed, and both were down.

     18.――Aaron led off on Tom’s nose; Tom returned on the
     left eye, very heavily, and Aaron fell.

     19.――Tom resumed the initiative, and reached Aaron’s
     nose――by his favourite double. Jones returned, but not
     heavily, on the forehead; after which Tom
     cross-countered him prettily on the left peeper, and
     this led to exchanges in favour of Jones, when Sayers
     fell.

     20.――Both quick to work; good exchanges, and in the end
     Jones floored Tom by a heavy right-hander on the jaw.
     (Loud cheers for Jones.)

     21.――Jones, elated, rushed in, but Tom steadied him by
     a straight ’un on the left cheek, and Jones dropped.

     22.――Aaron missed both hands, and after some sparring
     Tom caught him heavily on the left ogle, and Jones
     dropped. Sayers also fell.

     23.――Tom, who seemed getting fresh wind, rattled in,
     and planted his double on the nose and mouth. Jones
     rushed at him, and in the scramble Sayers was bored
     over.

     24.――Tom popped a left-hander on the “grubbery,”
     received a little one on the nose, and fell.

     25.――Heavy exchanges, Sayers on the left eye, and Aaron
     on the nose. Jones slipped down.

     26.――Jones led off with both hands, but not heavily,
     and Tom returned severely on the nose and left eye,
     which was now quite closed. Jones fell.

     27.――Jones rushed to close quarters, and after a brief
     struggle fell.

     28.――Tom feinted, and popped his left twice on Aaron’s
     damaged peeper. Jones returned on the mouth, and Tom
     fell.

     29.――Jones went to work, catching Tom over the right
     eye, and Sayers in getting back fell.

     30.――Both went to work with good will, and, after sharp
     exchanges in favour of Sayers, Jones got down.

     31.――Aaron tried to lead off, but was well stopped, and
     Tom returned on the mark. He next popped his left on
     the left cheek, and in getting away slipped down, just
     escaping a heavy upper-cut.

     32.――Tom feinted, and then got well on to Aaron’s nose
     with his left, and retreated, Aaron pursuing him. At
     length they got close, and Tom sent in a stiffener on
     the scent-box, receiving a right-hander on the left
     ear, which opened a cut received in their former fight,
     and both fell.

     33.――Tom again seemed tired, and sparred for wind.
     Jones came to him, when Tom let go his left on the jaw,
     closed, and both fell.

     34.――Tom slowest to time. He tried his left, but was
     stopped; Aaron closed, and Tom fibbed him on the left
     eye as they fell.

     35.――After a little dodging, they got close, and heavy
     counters were exchanged. They now closed, and, as they
     fell, Tom again put a little one on Aaron’s left eye.

     36.――A close and a struggle, when both fell, Jones
     under.

     37.――Sayers led off, but was stopped, and, after a wild
     scramble, Tom fell. One hour and five minutes had now
     elapsed.

     38.――Jones dashed in, but Tom steadied him by a
     left-hander on the left cheek, and Aaron got down.

     39.――Jones, still first, let go left and right on the
     mouth and left cheek. Sayers returned on the blind eye,
     and got down.

     40.――Jones let fly his left, but missed. Slight
     exchanges to a close, and both down.

     41.――Jones, on the forcing system, planted his left on
     the jaw and then on the left ear, and as he was
     pursuing his man he fell on his face.

     42.――Jones missed his left. Tom returned open-handed on
     the back, and Jones dropped.

     43.――Jones dashed to a close at the ropes, where they
     pegged away smartly but ineffectually until they fell.

     44.――Tom got home on the left jaw. Aaron missed both
     hands, and fell.

     45.――Jones went to work, but without precision, and as
     Sayers retreated, Jones fell on his face. It was clear
     that Tom was carefully nursing himself, while Jones,
     feeling that both his ogles were going, was forcing the
     fighting, in order to tire out his opponent before he
     became blind.

     46.――Jones rattled in and caught Tom on the left cheek,
     but not heavily. Tom returned on the left peeper,
     drawing more claret, and Jones dropped.

     47.――Aaron, in his anxiety, missed both mauleys, and
     Tom caught him a heavy right-hander on the proboscis,
     whereupon Jones dropped.

     48.――Jones went to his man, who nailed him on the left
     ogle, and, as Jones persevered, he caught him heavily
     on the throat, and Jones fell.

     49.――Tom tried to lead off, but was short, and Jones
     returned heavily on the ribs with his right. He then
     attempted to close, but, on Sayers catching hold of
     him, he fell.

     50.――Tom tried his double, but Jones stopped him, and
     in getting away slipped down.

     51.――Slight exchanges; Jones on the mouth and Sayers on
     the nose, and Jones down.

     52.――Jones led off and was neatly stopped. Tom missed
     his return, and Jones fell forward.

     53.――Tom led off and got on Aaron’s blind eye. Jones
     returned very slightly on the nose, and fell.

     54.――Tom planted his left heavily on the mark, which
     led to mutual exchanges, and Jones fell.

     55.――Tom feinted and popped both hands slightly on
     Aaron’s good eye, which began to tell tales. Jones
     returned on the left ear, but it was too long a shot to
     do damage, and Sayers fell.

     56.――Aaron opened the ball, and planted his left and
     right on the nose and ear twice in succession. He then
     rushed in, when Tom stopped him by a straight one on
     the blind eye, and Jones down.

     57.――Jones again went to work, but Tom was too quick on
     his pins, and got out of harm’s way. Sayers missed his
     return, and Jones fell.

     58.――Tom, still on the nursing system, kept himself
     quiet, waiting for the attack. Jones went in, but Tom
     stepped back; slight exchanges ensued, and Jones down.

     59.――Jones let go his left; Tom ducked his nut, and the
     blow went over, when Jones fell. A claim of foul, as
     Jones fell without a blow. The referee said, “Fight
     on.”

     60.――Jones popped his left on the chest; Tom returned
     on the left cheek, and Jones fell. One hour and a half
     had now elapsed.

     61.――Jones, still first to begin, got on Tom’s nose and
     fell, Tom falling over him.

     62.――Jones planted his left very slightly on the ride
     of Tom’s nob; Tom just touched him on the smeller in
     return, and Jones down again.

     63.――Jones rushed in, caught Tom on the chin, and Tom
     fell. The blow was not very heavy.

     64.――Jones missed both hands, got a little one on the
     side of his nut, and fell.

     65.――Jones got home, left and right, heavily on the
     ribs; Tom retaliated on the mark, and Jones down.

     66.――Jones let go his left, but Tom avoided the force
     of the blow by stepping back. He returned on the neck,
     and Jones got down.

     67-71.――In all these rounds Jones led off, but did no
     mischief, from Tom’s quickness on his pins, and in each
     Jones was down.

     72.――Tom still waiting and resting himself; Jones came
     in and planted his right on the ribs. Tom returned on
     the right ogle, but not heavily, and Jones down, his
     right eye going fast. Sayers, though much tired, had
     both eyes well open, and his face presented no very
     serious marks of punishment.

     73.――Heavy exchanges, and Jones fell on his face.

     74.――Jones tried to lead off, but was stopped.
     Counter-hits, Sayers on the nose, and Jones on the
     cheek, and Jones fell.

     75.――Heavy exchanges, in favour of Sayers, and Jones
     down.

     76.――Jones, who saw he must do it quickly or not at
     all, dashed in recklessly, but was stopped. Tom popped
     a little one on the nose, and Jones down.

     77.――Jones was again stopped, and Tom got well on his
     good eye, and Jones fell.

     78.――Sayers stopped Aaron’s rush, and again got on to
     his good peeper. Jones instantly fell on his knees.

     79.――Aaron delivered his left on the nose, and, in
     trying to repeat it fell on his face. Another claim
     that he had fallen without a blow not allowed.

     80.――Heavy exchanges, Tom getting again on Aaron’s good
     peeper, which was now all but shut up, and Jones down.

     81.――Jones led off, but wofully out of distance, and
     fell forward.

     82.――Exchanges in favour of Sayers, and Jones down
     weak.

     83.――Tom, who saw his time had arrived, went in,
     planted his favourite double on Aaron’s good peeper,
     and Jones fell.

     84.――After a little fiddling, Tom crept close again,
     dashed out his left on the good eye, and then on the
     cheek, and Jones down.

     85 and last.――Jones made a last effort, was easily
     stopped, and, as he turned round Tom caught him with
     his right a terrific half-arm hit on the right eye, and
     knocked him off his pins. It was evidently a finisher.
     Poor Aaron’s nob fell forward, and it was at once
     apparent that his remaining daylight was closed; and
     his seconds, seeing this, of course threw up the
     sponge, Tom being proclaimed the winner, after a
     gallant battle of exactly _two hours_. Sayers at once
     went to shake hands with his brave antagonist, and then
     repaired on board the vessel, whither he was soon
     followed by Jones, whose damaged peeper was at once
     looked to by a medical friend. The poor fellow was very
     severely punished, but he did not seem to feel this so
     acutely as he did the bitter disappointment of having
     to play second fiddle to one so much smaller than
     himself. The expedition quickly got under way, and all
     reached the Metropolis by nine o’clock. As soon as
     Sayers was dressed he went round among his
     fellow-passengers, and made a collection for his fallen
     antagonist, which reached the sum of £8. Beyond
     fatigue, and a few trifling bruises on his forehead and
     nose, he was unscathed, and he certainly could scarcely
     be said to have a black eye.

     REMARKS.――We have little doubt that many of our readers
     will have anticipated the remarks that we feel called
     upon to make respecting the two game encounters between
     these men. On the first occasion it was obvious that
     Sayers felt he had a great undertaking before him, and
     he was therefore naturally cautious in the outset not
     to throw a chance away which might at once put the
     victory beyond his reach. Jones was known to be a very
     heavy hitter with his right, as was proved by the
     severe punishment he dealt out to Tom Paddock in both
     their mills. Sayers accordingly “played ’possum,” and
     in the first few rounds allowed him to take the
     initiative, in order that he might measure his powers
     carefully before he exposed himself to danger. Tom
     proved himself extremely quick on his pins, and by his
     agility he to a certain extent neutralised the effect
     of Jones’s severe lunges. True, he got hit occasionally
     with effect, as witness the cut over his left eye, and
     also on his left ear. Jones, to his surprise, found
     before him a man clearly his superior at out-fighting,
     and one, too, as he soon discovered, but little his
     inferior in bodily strength. For the first hour and a
     half, it will be recollected, he had apparently the
     advantage, Sayers suffering severely from cramp, and
     having to depend principally upon his legs to keep him
     out of harm’s way; but after this he gradually
     recovered, and Jones, as was the case in his fights
     with Paddock, after the said hour and a half, gradually
     fell off, and became languid in his exertions. Tom, of
     course, improved the occasion, and showed such
     superiority in hitting that many thought he would have
     won with the greatest certainty had not darkness come
     on. We must confess that, although we did not say so at
     the time, we entertained a similar opinion, and we at
     the same time thought that the darkness was in other
     respects an unfortunate circumstance for Sayers,
     believing, as we did, that Jones, profiting by
     experience, would at the next meeting have resorted to
     a different system of milling, and, by at once going to
     close quarters, have reduced his adversary to such a
     state in a few rounds as to render victory certain. It
     seemed to us that this would have been his game in the
     first fight, instead of trusting to long shots, at
     which he found Sayers as good as himself, and we, in
     common with others, were fully prepared to see him
     adopt the system. There is no harm now in making known
     our opinion that Aaron’s performance on the first
     occasion disappointed us not a little. We all along
     thought Sayers had overmatched himself, and it was not
     until the conclusion of the first round that we changed
     our mind. Many shared our belief that the man who could
     maul the game and resolute Paddock as Jones had done
     must prove too much for an antagonist so inferior in
     size and weight as Sayers, and many blamed the latter
     for his presumption. Among this latter class we do not
     number ourselves, for it is our practice never to blame
     a man for soaring at high game when he really feels
     confidence in his own powers. Ambition, when kept
     within bounds, is a praiseworthy quality, and Sayers
     merely followed the example of other middle weights who
     had preceded him, in essaying to raise himself to a
     higher level when he could not find an antagonist
     worthy of his fist in his own sphere. How fully he was
     justified in his confident aspirations the result has
     proved. On Tuesday last, as may be gathered from our
     account of the fight, Jones fought even less
     “judgmatically” than at the first merry meeting.
     Instead of forcing the fighting at once, as he had
     expressed his intention of doing, he allowed Sayers to
     open the ball, and in the very onset to inflict such
     punishment upon him as to shake the confidence of his
     friends very materially; and not only did he allow his
     adversary to take extraordinary liberties with him, but
     he seemed to have lost his precision in returning, and
     for some time made not the slightest impression upon
     Tom’s wig-block. The exceedingly clever performance of
     Sayers in the third round, and the apparent impunity
     with which he got home upon all parts of Aaron’s dial,
     took his own friends by surprise, and the fear
     expressed was that he was fighting too fast for a long
     day, and that the strength and length of his opponent
     must tell with fearful effect when he became tired. He
     was cautioned as to this, but requested to be allowed
     to fight his own way, as he knew what suited him best.
     The blow on Aaron’s jaw in the fourth round was very
     severe, and nearly decided the event, and this we are
     induced to believe had some effect in stopping his
     rushes later in the fight, when, had he been capable of
     continuing the offensive with effect, the result might
     have been very serious to Tom, who for a long period
     was exceedingly fatigued, and had to nurse himself in
     the most careful manner in order to bring himself
     through. The improvement he (Sayers) displayed in every
     way, since his last match, was extraordinary. His
     system of leading off is almost perfect, and his
     quickness on his legs would have delighted the late Mr.
     John Jackson, whose opinion on the subject of this
     qualification is well known. He had little recourse to
     stopping, trusting to his activity to keep him out of
     harm’s way, and the success with which his manœuvring
     was attended was proved by the fact that he had
     scarcely a black eye, and, beyond exhaustion, had
     nothing to complain of. In addition to his quickness in
     defence, he seems also to have acquired greater
     facility in pursuing the offensive, and the weight with
     which many of his blows fell upon his opponent proved
     that his hitting was as effective as that of most 12
     stone men. As usual, he stood up in the gamest, most
     resolute manner, and faced his adversary throughout
     with the utmost good humour, but, at the same time,
     with determination. By many it was expected he would
     have adopted the dropping system, as he had done with
     Poulson; but we were delighted to perceive that on
     neither occasion did such a notion enter his head; and
     indeed we are told that even with the bold Nottingham
     man he would not have had recourse to it, had he not
     been terribly out of condition, and altogether in such
     a state as to be incapable otherwise of resisting the
     onslaughts of so powerful an opponent. We understand
     that Tom has now an intention of looking still higher
     in the scale for an opponent worthy of his powers, and
     both Tom Paddock and the Tipton Slasher are talked of
     as his next antagonists, but that he will first rest on
     his oars a while to recover from his recent fatigue.
     How far this may be true we know not, but we presume
     time will show. Of this, however, we are confident,
     that whoever the Middle Weight Champion may next pick
     out, that worthy must look to his laurels, and leave no
     stone unturned to get himself fit for the fray; for big
     as he may be, he will have a hard day’s work before
     him. Of Aaron Jones we must say that his exhibition on
     each day disappointed us, and fell far short of what we
     expected after his extraordinary encounters with
     Paddock. True it is that he never once flinched from
     punishment, and when severely hit persevered in the
     most manly way to turn the scale in his favour. Not a
     word can now be said against his character for gameness
     and gluttony, for both which qualities he had already
     earned for himself sufficient fame in his passages with
     Paddock to remove any stigma that his meetings with
     Orme might have cast upon him. Most gamely did he
     persevere while Sayers was fatigued to force the
     milling and to wear out his antagonist; but, owing to
     the great quickness and judgment of Tom, his efforts
     recoiled upon himself; and, being unable to effect any
     punishment, he did but reduce himself below the level
     of the gallant Tom, and thus fall a prey to his
     opponent’s superior judgment and tactics.

Sayers’s triumphant _coups d’essai_ with two good “big ’uns” gave him
an open “perspective view” of the goal of his ambition――the
Championship――an honour never yet achieved by a middle-weight. With
this view he addressed a challenge to the redoubtable 13 stone Tipton
Slasher, who then claimed the belt; the Tipton having received forfeit
in 1856 from Harry Broome, who retired, and in the year 1857 from both
Tom Paddock and Aaron Jones.

Never since the memorable battle between Caunt and Bendigo, in Sept.,
1845, had there been a match which excited such general interest
outside the circle of regular supporters of true British boxing. Here
was a man, the acknowledged Champion of the Middle-weights, boldly
throwing down the gauntlet to the equally acknowledged Champion of
England, and daring him to combat for the title and reward to which
for so long a time he had laid claim without meeting an adversary of
his own weight and inches daring enough to deny his pretensions. Not a
semblance of ill feeling was there existing between the men, and we
are glad to state that throughout, even up to the very contest itself,
they maintained towards one another the most kindly sentiments. The
only matter at issue between them was whether a man of 5 feet 8½
inches, and under 11st. in weight, possessed of whatever science he
might be, could contest, with any chance of success, against one
topping the 6 feet by half an inch, and weighing not less than 14st.
6lb. The Slasher himself laughed at the idea of defeat, and stated to
us his firm belief that on entering the ring he would, in addition to
his other advantages, be found the cleverer man of the two. He said he
had made up his mind not to run all over the ring after his younger
and more active opponent, but to take his stand at the scratch, and
await the onslaughts of the gallant Sayers. This we (who knew the bold
Tom’s capabilities) deemed a sound determination; how far the burly
Tiptonian adhered to it on entering the ring will appear in the
sequel. Sayers also, to some measure, made us his confidant as to his
intentions on the day of battle, and intimated that he believed the
Slasher was perfectly worn-out and incapable of anything like
prolonged exertion. He had fully made up his mind, he said, to keep
him on his pins, and lead him about the ring, by forcing the pace,
until he should be so exhausted as to be somewhat nearer his own mark.
He, like the Slasher, scorned the idea of defeat, and felt such
intense confidence from the very day the match was made, that he
invested almost every penny he possessed upon the result of the
encounter. The excitement in all quarters increased week by week from
the time the match was made, and in every sporting circle the contest
was made one of the great themes of discussion. The general feeling at
first appeared to be that Sayers had by his victory over Aaron Jones
got above himself, and that his overweening confidence would lead him
into unexpected difficulties, if, indeed, as was in many quarters
anticipated, the match did not end in a forfeit on his part. As the
time approached, however, and it was found that both men were in
active work, and evidently both meaning mischief, the doubts as to the
match going on vanished, the only point remaining for discussion being
the foolhardiness of Sayers, and the overweening confidence of his
friends in allowing the match to come to an issue for the full stakes.
The Sayers party, however, maintained their own opinion, and from
first to last contended that the Slasher was stale and out of
practice, that he was destitute of scientific acquirements, and so
slow that any want of size and weight on the part of his adversary was
fully compensated for by these deficiencies. We believe they never
refused to take 6 to 4, and finally accepted 5 to 4 against their pet.

The doings of Tom’s gigantic opponent will be found in our fourth
Chapter. We have noted the awakening given to the Ring by the
announcement of the New Champion Belt, and the Slasher’s defiant
challenge. Tom accepted the terms, and Jemmy Massey immediately made
the match for the Tipton; the day being fixed for the 16th of June,
1857. So soon as articles were signed, the Slasher, who was then
keeping a public-house in Spon Lane, Tipton, gave up his business and
betook himself to training at Boxmoor, where he got off some
superfluous flesh acquired in his calling as a Boniface; indeed when
we saw him one evening at Owen Swift’s he appeared to have been
carefully prepared. He was certainly not so hard and thin as we had
seen him some years before; but his complexion was fresh and his
muscles well developed, and he told us he “drew the balance at 14st.”
He expressed entire confidence, and grinned good humouredly at the
bare mention of defeat by so small an opponent. The Tipton left London
overnight to avoid interruption, and was picked up on the downward
voyage at Tilbury.

The stakeholder (the Editor of _Bell’s Life_) having to name the place
of fighting, proposed to charter two steamers; one to convey the men,
their seconds and friends, the other a select party of Corinthians;
and for this tickets were issued. At the last moment, however, the
scheme miscarried, a special boat being unobtainable. A gentleman,
however, offered a vessel to start from Southend, with 250 passengers
as a maximum number, on the Tuesday morning, to convey the
“excursionists” wherever they might wish to go. This offer was
gratefully accepted. The number was, subsequently, limited to 200,
including ring-keepers, men, and seconds. On arriving at Southend, it
was blowing a gale from the S.E., and there was a heavy sea on. The
boat could not come alongside the pier, and it was with great
difficulty that the passengers were able to get on board. It was
upwards of an hour before Tom Oliver and the ropes and stakes were got
in.

When all were on board, the vessel steamed out to sea, and rounded the
Nore Light. The passage was anything but enjoyable to bad sailors, and
many offered their contributions to Neptune in the most liberal
manner. The passengers in the fore-part of the vessel were drenched
with salt water, but they bore the infliction with stoical good
humour. The men entered the ring between two and three, but just as
all was arranged, the company seated, and the dressing commenced, a
bevy of blues was seen swiftly approaching the ring. _Sauve qui peut_
was the order of the day, and all rushed off to the steamboats, many,
in their anxiety, making for the wrong vessel, and many mistakes
consequently occurring. All, however, got on board one or the other by
three o’clock, and a move was made some miles farther on to an island,
where a second debarkation speedily took place. Another ring was
pitched, and round it were quickly ranged some 3,00 persons. The
movements of the steamer had put all the frequenters of the river on
the _qui vive_, and the water was studded with boats and sailing
vessels of various sizes conveying their numerous freights to the
scene of action. The ground selected was excellent for milling
purposes, and the inner and outer rings were formed with as much
expedition as possible, for fear of further interruption. A good
business was transacted in the sale of inner-ring tickets, the amount
realised by which was £47 2s. 6d. The number of Corinthian sportsmen
was the largest we remember at the ring-side, and the spectators most
orderly. At half-past four the men entered the ring ready for
business; Sayers attended by Nat Langham and Bill Hayes, and the
Slasher under the superintendence of Tass Parker and Jack Macdonald,
perhaps the best pair of seconds that could be found. No time was cut
to waste in preliminaries; the colours were tied to the stakes――blue
and white spot for Sayers, and the old blue birdseye for the
Slasher――and at twelve minutes to five they were delivered at the
scratch, the betting being 6 to 5 on the old one.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On toeing the scratch the contrast between
     the men was, as may be imagined, most extraordinary.
     The ould Tipton topped his adversary at least four
     inches, and it looked, to the uninitiated, “a horse to
     a hen.” His immense frame and ponderous, muscular arms
     and legs seemed calculated to bear him to victory
     against four such men as Sayers. He looked all full of
     confidence, and evidently considered he had a very easy
     little job before him. He was thinner than we expected
     to see him, and his condition generally was very fair,
     but there were the usual indications of age upon
     certain points where the fulness and roundness of youth
     had disappeared from his form. He looked all his age
     (thirty-eight); indeed, by many he was thought to be
     far on the shady side of forty. His attitude was
     ungainly, but still he was rough and ready, and the
     question that suggested itself was “how was Sayers to
     get at him?” Tom Sayers, as he advanced to meet his
     antagonist, was the perfection of manly strength and
     athletic development. His fine broad shoulders, small
     loins, and powerful arms and legs were all turned in
     one of Nature’s best lathes, and there was not a fault
     to find, unless it was found that he had two or three
     pounds more flesh than was necessary about his back and
     ribs. His attitude for attack or defence was admirable,
     and however confident the Slasher was, it was perfectly
     obvious that Sayers was not one whit behind him in that
     respect. The Slasher had evidently made up his mind to
     set to work at once and cut his man down in a jiffey.
     He lumbered in like a huge bear, let go both hands with
     more vigour than judgment, but did not get home, and
     Sayers, in stepping back, fell, but at once jumped up
     to renew the round. The Slasher went at him, put in a
     little one on the skull, and Tom again fell.

     2.――The Slasher came up evidently with greater
     confidence than ever, and lunged out his right, which
     reached Tom’s ribs with great force, and Tom countered
     him sharply on the mouth, drawing “first blood.” The
     Slasher looked astonished, stopped to consider a
     moment, and again went in, swinging his great arms like
     the sails of a windmill. Sayers danced lightly out of
     harm’s way, and then, stepping in, popped a tidy smack
     on the spectacle-beam, and got away laughing. After
     dancing round his man, and easily avoiding several more
     lunges, Tom again got home on the snuffer-tray,
     removing a piece of the japan, and drawing a fresh
     supply of the ruby. The Tipton, annoyed, rushed in,
     missed his right, and also a terrific upper-cut with
     his left, and Sayers again dropped in upon the nose.
     After this, slight exchanges took place, the Slasher
     too slow to be effective. He now chased Sayers all over
     the ring, the latter dancing round him like a wild
     Indian, or fleeing like a deer, to draw him after him.
     The vicious blows aimed by the Slasher all fell upon
     the air, and his exertions to catch his nimble
     antagonist caused him to blow off steam to an
     indefinite extent. Had one of the intended compliments
     alighted upon Tom, it looked as if it would have been
     all over with him. After Sayers had completed his dance
     he went to his man, cleverly avoided a good
     right-hander, and delivered another very hot one on the
     proboscis (more “Lafitte” of the _premier crû_). The
     Tipton tried his heavy punches again three times and
     missed; a fourth attempt was prettily stopped, after
     which both hit short. The Tipton next got on Tom’s
     right cheek with his left, but not heavily, and some
     very pretty stopping followed on both sides, after
     which the Tipton made another rush like a bull at a
     gate, and found himself once more battling with
     vacancy, Tom having slipped under his arm, and danced
     off laughing. The Slasher looked with astonishment, and
     shook his nut. Sayers again approached, and after one
     or two feints a good exchange took place, Sayers
     getting on to the left eye, and the Slasher on the
     ribs. Sharp counter-hits followed, Slasher on the mouth
     and Tom on the cheek. Tom now led off with his double,
     but the Slasher stopped him prettily twice in
     succession, when he missed his return. The Slasher
     again pounded away, principally with his right, but
     without effect, as Sayers jumped back or stopped every
     effort. Sayers now planted a stinger with his left on
     the mark and stopped the return. The next minute he got
     sharply home on the nasal organ, and jumped quickly
     away from a well-intended upper-cut, which looked like
     a finisher. The Slasher now stopped one or two pretty
     leads, but his return came so slowly that Sayers was
     far out of harm’s way. This occurred several times, the
     Slasher rushing about like a baited bull, Sayers
     skipping and nimbly getting away from every rush. After
     a little of this entertainment Sayers went in, let go
     his left, and was stopped neatly, and he, in turn,
     stopped two very round hits on the part of Perry.
     Sayers next feinted, and got home a slashing
     left-hander on the right cheek, which he cut severely,
     and drew a plenteous supply of ruby. Another hit fell
     on the same spot. The Slasher then got a little one on
     Tom’s body, and tried again, but Tom got away. The
     Slasher retired to his corner to get his mug wiped,
     and, on coming out again, Tom led him another dance all
     over the ring, the Old One, with more haste than speed,
     trying to catch him, and repeatedly expending his
     strength in empty space. At last Sayers, having given
     him a good turn at this game, stopped to see whether he
     was pumped, and some good exchanges followed, Sayers
     again on the damaged cheek, and the Slasher also
     reaching the cheek. Mutual stopping followed, and
     Sayers next got home heavily on the olfactory
     projection. The Slasher now stopped Tom, and returned,
     but not heavily, on the top of his nut, which led to
     exchanges, Tom on the left optic, and Bill on the ribs.
     After one or two more exchanges, another tremendous
     counter took place, Tom receiving on the mouth, and the
     Slasher on the nose, each drawing the carmine. The
     Slasher having next made several misses went in, and
     another sharp counter was exchanged, Tom receiving on
     the brain-pan, and the Slasher on the beak, from which
     more home-brewed escaped. Each now had a wipe of the
     sponge, and Tom treated his opponent to another game of
     follow-my-leader all over the ring, in the course of
     which the Slasher caught him a heavy right-hander on
     the back. He then stopped Tom’s left and heavy counters
     followed Tom on the nose, and Slasher on the _os
     frontis_, knocking him down (first “knock down” for
     Slasher). This round lasted nearly half an hour.

     3.――The Slasher came up laughing, but he was evidently
     bent on mischief. Sayers smiled, tried his left and was
     stopped, and the Slasher, as usual, missed two swinging
     right-handers. Tom dodged, popped his left on the mark,
     and then on the forehead, got a little one on the ribs,
     and exchanges followed, Tom getting home on the left
     ogle, and Tipton on the mouth. Some heavy give and take
     fighting followed, Tom getting more juice from the
     Slasher’s right cheek, and receiving one or two smart
     ones on the neck and side of his head. Mutual stopping,
     feinting and dodging until Tom got home on the mark,
     and the Slasher again followed him all over the ring,
     hitting out of distance, and with no manner of
     judgment. Finding he could do nothing, the Slasher put
     down his hands, and retired for another wipe from Jack
     Macdonald, and then renewed his exertions, when some
     pretty stopping took place on both sides, after which
     Sayers got home on the left side of the nob, but was
     stopped in another essay. The Slasher stopped two more
     well-intended ones, and then got home on the side of
     Tom’s cranium; Sayers returned now heavily on the
     proboscis, once more turning on the tap. Tom now
     dodged, and then got home heavily on the damaged
     cheek――a tremendous hit, and again did the home-brewed
     appear. The Slasher retired to be cleaned, and came
     again viciously, but Sayers pinked him on the smeller,
     receiving a slight return on the top of the nob. More
     futile efforts on the part of the Slasher, whose
     friends called upon Sayers to stand still and be hit,
     but Tom wisely declined. He had orders to keep his man
     on his legs and fight him at long shots, and these
     orders he carried out most excellently. Again and again
     did the Slasher miss or get stopped. Occasionally he
     got home a very little one, which did not leave a mark,
     and now he rushed at Tom, dashed out his right, and
     very narrowly escaped smashing his fist against the
     stake――it was within an inch. Sayers lifted up his arms
     with astonishment, and stood laughing until the Slasher
     wore round on another tack, and came at him again, when
     Tom got away, shaking his noddle and grinning. The
     Slasher followed, Tom nailed him on the nozzle, stopped
     his return, and then planted another on the cheek.
     Sharp exchanges followed, the Slasher getting on Tom’s
     right cheek and just drawing the juice, while Tom left
     a mark on the Slasher’s left eye. The Old’un, very
     slow, sparred apparently for wind, and was then stopped
     left and right, after which each hit over the shoulder.
     Tom afterwards stopped both hands, and got easily away
     from a third attempt. Slight exchanges followed, Tom on
     the nose, and Slasher on the top of the head. More
     dancing by Sayers, and exhausting efforts on the part
     of the Slasher, and then as the Slasher came, Tom
     caught him a severe straightener on the snuff-box,
     drawing lots of claret. The Slasher, savage, stood to
     consider, and then rushing in delivered a little one on
     the side of Tom’s head with his right, and Tom fell.
     (Time, 52 minutes.)

     4.――The Slasher came up grinning, but he was evidently
     somewhat fatigued by his exertions. He nevertheless
     adhered to his practice of forcing the fighting, again
     dashed at Tom, and contrived to plant a little one on
     the body with his right, but it was not within
     punishing distance. Slight exchanges followed on the
     side of the wig-block, after which the Slasher stopped
     Tom’s left. Heavy counter-hits next succeeded in favour
     of Sayers, who got home on the Slasher’s potato-trap,
     and napped a little one on the nob. After another dance
     round the ring, Tom stopped the Slasher’s right, and
     the latter then drove him into the corner, and,
     evidently thinking he had him safe, wound himself up to
     finish; but when he let go his left and right, he found
     that Tom had slipped under his arm, and was laughing at
     him in the middle of the ring. The K-legged giant,
     irate that his opponent would not stand to be hit,
     again lumbered after him, like an elephant in pumps,
     but it was no go. “No catchee, no havee,” was Tom’s
     maxim, and he kept to his active tactics. The Slasher
     persevered, and Sayers stopped his left and right, and
     then turned away laughing and shaking his noddle. The
     Tipton giant could not make it out, and turned to his
     second as if to inquire what he should do; another
     illustration of the classical adage――_capit consilium
     gladiator in arena_. At last he went at it again and
     got home on the body, receiving in return on the
     kisser. Some sparring followed, until the Tipton again
     led off, and was short with both hands. Finding he
     could do nothing, he retired to his corner, where he
     stood leaning on the ropes, Tom waiting and beckoning
     him to the scratch. After a rest the Slasher came out,
     feinted at Tom, but was quickly nailed on the left
     cheek. He tried again, and got home heavily on the
     ribs, and Sayers fell. (Time, one hour and four
     minutes.)

     5.――Perry still adhered to his boring tactics, but Tom
     was far too quick on his pins, and easily avoided him.
     Another attempt was stopped, and from a third Sayers
     got easily away. A fourth was missed, and Tom returned
     on the left cheek, which led to heavy exchanges on the
     side of the head, and Tom fell, the Slasher falling
     over him.

     6.――The Slasher came up laughing, and let go his left,
     but out of distance; good exchanges followed, Sayers
     effecting another lodgment on the right cheek, and
     increasing the cut in that quarter, and the Slasher
     getting home on the cranium. The Slasher, after another
     ill-directed rush, again retired to his corner, had a
     drink and a wipe, and then came again, when Sayers
     stopped his deliveries with the greatest ease. The
     Slasher persevered, and Tom led him another
     morris-dance, but they afterwards got close, and slight
     exchanges ended in the Slasher falling.

     7.――The Tipton bored in stooping, head-foremost, like a
     bull of Salamanca. Tom, not being provided with a
     mantilla to throw over his head, jumped aside like a
     matador, and on went his assailant to the ropes. Perry
     swung round, just got on to Tom’s head, and each then
     missed a blow. The Slasher persevered, and Tom
     countered on the left side of his forehead with his
     right, after which Perry retired to his corner, whither
     Sayers followed him, and the Slasher at once lunged out
     at the cheek, but not effectually. He now made another
     of his wild onslaughts, but only to be disappointed,
     and he next stopped both Tom’s mauleys. Some sparring
     followed, both being slightly blown; the Slasher
     stopped Tom’s left, and returned with his right on the
     body. After a few more misses, they got close, and Tom
     delivered a heavy spank on the left eye, and fell from
     the force of his own blow. (One hour, fifteen minutes.)

     8.――Perry showed a bump under the left peeper, but he
     came up smiling, and let go his left and right, both of
     which were stopped. He then stood blowing, until Sayers
     went to the attack, and some mutual pretty stopping
     took place, followed by several misses on either side.
     The Slasher once more retired to rest in his corner,
     but was fetched out by Sayers, who then got home on the
     side of the nob, and neatly avoided a return. Both were
     now rather wild in their lunges, and the Slasher, who
     pursued his man most vigorously, repeatedly missed his
     blows. Tom at length caught him on the cutwater,
     drawing a fresh supply from the best bin, and the
     Slasher walked off to borrow Jack Macdonald’s wipe. Tom
     followed, and got home very heavily on the mark and
     then on the mouth, renewing “the cataract from the
     cavern.” Sharp exchanges in favour of Sayers followed,
     and in the end both fell.

     9.――The Slasher came up slowly. Notwithstanding his
     severe punishment, his seconds sent him up beautifully
     clean, and in fact their attention throughout was
     beyond all praise. He tried again and again to plant
     upon the agile Sayers, but in vain. Sayers stopped him
     at all points, and then delivered a heavy left-hander
     on the mark. Some sparring followed, and Sayers stopped
     several heavy lunges, the Tipton in return stopping his
     left. Tom, in another attempt, got on the damaged
     cheek, increasing the cut, and the Tipton walked to his
     corner, whither Tom followed him, but on the Slasher
     making his usual lunge Sayers jumped back. Perry
     followed, and some pretty taps and stops, without
     mischief, took place. The Slasher then hit out of
     distance several times in succession, but on getting
     close some neat exchanges followed, Tom on the mark,
     heavily, and Perry on the cheek, but not effectively.
     Perry once more bored in, and delivered his right, but
     it was a mere fly-blow. Tom missed his prop with the
     left, and the Slasher retired for a drink. Tom thought
     this an example worth following, and after the inner
     man was refreshed, they went to work again, and sharp
     exchanges, all in favour of Sayers, followed; he kept
     playing on the Slasher’s damaged nose and cheek, his
     double being very effective, while Perry’s blows
     appeared to leave no mark. Tom now stopped several
     well-intended blows, and returned heavily on the right
     cheek with his left. Perry, although getting slower
     every minute, gamely persevered, put in his right and
     left on the body, and then hit short with both hands.
     More mutual stopping ensued, until they got close, when
     the Slasher dashed his right at the body, but Tom met
     him with a very straight left-hander on the mouth,
     drawing more of the elixir of life, and with his right
     he planted severely on the nose. Another sharp one on
     the mouth caused the Slasher to stagger and fall, and
     Tom fell over him. The Slasher evidently was fast
     going; the last three blows, particularly the
     right-hander, were very heavy, and the game old fellow
     was almost abroad, and was very slow to time.

     10 and last.――The Slasher crawled very slowly to the
     scratch, and attempted to lead off. It was, however,
     only an attempt. Tom easily avoided it, and planted a
     tremendous hit on the mark, stopping the return with
     ease. He stopped two more attempts, and then as the
     Slasher lunged out a third time he caught him with the
     left on the damaged cheek and the right on the mouth,
     cutting his upper lip very severely, and the Slasher
     fell, Tom on him. The Slasher was carried to his
     corner, and, with some difficulty, was got round in
     time to go to the scratch for another round. His dial,
     however, was dreadfully punished, and his lip was so
     much cut that he presented a piteous appearance. It was
     evident that he had not the slightest chance; he was as
     weak as a kitten, and entirely at the mercy of his
     adversary, who was perfectly scatheless and apparently
     as active as when he began, and Owen Swift, the
     Slasher’s principal backer, seeing the state of things,
     stepped into the ring, and with praiseworthy humanity
     declared that he should fight no more. Perry was very
     unwilling to give up without one more shy, but Owen was
     imperative. He insisted upon the men shaking hands, and
     the sponge was thrown up, Tom Sayers being proclaimed
     the winner, and Champion of England, amid the cheers of
     his partisans, at the expiration of one hour and
     forty-two minutes.

     No time was now lost in getting on board the vessels,
     the majority of the spectators making for the larger
     vessel, for which they had no tickets, and taking
     advantage of the absence of the authorities on shore to
     scramble on board before demands could be made upon
     them to show their credentials. The charterers of the
     “Widgeon” (the companion or rather opposition), did not
     display much consideration for their patrons, as they
     steamed off almost immediately on the conclusion of the
     mill, leaving the majority of their customers to their
     fate.

     It was fortunate for Sayers that he finished his task
     at the time he did, for scarcely had the men left the
     ring when the same body of peelers who had before
     interfered arrived upon the ground, just in time to be
     too late to put their kind intentions into effect. It
     was only the difficulty in getting a boat that
     prevented their arrival at an earlier hour.

     As soon as all were on board the regular boat a
     consultation was held as to the course that ought to be
     pursued, and the general opinion having been taken, it
     was resolved to make for Strood, instead of giving the
     navigators another turn round the Nore, and by eight
     o’clock a landing was effected at that town, and nearly
     all were enabled to reach town by eleven o’clock in the
     evening. On the voyage to Strood, Tom Sayers went round
     among the Corinthians and made a collection for his
     fallen but game opponent, which amounted to the sum of
     £22 5s.

     REMARKS.――The account of this battle tells its own
     tale, and calls for scarcely any remarks. From first to
     last it was evident that the Tipton Slasher’s star had
     sunk, and that he was no longer “The Slasher.” He must
     have felt from the very first that, barring an
     accident, he had not the slightest chance. All his
     quickness and activity had left him, and we could not
     help thinking that his eyesight also must be failing,
     for times out of number did he lunge out and attempt to
     deliver upper-cuts when Tom Sayers was far beyond his
     reach, and these blows were of such tremendous force
     that they must have tended to take much of the steel
     out of him. It appeared to us that from the very
     beginning he adopted a wrong principle. For a heavy,
     lumbering man, like himself, to attempt to force the
     fighting, and pursue a lithe, active fellow such as
     Sayers, was perfectly ridiculous, as he evidently felt
     towards the conclusion of the battle; and we should
     imagine that he must many times since have regretted
     that he did not adhere to his original intention of
     awaiting the attack and depending upon his powers as a
     counter-hitter to bring him through. That he did his
     best to please his backers and to bring the fight off
     in his favour cannot for a moment be denied, and that
     he took his severe punishment without a murmur was
     self-evident. He always had the character of being a
     game man, and that character he carried with him into
     retirement. The Tipton said that early in the fight he
     injured his right hip in one of his sudden twists to
     catch his opponent, and this materially interfered with
     his powers. Tom Sayers fought strictly to orders
     throughout, and his coolness and judgment greatly
     enhanced his reputation among his friends. Some persons
     present commented upon his retreating tactics, and
     contended that this was not fair fighting, but as these
     remarks proceeded from the enemy’s camp they are worth
     but little. Of course it would have been infinitely
     more pleasing to them had Tom stood and slogged away
     against an adversary of so much heavier metal until he
     was disabled by a chance blow, but such a course would
     have been perfect madness on his part. How his jumping
     or running away could be called unfair, so long as he
     confined himself within the ring, we cannot conceive.
     The ring is always constructed of a certain size for
     the express purpose of restraining the combatants
     within certain bounds, and within those bounds a man
     has a perfect right to retreat and jump about as long
     as he likes, so that he does not decline to face his
     opponent; and that Tom Sayers for one moment declined
     to continue the battle cannot by any one be maintained.
     How far his jumping about and exertions upon his legs
     were advisable for his own sake is another question,
     and we are inclined to think that he might have kept
     out of harm’s way with far less exertion, and reserved
     much of his strength against any unlooked-for
     contingency, had he restrained his peristaltic energies
     within more reasonable bounds. If the Slasher had been
     younger and more active, it is not improbable that the
     gallant Tom would have found out to his cost, as the
     battle progressed, the benefit of such a mode of
     fighting. As it turned out, however, no harm was done,
     and as he achieved such an easy victory, none of his
     friends can for one moment complain. That his
     retreating arose from any want of confidence is a
     proposition not to be entertained for a moment. Never
     in his brilliant career has he shown the semblance of
     the white feather, and we feel assured that the only
     causes to which his method of fighting the Slasher can
     be set down are caution, a desire to please his
     friends, and an extraordinary exuberance of animal
     spirits. The ring throughout the fight was well kept,
     and, beyond the few vicissitudes connected with the
     voyage to the scene of action, we heard of nothing
     calculated to mar the pleasures of the day.

Tom’s defeat of the ponderous Tipton was not, however, to leave him in
undisputed possession of the belt. Tom Paddock considered himself
capable of taking the shine out of such a little one, and challenged
Sayers accordingly; but ere a match could be arranged, the Redditch
man was suddenly seized with a rheumatic fever, which completely
floored him, and from which it was feared he would not recover. There
was now apparently every chance that Sayers would walk over the
course, but this did not suit Harry Broome, who, although unable to
cope with Tom himself, “thought he knowed a cove wot could,” and made
a match for an “Unknown,” to fight Tom for £200 a side on the 5th of
January, 1858. The speculations as to who this unknown could be were
extraordinary――he was the bold Bendy, he was Ben Caunt, he was Ould
Nat, he was Harry Orme――in fact, he was everybody but himself; and
great indeed was the public astonishment when it became known that he
was not only actually an “Unknown,” but also a perfect novice, being,
in fact, Bill Bainge, or Benjamin, a native of Northleach, 5ft. 10¾in.
in height, weighing 12st., of whose prowess rumour had propagated
extravagant accounts, while others maintained that as the Broomes were
behind Benjamin, it was a “got-up” robbery, and that Sayers would
“chuck it.” Poor Tom was sadly mortified at these insinuations, and
indignantly assured the writer that if he should be beaten it should
only be by a better man.

A steamboat conveyed the men and their backers down the river to the
Isle of Grain, where, at about half-past twelve o’clock, the Champion
made his appearance at the ring-side, and modestly dropped his castor
within the ropes, following it at once himself, attended by Bill Hayes
and Harry Brunton. He was hailed with loud cheers from all sides. Bill
Benjamin was close upon his heels, and stepped into the ropes under
the care of Harry Broome and Jemmy Massey. There was a smile upon the
face of each man; but we fancied that of Sayers was the genuine smile
of confidence, while that of his opponent had somewhat of a nervous
twist about it. They shook hands good humouredly, tossed for corners,
Sayers proving the winner, and then at once commenced peeling to the
bitter frost and south-easterly breeze. The colours, a neat French
grey for Sayers, and blue and white spots for Benjamin, were now tied
to the stakes, the usual preliminaries were quickly settled, and at
fourteen minutes to twelve “time” was called. The betting round the
ring was very slight, 2 to 1 being freely offered, but takers were
scarce at anything under 5 to 2.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――When the men appeared at the scratch, which
     they did in the midst of perfect silence, there was a
     visible contrast in their physical powers. The Novice
     stood well over Sayers, his muscles were larger and
     better developed, and altogether he looked, as he
     undoubtedly was, the heavier and more powerful man. His
     attitude at first was good, and led one to suppose he
     had studied under a good master. His condition was
     perfect, there not being a superfluous ounce about him.
     Tom looked rather fleshy about the chest and shoulders,
     but in such weather it was perhaps a fault on the right
     side. His attitude was the same as ever――cool, calm,
     and collected. He eyed his adversary with steadiness,
     and there was the same unmistakable glance of
     confidence always to be seen on his mug. He had clearly
     made up his mind to let the Novice make the first move,
     and tried several dodges to draw him out. The Novice,
     although evidently nervous, sparred and feinted like an
     accomplished boxer for a brief period, and at length
     tried his left, but Tom stopped him with nonchalance,
     and returned quickly with the left on the nozzle, and
     then on the mark a sharp crack. The Novice stood his
     ground, and now succeeded in stopping Tom twice, and
     returning, but very slightly, on the cheek. Tom next
     delivered his left and right at close quarters, on the
     cheek and jaw, and the Novice dropped. He was conveyed
     to his corner, and the look of dismay upon his
     countenance as he glanced around was perfectly
     ludicrous. It was at once patent to all that he knew
     nothing of the business he had undertaken, and that the
     contest was virtually over, for directly his guard was
     broken through he appeared to have no resources. He
     could not use his legs, and his arms flew about like
     the sails of a windmill, so that Tom was able to put in
     both hands perfectly at his ease. The celerity with
     which he brought his right into play thus early in the
     fight was remarkable.

     2.――The Novice did not “smile as he was wont to smile,”
     but seemed to be on the look-out for a place of secure
     retreat. Tom walked quietly up, led off with his left
     and was stopped, but the Novice missed his return. Tom
     then popped his left very heavily on the mouth,
     knocking his opponent clean off his pins, and filling
     his potato trap with ruby. The Novice lay as if
     undecided for a second, and then, turning over, got
     gradually on his pins, and his seconds took him to his
     corner. He shook his head several times, and appeared
     extremely undesirous of encountering another of Tom’s
     heavy shots, but, on time being called, Harry Broome
     pushed him forward, and he went reluctantly to the
     scratch, Massey, in disgust, having declined to have
     any more to do with him.

     3.――Sayers, evidently bent on making short work of it,
     quickly went to work left and right. Benjamin tried to
     rally with him, but beyond an accidental touch on the
     lip, did not reach him. Tom planted heavily on the
     mouth and jaw, drawing more ruby, and down went the
     Novice all abroad. He lay in the middle of the ring,
     and nothing could persuade him to come to “time.”
     Broome then threw up the sponge, and Tom Sayers was
     once again proclaimed the conqueror, and still
     champion, in _six minutes and a half_, the battle――if
     battle it could be called where it was all one
     way――being the most bloodless we ever witnessed. The
     Novice, on being asked to account for his cutting up so
     badly, said he was hit very hard in the mark in the
     first round, and not expecting to be hit there, it had
     made him very sick and incapable of exerting himself.
     Further than that he knew not. His easy defeat struck
     dismay into all his friends, and the look of surprise
     and contempt cast upon him by Jemmy Massey was a study
     for an artist. Both men at once left the field of
     action, and repaired on board the boat, where they lost
     no time in resuming their warm wraps, and taking other
     means to infuse a little of that caloric into their
     systems which had been subtracted therefrom during
     their brief exposure to the outward air.

     REMARKS.――We question whether it is not an insult to
     the understanding of the reader to offer any remarks
     upon this singular exhibition of incapacity upon the
     part of the would-be champion. Of Tom Sayers we have
     nothing more to say than he did what he was called upon
     to do with the utmost _nonchalance_, and that he
     performed his task even easier than he had all along
     anticipated. The Novice did not exhibit a single point
     which would entitle him to be called even an
     “outsider.” From the time that he was foiled in his
     very first move he cannot be said to have even “tried.”
     All his senses seemed to have left him, and, as far as
     we were able to judge, the only predominant thought in
     his mind was how to escape from the dilemma in which he
     had been placed, with the least damage to himself.
     Doubtless he was hit very heavily, but still he had not
     received even half enough to justify him in crying “a
     go,” had he meant winning at all hazards. That he must
     eventually have been beaten by such a man as Sayers,
     barring an accident, is a positive certainty, and that
     he exercised a sound discretion in not submitting to
     further punishment is equally true; but that he has
     done more than heap ridicule upon himself and those who
     brought him out, by his miserable performance, is a
     proposition not to be disputed for a moment. How such a
     judge of fighting as Harry Broome could have made the
     mistake he did we cannot understand, but the task of
     bringing out a candidate for the Championship once
     undertaken by a man of his known “talent,” it is easy
     to understand how the public were induced to come
     forward and take the long odds offered on Sayers. Among
     the deceived was the renowned Jemmy Massey, who, liking
     the appearance of the man, and being led on by the
     reports of Harry Broome as to his man’s cleverness and
     gluttonous qualities, took the odds of 2 to 1 to a
     considerable amount. The whole affair was carried out
     from first to last in a quiet and orderly way, and
     there was no fault to find with the partisans of either
     man for either unseemly language or noisy
     demonstrations. All that was required to render it a
     model fight was a little more devil and resolution on
     the part of the loser. The battle money was handed to
     Tom Sayers at Owen Swift’s, “Horse Shoe” Tavern,
     Tichborne Street, on Wednesday evening, January 13th,
     when he was again adorned with the Champion’s belt,
     which, according to rule, was deposited with the
     stakeholder to abide the event of his next battle for
     the permanent possession of the trophy.

After this victory Tom appeared in a fair way to rest upon his
laurels, but soon, to his astonishment, as well as every one else’s,
it was announced that Tom Paddock had recovered, and did not intend to
let the belt pass without a struggle. He issued a challenge to Sayers,
in which he intimated that, it being dead low water in his exchequer,
he was as poor as a church mouse, and that unless Tom would extend him
the hand of charity, and meet him for £150 a side, instead of the
stipulated £200, the darling wish of his heart could not be gratified.
He thought he could win the belt, and hoped Tom would not let a paltry
£50 stand between them and prevent a friendly mill. Sayers, like a
“brick” of his own laying, promptly responded to the call, and
intimated that the meeting would afford him the highest gratification.
With such an old pal he could not allow the paltry “rag” to stand in
the way. The match was at once made, and came off on the anniversary
of Tom’s fight with the Slasher――viz., on the 16th of June, 1858.
After some narrow escapes from police pursuit and persecution, the two
Toms met on a place selected as “maiden ground,” at Canvey Island.

And here the phrase, “the two Toms,” tempts us to a brief digression.
The baptismal name of “Tom” has, indeed, furnished more than its
calculable proportion of Champions of the fistic Ring; and hence we
have pictured on a previous page the “three Toms” whose deeds made
their names, in the first three-quarters of the present century, among
admirers of pugilistic prowess, “familiar in men’s mouths as household
words.” This curious pre-eminence of name may be further extended; for
though the Christian name of John, the familiar Jack, and the royal
one of George (during the reign of “the four Georges”) twice
outnumbered the Toms, yet Tom Johnson, Tom Paddock, Tom Sayers, and
Tom King――the _ultimus Romanorum_――make up the mystic number of Seven
Champions bearing that designation, while Jack Broughton, John
Jackson, and John Gully are the only three to be credited to the far
more numerous family of “Johns.”

The first to shy his wide-awake into the ring was Tom Paddock, who was
loudly cheered. He was attended by Jemmy Massey and that accomplished
master of the art Jack Macdonald, and looked as red as beet-root, and
as strong and healthy as though he had never in the course of his life
assisted at the ceremony of turning off the gas. His demeanour was the
same as ever, that of extreme confidence, and the smile on his mug was
more that of one who had merely come out to enjoy a little gentle
exercise than of a candidate for honours preparing to meet the
Admirable Crichton of the P.R. There was, however, nothing of bravado
about him; he merely took the affair as a matter of course, which
would soon be over. He was not kept many minutes before he was joined
by his opponent, who, attended by Bill Hayes and Harry Brunton, was
also received with a complete ovation of applause. Tom, like his
brother Tom, also looked in rude health, but his good-tempered mug
struck us as if anything too fleshy, and in this we were confirmed
when he stripped, for it was then apparent that he was some three or
four pounds heavier than he should have been under such a tropical
sun. The lads shook hands good-humouredly, and while they were
completing their half-finished adornments, the betting round the ring
was of the liveliest and heaviest description: £25 to £20, £50 to £40,
and similar odds to smaller sums upon Sayers were offered and eagerly
accepted in all quarters, and it was as much as the stakeholder could
accomplish for some time to collect and enter the names and amounts of
perhaps some of the heaviest investments for many years.

We feel it incumbent upon us here to perform an act of justice to Alec
Keene, which speaks volumes for his kindness of heart, and without
which our account would be incomplete. After the men had been fighting
about twenty minutes, Alec, who had followed the belligerents in a tug
from Gravesend, made his appearance on the ground, and, finding that
things were not going altogether smoothly with Tom Paddock, at once
betook himself to his corner, offered him the hand of fellowship, and
throughout the remainder of the fight stood by him, to afford him the
benefit of that experience and advice which he is so capable of
imparting.


     THE FIGHT

     Round 1.――Both came grinning to the scratch, and
     manœuvred for a brief space for an opening. Paddock
     looked, as usual, big and burly, but it was evident he
     was no longer the active, fresh man we had before seen.
     His mug was more marked with age, and there was a
     dulness about his eye we never remember in former days.
     His condition was good and he was in good health, but
     still he looked only Tom Paddock in name. Sayers was
     more fleshy than he should have been, but this was the
     only fault to be found with him. His eye was as bright
     and clear as a hawk’s, and the ease of his movements
     was a picture to behold. His attitude was, as usual,
     all readiness for a shoot or a jump. Paddock, instead
     of rushing, as had been expected, steadied himself, and
     felt with his left for an opening. It was not long
     before he attempted it, but Sayers stopped him easily.
     He made a second attempt, and Sayers stepped back,
     shaking his noddle and laughing. After a little
     sparring, Paddock tried again, and got on Tom’s brow,
     but not heavily. Again they dodged, and at length two
     counter-hits were exchanged, each getting on to the
     proboscis. After this Paddock again reached Tom’s
     nozzle rather sharply, but was stopped in another
     attempt. Another bit of cautious sparring eventually
     led to very heavy exchanges, in which Sayers left a
     mark on Paddock’s left cheek, and napped a warm one
     over the right peeper, slightly removing the bark, and
     giving Paddock the first event. Several rapid passes
     were now made on both sides, but they were evidently
     mere trials to find out what each intended. After a
     pause Sayers tried his favourite double, which he
     succeeded in landing on Paddock’s cheek, but not very
     heavily. More sharp exchanges followed, the advantage
     being with Sayers, until they both retreated and stood
     to cool themselves, the heat being intense. After a few
     seconds thus employed, they again approached one
     another smiling, and after a dodge or two they
     exchanged slight reminders on the side of the nut,
     broke away, and then got at it again, when heavy
     counter-hits were exchanged, but Sayers was first, and
     inflicted a cut on Paddock’s left brow, calling forth
     the juice in abundance. Paddock landed on the cheek,
     but not heavily. After this slight exchanges with the
     left took place, and they again stood, Sayers awaiting
     the onslaught, and Paddock puzzled. At last the latter
     dashed in, and was easily stopped twice in succession.
     He rushed after Sayers, who ducked under his arm, and,
     as Paddock turned round again, nailed him very heavily
     over the left peeper, renewed the supply of carmine,
     and then got out of harm’s way. Paddock, nothing
     daunted, dashed in, but Sayers stopped him most
     beautifully, and then, putting in his double, got well
     on the old spot. Paddock once more bored in, and was
     neatly stopped, but, persevering with his usual
     gameness, heavy exchanges ensued, all in favour of
     Sayers, who was as straight as a die, and got heavily
     on the left cheek and brow. Paddock, wild, rushed after
     him; Sayers ducked, and then planted his left on the
     left cheek, another hot one, and then on the snout,
     renewing the ruby. As Paddock bored in, he made a
     cannon off the cushion by putting his double heavily on
     the mark and nose without a return, and Paddock then
     rushing after him, bored him down. This round lasted
     fifteen minutes, and at its conclusion the backers of
     Sayers offered 2 to 1――an offer not accepted by the
     Paddock party, who looked indigo. It was patent to all
     good judges even thus early that Paddock was only
     Paddock in name, and that all the steel was out of him;
     and he has since informed us that he felt tired and
     worn out, and that he had no chance from this time. His
     gameness, therefore, in persevering so long and so
     manfully against his own conviction is the more
     commendable.

     2.――Both came up grinning, but while Sayers was almost
     scatheless, Paddock’s mug showed that Sayers had been
     there. Paddock, nothing daunted, rattled in, and got on
     to the top of Tom’s nob. Sayers returned, but not
     heavily and sharp counter-hits followed, Sayers on the
     damaged ogle, and Paddock on the left cheek. After
     this, Sayers got home his dangerous right on the side
     of Paddock’s nob, and the latter fell.

     3.――Paddock seemed slow, while Sayers was as fresh as a
     daisy; Paddock attempted to lead, but was very short.
     He, however, stopped Tom’s return. Heavy exchanges
     followed, Sayers receiving on the left cheek, and
     getting heavily on Paddock’s damaged squinter. Paddock,
     nothing daunted, made several desperate efforts, but
     Sayers got away with the greatest ease, and at length,
     as Paddock persevered, he once more countered him on
     the old spot, drawing more of the red port, and stopped
     Paddock’s return. Twice again did Sayers repeat this
     visitation, and get away from Paddock’s kindly
     intentions. Sayers then tried to lead off, but was well
     stopped. He made another attempt, and lodged his
     favourite double on the mark and nose, and then stopped
     Paddock’s return. Paddock now endeavoured to force the
     fighting, but Sayers danced away under his arm, came
     again, and, as Paddock rushed in, delivered a
     tremendous left-hander on the cheek, by the side of the
     smeller, drawing more home-brewed from the fresh cut.
     Paddock, angry, made several desperate efforts, but was
     well-stopped. At length they got close, and in the
     heavy exchanges, Sayers got his right heavily on the
     side of the nut, and received on the mouth. Paddock now
     dashed in, and although Sayers pinked him on the nose
     and eye, he persevered until he forced Sayers down.

     4.――Paddock’s physog. seemed a good deal out of the
     line of beauty, while Sayers had scarcely a mark.
     Paddock still smiled, and attempted to lead, but the
     dash and vigour we remember of yore were all gone; his
     blows seemed but half-arm hits, and did not get near
     their destination. Almost every time Sayers stopped him
     with ease, and at last, as Paddock came boring in, he
     met him heavily on the cheek, producing another streak
     of cochineal. Still did Paddock persevere but only to
     be nailed again, and to have the Red Republican once
     more called forth. After this he got home on Tom’s
     chest, and then on the cheek, but the blows lacked
     vigour. Exchanges ensued, in which Paddock removed the
     bark from Tom’s sniffer, and turned on the main, but it
     was not a material damage. After a rest, in which both
     piped for wind, they again got at it, and a tremendous
     rally took place, in which Sayers was straightest and
     heaviest; he, however, got a hot’un on the mouth, which
     drew the Badminton. This was a tremendous give-and-take
     round, and Paddock caught it heavily on the left side
     of his nob, while Sayers received chiefly on the
     hardest parts of his cast-iron canister. In the end
     Paddock was down, amidst the vociferous cheers of the
     Sayers party.

     5.――Paddock made two ineffectual attempts to deliver,
     each being short, after which Sayers missed his
     favourite double. He then stopped Paddock’s one, two,
     and exchanges followed, in which Paddock reached Tom’s
     chin, and received with interest on the damaged cheek.
     Again did they deliver left and right, and Paddock drew
     more gravy from Tom’s sucker. Paddock rattled to it,
     but Sayers countered heavily on the snorer, again
     calling forth the ruby; he, however, napped one on the
     kisser, which must have shaken his false ivories. After
     this they piped for wind, the perspiration oozed from
     every pore, and they were evidently both tired. Paddock
     retired for a wipe, and after a pause Sayers went to
     him, and Paddock, seeing this, rushed in but Tom danced
     away, followed by Paddock, who eventually got a
     reminder on the cheek, and Sayers, in getting away from
     the return, fell.

     6.――Sayers feinted and dodged until Paddock came to
     him, when Tom got home a very hot one on the snuff-box,
     turning on the vermilion galore. Paddock, wild, dashed
     at him to deliver the right, but Sayers getting quickly
     out of mischief, the blow fell on the stake, and
     evidently caused the poor fellow intense pain. He was
     not cowed, however, but followed Sayers, who fell, and
     Paddock’s umpire appealing, the referee desired Sayers
     to be cautious.

     7.――Paddock slow, came up cautiously, and after a few
     dodges, led off, but was short, and received a reminder
     on the beak from Tom’s left. Sayers then got heavily on
     the mark with the left, and stopped the return. This
     led to heavy exchanges, in which Paddock received on
     the nose, and lost more juice, while Sayers only got it
     on the brow. Paddock tried again and again to lead off,
     but Sayers danced away, or ducked under his arm, and
     each time nailed him heavily on the nose or left cheek,
     and, finally, Paddock fell weak.

     8.――Paddock’s left peeper was now completely closed,
     and the left side of his knowledge-box much swollen. He
     was sent up very clean, however, and again tried to
     lead off, but Sayers was too quick for him, and got
     away. Still did the gallant Paddock persevere, but
     Sayers stopped him with ease, and returned on the
     damaged visual organ very heavily. Paddock again dashed
     in, but was short, his blows lacking vigour; and Sayers
     returned on the mark. Again and again did Paddock make
     an onslaught, but there was none of the vigour of the
     Paddock of former days; he was repeatedly stopped with
     ease, and Sayers caught him again and again on the mark
     and damaged chop. At last they got close together, and
     Paddock succeeded in knocking Sayers off his pins by a
     heavy right-hander on the whistler, which inflicted a
     severe cut, and drew the carmine (loud cheers for
     Paddock, who had thus won the two first events).

     9.――The blow in the last round had evidently shaken
     Sayers, who was slow to the call of time, and came up
     with a suspicious mark on his potato-trap. Paddock
     tried to follow up his advantage and incautiously went
     in, when Sayers met him with a beautiful left-hander on
     the snout, which sent him staggering, and put an end to
     his rushing for the time. This enabled Sayers to
     recover a little, and then, as Paddock afterwards came
     in, he made another call on the cheek, and got cleverly
     away from the return. Paddock followed him up, and
     heavy left-handed exchanges took place in favour of
     Sayers, who afterwards stopped Paddock’s right twice in
     succession. Good exchanges ensued to a close, and
     Paddock got down, just escaping Tom’s right.

     10.――After slight harmless exchanges, they stood
     piping, until Paddock took the initiative, but Sayers
     danced under his arm, and, as he turned round, pinked
     him on the blind goggle, and then, putting in his
     double, renewed the home-brewed from the cheek. Paddock
     tried a return, but was stopped twice in succession,
     and then got another little ’un on the out-water. After
     some neat stopping on both sides, Sayers made another
     call on the cheek, then on the chest, and after sharp
     exchanges, as Paddock rushed after him, he slipped and
     fell, but obviously from accident.

     11.――Paddock at once rushed to close quarters, but
     found Sayers nothing loth; they struggled for a brief
     period, and in the end both fell, it being obvious that
     Sayers was the stronger man.

     12.――Paddock, who was piping and evidently fatigued,
     tried to lead off, but was miserably short. After a
     slight exchange they again closed, and, after a short
     struggle, Sayers threw and fell on his man, amidst the
     cheers of his admirers. One hour and two minutes had
     now elapsed.

     13.――Paddock, whose mug was all shapes but the right,
     and whose remaining goggle glared most ferociously,
     rushed in and missed. Sayers, in getting back, fell,
     and there was a claim of foul; Massey and Macdonald,
     according to the custom of modern seconds, neglecting
     their man, and rushing to the referee. There was not
     the slightest ground for the claim, Sayers evidently
     having fallen from pure accident; but the usual
     complimentary remarks were offered by the card-sharpers
     and other blackguards, whose only interest was,
     perhaps, the value of a pot of beer depending on the
     result, and who were proportionately anxious to win,
     tie, or wrangle rather than lose their valuable (?)
     investments. After some time the ring-keepers succeeded
     in clearing these gentry away, and inducing Macdonald
     and Massey to return to their duty; and the referee
     having said “Fight on,” the battle proceeded.

     14.――Paddock, to whom the delay had afforded a short
     respite, dashed in, caught Sayers on the cheek, closed,
     and both fell.

     15.――Sayers feinted, and got on to Tom’s nozzle,
     drawing more claret, and, in getting away from a rush,
     crossed his legs near the stakes and fell.

     16.――Paddock, who was evidently fast getting worn out,
     at the instigation of his seconds dashed in, as if to
     make a final effort to turn the scale; he let go both
     hands, but was short, and Sayers once more pinked him
     on the swollen smeller. Paddock still persevered, and
     more exchanges, but not of a severe description, took
     place, followed by a breakaway and a pause. Again did
     they get at it, and some heavy counter-hitting took
     place; Sayers well on the mouth and nose, and Paddock
     on the brow and forehead. Paddock then rushed in and
     bored Sayers down at the ropes. (Another claim of foul
     disallowed.)

     17.――Paddock, desperate, rushed at once to work; and
     they pegged away with a will, but the punishment was
     all one way. At last they closed and rolled over,
     Sayers being top-sawyer. In the struggle and fall the
     spikes in Sayers’s boot in some way inflicted two
     severe wounds in Paddock’s leg, and Massey declared
     that the injury had been committed on purpose; but this
     every one who saw the fight was convinced was
     preposterous. Even supposing it was Sayers’s spikes, it
     was evidently accidental, but so clumsily did they roll
     over that it is not impossible that it was done by the
     spikes in the heel of Paddock’s other boot, which
     spikes were much longer and sharper than those of
     Sayers. The idea of Sayers doing such a thing
     deliberately when he actually had the battle in hand is
     too ridiculous to admit of a question.

     18.――Paddock rushed in and caught Sayers on the side of
     the head with his right, and they closed and pegged
     away at close quarters until Sayers got down.

     19.――The in-fighting in the last round had told a tale
     on Paddock’s nob, which was much swollen, and the left
     eye was now beginning to follow suit with the right. At
     last they got close, and both fell, Paddock under.
     Massey made another claim that Sayers fell with his
     knees on Paddock, but it was evidently an attempt to
     snatch a verdict.

     20.――Paddock tried to make an expiring effort, but was
     wofully short, and Sayers countered heavily with the
     left on the damaged cheek, then repeated the dose with
     great severity, staggering the burly Tom, who, however,
     soon collected himself, and once more led off, but out
     of distance. He then stood, until Sayers went to him,
     popped a heavy one on the nose, and the right on the
     cheek, then closed at the ropes, where he fibbed
     Paddock very heavily, and both fell, Paddock under.

     21 and last.――Paddock came very slowly to the scratch,
     evidently without the ghost of a shadow of a chance. He
     was groggy, and could scarcely see; the close quarters
     in the last round had done their work, and any odds
     might have been had on Sayers. Paddock tried a rush,
     but, of course, Sayers was nowhere near him, and as he
     came again Sayers met him full on the right cheek, a
     very heavy hit with his left. It staggered poor Tom,
     who was evidently all abroad, and all but fell. He put
     out his hands, as if to catch hold of Sayers to support
     himself, and the latter, who had drawn back his right
     hand to deliver the coup de grace, seeing how matters
     stood, at once restrained himself, and seizing
     Paddock’s outstretched hand, shook it warmly, and
     conducted him to his corner, where his seconds, seeing
     it was all over, at once threw up the sponge, and
     Sayers was proclaimed the victor in one hour and twenty
     minutes. Paddock was much exhausted, and it was some
     time before he was sufficiently himself to realise the
     fact that he had been defeated, when he shed bitter
     tears of mortification. That he had any cause for grief
     beyond the fact that he was defeated no one could say;
     indeed if ever man persevered against nature to make a
     turn it was he, for notwithstanding the constant severe
     props he got whenever he attempted to lead, he tried it
     on again and again, and, to his praise be it said, took
     his gruel with a good temper exceeding anything we have
     ever witnessed on his behalf during the whole of his
     career. As soon as possible after the event was over,
     the men were dressed and conveyed on board the vessel,
     where Paddock received every attention his state
     required; but it was long before he recovered from the
     mortification he felt at his unexpected defeat. Sayers
     in the meantime went round among the spectators, and
     made a collection for him amounting to £30.

     REMARKS.――Although the above battle tells its own tale,
     our account would not be complete unless we appended a
     few remarks, not only upon the contest itself, but also
     on the general management and other concomitants. From
     the very commencement it was obvious to us that the
     fight was out of Tom Paddock. All the devil and
     determination for which he had been so famous had
     completely left him, and he was almost as slow and
     ineffective as the old Tipton. True, he left no stone
     unturned, and never once flinched from the severity of
     the punishment administered to him. He took all that
     Sayers gave with apparent indifference, and although it
     was obvious his powers of delivering had departed, his
     extraordinary gifts as a receiver of punishment were
     fully equal to his olden reputation; and, as we have
     before remarked, his good temper exceeded anything we
     have ever witnessed on his part. It was supposed by
     many that had he not injured his right hand by the blow
     delivered upon the stake he would have done better;
     but, as he used that mauley afterwards so effectually
     as to floor the Champion, and as he admitted to us that
     he felt his cause to be hopeless previous to that
     accident, such speculations go for nought. That both
     his daddles eventually became much swollen and
     innocuous is true, but that he could have turned the
     tide in his favour had this not have been the case, we
     do not believe. It was not the mere hardness of the
     hammer that was wanting, but the steam for driving the
     hammer was absent. The principal cause of regret was
     that he should have been induced, after his severe
     illness, to try conclusions with one so much fresher,
     and, as it turned out, stronger than himself; but,
     however much his physical powers had declined, it was
     all along evident that his old spirit of daring
     everything was as strong in him as ever. From the first
     moment he entered the ring he did all, and more than
     all, that could be required of him to make a turn in
     his favour, but in vain. As may be gathered from our
     account, he once or twice seemed to gain a slight
     advantage, but it was very short lived. Enough,
     however, was done by him to convince us that had he
     been the Paddock of five years ago, the chance of Tom
     Sayers retaining his proud position would have been
     anything but “rosy.” The collection made for Paddock
     proved the estimation in which his gallantry was held
     by the spectators.

     Sayers, throughout the contest, fought with that
     extraordinary judgment of time and distance which so
     much distinguished him during the last few years of his
     career; and from the first it was apparent that any
     diffidence he might have displayed in his mill with the
     Slasher had completely disappeared. He abstained, to a
     considerable extent, from the harlequinade which he
     displayed in that encounter, and often stood and fought
     with his ponderous opponent with steadiness and
     precision. He fell down, it is true, three times, but
     only on one of these occasions could it be fairly said
     that it was not accidental, and even then we do not
     believe that it was a wilful act, especially as it was
     clear that the tumbling system was farthest from his
     thoughts, and his great desire was to keep Paddock on
     his legs.

Tom had now reached the very pinnacle of his fame, for among the not
very extensive range of big ones then in the field――Harry Poulson,
Aaron Jones, the Tipton Slasher, and Tom Paddock had fallen beneath
his punishing arm, while Harry Broome, having struck his flag to Tom
Paddock, and Harry Orme (who had also retired) surrendered to Harry
Broome――there was a clear title made for the Little Wonder, Tom
Sayers, the first ten-stone Champion.

This state of things seemed likely to leave Tom to enjoy _in otium cum
dignitate_ the laurels of his many hard-fought days. The year 1858
grew old, when once more “an Unknown” was talked of, who would be
backed to try conclusions for the £400 and belt against the redoubted
Tom. Again these rumours came from the head-quarters of the erewhile
Champion, Harry Broome, in the Haymarket; and to the astonishment of
every one who recollected the “lame and impotent conclusion” which,
sixteen months before, marked what was supposed to be the first and
last appearance within any ring of Mr. Bill Bainge (Benjamin), that
worthy was named as the man for the coming fight.

It was urged by himself and his friends that he did not have fair play
in his training for his former battle; that he was very far from well
on the day of fighting; that these drawbacks, coupled with his novelty
of his position in entering the ring for the first time, and going
through the ceremony of peeling, &c., before the assembled throng, had
quite unnerved him, and rendered him almost oblivious as to what had
actually taken place. The weather, too (it was January, and bitterly
cold), had a great effect on him, his frame not being accustomed to
the exposure in a “state of buff;” and besides all this, he himself
asserted that the suddenness and severity of the punishment he
received was something that had more paralysed than hurt him. He had
felt ever since that a stigma attached to his name, which he felt
conscious was not deserved. He believed himself at heart to be no
coward, and, being anxious to vindicate himself, he had begged his
backer to give him an opportunity of clearing his character, and that
gentleman, believing his version of the case to be true, had kindly
granted him a new trial. Of course, when Sayers heard of the challenge
he was nothing loth, feeling, as he did, certain of victory, while
further calculating that what he considered such an easy job would
bring him six months nearer to the retention of the belt as his own
private property, he threw not the slightest difficulty in the way of
settling preliminaries, and articles were signed and delivered at
once.

The men did not go into training immediately, as they had nearly six
months before them, but Benjamin took every opportunity of gaining
such knowledge as might assist him in his undertaking, and acting
under the advice of an experienced ring-goer, he lost no time in
securing the services of “ould Nat Langham,” whose judgment could not
but prove of the greatest assistance. Liberal offers were made to Nat
to go down to Shirenewton, where Benjamin was resident, to take the
entire management of him, but Nat rightly judged that his own business
was such as to require his presence; he, therefore, contented himself
with an occasional run down for a couple of days, when he enforced
upon his pupil some of his own peculiar style of practice in many a
heavy bout with the mufflers. As he could not undertake the whole
training, however, Nat recommended Bill’s backer to send a retaining
fee to the bold Bendigo, whose country habits, sobriety, vigilance,
and judgment he knew could be depended upon, and the appearance of his
_protégé_ on the day of battle proved that his confidence had not been
misplaced, for his whole bearing was the very perfection of condition.
Bendy, however, had a corporation of most Daniel Lambert-like
proportions, no doubt much increased by good living, in which he had
indulged while superintending his new pupil, and was therefore a
curious choice for the trainer to a candidate for the championship.

As to the gallant Tom, he occupied the next four months after the
articles were signed in starring it about the country, and exhibiting
himself, his cups and his belts, to hosts of admiring friends. He took
a benefit here, a benefit there, and a couple of benefits in one week
somewhere else, and so on, and was everywhere so well received, that
he must have returned to town, prior to his going into work, with a
perfect sack full of “shiners.” He further announced at these
gatherings his retirement from the Ring, which he had already fixed
for June, 1860, when the belt would become his private property.

From the very first Tom held this match extremely light, and had
expressed the most entire confidence, a confidence which at one time
during the fight now under description we thought was very near
proving his downfall, from the fact of his having split on the same
rock which has proved fatal to many a good man and true under similar
circumstances. We allude to neglect of training. The first portion of
Tom’s exercise, which did not extend over more than seven weeks, was
taken, as on former occasions, in the neighbourhood of Tunbridge
Wells, but about a month later he removed to Rottingdean, another
favourite locality of his, for the purpose of sea bathing, and it was
during his stay at this place that his practices were anything but
conducive to high condition. During his so-called training, Tom,
instead of the usual walking, running, &c., was repeatedly seen on
horseback in full career after the harriers which meet in the
neighbourhood, and during these gallops his falls were anything but
few and far between. Had the champion, by an unlucky purl, dislocated
a limb or sprained an ankle or a wrist, what a pretty pickle his
backers would have been in, and how he would have cursed his own
folly! His backers’ money would have been thrown away, his belt would
have been forfeited, and he would have had to recommence his career of
three years as its holder, in addition to losing the confidence of
those who were behind him. As it was, on entering the ring, the
general remark was that he was too fleshy, and there were signs of a
protuberance in the neighbourhood of his bread-basket which told an
unmistakable tale. Many a brave fellow has suffered severely for this
reckless despising of an adversary, and has thereby lost a position
which he has never been able to regain.

The rumours and speculations anent this match were of the most
extraordinary character. Tales of deep-laid conspiracies to rob the
public――such as it has never been our ill fortune to see put into
practice during our career as chroniclers of this truly British
sport――were rife. The croakers and slanderers, who always look at the
dark side of the picture, and by listening to the statements of those
who attempt to decry the ring by blackening the characters of its
members, are always ready to see “a barney” in every match, could not
be persuaded to believe that Tom Sayers had far too high a notion of
himself to listen to any suggestions on such a subject; and that, even
admitting, for the sake of argument, that his principles might give
way (which we were confident they would not), his pride and vanity
were such as to forbid the supposition. While on the subject of
“barneys” we may be permitted to remark, that such occurrences are
much more common in the imaginations of some would-be knowing ones,
who are literally know-nothings, than in the actual practice of the
P.R.; and that we firmly believe, and we state it earnestly and
seriously, that there is far less of this kind of thing in the doings
of the members of the Prize Ring than in almost any other sport.
Besides these rumours about “Mr. Barney,” there were whisperings that
Benjamin was in reality an extraordinary good man, and that the
winning of the former fight by Sayers was purely a piece of accidental
good fortune. How these various “shaves” were received by the general
public and by the _cognoscenti_ may be best gathered from the fact
that as the day approached no one would take less than 4 to 1 about
Benjamin winning, and that many persons laid 5 to 2 that Sayers would
win in a quarter of an hour. The betting on the whole, however, was
small in amount, the cause no doubt being the preposterous odds
demanded, which, as the backers of Sayers said, was actually buying
money.

Shortly after eleven o’clock Tom Sayers modestly dropped his castor
over the ropes, and then as modestly crept under them himself. He was
attended by Jerry Noon and Harry Brunton, and was received with
enthusiastic cheers. He had wisely donned his milling boots and
drawers, and had therefore only to remove his outer shell. After an
interval of five minutes he was followed by Benjamin, who made his
_entrée_ in an equally unpretending way. He also was well received. He
was waited on by the Bold Bendigo and Jack Macdonald. At this time
there were several offers to bet £20 to £5 on Sayers, but there were
no takers. Despatch being the order of the day, no time was lost by
the men in preparing for action. Benjamin, like Sayers, had taken the
precaution to make ready beforehand, so that a very few minutes
sufficed to strip and tie the colours in their appropriate places.
Sayers sported a pink and white striped brocaded silk of the richest
description, while Benjamin adhered to the old-fashioned blue and
white spot. By twenty-three minutes past eleven o’clock, under a
burning sun, the men were delivered at the scratch and stood ready for
hostilities amidst the most profound silence. Benjamin appeared in
perfect health and condition; he had a smile of confidence on his mug,
and he stood well up in a fearless manner, presenting a wide contrast
to his _début_ on the former occasion. He stood well over Sayers,
whose height is only 5 feet 8½ inches, and struck us as decidedly the
more powerful man. Although Tom was evidently too fleshy, there was a
dash and calm self-possession about him which denoted the more
accustomed boxer. He moved about in a business-like way, and evidently
had no fears for the result.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Benjamin stood well on the defensive, and
     there was much in his position to remind us of his
     mentor, Nat Langham. He fixed his eye on Tom, and
     sparred for a short time to see what could be done. His
     whole bearing, indeed, was such as to call forth a
     general remark that he was a different man. Tom dodged
     in and out in his usual style, evidently trying for his
     favourite double, but Benjamin was ready. At length Tom
     dashed in, and delivered his left on the cheek, but was
     beautifully countered on the smelling bottle, and
     Benjamin had the honour of gaining “first blood” from
     that organ, a success which was hailed with much
     cheering from the Taffies. Sayers seemed pricked at
     this, and making his favourite dodge, he popped the
     left on the body and then on the left cheek, knocking
     Benjamin off his pins, thus gaining the second event,
     and equalizing matters.

     2.――Benjamin, nothing daunted, came steadily to the
     scratch, and, after a feint, let go his left, which was
     well stopped. He got away from the return, and after
     some sparring got home the left on the chest, and they
     got to close quarters, when the in-fighting was of a
     heavy description. Each got pepper on the nozzle and
     whistler, and Sayers also planted heavily on the side
     of Bill’s nob. In the close at the ropes Benjamin was
     forced down.

     3.――Both came up a good deal flushed, and each seemed
     blowing. Benjamin looked serious, and was rather
     cautious. Sayers, anxious to be at work, dashed in, and
     got home a very straight one on the proboscis, but
     Benjamin with great quickness countered him on the left
     cheek, just under the eye. This led to desperate
     exchanges, in which there appeared to be no best. At
     length Sayers caught his man round the neck, and
     holding him tight, pegged away with a will on his dial,
     and finally threw him heavily, his nob coming with some
     force against the stake.

     4.――Benjamin, desperate, at once rushed to work, and
     after some tremendous exchanges, each getting it on the
     left eye, Benjamin fell.

     5.――Sayers tried to lead off, but Benjy walked away, in
     obedience to his seconds. Sayers followed until they
     got close together, and a magnificent rally followed,
     in which Sayers drew the claret from Bill’s right brow,
     and also paid a heavy visit to the conk. Bill got on
     Tom’s left cheek, but his blows had not the precision
     and weight visible on the part of Sayers.

     6.――Benjamin was evidently shaken by the punishment he
     had received, which even at this early period was very
     severe. He sparred, and was evidently in no hurry.
     Sayers seeing this went to him, but was exceedingly
     wild in his deliveries. At last he got home on the
     bread-basket, but without effect, and Benjamin missed
     his return. Tom now feinted, and just reached Bill’s
     smeller, but it was a mere flyblow. He tried a body
     blow, and was well countered on the cheek and mouth. A
     close and in-fighting followed, in which both were very
     wild, but in which Tom again turned on the main from
     Benjamin’s nose. After a struggle both fell through the
     ropes.

     7.――Benjamin looked savage. He lost no time in dashing
     at his man, and a tremendous round followed. Sayers let
     go the left at the nose, but Benjy countered him
     straight and well with the same hand, opening a fresh
     bottle. Several tremendous counters with the left
     followed, Benjamin astonishing every one by his
     calmness, and by the precision with which he timed his
     hits. Each got pepper on the nose and eyes, and Sayers
     napped a nasty one on the middle of the forehead.
     Sayers now missed his left, and Bill returned well on
     the cheek. They broke away, and after surveying one
     another again went to it, and more heavy exchanges took
     place, in which Tom again turned on the main from
     Bill’s nasal fountain. Benjamin persevered, and again
     did they dispute the ground inch by inch. Both were
     blowing, and the confidence of Bill’s friends was
     looking up. It was plain both men meant to do all they
     knew in this bout, and that each felt that it was to be
     the turning point, one way or the other. Sayers now got
     heavily on the left eye, which began to close, while
     Bill caught him on the mouth. The fighting was
     tremendous, and the way Benjamin stood to his man was
     beyond all praise. Sayers now and then was extremely
     wild, and had Benjamin possessed more knowledge of the
     art the result might have been serious, for Tom was
     evidently tiring fast, but still the greater force of
     his hitting was evidently telling a tale. As hit
     succeeded hit Bill’s dial grew more slantindicular; but
     he was undaunted, and evidently had made up his mind to
     do or die. At length they got to close quarters, when
     some heavy fibbing took place, and both fell, Benjamin
     under.

     8.――Bill’s left eye was all but closed, the bump at the
     side telling of Tom’s powers of delivery. Sayers was
     much flushed, and puffing like a grampus; he lost no
     time, however, in going to work, evidently hoping to
     frighten his man. Benjamin was ready, and after some
     sharp exchanges in his favour, he retreated. Tom
     followed, and as Benjamin attempted to plant his left,
     Tom cross-countered him heavily with his right on the
     jaw, and knocked him off his pins. He was almost out of
     time, and it required all the exertions of his seconds
     to get him round.

     9.――Benjamin shook himself, and came up resolutely, but
     evidently much shaken. He sparred a little, and on Tom
     going in, he timed him neatly on the middle of the
     dial, but without much force. Again did Sayers try it
     with a like result, and Benjamin then dashed in, but
     was short. Sayers returned with great quickness on the
     bad eye, and poor Benjamin was again floored.

     10.――Benjamin struggled up gamely, although requested
     to give in; he held up his hands, and tried to counter
     with his man, but Tom with great neatness got well home
     on the good eye, avoiding the return, and Benjamin once
     more dropped. His seconds threw up the sponge, but the
     poor fellow broke from them, with an intimation that he
     was not licked, and wanted to prove he was no cur, and
     commenced.

     11th and last.――Benjamin tried to lead off, but it was
     evidently a mere flash in the pan; he missed and
     stumbled forward, when Tom gave him a slight tap on the
     nose, which sent him for the last time to grass. He was
     conveyed to his corner, and his seconds then declared
     he should fight no longer. Sayers went to him to shake
     hands, but Benjamin, who was all but blind, wished to
     commence another round. This, of course, could not be
     listened to, and the poor fellow was forced from the
     ring against his will, Sayers being proclaimed the
     winner in twenty-two minutes, amidst the enthusiastic
     cheers of his friends. Benjamin was much exhausted, and
     his punishment was as heavy as one generally sees in
     double the time. He took it, however, unflinchingly,
     never complaining from first to last; and on this
     occasion, although defeated, his most determined enemy
     (if he has one) cannot say he was dishonoured. Sayers
     also was much exhausted, but this arose not so much
     from his punishment, although in this respect he did
     not come off scatheless, as from his want of condition
     telling upon him in a battle which was disputed for
     some rounds with unwonted quickness and desperation.

     REMARKS.――Having commented upon the want of condition
     of Tom Sayers, and having gone at some length into a
     description of this short but busy fight, it is
     unnecessary to trouble our readers with many remarks
     thereupon. That Benjamin succeeded in redeeming his
     character, and proving that he can receive punishment
     and struggle hard for victory when properly looked
     after, is not for a moment to be denied, but that he
     will ever make a star in the pugilistic horizon we do
     not for a moment believe. He is, at 34, too old to
     learn the rudiments of the business; at that age even
     the limbs of a practised boxer begin to get stiff, and
     it is therefore extremely improbable that those of a
     man trained to other pursuits can acquire that
     quickness and readiness so necessary to a finished
     pugilist. Had he begun some years ago, we think it not
     improbable, with such strength and activity as he
     possesses, he might have hoped to rank in the first
     division. The desperation with which he contested the
     seventh round――which was one of the sharpest and
     severest we ever saw――evidently showed what he might
     have done; but as it is we think, having fulfilled his
     mission and proved to his friends that he is composed
     of more sterling metal than they gave him credit for,
     the best advice we can give him is to shun for the
     future the attractions of the P.R., and devote himself
     to the duties of his station in his own country. We are
     glad for his own credit sake that he determined to
     undergo this second ordeal, and equally glad that he
     came out of it so successfully. It also gives us
     pleasure to know that he has good and staunch friends
     at his back, who having witnessed his performance on
     Tuesday, are perfectly satisfied with him. Of Tom
     Sayers we have only to say that he did not fight so
     well on this as on former occasions; and, as we think
     this was entirely owing to want of condition, we feel
     we are only doing him a favour in impressing upon him
     the necessity in future of leaving no stone unturned to
     retain that confidence which has been hitherto so
     implicitly placed in him.

Thus ended the second attempt of the Broomes (Harry and Frederick) to
wrest the belt from the great little Champion, but there were other
“Richmonds” now in the field. Bob Brettle, of Birmingham, could not
persuade himself that he was unable to interpose a check to the
victorious career of the hardy Tom. Bob had his own reasons, too, for
believing in his chance. He had tried conclusions with the Champion
with the gloves, and felt assured he had the best of it; and in this,
perhaps, he was not far wrong, for it was pretty generally known that
Tom was much more at home with his digits in nature’s habiliments, and
in a four-and-twenty-feet ring, than when they were muffled in
horsehair in the sparring-school. The backers of Tom at first laughed
at Bob’s propositions, but he declared he was in earnest, and went so
far as to say they would wish they had let him alone before they had
done with him. After much palaver Sayers offered to stake £400 to
£200, but Brettle then required the belt to be thrown in. This, of
course, was rejected, Tom considering that as holder of that trophy he
was only bound to defend it on even terms. Brettle was extremely loth
to give up his chance for the belt, but still he did not think it
equivalent to the extra £200 which Sayers had offered to stake, and
eventually he waived all pretensions to the “ornamental,” and closed
the bargain on the chance of obtaining the “useful,” which would have
sufficed to purchase a belt of double the mere intrinsic value.

At the meeting at Owen Swift’s, where the articles were finally
ratified, a friend of the Champion’s treated the match with such
ridicule that he ventured to suggest the probability of Bob being
licked in _ten minutes_, whereupon Brettle, in the heat of the moment,
offered to bet £100 to £10 against such a contingency. “Make it £200
to £20,” said Tom’s friend, “and it’s a bet.” “Done,” said Bob, and
the money was staked in the hands of Alec Keene. All these
preliminaries were adjusted before the second fight for the
Championship in April between Tom Sayers and Bill Benjamin, it being
stipulated that Tom should name a day after that event was decided.

At Tattersall’s, on the previous Monday, September 18th, the event
seemed to attract as much attention as the speculations on either of
the great handicaps, and in the yard a regular ring was formed, where
betting, or offers to bet, went on very briskly. The backers of Tom
commenced by offering 5 to 2, at which some few investments were made,
but the Brums soon opened their mouths for longer odds, and would take
no less than 3 to 1, and at this price again money was laid until the
Sayersites in their turn held back, and speculation left off at offers
of 5 to 2. In the evening, at the sporting houses, 3 to 1 might have
been got in some few instances, and a sanguine admirer of Tom’s
actually laid 4 to 1, but we believe he was a solitary specimen.

For at least a month, Mr. John Gideon, one of the most earnest backers
of Sayers, had been on the look-out for a scene of action which might
be reached with ease and comfort, and which, at the same time, should
be so situated as to be beyond the reach of the rough and ready
attendants at boxing matches, whose presence is anything but
desirable, and also tolerably safe from the too-prying eyes of the
powers that be, who do not love a mill, and who will in the most
unaccountable manner interfere with the pleasures of the Fancy, on the
ground that a friendly boxing-match is a breach of the peace. A few
consultations with other managers of excursions, and a considerable
expenditure of time and trouble, ended in the perfect success of Mr.
Gideon’s arrangements, and not only did he carry the expedition to a
triumphant _dénouement_, but ensured the utmost comfort to all the
travellers. Of course the profits of the expedition were equally
divided between the backers of both men, and the figure being
tolerably high, and the company unusually numerous, there is no doubt
each realised a handsome sum. Owing to the distance to be travelled, a
very early start was found absolutely necessary, and seven o’clock
being the hour named, the “lads wot loves a mill” had to be early
afoot; and many there were who having, as usual, devoted the first two
or three hours of the morning of the 20th of September to “seeing
life,” found some difficulty in opening their eyes in their very first
sleep to enable them to get to the starting-post in time. Many a one
started breakfastless, and many were the wistful glances cast at the
victualling department under the able charge of Mr. Dan Pinkstone, an
old and well-known caterer, long before the end of the journey was
attained; but as the train could not be stopped there was of course no
chance of an issue of stores from the commissariat until the goal was
reached――a field near Ashford, in Kent, being the _champ clos_ for
combat.

The train comprised thirty-six carriages, every one of which had at
least its full complement of travellers, and many were over-full. The
start was effected by a quarter before eight, and with the aid of two
powerful engines a rapid and pleasant journey was effected to the
scene of action, on entirely maiden ground, some sixty miles from the
Metropolis, which was reached shortly after ten o’clock. The vast
multitude lost no time in clearing out from the carriages, and a
pioneer, who had gone on ahead the previous evening, placing himself
at the head of the army, proceeded, closely followed by the veteran
Commissary and his _posse comitatus_, to the proposed scene of action.
No time was cut to waste in preparing the lists, which were in
readiness before eleven o’clock. While these preliminaries were being
arranged, a brisk business was carried on in the sale of inner ring
tickets, and our readers may judge of the class of spectators and
their number when we tell them that the sale realised a sum of £54
10s. for the benefit of the P.B.A. This done, Billy Duncan and his
constables proceeded to clear out the ring, and experienced the usual
difficulty in persuading the company to seat themselves at a
sufficient distance from the enclosure. All were naturally anxious to
be as close as possible, and accordingly had seated themselves in
compact rows, those in front close to the ropes. The consequence was,
that all were crowded together, and many were scarcely able to get a
glimpse of the ring. And now as we have brought the men _en face_, we
will say a few words concerning Tom’s antagonist, as we do not purpose
to devote space to him in a separate Memoir.

BOB BRETTLE was born at Portobello, near Edinburgh, in January, 1832,
and was therefore, six years younger than Tom Sayers. On the present
occasion he just turned the scale at 10st. 4lb., and did not appear in
any way too fleshy. By calling he was a glassblower, and it was while
he was engaged in one of the larger establishments in the hardware
districts that he first became connected with the P.R. His first essay
of which we have any record was with Malpas, of Birmingham, whom he
fought for £50 a side, on the 14th of February, 1854. There were 80
rounds, principally in favour of Bob, but eventually there was a claim
of foul on his part. A wrangle took place; the referee gave two
decisions, and ultimately the stakes were drawn. Brettle’s next
encounter was with old Jack Jones of Portsmouth, for £100 a side, on
the 21st of November, 1854. Jack had only been out of the hospital a
few weeks, and was in anything but condition; but still he had the
best of the mill, Brettle resorting to the dropping system. Forty-nine
rounds were fought in 105 minutes, when darkness came on, and as
neither man was much punished, the referee ordered them to fight again
on the following Saturday. On that day Jones was at the appointed
place, but Brettle did not show, and it being discovered subsequently
that he had been apprehended, either through the kind offices of his
friends or by his own negligence, the stakes were awarded to Jones.
After this Bob was idle until the 20th of November, 1855, when he
defeated Roger Coyne, of Birmingham, for £25 a side, in 49 rounds and
48 minutes. Then came his match with Sam Simmonds, for £200 a side,
which took place near Didcot, June 3rd, 1856, and was won by Bob very
easily in 13 rounds and 16 minutes.

Another year, or rather more, elapsed before Bob made another essay,
his next opponent being Job Cobley, dubbed by his patron Baron
(Renton) Nicholson, “the Enthusiastic Potboy,” whom he fought for £100
a side, August 4th, 1857. Here Bob’s greater weight and superior
strength enabled him to take a decided lead, and Job, finding it too
hot to be pleasant, resorted to dropping, and finally lost the battle
by falling without a blow in the 47th round, at the expiration of 90
minutes.

On the 25th of January following, Brettle met Bob Travers for £100 a
side at Appledore, when, after fighting 42 rounds in 65 minutes, the
police interfered. An adjournment took place to the following day,
when they met again at Shell Haven, and after fighting 100 rounds in 2
hours and 5 minutes, Bob Travers, who had, like “the Enthusiastic
Potboy,” found the earth the safest place, was decided to have lost
the battle by falling without a blow.

Bob’s only subsequent encounter was with Jem Mace of Norwich, who, as
may be seen in our next chapter, met him, for £100 a side, on the 21st
of September, 1858, and at the end of two rounds and three minutes,
although with none the worst of it, hid his diminished head, and
declined to have any more. This was Bob’s last appearance prior to the
present, and it was imagined by most people that he would retire from
the Ring, but the temptation of a turn at the Champion was too great
for him, and induced him to try a flight at the top of the tree. It is
difficult to understand whence he got the confidence to match himself
against Sayers, unless it was from his supposed superiority with the
gloves――in the case of Tom Sayers an unusually delusive test. This
brings us to the eventful 20th of September, 1858, and the ring at
Ashford.

So soon as all were seated a cap was seen to fly over the heads of the
dense mass, and in a second Bob Brettle, aided by his seconds, Alec
Keene and Jem Hodgkiss, of Birmingham, was seen elbowing his way
through the crowd. He was vociferously cheered on all hands, and his
good-humoured mug brightened up with a broad grin of delight at the
hearty welcome. Tom Sayers was not long behind him, and as he entered
on the scene, attended by Jack Macdonald and Harry Brunton, he too was
greeted with a tremendous ovation, which he acknowledged in a becoming
manner, and then shook hands good-humouredly with his opponent. The
spectators now began to make their final investments, and several bets
of 3 to 1 were made and staked to considerable amounts. The last,
however, that we heard was £25 to £10 on Sayers. After the lads had
completed their toilettes Brettle came forward and offered to take
£150 to £50 from Tom, but the Champion declined, as his money was all
on. Bob then held up the note and offered to take the same odds from
any spectator, but silence was the only reply, and he had to return
the flimsy to his “cly.” Tom’s colour was a very handsome blue and
white stripe, with blue border; and Bob’s a dark blue, with a white
star. Brettle’s boots having been examined by Tom’s seconds, it was
found that the spikes were beyond the regulation length, and had to be
filed, but this was so inefficiently done that they were still far too
sharp and long for the purpose for which they were intended. Had
Sayers’s seconds done their duty resolutely they would have shown them
to the referee, who doubtless would have ordered a still further
curtailment, but Tom personally requested them to make no bother about
it, as, in his own words, he “could give all that in.”


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On throwing off their blankets there was a
     great disparity in the appearance of the men, much
     greater, indeed, than would have been expected from the
     slight difference in weight. Tom, whose condition was
     superb, was broad-shouldered, thick-loined, and
     muscular, the weight being just where it ought to be;
     while Brettle looked narrow and round on the shoulders,
     and had not the upright, firm bearing of the Champion.
     In height, too, there appeared more than the actual
     difference of a bare inch. Tom’s mug, of the two, was
     fleshier than his opponent’s, but it looked hard as
     nails. In point of age it was evident there was a
     considerable difference in favour of the Brum, whose
     fresh, fair skin and healthful country appearance
     contrasted strongly with the Champion’s bronzed but
     somewhat stale complexion. The wear and tear of fifteen
     contests, and the gay life he had led, had evidently
     left their mark. Each had a pleasant, good-humoured
     smile on his phiz, but the Champion seemed to be more
     at home than his adversary. Bob looked cunning and
     shifty, walking round his man with a kind of crab-like,
     sideway movement, and leering out of the corner of his
     eye, evidently on the look-out to catch the Champion
     tripping, and make a dash at him with his right. Tom
     was awake, however, and though not moving far from the
     scratch, stepped with his adversary, and contrived to
     keep continually facing him. At length Bob, finding his
     man so “fly” to his “little game,” dashed straight at
     him, and let go the left, which caught Tom very
     slightly on the nose. Tom nodded and smiled as much as
     to say, “Wait a minute;” and Bob renewed his journey
     round his man, who remained in the middle of the ring.
     At length Brettle again dashed in, and exchanges took
     place, in which Tom left his mark on Bob’s forehead,
     the bump being of considerable size. Brettle retreated,
     came again, and lunging out his left was prettily
     countered on the mouth, from which “first blood” was
     instantly visible, the blow being a hot ’un. Some neat
     exchanges followed on the side of the head; they then
     broke away, and, as Sayers followed his man, Bob ducked
     his head, but Sayers caught him a sharp spank on the
     proboscis, which led to counter-hitting, when Tom got
     well on the forehead, and Bob fell. A claim of first
     knock-down for Tom was made but disallowed, as Bob was
     evidently getting down when the blow reached him.

     2.――Bob’s nose and mouth showed that Tom had been
     there; he, however, dashed in, and heavy exchanges took
     place, Tom getting on to the left peeper and Brettle
     the body. Brettle now broke away, and resorted to his
     cunning peripatetic dodge, but Tom only grinned, turned
     as he moved, and waited for him. At length Bob dashed
     in, and got on the chest very slightly, Sayers
     returning well on the kisser. Brettle, after another
     pedestrian excursion, came again and let go the left,
     which was stopped, and he again “walked round and
     showed his muscle.” Tom stepped with him, and each
     tried to draw the other, until Brettle at last let go
     his left, and sharp exchanges followed on the cheek
     with the left, and Sayers fell. A claim of knockdown
     for Brettle not allowed, Tom being on the hop, and
     partially slipping down.

     3.――Sayers, on owning up, had a slight mark on the left
     cheek, which caused the Brums to cheer vociferously.
     Brettle, seeing it, made a dash to force the fighting,
     but Tom stopped him by a straight one on the whistler,
     and then closed. This led to some sharp but very wild
     in-fighting in Tom’s corner, and at last Brettle was
     down on his knees with all the worst of it.

     4.――The Brum came up blinking with his left eye, which
     had evidently got pepper in the last wild rally, and
     seemed as if about to close. It was now discovered that
     the ten minutes had just expired, and that his bet of
     £200 was saved. He lost no time in getting to work, but
     giving one or two sideway steps he dashed in, planted
     his right on the ribs, and then one or two sharp
     counter-hits were exchanged. While dodging and stepping
     in and out, Brettle’s spikes came into dangerous
     collision with Tom’s shin, and inflicted a serious
     wound; Tom pointed to the injured spot and shook his
     head, whereupon Bob apologised, assured him that it was
     unintentional, and promised to be more careful for the
     future. The wound was excessively deep, and only shows
     the extreme danger of using such absurd spikes, which
     are utterly useless to a man who intends really to keep
     on his legs. Tom, after a little dodging, got heavily
     on the nose, and counter-hits were exchanged, Tom
     getting very heavily on the left peeper, and receiving
     a hot one on the jaw, which knocked him clean off his
     legs. (“First knock down” for Brettle, who was
     enthusiastically cheered as he went to his corner.)

     5.――On coming up there was no mark of Bob’s visitation
     on Tom’s jaw, but the effect of Tom’s blows on
     Brettle’s mouth and eye was very visible. His nose and
     left eye were swollen, and the claret was still visible
     from his mouth. (The backers of Tom offered 4 to 1, but
     in only one instance was it taken――viz., by Bob
     Travers, who invested “a tenner” on the Brummagem pet.)
     Brettle, after a little queer manœuvring, rushed in
     left and right, and got the latter on the body, but not
     heavily. He looked serious, and walked round and round,
     but finding Tom ready he tried a dash, succeeding in
     landing the right on the body. Tom got heavily on the
     forehead, and then, counter-hits being exchanged,
     Brettle got slightly on the neck, and Tom, with his
     right, caught Brettle very heavily on the left
     shoulder, and Bob went down in Tom’s corner. Sayers ran
     after Brettle as he was being carried to his corner,
     with a curious look of anxiety and alarm on his
     countenance, evidently thinking that he had inflicted
     some dangerous injury. Finding, however, that the blow
     had not had the serious effect he feared, he walked
     smiling to his corner.

     6.――Brettle came up looking very serious, and several
     times led off left and right, but quite out of
     distance. Tom then stepped in and tried his left, which
     Brettle cleverly avoided, and then returned on the
     chest. They quickly got to close quarters, and after a
     sharp exchange on the neck, Brettle fell forward on his
     hands in Sayers’s corner, Tom missing a terrific
     upper-cut with his right as he fell.

     7th and last.――Brettle missed several well-intended
     lunges with the right, and then walked round the ring;
     he came again, and tried the left with a similar
     result. He kept hitting out of distance, as if afraid
     of Tom’s right, which had already missed him so
     narrowly. Again and again did he step in and out, and
     as Sayers tried to catch him on the hop he would point
     and grin; at last he got slightly on the chest,
     receiving a little one on the cheek. Brettle retreated,
     and then hit out with his left most furiously, but
     missed, and Tom countered him heavily on the shoulder;
     Brettle immediately put his right hand to his shoulder
     as if in pain; he, however, shook himself together, and
     tried to stand and prop his man with his right, but
     from the expression of his countenance something
     evidently was amiss, and on Tom’s approaching him he
     got down in his own corner, apparently suffering
     considerable pain. Solid Coates, his umpire, at once
     went to his corner, and on inquiry found that he had
     dislocated his shoulder, either by the force of his own
     blow, or from the effect of Tom’s heavy counter; and
     this being the case, of course he had no option but to
     resign the victory to Tom Sayers, who was hailed the
     conqueror in _fifteen minutes_. Tom at once went to
     shake hands with his fallen foe, and then resuming his
     clothes, quickly reappeared among his friends without a
     mark to show that he had been fighting. A medical
     friend who was on the ground quickly attended upon poor
     Brettle, and lost no time in restoring his arm to its
     position, and the poor fellow, more injured in mind
     than body, was soon sufficiently recovered to enter
     freely into conversation with his friends, many of whom
     believed, and still believe, that he had to the full as
     good a chance as Tom Sayers at the time so disastrous a
     termination to the battle occurred. That this was so
     is, of course, but a matter of opinion; our ideas on
     the subject will be found in the remarks appended. That
     Bob’s own opinion did not coincide with that of his
     friends may be gathered from the fact that he
     subsequently called upon us to state his intention of
     retiring from the ring. He says he knows of no man of
     his weight who is likely to try conclusions with him;
     that he has no intention of again overmatching himself
     as on the present occasion, and as he has a good
     business in Birmingham, he thinks he can well afford to
     leave fighting alone, at any rate as an active
     professor of the art. In this resolve we think he is
     perfectly right, and as he is a thoroughly honest,
     upright young fellow, and of an excellent temper, we do
     not doubt of his success.

     Before closing this part of our account we should not
     be rendering justice where it is due did we not mention
     that Jack Macdonald, one of Tom Sayers’s seconds, on
     finding the nature of Bob’s injuries, rushed to his
     corner, and rendered very material assistance to the
     surgeon in attendance in restoring the dislocated arm
     to its socket.

     REMARKS.――Where the battle was of such short duration,
     it is, of course, difficult to find much to say in the
     shape of remarks. To every judge of milling who was on
     the ground, not excluding some of Brettle’s own
     friends, it was obvious from the very first round that,
     bar an accident, the victory must lie with the
     favourite. In fact, in our own hearing, at the
     conclusion of the first round, where Tom drew the
     crimson from Brettle’s mouth, and set his sign manual
     on his forehead, one of the backers of the latter said,
     “It’s all over; we shan’t win.” It had been anticipated
     that the Champion, in his anxiety to win the bet of
     £200 to £20, would at once take the initiative, and
     that thereby he would throw himself open to the
     dangerous right-handed counters of Bob; but those who
     knew Tom Sayers were too well acquainted with his
     judgment and tact to believe any such thing; hence
     their confidence and the great odds they so freely
     laid. From the very commencement it was obvious Tom saw
     the game he had to play, and the calm way in which he
     shifted his position so as always to present a square
     front to the enemy delighted every one. He was, of
     course, taken by surprise at Bob’s getting home first,
     but this only rendered him steadier, and convinced him
     that he must act in a cautious manner. We do not
     believe he for a moment contemplated going for the bet,
     although we feel convinced that had one vicious
     upper-cut got home he must have won it to the greatest
     certainty. In all his recent fights he has been the one
     that has fought in the jump-about, dancing-master
     style, but here he was the steady old stager, quietly
     biding his time and seldom throwing away a hit. The
     knock-down blow in the fourth round was indubitably a
     fair knock-down, but it must not be forgotten that
     although matters thereby looked favourable for Brettle,
     the real fact was that Tom in his counter got home much
     heavier than his opponent, and that had he been
     stepping in instead of back at the moment he would not
     have been floored. The proof of the effectiveness of
     the blow was seen on the men again appearing at the
     scratch, when Tom showed no mark, while the evidence of
     his visitation to Bob’s eye was unmistakable. That the
     battle terminated as it did we cannot help feeling was
     fortunate for Brettle. Tom’s dangerous right――never
     brought into play until he has his man “safe,” as he
     says――was already busy; true, he missed once or twice,
     but he is not the man to do this often, and had it got
     home effectively there is no telling what injury he
     might have inflicted. The actual cause of Bob’s
     accident it is impossible to fathom. Some aver that it
     was partly caused by the heavy blow in the fifth round,
     others that the shoulder was injured by the fall on his
     hands, but, as he was able to use it so vigorously in
     the last round, we believe both these suppositions to
     be wrong. Possibly they may have rendered the muscles
     weaker than usual, and predisposed the arm for such a
     _contretemps_, but our own idea is that Bob, swinging
     his arm out so very viciously at a distance from his
     man, and receiving a tap on the collar-bone at the same
     moment, the joint was jerked out entirely in that
     manner. That his arm was dislocated there was not the
     slightest doubt, for we have the evidence not only of
     the surgeon himself, but also of Jack Macdonald, as to
     the dislocation being reduced: and even if we had not,
     the expression of poor Brettle’s countenance and his
     contortions when in his corner were far too natural to
     have been put on for the occasion. We should not have
     thought it necessary to make these observations had we
     not heard it whispered that a set of idiots, who think
     everything connected with the ring is “a barney,” or
     something tantamount to it, have been going about
     saying that there was no accident at all, and that the
     statement as to Brettle’s accident was all moonshine.
     The gentry who make these remarks should look at home,
     and before throwing mud at persons in a different walk
     of life, should consider whether in the event of a
     similar compliment being paid to themselves, there
     would not be a much larger portion of the sticking part
     attached to them, and whether they could be as easily
     whitewashed as their humbler, though perhaps, honester,
     brethren of the P.R. Of Brettle’s performances we need
     say but little. He evidently found himself
     out-generalled from the first; and this being the case,
     all that remained for him to do was to make the best of
     a bad bargain, and this we are bound to say he did to
     the utmost of his ability. Our own opinion was, before
     the battle, that he had not the ghost of a chance, and
     that opinion was borne out by the result. We are sorry
     that he was disappointed in his expectations, which
     were entirely raised by his underrating his man; but as
     we do not believe he will be a loser by his defeat, he
     is, perhaps, not to be so much pitied as some of his
     less fortunate compeers. He has been always a general
     favourite, and so long as he perseveres in his present
     straightforward course he must retain the good wishes
     of all parties. As we have stated above, we think he
     has taken a wise resolution in retiring from the Ring,
     and we hope that no vain flattery on the part of any
     interested admirers will induce him to change his
     resolution.

These excellent remarks of the writer, on the readiness of silly
persons to impute dishonesty to the losing pugilist, are as laudable
as they are just and honest. We shall elsewhere have occasion to
remark upon a recent work devoted to the resuscitation and reassertion
of these defunct, discreditable, and often dishonest “shaves.”

With this very easy defeat of the Birmingham Pet, Tom Sayers, as was
generally supposed, had disposed of the last of his competitors for
the belt; but it was not to be so. A breeze, whispering of war, was
heard from across the broad Atlantic. Aaron Jones, not long after his
defeat by Sayers, had emigrated to the land of the stars and stripes,
and being a fine-looking young fellow, of good address, and of quiet
and civil deportment, had found much favour as a teacher of the art
pugilistic among our Yankee cousins. His anecdotes of British boxers
and exemplifications of the English method became fashionable among
the young bloods of New York, and the subject of pugilism grew to be
the talk of the town. John Heenan had been selected by a party to
“whip” John Morrissey, who for some reason had become obnoxious to
some of them, and Heenan’s friends made choice of Aaron Jones as
trainer and ring adviser of “The Benicia Boy.” Heenan, however, being
attacked by illness, was stopped in his work, and thus forced to go
into the ring with a stone of superabundant flesh, and suffered defeat
at the hands of Morrissey. About the close of the year 1858, distance
lending enchantment to the view, the Transatlantic papers told us that
Aaron did not think Tom Sayers such a very formidable customer after
all, and “Had a mind to return and have a second (third?) shy for the
belt.” Rumour added that, failing Aaron, Uncle Sam was about to send
over one of his champions, to see what he could do towards humbling
the pride of the little Englishman. Early in 1849 rumour ripened into
certainty, and a letter reached _Bell’s Life_ office from Mr. Wilkes,
inquiring on what terms Heenan could be placed on the rota to have his
turn against Sayers. A good deal of astonishment was created at the
time by the fact that the defeated man, and not the winner of the
American fight for the championship, had been selected; but when it
came to be remembered that Morrissey, the winner, was an Irishman by
birth, and not a native American, the wonderment ceased, and Heenan
was recognised as the proper representative of America. The Editor of
_Bell’s Life_ replied to Mr. Wilkes’s letter, intimating that
immediately on the receipt of a deposit from Heenan he could be placed
on the list. He further stated, however, that, in the event of his
winning, he would not be permitted to take the belt back to America,
without leaving its equivalent in value or remaining here three years
to contest its possession against all comers on the usual terms. By
the next mail, after Mr. Wilkes’s first letter, came a second, dated
New York, March 29, 1859, which was as follows:――

               “Office _Wilkes’s Spirit of the Times_, New York.
                              “March 29, 1859.

     “DEAR SIR,――Enclosed please find a draft for £200 sterling,
     drawn in your favour on the Bank of Liverpool, which I have
     been requested to forward to you, on the part of Aaron
     Jones, in order that you may deposit for him the necessary
     sum for a meeting with the Champion of England within six
     months of the date of the battle of the 5th April, between
     Sayers and Benjamin; and in case the winner of that fight do
     not accept, you will please hold the money subject to my
     order. The language with which Jones accompanies this draft
     is as follows:――‘I, Aaron Jones, hereby challenge the winner
     of the coming fight for the championship, to fight me in six
     months from that time for _two hundred pounds and the
     Champion’s belt_. The fight to take place near London, and
     to be governed by the rules of the London Prize Ring.’ Jones
     also requests me to say to you for him that ‘he would prefer
     having the forfeit or first deposit to be as much as _fifty
     pounds_, as he does not wish to be at the trouble of
     crossing the Atlantic for nothing, though he is willing to
     pay his own expenses over and back to get the fight.’ He
     also hopes that Sayers will, for old acquaintance’ sake,
     give him the first chance; but this is a consideration which
     I have no right to press, after having previously consented
     to lay before you the wishes or the claims of Heenan. Your
     sense of propriety will find a law for the matter, and will,
     I hope, likewise permit me to remain, yours, very truly at
     command,

                                                   “GEO. WILKES.

     “P.S.――I am also desired by the backers of Jones to say that
     the stakes will be increased to _five hundred pounds a
     side_, if the Champion wishes it.

                                                         “G. W.”

To this letter Sayers at once replied, closing with the proposition of
Jones, and thus placing that hero first on the list of candidates
after his second battle with Benjamin. Hardly had the missive of the
gallant Tom been despatched when another letter arrived from Mr.
Wilkes――who throughout acted as the adviser and amanuensis of both
Jones and Heenan――enclosing a sum of £50, which he had been directed
by his friends to stake on the part of Heenan. In that letter he
requested the stakeholder, if not contrary to rule, to give Heenan’s
claim the preference, as that aspiring youth had been the first to
challenge Sayers, and was fearful that if he was not at once placed on
the list of candidates, his chance of encountering Sayers might be
entirely lost by some unforeseen accident. Inasmuch, however, as
Jones, with prudent foresight, had been the first to post the coal,
the stakeholder felt bound, according to practice, to give him the
priority, and Heenan was compelled reluctantly to moderate his
impatience; Heenan, like Jones, offered, if Sayers wished, to increase
the stakes to £500 a side.

Shortly after the second defeat of Bill Benjamin, Tom Sayers was
called upon to meet Jack Macdonald, who had been delegated by Aaron
Jones to act the part of plenipotentiary on his behalf. Another
conference was held, and after many _pros_ and _cons._, articles were
signed, sealed, and delivered, under which Jones was bound to fight
the Champion early in the current year, a margin of one month being
allowed on either side as to the actual day of battle. For this match
£50 a side was deposited. It was not long after this that a further
communication was received from Mr. Wilkes, requesting the stakeholder
to return him £50 out of the £200 he had sent for Jones, to pay the
passage of Aaron to Europe, and to transfer the remaining £100 to the
account of the match between Heenan and Sayers. He added, that if
Jones intended to go on with his match he would have to find the
remainder of his money himself, his American friends having some
reason to be dissatisfied with him, and being desirous of transferring
all their interest to the Benicia Boy. By the very next mail came
another letter intimating that Jones would be able to find all his
money himself, and therefore the match was still to be considered
“on,” and so for several months the matter rested.

In the following October the public were startled at reading the
following letter from Mr. Wilkes to the Editor of _Bell’s Life in
London_:――


  “Office, _Wilkes’s Spirit of the Times_, New York, Oct. 7, 1859.

     “MY DEAR SIR,――I take pleasure of informing you that Aaron
     Jones, conceding to the common desire on this side of the
     Atlantic to see Heenan have the first chance at Sayers for
     the Championship (after the Unknown), has desired me to have
     forfeited the £50 which now remain staked for him in your
     hands against Sayers. Enclosed I send you Jones’s letter
     authorising me to take this course; and as I represent the
     money of his backers, your authority for declaring the match
     “off” will, I suppose, be considered complete. I forget, as
     I write, whether Sayers has already covered a deposit of
     Heenan’s for the Championship; if not, please let the same
     deposit be made and covered in his case (£50) as was made
     and covered in the case of Aaron Jones. I am very solicitous
     about this point as, for special reasons, I want Heenan
     regularly upon the record at as early a moment as possible.
     I send with this a note to Sayers, directed to your care, in
     which I apprise him of Jones’s forfeit. Please preserve the
     note of Jones to me, and believe me to be yours, ever truly,
     at command,

           “GEO. WILKES, Editor _Wilkes’s Spirit of the Times_.”

This communication was of course made known to Sayers without loss of
time, and having now no business on hand, the way was clear for the
Benicia Boy, and Tom’s backers being anxious that he should finish his
career as quickly as possible, and get into business, at once covered
the £50 of Heenan, and signed articles for Tom to fight him on or
about the day originally fixed for the fight with Jones, supposing it
was the wish of Heenan to step into Jones’s shoes. In this, however,
the English managers of the affair had mistaken the meaning of Mr.
Wilkes’s letter, for on their writing to him, with details of what had
been done, the following reply was forwarded:――

            “Office, _Wilkes’s Spirit_, New York, Nov. 23, 1859.

     “MY DEAR SIR,――Your letter of 3rd inst., enclosing copy of
     articles for a fight between Heenan and Sayers, and signed
     by the latter, for our acceptance, reached me yesterday, and
     have been communicated to Heenan. We are all, however, taken
     by surprise at the proposal that the fight should come off
     in February next, instead of at the expiration of the
     regular six months, as was stipulated in the original
     proposition, and I am requested on Heenan’s part to say,
     that he expects the usual preparatory term will be granted
     to him. By reference to his cartel you will find he
     challenged Sayers to fight him near London for £200 and the
     Champion’s belt, in six months from the date of his (Sayers)
     reception of that challenge, or the date of the first
     deposit under it. This challenge having reached England
     during the pendency of the engagement between Sayers and the
     Unknown, was kept in abeyance in your hands, and having been
     further kept back by the next succeeding engagement of
     Sayers with Jones, was not recognised or _received_ by
     Sayers until after he had accepted forfeit from Aaron Jones.
     Being thus left free of all engagements, he responded to the
     challenge of Heenan, and on the 26th October (I believe)
     covered the £50 deposit which you had, for months, held in
     Heenan’s name. The articles for this _new match_, however,
     were not signed by Sayers until the 3rd Nov. inst., and
     consequently Heenan claims that he is entitled to six
     months’ preliminary time from either one or the other of
     those dates. He, however, desires me to say that if there be
     anything in the rules of the P. R. Benevolent Association
     which entitles the Champion to reduce the term for meeting
     on his acceptance of a regular six months’ challenge, he
     will conform to those rules, and fight Sayers at the
     indicated time, even though it will leave him deficient of
     the due preparation; but he utterly repudiates the idea
     (which the selection of February by Sayers perhaps infers)
     that his match with Sayers is a continuation of the match
     with Jones. With this explanation he desires to state that
     he will be ready to put up his second deposit of £50 at Owen
     Swift’s in London, on the 15th December next, and if he be
     not represented at that time by any agent from this country,
     he begs you will continue your past kindness and again put
     up the money for him. Waiving no right, but conceding to all
     rules, he remains your obedient servant, though very
     respectfully yours,

                                                “GEORGE WILKES.”

At first it was feared this would occasion a hitch in the match, but
it was not the case. Tom was nothing loth to let the affair take its
course. He had promised to give Heenan a chance, and would not
disappoint him. He proposed, therefore, to extend the time to the end
of March, and a missive with this proposition was despatched across
the Atlantic, together with a proposition from Tom that the stakes
should be £500 a side, or as much more as Heenan could get. Before,
however, it could reach its destination, a Mr. Falkland had left that
country as the representative and forerunner of Heenan, prepared,
immediately on his arrival, to do the needful on his behalf. Early in
December, Mr. Falkland presented himself at the stakeholder’s, where
he was met by some of the friends of Sayers, but as Tom was not
present it was agreed that the evening of December 15, which was set
apart for staking a further sum of £50 a side at Owen Swift’s, should
be selected for coming to terms. At Owen’s, on the night in question,
Tom made his appearance, and quickly fraternising with the ambassador
of his foe, found not the slightest difficulty in arranging everything
on that satisfactory footing upon which the match afterwards stood.
Mr. Falkland had instructions not to make the match for more than
£200, as Heenan could lay out the remainder of his money to more
advantage in bets, the odds being against him. The following day
articles were drawn in the approved form, and information was
forthwith despatched to Heenan that his presence in the Old Country
was at once required.

In the meantime, on the other side of the Atlantic, things had well
nigh tended to prevent the consummation of the wishes of the Fancy.
John Heenan and his quondam opponent Morrissey had got to loggerheads,
and Heenan proposed to fight Morrissey a second time before fighting
Sayers. Through the timely diplomacy of Mr. Wilkes, however, the
difficulty was solved, by Morrissey promising to give Heenan another
chance, in either England or America, for his own sum, should he prove
fortunate enough to defeat our Champion. With this promise the “Boy”
was forced to be content, and after innumerable hair-breadth escapes
from warrants out against him for an alleged breach of the peace, he
succeeded (again thanks to the good management of Mr. Wilkes) in
getting on board the “Asia,” which brought him to this country,
landing at Liverpool on the 16th of January, 1860.

Thenceforward all went serenely and smoothly; the whole of the
deposits were made good, and the 17th of April, 1860, was waited for
with feverish expectation.

Though it was made known to those who invested their gold in the
ticket for “there and back,” that the start must be made as early as
four o’clock, this had no effect in diminishing the number of those
who resolved to be “thar,” as our Yankee visitors expressed it.

The scene at Owen Swift’s and Harry Brunton’s, where tickets were
obtainable, beggars description, the rush was terrific, and many were
entirely unsuccessful in getting tickets at all. Nat Langham’s, Alec
Keene’s, and other sporting houses were also crammed, but there was
not the same difficulty in carrying on the business of the landlord as
at the first houses named, where at one time trade was at a
standstill. Many of the frequenters of the sporting hostelries
evidently determined to make a night of it in order to make a
certainty of being up betimes in the morning, and that they carried
their intentions fully into effect was plainly visible in their
countenances on their emerging into daylight. The more prudent
ring-goers, however, took time by the forelock, and early ensconced
themselves in their beds until the summons to be up and doing should
arouse them.

The scene at London Bridge Station was one of continual bustle for at
least an hour before the time appointed for the start, and, judging
from the early arrivals, all seemed impressed with the necessity of
taking time by the forelock. The precincts of the station reminded us
of the crush on the Derby Day, but the effect was far more striking
from the circumstance of its being a “midnight flitting.” The
company’s arrangements, however, were such as to meet the pressing
requirements, and the travellers by the late trains from the
provinces, and those who had postponed the purchase of their tickets
until the last moment were enabled to provide themselves with the
necessary passport at the last moment. Two monster trains were
prepared, and as early as half-past three the first, which consisted
of thirty-three carriages, was so full that the non-arrival of the
men, both of whom were accommodated at private lodgings close by,
alone delayed its departure. The Champion arrived first, and his
fresh, brisk, and natty appearance indicated a good night’s rest, and
especial pains with his _toilette_. He was soon followed by Heenan,
who seemed to wish to avoid recognition, and instantly proceeded to a
compartment reserved for him and his seconds. The tickets were then
collected, and at twenty minutes past four they started on their
journey. By this time night had cast off her sable mantle, and day
dawned with that peculiar tint which foretold the brilliant sunny
weather with which the expedition was favoured. Throughout the whole
of the metropolitan district, which extends for fifteen miles from
London, the police, both mounted and on foot, and all armed with
cutlasses, were on the look out on each side of the line even at this
early hour, but the speed at which the train proceeded at once
satisfied those watchful guardians that the mill was never intended to
take place within their bailiwick, after leaving which scarcely a soul
was to be seen beyond husbandmen proceeding to their daily avocations.

Great preparations were made to “stop the mill” further down, both on
the Dover and Brighton lines; but they were unnecessary, as the
travellers turned off at Reigate Junction on to the Guildford line,
along which the train rattled at a good pace――we may say, “in peaceful
serenity”――until within a short distance of the latter old-fashioned
country town, where the first stoppage was made for water. In due
course the journey was resumed, and in a short time the travellers
entered the wild district where the military town of Aldershott is
situated, the deserted appearance of which satisfied all that the
“pilot” to whom the selection of the _locale_ had been entrusted had
made a “happy choice.” It was near seven o’clock when the first train
discharged its living burthen at Farnborough station, after a most
pleasant journey through one of the prettiest counties in England,
which, illumined by a glorious sun, and shooting forth in vernal
beauty, must have inspired all with feelings of intense gratification;
whilst the Benicia Boy and the numerous Americans present must have
been struck with the highly favourable contrast to the miserable
pilgrimage which from all accounts preceded their representative’s
last appearance in the Ring, when he fought Morrissey in America.

No time was lost in choosing the spot for the ring, which was quickly
and well formed by the veteran Tom Oliver and his son, in a meadow
adjoining the railway, situate on the borders of Hampshire and Surrey,
and within half-a-mile of the Farnborough Station on the South Western
line. By this time the second train had reached its destination, and
the crowd could not have numbered fewer than twelve hundred persons,
both of high and low degree, though compared with former mills the
present “congregation” must unhesitatingly be pronounced the most
aristocratic ever assembled at the ring side. It included the bearers
of names highly distinguished in the pages of Burke and Debrett;
officers of the army and navy, members of Parliament, justices of the
peace, and even brethren of the cloth; whilst the muster of literati
on behalf of the leading metropolitan journals, and the most popular
periodicals and miscellanies――to say nothing of the editorial and
pictorial staffs of our American contemporaries, _Wilkes’s Spirit of
the Times_ and _Frank Leslie’s Illustrated News_――gave quite a new
feature to the gathering, and evinced at the same time the
overwhelming interest and excitement this national rivalry had created
throughout both hemispheres. The sale of inner-ring tickets (raised to
10s. each on this occasion) produced a large revenue to the Pugilistic
Benevolent Association, and Billy Duncan’s speculation in chairs must
have been a most successful one, judging from the demand for those
conveniences, by means of which the spectators were enabled to “see
the fight” with comparative comfort.[29]

  [Illustration: JOHN CAMEL HEENAN.]

APPEARANCE OF THE MEN.――All being in readiness, and the immense crowd
disposed in tolerable order by the exertions of those of the
ring-keepers who chose to do their duty, Tom Sayers appeared at the
ring-side, and having deposited his hat within the ropes, quickly
followed it himself, attended by his old pal, Harry Brunton, and the
accomplished Jemmy Welsh, as seconds. The Benicia Boy was not long in
following his example, attended by Jack Macdonald and his trainer,
Cusick. Tom looked as dapper and well set up as ever, and was full of
smiles. “The Boy” (aged 26), whose attire was not quite so
fashionable, was also all on the broad grin. They eyed one another
curiously for a few seconds, this being, it must be recollected, their
first meeting, and then advancing, shook hands most cordially
together, each regarding the other with evident friendly feeling. The
warmth of the greeting appeared to give great satisfaction to the
surrounding multitude, who cheered vociferously. The men conversed for
a few minutes, but of course the subject of their interview did not
transpire. Umpires and a referee having now been appointed, the signal
was given to prepare for the combat. The first ceremony, that of tying
the colours to the stakes, was then proceeded with, and no time was
cut to waste in doffing their upper toggery. Each had taken the
precaution to put on his boots and drawers previous to entering the
ring, so that the usual tedious process of lacing the men’s boots was
dispensed with. In Heenan’s case, however, there would have been no
necessity for this, as his boots were of fashionable make, with
elastic sides. He was the first to appear in buff, and a single glance
was sufficient to show that his condition was all that could be
desired by the most fastidious. Tom’s mahogany bust was quickly after
bared to the gaze of the multitude, and here, too, was evidence of
strict attention to his work. They had a last rub from their seconds,
and now advanced to give the final friendly shake. This was the time
to get a fair idea of their respective proportions, and in size it
really looked a horse to a hen. Heenan stood full four inches and a
half over Tom, and had an immense advantage in length. Every muscle on
his broad back, his shoulders, and arms, was well developed, and gave
evidence of enormous power. His legs were rather light, but still
there was no lack here of wire and activity. His skin was exceedingly
fair and transparent, and shone like that of a thorough-bred. His mug
was hard, and looked older than we expected, his cheek-bones being
very prominent, and now that they had been denuded of much that was
superfluous, his _tout ensemble_ was far more like that of his brother
professional than on his first interview with us. Tom looked brown and
hard as nails: his well-knit frame seemed fitter that we have seen it
for years. He looked visibly older even than when he fought Brettle,
but, considering what he has gone through, this is not to be wondered
at. The only points in which there appeared any advantage on his side
were in his loins and his legs, which were cast in a decidedly
stronger mould than those of his towering opponent. The contrast
between them was far greater than between Tom and the Tipton Slasher,
and taking into consideration the fact that the advantage in age on
this occasion was t’other way, Tom’s work seemed indeed cut out. That
he had the remotest doubt as to the result we do not for an instant
believe. He smiled confidently, and had evidently made up his mind to
do or die. Heenan seemed to have an equally decided opinion as to the
termination of the battle, and, to use an expression of his own
countrymen, he was “all thar.” He won the toss for corners, and, of
course, placed himself with his back to the sun; and, in addition to
this, he had the advantage of being on slightly rising ground, so that
Tom had all the way through to fight up hill. The usual ceremony was
now gone through by the seconds and men. Time was called at
twenty-nine minutes past seven, and they commenced


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Heenan at once threw himself into very fair
     position, his left well balanced ready for a shoot, and
     the right across the body. Tom’s position was the same
     as ever, lightly but firmly planted on his pins. He
     smiled and nodded, and on Heenan trying to lead off his
     left got well back. Heenan tried again, his reach being
     tremendous, but again did Tom get well away. Tom now
     essayed a draw, but “the Boy” was awake. Each feinted
     and dodged to find out a weak point, but for a short
     time each fortress was too well guarded. At last Tom
     let go his left and right, but out of distance. Heenan
     shook his nob and grinned, then again tried a lead, but
     was short. They got gradually to Heenan’s corner, who
     appeared disposed to fight on the defensive, and the
     sun being in Tom’s eyes seemed to bother him not a
     little. At length they came together, and sharp
     left-handers were exchanged, Tom getting on “the Boy’s”
     nose, drawing first blood, and Heenan leaving his sign
     manual on Tom’s frontispiece. Heavy counter-hits
     followed, Tom again getting on the nose, and receiving
     on the nob. More sparring ensued to a close, when
     Heenan seized Tom round the neck, but Tom pegged away
     at the back of his head until he made him leave that,
     and Tom fell laughing.

     2.――Heenan showed marks of Tom’s handiwork on the back
     of his neck, and Tom’s forehead was flushed. Heenan
     kept to his corner, whither Tom went to draw him out;
     when he thought Tom was near enough, “the Boy” lunged
     out his left, but Tom stopped him and got back. Heenan
     tried again, and just reached Tom’s nose. After one or
     two feints a pretty counter took place, Tom getting on
     the nose, and receiving a sharp one over the right eye.
     Heenan then closed, got well hold of him, and threw the
     Champion, falling heavily on him. Offers to take 2 to
     1.

     3.――After a little lively fiddling, Tom got too near to
     the big’un, who instantly slung out his left straight
     and full on the bridge of Tom’s beak, knocking him
     clean off his pins. (“First knock-down” for Heenan.)

     4.――Tom, on coming up, looked rather astonished, and
     his eyes blinked in the sun like a dissipated owl.
     Heenan went at once to him at the scratch, dodged him,
     and once more planted a heavy spank with his left, this
     time on the jaw, and down went Tom again, amidst the
     shouts of the Yankees, who now offered 6 to 4 on
     Heenan. The Sayers party looked excessively blue.

     5.――Tom’s mug showed visible marks of “the Boy’s”
     powers of hitting. He was cautious, and kept away from
     his man; Jack followed, and letting go his left on the
     mouth was well countered by Tom on the proboscis.
     Heenan now bored in, and after dodging Tom, got again
     heavily on the sneezer, and Tom fell.

     6.――Tom’s countenance, though not swelled, was much
     flushed, while the Boy was almost scatheless. He was
     somewhat wild, and tried both hands, but missed.
     Counter-hits ensued, in which Tom received the full
     weight of Heenan’s ponderous fist on his right arm,
     which was driven back against his face. Tom reached
     Heenan’s left cheek, leaving his mark. Heenan
     retaliated on the right brow, and Tom fell.

     7.――Tom’s right peeper displayed marks of pepper, and
     it was perceptible that he had sustained severe injury
     to his right arm, which was beginning to swell, and
     which he now kept close to his body, as if to support
     it. Still he went to Heenan in his corner, and that
     hero delivered his left, but not effectively, on the
     chest. Tom danced away, and as he turned round napped a
     little one from the right on his back. He was quickly
     out of harm’s way, and, coming again, dodged his man
     until he let fly, when Tom countered him heavily on the
     right cheek, drawing the claret and raising a
     considerable bump. The blow staggered Heenan, who stood
     all of a heap for a moment. Soon did he collect
     himself, and as Tom came again, lodged a little one on
     the nose, but was once more countered very heavily on
     the right cheek, the cut being increased and the bump
     enlarged. Slight exchanges followed, in which Tom
     received on the right eye and Heenan on the right
     cheek, whereupon Heenan went to his corner for a
     sponge. He seemed in no hurry to come away, and Tom
     stood in the middle of the ring until Heenan went
     slowly to him, and tried his left, but it was no go. He
     tried again, but only just reached Tom’s brow. Tom now
     feinted and got home on the right peeper, Heenan
     missing an upper-cut. Tom danced away, came again on
     another tack, and bang went his left on the sore spot,
     a heavy spank, and he was instantly out of danger,
     laughing; Heenan rushed after him, but was well
     stopped, thrice in succession. Again and again Tom went
     to him, and baulked his efforts to effect a lodgment,
     and then Heenan napped another slashing crack on the
     right cheek, which had the effect of at once closing
     his dexter goggle. He retreated for a wipe, and was
     followed by Tom, and some mutual cautious dodging and
     feinting took place. At last Heenan got on the top of
     Tom’s smeller, but not heavily, and Tom then avoided
     another attempt. Once more did Heenan retire to Jack
     Macdonald for consolation and advice; Tom walking round
     and eying him in an inquisitive manner, as if admiring
     his handiwork. Tom, after satisfying his curiosity,
     went close, and slight exchanges followed, without
     mischief. Heenan tried his left and was stopped. Both
     very cautious, and neither disposed to go within
     gunshot. Heenan now led off and got slightly on the
     mouth with his left, Tom retaliating on the closed
     peeper. Mutual taps and stops, and then Tom got his
     left heavily on the old spot another cracker, whereupon
     Heenan once more retired into the privacy of his
     corner, amidst cries of 2 to 1 on Sayers. Tom, after a
     few turns and a touch of the sponge, went to him, but
     Heenan shook his nob and seemed disinclined for work.
     Tom finding he could not draw him, retreated, whereupon
     “the Boy” came out, and let go his left viciously,
     which was beautifully stopped. He then feinted, and got
     well on the bridge of Tom’s snorer as he was
     retreating, and again knocked him off his pins. Tom
     rolled over, laughing, and was carried to his corner.
     This round lasted 13 minutes, and was a fine specimen
     of stratagem and skill, especially on the part of Tom.
     His right arm now was much swollen, and so painful that
     he could make little or no use of it.

     8.――Tom slowest to the call of time, but directly he
     was at the scratch “the Boy” retired to his corner,
     whither Tom had to follow him. Heenan at once let go
     his left, but Tom laughed and jumped back. A slight
     exchange followed, and Tom napped a straight one on the
     sniffer. Heenan now missed a couple of well-meant
     shots, and Tom jumped away from a third, and as he
     turned his back upon Heenan got a right-hander on the
     back of the neck. Heenan followed him up, but Tom
     grinned and jumped nimbly away. His activity on his
     pins was as remarkable as ever. Heenan pursued him, and
     at last lodged his left slightly on the nozzle, and
     once more turned on the tap. Tom, however, countered
     him on the damaged cheek, which caused “the Boy” to
     retire for the kind offices of Jack Macdonald. On Tom’s
     going to him he let go his left on the kisser, drawing
     the carmine, and this led to pretty exchanges at long
     shots on the cheek. Heenan at this time appeared weak,
     and the hopes of the Sayers party were greatly in the
     ascendant. Heenan preferred his corner to the scratch,
     and Tom had some difficulty in persuading him to leave.
     This he at last accomplished, and some beautiful stops
     were made on both sides. Another break away ensued,
     after which they countered effectively, but Tom was
     heaviest on the right cheek, which was now swelled as
     big as two. Heenan’s blow alighted on Tom’s oration
     trap, and drew more of the ruby. On his trying to
     repeat this lodgment, Tom stopped him cleverly. Capital
     exchanges followed, in which Tom was again at home on
     the cheek very heavily. Heenan rushed at him, but Tom
     was away, and after once or twice being baulked Heenan
     again retired to his corner. After Tom had scrutinized
     him carefully, he rubbed his hands and went to him,
     whereupon Heenan let fly his left, but Tom got well
     away laughing; Heenan shook his head and also laughed
     good-humouredly. Tom now crept in, and pop went his
     left on the plague-spot, and off went the Champion
     laughing. More dodging and stopping on both sides,
     until Tom was once more on the cheek a slogger. Heenan
     retaliated sharply on the bridge of the snout, but was
     stopped in a second attempt, and Tom nailed him on the
     right cheek very heavily and got away. Heenan tried to
     take the lead, but Tom jumped back. “The Boy,”
     persevering, got well on the forehead, but was
     unsuccessful in a second essay. The first was
     sufficient to leave a bump on the gallant Tom. More
     sparring until a severe counter-exchange took place, in
     which Tom got a hot’un on the whistler, which shook his
     ivories, and turned on a fresh tap. It was a staggerer,
     but Tom recovered and went to his man, when more severe
     counters were interchanged, Heenan getting another rum
     one on the cheek, and dropping his left with effect on
     Tom’s sneezer. Both now indulged in a wipe, and washed
     their mouths out. They came again, now like giants
     refreshed, and each in turn tried a lead, but each was
     well stopped. Tom’s right arm, from the continual
     stopping such a heavy cannonade as Heenan’s, was now
     much discoloured and swollen, and utterly useless for
     all purposes of hitting, and he was thus deprived of
     his principal weapon. After a good deal of this another
     heavy exchange followed, in which Tom was at home on
     the old spot, and Heenan on the jaw heavily, knocking
     Tom once more off his pins. This round lasted 20
     minutes, and was a splendid specimen of milling on both
     sides. Tom’s nose and mouth were bleeding, but both his
     eyes were well open. His arm was his chief drawback.
     Heenan’s right eye had been long closed, his cheek was
     fearfully swollen, and his mouth was also somewhat out
     of straight.

     9.――Heenan came up as if he intended to force the
     fighting. He led off viciously, but Tom got well away.
     “The Boy” followed him closely, and at last got on
     Tom’s mouth, drawing more of the juice. He followed
     suit on the snuffer-tray with a like result, and
     counter-hits ensued, in which each did mischief. Heenan
     continued to bore in, and at last Tom, after getting a
     little one on the back, dropped laughing.

     10.――Tom was very slow to the call of time, and
     appeared to want nursing. It was evidently heavy work
     struggling against such superior mettle. He stood in
     the middle of the ring until Heenan went to him, when
     slight counter-hits were exchanged; after which they
     closed. Heenan lifted Tom from the ground and threw him
     heavily with the greatest ease.

     11.――Tom, again very much behindhand in coming to time,
     and the friends of Heenan did not appear in much hurry.
     When they did come up Tom had to go into Heenan’s
     corner. After a dodge or two Tom got his right on the
     good eye rather heavily, but it was not such a
     right-hander as of yore, and evidently gave him pain.
     Heenan returned on the chest, and Tom fell.

     12.――“Time, Time!” neither too ready. On Sayers at last
     facing his man, Heenan caught him, but not very
     heavily, on the jaw, and dropped on the saving suit.

     13.――Heenan, first to leave his second’s knee, now went
     to Tom, and after a dodge or two popped the left very
     straight on Tom’s nose, once more knocking him clean
     off his legs. He turned round on returning to his
     corner, and looking to Mr. Falkland, his umpire,
     exclaimed, “That’s one for you, Fred!” Offers were now
     made to lay 5 to 4 on Heenan, but the takers seemed
     scarce.

     14.――Tom, very weak, came up cautiously and slowly, his
     nose being large enough for two. Heenan, seeing Tom’s
     state, tried to force the fighting, but Tom got
     cleverly out of the difficulty. Heenan followed him up,
     and popped a rattler on the throat, without a return.
     He paused, and then sent a little one on the
     scent-bottle, but Tom countered him well and straight
     on the nose, drawing the crimson in profusion. Heenan,
     nothing daunted, let go his left, and was stopped. He
     then swung round his right heavily on the jaw. They got
     to close quarters and some heavy in-fighting took
     place, in which Tom was very busy. At length both were
     down heavily, Heenan under.

     15.――Neither seemed in a hurry to leave his second’s
     knee, but Tom was slowest in answering the call. Heenan
     at once went to him, got the left well on the proboscis
     and his right on the jaw, and down again fell the
     Champion in a heap.

     16.――Tom shook himself together, but was very cautious.
     He sparred as if requiring rest, until Heenan came in,
     when slight exchanges took place, Tom getting it on the
     nose, and Heenan on the whistler, but neither very
     heavily. Heenan then made a sudden dart, and planting
     heavily on Tom’s mouth, once more knocked him off his
     legs. (Loud cheers for Heenan.)

     17.――Tom did not display many marks from his repeated
     knock-down blows, but came up smiling, although
     somewhat tired. Heenan’s mug was decidedly the most
     disfigured, being so much swelled. Heenan took the
     lead, but did not get heavily on. He tried again with
     his right, but the blow passed over Tom’s nob. Counter
     hits followed on the nose, in which Tom’s delivery was
     most effective, but Tom was down.

     18.――Very slight exchanges, followed by a heavy
     counter, in which Heenan’s mouth came in for pepper,
     and Tom got it slightly on the nose, and fell.

     19.――Tom slow to time; Heenan not in a hurry. At last,
     on facing one another, Heenan went in to a close, and,
     throwing Tom, fell on him.

     20.――Heenan followed Sayers, who was on the retreat,
     and after one or two dodges, caught him on the jaw
     heavily with his right. He tried again, but Tom jumped
     back. Still he persevered, and heavy exchanges followed
     at close quarters, and both were in the end down at the
     ropes.

     21.――Sayers very slow, which Heenan seeing, dashed at
     him, slung out the left on the nose, and again floored
     the Champion.

     22.――Tom seemed none the worse for this floorer; it
     rather seemed to do him good, for he came fresher,
     which Heenan seeing, he retired to his corner. Tom
     followed and tried to deliver, but missed, and the
     Benicia Boy dropped him with another straight one on
     the jaw. Heenan’s left hand was now much puffed, and
     did not seem to leave such impressions as formerly.

     23.――The time was very badly kept on both sides, and
     there were now complaints that the Benicia Boy was
     allowed a stool in the ring. An appeal was made to the
     referee, who at once ordered its removal, as contrary
     to the laws. Heenan rushed at Tom, who retreated and
     got one on the back. Tom then turned round and missed
     his right. They closed, and Tom pegged away merrily on
     the nose and left cheek, and in the end both down, Tom
     under. One hour and eleven minutes had now elapsed.

     24.――The Benicia Boy, first up, tried his left by a
     sudden dart, but was stopped. An attempt with the right
     just landed on the side of Tom’s nut, and he fell. (5
     to 4 on Heenan still offered.)

     25.――Tom, weak, came up slow, but cheerful. He waited
     the attack, which was not long in coming, and after
     getting a little one on the side of his head, Tom
     popped his left very heavily on the snout, drawing more
     home-brewed. Heenan, wild, rushed in and bored Tom
     down.

     26.――Tom, fresher, came up gaily, and tried to lead off
     with his left, but the Boy stopped him prettily.
     Another effort landed on Heenan’s good eye. Heenan in
     return planted a rattler on Tom’s jaw with his right,
     which staggered him, and was all but a knock down. Tom
     soon shook himself together, whereupon Heenan let fly
     his left, but Tom was well away. Following up, “the
     Boy” got on Tom’s chest, but not heavily. Exchanges;
     Heenan on the ’tato-trap, and Tom on the nose, a
     smasher, each drawing the cork. Heavy counters followed
     with the left, and they broke away. Heenan came again,
     and got on Tom’s snorer heavily with his left, once
     more staggering him. Twice after this did Tom stop
     Heenan’s right and they closed. After some slight
     fibbing Tom fell, Heenan hitting him when down. An
     appeal of foul was overruled, the blow being obviously
     accidental.

     27.――“The Boy” came up determined and led off, but Tom
     was away. A second attempt was equally unsuccessful,
     and as Tom turned his back to dash away, the Boy caught
     him on the neck, but not heavily. Sharp exchanges
     followed, Tom on the left cheek and nose, and “the Boy”
     on the mouth. Heenan then went in and tried his left,
     but was short, whereupon he retired to his corner, had
     a wipe, and wetted his whistle, and then went to the
     middle of the ring. Tom joined issue at once, and some
     heavy exchanges took place, each on the nose, and
     Heenan now tried to close, reaching after Tom to catch
     him round the neck. Tom kept out of harm’s way, but at
     length “the Boy” bored him down at the ropes.

     28.――Both much fatigued, wanted all the time they could
     get. After some sparring, Heenan ran at Tom, who darted
     away. The Boy rapidly pursued, and they got together,
     and in the fibbing Tom was busy on Heenan’s good cheek,
     while he caught it on the mouth. In the end Tom was
     down.

     29.――Tom still slow to time. The Boy at once went to
     him, and got heavily on the top of his nut. Tom
     countered with effect with his right on the left cheek,
     and then popped his left on the proboscis. Heavy
     exchanges followed in Tom’s favour, who met “the Boy”
     very straight and effectively on the nozzle, opening a
     fresh bin. A break away, followed by slight exchanges,
     led to a harmless close, and Tom slipped down.

     30.――Heenan’s other eye was now quickly closing, and he
     had evidently no time to lose. He was strongest on his
     legs, but his punishment was far more visible than
     Tom’s. He tried to lead off, but Tom met him neatly on
     the nose, turning on the red port. “The Boy” rushed at
     Tom, and literally ran over and fell on him.

     31.――After standing some time in his corner, Heenan was
     fetched out by Tom, who had now recovered a little. A
     short spar was followed by another retreat, after which
     Tom went in and got a little ’un on the left cheek, but
     it lacked steam. More sparring, and Heenan again
     retired. Tom stood and examined him with the eye of a
     connoisseur until he came out, when good exchanges took
     place, Tom getting heavily on the mouth, and Heenan on
     the nose. A break away; more sparring for wind; Heenan
     again to his corner. On Tom going at him he slung out
     his left heavily on the nose, and prone once more fell
     the brave Champion.

     32.――Tom all alive, dodged, and caught “the Boy” on the
     chin. He turned to retreat, and “the Boy” nailed him on
     the body, but not heavily. Heenan then tried repeatedly
     to draw Tom, but the latter would not go into Heenan’s
     corner. “The Boy,” therefore, had to go out, and some
     rapid hits and stops followed, without any apparent
     damage; each, however, got a small tap on the mouth.
     Heenan having taken another rest in his corner, came
     out, and got a hot one on the left cheek for his pains,
     which all but shut up the other eye. This brought on
     exchanges, each on the mazzard, and then Heenan reached
     Tom’s nose. Heavy determined counter-deliveries on the
     note ensued, after which Heenan floored Tom by a
     right-hander on the cheek. The betting was now even,
     Sayers for choice. It was obvious that, strong as
     Heenan was, unless he could make a decided change, he
     must in a very few minutes be blind.

     33.――The Benicia Boy, feeling he had no time to lose,
     rushed in, but only just reached Tom’s chest. Both
     seemed fagged, and they stood a few seconds, and then
     went to close quarters, where Tom, as usual, was busy
     on “the Boy’s” frontispiece, until he let him slip
     through his arms on to the ground.

     34.――Heenan again tried to force the fighting, but Tom
     got away. They then stood and sparred until Heenan let
     fly his left, which did not reach its destination. He
     retired for counsel, and then came at Tom and tried his
     right at the body, but without success. Steady
     exchanges led to close and rapid in-fighting, and both
     fell, Tom under. Heenan’s eye all but closed up.

     35.――The Benicia Boy dashed viciously in, and caught
     Tom on the snout, but the blow was without powder. Tom
     retreated from the vigorous onslaught; Heenan followed
     and got home on the jaw with the right, still with no
     effect. Tom now turned and ran, Heenan after him, when,
     on turning round, Tom napped one on the nose. He,
     however, landed another little pop on the good eye.
     Sharp exchanges at close quarters ended in the downfall
     of Tom. Two hours had now elapsed.

     36.――The Benicia Boy’s face was a spectacle to behold,
     while Tom was very weak. The Boy rushed to a close, and
     caught Tom round the neck, dragging him to the ropes.
     At this time, the police, who had been gradually making
     their way to the ring, began a violent struggle to get
     close and put a stop to hostilities. “The Boy” tried to
     hold Tom, but the latter slipped through his arms and
     fell.

     37.――Tom was first up, and seemed the better man; he
     made his left twice on Heenan’s eye, and the latter at
     length caught him round the neck at the ropes and there
     held him. Tom’s efforts to extricate himself were vain,
     but he administered severe punishment to Heenan’s face.
     The police at this time got closer, there was a rush to
     the ropes from all sides, and we, in company with
     others, including the referee, were completely shut out
     from the view. We are informed that the round ended in
     both going to grass at the expiration of _two hours and
     six minutes_. We had hoped that the men would now have
     been withdrawn, as the referee had been forced from his
     post, and the police were close by. The battle, so far
     as it may be called a battle, was for the time over,
     and the men should have been taken away. However,
     although the referee sent orders for a cessation of
     hostilities, five more so-called rounds were fought,
     with pretty equal advantage. Heenan’s right eye was
     fast closing, his left being in complete darkness. The
     ring was half full of people, however, and neither man
     had a fair chance. Much do we regret the unpleasant
     duty that now is imposed upon us, of finding fault with
     the Benicia Boy for conduct which was not only unmanly,
     but quite against the rules of the Ring, and had the
     Referee been present, would inevitably have lost him
     the battle. We can ourselves declare, as an impartial
     eye witness of the mêlée, that in the fourth of these
     supplementary rounds, while Sayers was on his second’s
     knee, Heenan rushed at him in a very excited state, let
     fly left and right at Tom’s seconds, floored them, and
     kicked at them when on the ground in desperate style,
     after which he closed with Sayers, and after a wild
     rally, they fell together. The final round was merely a
     wild scramble, in which both fell. The referee by this
     time was able to get near again, and ordered the men to
     desist from fighting. Immediately after this Heenan
     rushed away from the ring, and ran some distance with
     the activity of a deer, proving that as far as strength
     was concerned, he was as fit as ever; but he had not
     been away from the ring many minutes before he was
     totally blind. Tom Sayers, although a little tired, and
     suffering from his arm and the desperate hug in the
     37th round, was also strong on his pins, and could have
     fought some time longer. The blues being now in force,
     there was, of course, no chance of the men again
     meeting, and an adjournment was necessary. It was found
     that the authorities were up in arms in all directions,
     so that it would be mere waste of time to go elsewhere.
     Backward home was therefore the word, and the men and
     their friends returned to the Metropolis shortly after
     three o’clock. The whole time occupied, up to the men’s
     leaving the ring, was two hours and twenty minutes.

     REMARKS.――Up to the unfortunate departure of the
     referee, this was decidedly the very best Championship
     fight we ever witnessed. It was to the time aforesaid
     fought out with a manliness, a fairness, and a
     determination on both sides worthy of the highest
     commendation. Without any attempt at shifting, each
     scorned to take a mean advantage, and loudly and
     repeatedly was each of them cheered. The game displayed
     on both sides was remarkable. The gluttony and bottom
     of Tom Sayers are too proverbial to need further
     comment at our hand; but as certain rumours had been
     flying about to the effect that Heenan was destitute of
     those qualities, we deem it right to express our belief
     that a gamer, more determined fellow, never pulled off
     a shirt. His punishment was terrible, and yet he took
     it round after round without flinching, and almost
     invariably with a smile on his face. We are bound to
     own that in this, as in his talent, he very agreeably
     disappointed us; and had we not known his career, we
     certainly should never have set him down for a novice.
     He has an excellent delivery with his left, which was
     as straight as a dart, and early in the fight was very
     heavy. It appears to us, however, that his hands are
     not strong, for before half the battle was got through
     his left hand was so much swelled as to be almost
     useless; and this, doubtless, was fortunate for Tom,
     who with his right arm gone, could have made but a poor
     stand against such a weapon had it retained its
     original hardness. Of his right Heenan makes but little
     use. Of his conduct at the conclusion of the battle we
     cannot speak in too strong terms. We trust it was
     occasioned by the state of excitement in which he was
     owing to the ring being broken, and by the fact that,
     being almost blind, he took the unoffending seconds of
     his opponent for some other persons. The state of
     Heenan’s eyesight was shown by the fact that he hit out
     with both hands at Jemmy Welsh, who wore a red and
     black striped woollen shirt, mistaking him for his
     antagonist. Of Tom Sayers we need not say more than
     that he fought the battle throughout with consummate
     tact and judgment, and, considering that his right arm
     (his principal weapon) was rendered almost useless from
     the commencement, too much praise cannot be awarded to
     him for his courage and coolness. We are of opinion,
     even without that arm, that he would eventually have
     pulled through, had the fight been finished on the day.
     But it is useless speculating on possibilities or
     probabilities. On the question of nationality, the only
     point that has been decided, and the only point in our
     opinion requiring decision, is that both England and
     America possess brave sons, and each country had reason
     to be proud of the Champion she had selected. Both
     were, doubtless, anxious to have it settled; but for
     ourselves, were we asked, we should say each is so good
     that he is deserving a belt, and we would call on our
     countrymen to subscribe for such a trophy as a reward
     for Heenan’s enterprise and boldness in coming, as he
     has done, to face the British Champion on his own
     ground.

The writer of these lines, having been one of the less than half-dozen
sporting writers and reporters who remained among the driving crowd
which swayed hither and thither in the broken ring after the departure
of the referee, and as several of these, notably _The Times_ reporter,
wrote their published accounts from hearsay, feels himself freely
entitled to express his unbiassed opinion on the probable result of
the battle, and to describe “the occurrents of the fight,” in its last
struggles, from the avouchment of his own eyesight.

The fight, which began at twenty-four minutes past seven, was over at
a quarter to ten, lasting two hours and twenty minutes.

When the ring was broken in, in the thirty-seventh round, and the
referee shut out from view, Heenan, who was fast becoming blind,
hugged Sayers on the ropes. The ropes were lowered by Tom’s friends,
doubtless, but were not cut. Had the referee been there, he would
unquestionably have ordered the round to have been closed. Rule 28 of
the Ring Code was as follows, _before_ the Farnborough fight. It has
since been enlarged in its scope to prevent similar dangerous
practices more effectually:――“28. Where a man shall have his
antagonist across the ropes in such a position as to be helpless, and
to endanger his life by strangulation or apoplexy, it shall be in the
power of the referee to direct the seconds to take their man away, and
thus conclude the round; and that the man or his seconds refusing to
obey the direction of the referee shall be deemed the loser.” Of this
the Yankee scribes chose to be utterly oblivious, though the articles
specified the battle to be under the New Rules of the Ring――_i.e._,
those of 1853. The referee, however, so say the American party, sent
an order for the cessation of hostilities. This, though since
confirmed, was not believed by Sayers’ friends, who, seeing victory
within his grasp, thought it a mere _ruse_ to obtain a drawn battle.

Five rounds were thereafter fought, Heenan’s sight being so defective
that, in the fourth of these, the forty-first, Heenan rushed from his
corner while Sayers was on his second’s knee, and, letting fly at
Jemmy Welsh, knocked him nearly over, and kicked at Harry Brunton, if
he did not strike him, of which we are not certain. He then hugged
Sayers, and they both fell; Tom hitting up sharply in Heenan’s
battered frontispiece. A cry was raised that the referee had declared
the fight over, whereon Heenan rushed from the ring with great
activity, followed by his clamorous friends. We stayed, and found
Sayers strong, with his sight good, and in all respects but his
injured dexter arm――of little use since the fourth round――able, as he
said, “to fight an hour.”

Leaving Tom, we hurried to the carriages, the train standing on the
Farnborough embankment, where we saw Heenan, already blind as a bat,
lifted into his compartment. Arrived at the Bricklayers’ Arm Station,
we accompanied the gallant Champion to the hostelrie of his old
friend, Ned Elgee, “The Swan,” Old Kent Road. Here no sooner was the
hero seated, for he refused to go to bed, than he inquired after his
opponent. His friend and backer (Mr. John Gideon) suggested that the
heroes should meet and shake hands, and the writer of this hastened
across the road to invite the Benicia Boy and his friends to an
interview. He was in a close cab wrapped in blankets――blind,
unpresentable, and seemingly unconscious. Tom was soon cheerful, and
over a little tea regretted that the doctor’s veto prevented his
partaking of the champagne creaming around him to his health and
success, amid plaudits to his bravery.

Sayers was next morning at Norfolk Street, at the stakeholder and
referee’s office, and a photograph has fixed beyond dispute his
condition, which, save his right arm already spoken of, was nothing
beyond a tumefied mouth and a few bumps on his hard forehead. Heenan,
on the contrary, despite the absurd declarations of his American
letter-writer, was not in a condition to see or be seen. For fully
forty-eight hours he was in “darkness,” in bed in an upper-room at
Osborne’s Hotel in the Adelphi, and for more than that time in a
critical condition, as we know from unimpugnable proof. The friends of
Heenan pretended to base their great grievance on the fact that, as
the contest was not finished on the day, it ought to have been resumed
during the week. The answer to this is, first, that this was mere
bounce, as Heenan was in no condition to resume hostilities; secondly,
that in the condition of Sayers’s right arm he was entitled, by Ring
precedents (the fight having been once interrupted) to a reasonable
period to recover its use; thirdly, that it would have been contrary
to all dictates of humanity――and fairness, which includes humanity, is
a prized attribute of British boxing; fourthly, that public opinion
was opposed in the strongest manner to the two brave fellows who had
so heroically contended, and had been baulked of a result by no fault
or shortcoming of either, after such punishment as they had undergone,
renewing their interrupted struggle. For these and other cogent
reasons, it was proposed by the referee and stakeholder, and――after
the subsidence of the American mortification to a better state of
feeling――agreed to by both men, that two similar belts should be made,
one to be presented to each champion.

We shall not record the ceremonial of this presentation――which was
performed on the part of England by Frank Dowling, Esq., editor of
_Bell’s Life_, and on that of America by G. Wilkes, Esq., editor of
the _New York Spirit of the Times_――as the whole affair, speeches and
all, savour too strongly of the circus style of bunkum and bombast.
The modest paragraph in the _Times_ of May 30th, 1860, though written
as an _avant courrier_, is more to our taste:――

     “THE CHAMPIONSHIP BELTS.――America and England shake hands
     cordially to-day. What our greatest diplomatists and
     engineers have failed to achieve has been accomplished by
     the Benicia Boy and Tom Sayers, whose fame will descend to
     future generations, and whose posterity will each be enabled
     to show a _fac-simile_ of that much desired ‘belt,’ so
     boldly challenged, so manfully defended. The Atlantic cable
     has not linked the two nations together, but the good
     feeling which has been shown by the two gladiators, who on
     this day receive at the Alhambra their respective ‘belts,’
     will be responded to by the two nations on either side of
     the Atlantic. We have been favoured with a view of the old
     belt, ‘the belt’ still open to competition, and of the two
     other belts to be presented to the ‘two Champions of
     England,’ for such is the inscription upon the case of each.
     Both are precisely similar in every respect, and the
     somewhat clumsy workmanship, in frosted silver, carefully
     copied from the original, is by Mr. C. F. Hancock, of Bruton
     Street.”

How British admiration of true courage expressed itself in the
substantial form of a public subscription, and how Members of
Parliament, the Stock Exchange, Lloyd’s, and Mark Lane, clubbed their
gold pieces to enable the Champion to pass in peace and competence the
remainder of his days, guarded from the stings and sorrows of poverty,
have been told in the columns of the contemporary sporting press.

After Mace’s victories over Sam Hurst and Tom King, there was some
talk of Sayers coming out from his retirement and having a turn with
the Norwich man, but it ended in smoke. As Tom, from the universal
interest excited by his heroic display, was an object of interest to
the multitude, he received liberal offers from some Yankee circus
proprietors, and by the aid of the “rhino” thus earned became first a
shareholder, and then proprietor of Howes and Cushing’s Circus, under
the management of Jem Myers. The speculation, we suspect, carried Tom
out of his depth, and the horses, mules, carriages, &c., were sold off
some twelve months after their purchase. Tom’s free living degenerated
into excess during this loose and excited life of a travelling showman
and exhibitor; for poor Tom, in his simple faith, was by no means an
Artemus Ward, and no match for Yankee smartness. There is little doubt
that Tom at this time laid the seeds of the inflammatory disease which
shortened his days, and cut him off at the early age of thirty-nine.

The kind friends who uncompromisingly stipulated, when Tom’s capital
was invested, that he should “fight no more,” did not place any
restriction on his re-appearance in the roped arena. When King and
Heenan fought, on December 10, 1863, Sayers conformed to the etiquette
of his profession, and seconded “the American.” Heenan’s party
evidently believed that Tom’s _prestige_ would scatter dismay in the
ranks of King’s followers, and help to overwhelm the “jolly young
waterman” at the outset. Poor Sayers’ descent had, however, commenced,
and when he stepped into the ring, in Heenan’s corner, it was plain he
was there more for dramatic effect than anything else. Attired in a
fur cap, a yellow flannel jacket, and jack-boots, he was vociferously
applauded when he commenced his duties in attending to Heenan’s
toilette. Even then people said, “How are the mighty fallen,” for poor
Tom was no more equal to his onerous task than a child. During the
fight at Wadhurst he looked in strange bewilderment at King and
Heenan, and when the “Benicia Boy” required assistance, his second was
perfectly helpless. Still the gladiator quitted the scene in a
graceful and generous manner, in having stood esquire to the opponent
who was instrumental in bringing out that steel, courage, and pluck of
which the first of English pugilists was composed.

As it no doubt will prove interesting to all those who have admired
the wonderful pluck and endurance of the greatest gladiator of modern
times to know something of the progress of that insidious disease
which gradually but surely did its work, we append a few particulars.
Since the memorable battle of Farnborough――when Sayers appeared in the
ring the picture of health, and the result proved that his _physique_
could not have been improved upon――he now and again showed symptoms of
the hectic flush which is the precursor of an affection of the lungs.
This was brought on by the course of life he subsequently chose, or
rather by the force of circumstances under which he was placed. Unable
to fall back upon the pleasures of a cultivated mind from want of
education, Tom became the idol of his fellows; he cast off all those
restraints which had secured for him health and victory, and plunged
into excesses of living――late hours and dissipation. Nature’s laws are
not to be broken with impunity, and in the beginning of 1866 he fell
into a very low condition, and betrayed symptoms of consumption,
aggravated with diabetes, for which Mr. Adams, F.R.C.S., attended him
on February 20, at his sister’s, Mrs. King’s, 16, Claremont Square,
Pentonville. His robust and healthy frame exhibited a great change for
the worse, and the doctor then feared, from his having wasted away so
much, coughing frequently, and losing strength fast, that he was
sinking into a decline. He was ready to acknowledge his physical
weakness, but when told of the serious nature of the disease then
apprehended, he became as docile as a child, and obeyed the
injunctions of his medical adviser, who, we may remark in passing,
expressed to us the melancholy pleasure which he experienced whilst
Tom was under his care. However, the dreaded enemy was stalled-off by
careful watching and nursing, and he recovered sufficiently to take a
trip to Brighton about the middle of April. When there, he appeared
strong and robust, and like his former self. This, however, was not to
last long, for at the end of August he returned to his sister’s, in
Claremont Square, and in a consultation held there between Dr. Adams
and Mr. Brown, they came to the conclusion that actual and absolute
disease of the lungs had set in, and that he could not survive many
weeks. He took a fancy to go to his old friend’s, Mr. Mensley, High
Street, Camden Town, on October 16, and there he stayed until he died.
For the satisfaction of Dr. Adams himself, that gentleman called in
Dr. Gull to consult, but they both agreed that nothing more could be
done to save him. A reaction took place in his condition after being a
fortnight at Mr. Mensley’s; he seemed to get fresher and stronger, and
for a week remained in a doubtful state, giving hopes to his friends
that he would survive the illness. A relapse came on, and with it
unconsciousness, and for the last few days he had only a few intervals
of consciousness. Mr. Litten, assistant chaplain of St. Pancras,
attended by desire of Sayers, and administered the consolations of
religion. He passed away at six o’clock on Wednesday evening, November
7th, in the presence of his father, with his two children at hand. For
upwards of four-and-twenty hours before his death he was in a state of
semi-insensibility, and could only recognise his friends on being
aroused and appealed to. But the great change came with comparative
peace at last, and when nature compelled him to “throw up the sponge,”
he left the world, let us hope, without that pain which no man feared
less when he stood up in defence of his reputation as the Emperor of
British boxers. Many were the inquiries made for the health of poor
Tom, and it is satisfactory to know that he was visited by some who
had taken a part against him in the battle-field, and that he bid
them, each and all, a peaceful farewell.

The amount of money subscribed for Sayers by his personal admirers and
the public was £3,000, which sum was invested in the names of
trustees, Tom to receive the interest during his life, providing he
never fought again; and, in the event of his fighting again or dying,
the interest was to go to the children until of age, when it was to be
divided between them. Tom left only two children――young Tom, then at
boarding-school, and fourteen years old, and Sarah, in her seventeenth
year. Independent of the interest in this sum, Sayers left a
considerable amount of property in plate and other valuables. Some of
his backers have treasured up _souvenirs_ of him. Mr. John Gideon,
Tom’s earliest “guide, philosopher, and friend,” has the boots in
which Sayers fought Heenan, with the Farnborough grass and earth
attaching to the spikes, just as the great gladiator left them.

Those who remember the personal appearance of the departed Champion
will have his bronzed, square, and good-humoured, lion-like phiz in
their mind’s eye; those who did not see him in the flesh must imagine
a round, broad, but not particularly thick-set man, standing 5 feet 8½
inches in his stocking-feet, with finely turned hips, and small but
powerful and flat loins, remarkably round ribs and girth, and square
shoulders. His arms were of medium length, and so round as not to show
prominently the biceps, or even the outer muscles of the fore-arm, to
the extent often seen in men of far inferior powers of hitting and
general strength. Indeed, the bulk of Sayers was so compactly packed
that you did not realise his true size and weight at a cursory glance,
and it was this close and neat packing of his trunk――excuse the
pun――that doubtless was an important ingredient in many a “long day”
in which Tom’s lasting powers were the admiration of every spectator.
Tom’s head was certainly of the “bullet” shape, and it was supported
by a neck of the sort known as “bull,” conveying the idea of enduring
strength and determination to back it. We have no phrenological
examination of Tom’s “bumps” before us, but we doubt not those of
combativeness and amativeness were fully developed. Tom’s fighting
weight began at 10st. 6lb.; in his later battles it was 10st. 10lb. to
10st. 12lb. The photographs which figure in the print-shop windows do
not convey a fair idea of Tom’s good-tempered and often merry
expression: he seems to have been taken when filled with the
contemplation of the seriousness of the position of having one’s
“counterfeit presentment” multiplied and sent forth to the world. From
the hips downward Tom was not a “model man.” Though round in the calf,
his thighs were decidedly deficient in muscular development; yet no
man made better use of his pins in getting in and out again, as
witness his _up_-hill performances with the six-foot Slasher, and the
ponderous and more active Benicia Boy. It was to Tom’s excellent
judgment of time and distance that the severity of his hitting was
due, and to his mighty heart――a bigger never found place in man’s
bosom――that his triumphant finish of many a well-fought day is to be
attributed. No man ever fought more faithfully to his friends or
bravely with his foes in “the battle of life;” and therefore is the
tribute of a record of his deeds due to TOM SAYERS.

His remains were consigned to their parent earth, on Wednesday,
November 15th, 1866, at the Highgate Cemetery, attended by an immense
concourse of the sympathising and curious. A committee of friends, the
admirers of true British courage, raised a monument over the spot
where――

   “After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well.”

Of this monument we present a faithful delineation.

  [Illustration]

It would be an unpardonable omission were we to conclude the biography
of Tom Sayers without appending the remarkable poem, attributed to the
pen of William Makepeace Thackeray, which appeared in _Punch_, April
28th, 1860. We need hardly say that it is a paraphrase rather than a
parody of Lord Macaulay’s legend of “Horatius” in the “Lays of Ancient
Rome.”


   THE COMBAT OF SAYERIUS AND HEENANUS.

   A LAY OF ANCIENT LONDON.

   (Supposed to be recounted to his Great-grandchildren,
    April 17th, A.D. 1920, by an Ancient Gladiator.)

   Close round my chair, my children,
     And gather at my knee,
   The while your mother poureth
     The Old Tom in my tea;
   What while your father quaffeth
     His meagre Bordeaux wine――
  ’Twas not on such potations
     Were reared these thews o’ mine.
   Such drinks came in the very year――
     Methinks I mind it well――
   That the great fight of HEENANUS
     With SAYERIUS befell.[30]

   These knuckles then were iron,
     This biceps like a cord,
   This fist shot from the shoulder
     A bullock would have floored.
   CRAWLEIUS his Novice,
     They used to call me then
   In the Domus Savilliana[31]
     Among the sporting men.
   There, on benefit occasions,
     The gloves I oft put on,
   Walking round to show my muscle
     When the set-to was done;
   While ringing in the arena
     The showered denarii fell,
   That told CRAWLEIUS’ Novice
     Had used his mauleys well.

   ’Tis but some sixty years since
     The times of which I speak,
   And yet the words I’m using
     Will sound to you like Greek.
   What know ye, race of milksops,
     Untaught of the P.R.,
   What stopping, lunging, countering,
     Fibbing, or rallying are?
   What boots to use the _lingo_,
     When you have lost the _thing_?
   How paint to you the glories
     Of BELCHER, CRIBB, or SPRING――
   To _you_, whose sire turns up his eyes
     At mention of the Ring?

   Yet, in despite of all the jaw
     And gammon of this time,
   That brands the art of self-defence――
     Old England’s art――as crime,
   From off mine ancient memories
     The rust of time I’ll shake.
   Your youthful bloods to quicken
     And your British pluck to wake;
   I know it only slumbers,
     Let cant do what it will,
   The British bull-dog _will_ be
     The British bull-dog still.
   Then gather to your grandsire’s knee,
     The while his tale is told
   How SAYERIUS and HEENANUS
     Milled in those days of old.


   Y FYGHTE.

   The Beaks and Blues were watching
     Agog to atop the mill,
   As we gathered to the station
     In the April morning chill;
   By twos and threes, by fours and tens,
     To London Bridge we drew;
   For we had had “the office”
     That were good men and true;
   And saving such, the place of fight
     Was ne’er a man that knew.
   From East, from West, from North and South,
     The London Fancy poured,
   Down to the sporting cabman,
     Up to the sporting lord;
   From the “Horseshoe” in Tichbourne Street
     Sharp OWEN SWIFT was there;
   JEM BURN had left the “Rising Sun,”
     All in the Street of Air;
   LANGHAM had out the “Cambrian,”
     With tough old ALEC REID,
   And towering high above the crowd
     Shone BEN CAUNT’S fragrant weed;
   Not only fighting covies,
     But sporting swells besides――
   Dukes, Lords, M.P’s., and Guardsmen,
     With county Beaks for guides;
   And tongues that sway our Senators,
     And hands the pen that wield,
   Were cheering on the Champions
     Upon that morning’s field.

   And hark! the bell is ringing,
     The engine puffs amain,
   And through the dark towards Brighton
     On shrieks the tearing train;
   But turning off where Reigate
     Unites the clustering lines,
   By poultry-haunted Dorking
     A devious course it twines,
   By Wootton, Shier, and Guildford,
     Across the winding Wey,
   Till by heath-girded Farnborough
     Our doubling course we stay,
   Where Aldershot lay snoring
     All in the morning gray,
   Nor dreamed “the Camp” what combat
     Should be fought here to-day.

   The stakes are pitched, the ropes are rove,
     The men have ta’en their stand;
   HEENANUS wins the toss for place,
     And takes the eastward hand;
   CUSSICCIUS and MACDONALDUS[32]
     Upon “the BOY” attend;
   SAYERIUS owns BRUNTONIUS
     With JIM WELSHIUS for friend.[33]
   And each upon the other now
     A curious eye may throw,
   And from the seconds’ final rub
     In buff at length they show,
   And from their corners to the scratch
     Move stalwartly and slow.

   Then each his hand stretched forth to grasp
   His foeman’s fives in friendly clasp;
   Each felt his balance trim and true――
   Each up to square his mauleys threw――
   Each tried his best to draw his man――
   The feint, the dodge, the opening plan,
   Till right and left SAYERIUS tried――
   HEENANUS’ grin proclaimed him “wide;”
   Then shook his nut――a “lead” essayed,
   Nor reached SAYERIUS’ watchful head.

   At length each left is sudden flung,
     We heard the ponderous thud,
   And from each tongue the news was rung,
     SAYERIUS hath “first blood!”
   Adown HEENANUS’ Roman nose
   Freely the tell-tale claret flows,
   While stern SAYERIUS’ forehead shows
   That in the interchange of blows
     HEENANUS’ aim was good!
   Again each iron mauley swung,
   And loud the counter-hitting rung,
   Till breathless both, and wild with blows,
   Fiercely they grappled for a close;
   One moment in close hug they swing,
   Hither and thither round the ring,
   Then from HEENANUS’ clinch of brass,
   SAYERIUS, smiling, slips to grass!

  I trow mine ancient breath would fail
    To follow through the fight
  Each gallant round’s still changing tale,
    Each feat of left and right.
  How through two well-fought hours and more
    Through bruise, and blow, and blood,
  Like sturdy bull-dogs, as they were,
    Those well-matched heroes stood.
  How nine times in that desperate mill
    HEENANUS, in his strength,
  Knocked stout SAYERIUS off his pins,
    And laid him all at length;
  But how in each succeeding round
    SAYERIUS smiling came,
  With head as cool, and wind as sound,
  As his first moment on the ground,
    Still confident and game.
  How from HEENANUS’ sledge-like fist,
  Striving a smasher to resist,
  SAYERIUS’ stout right arm gave way,
  Yet the maimed hero still made play,
  And when “in-fighting” threatened ill,
  Was nimble in “out-fighting,” still――
    Still did his own maintain――
  In mourning put HEENANUS’ glims,
  Till blinded eyes and helpless limbs,
    The chances squared again.
  How blind HEENANUS, in despite
  Of bleeding face and waning sight,
  So gallantly kept up the fight,
    That not a man could say
  Which of the two ’twere wise to back,
  Or on which side some random crack
    Might not decide the day;
  And leave us――whoso won the prize――
  Victor and vanquished, in all eyes,
    An equal meed to pay.

  Two hours and more the fight had sped,
    Near unto ten it drew,
  But still opposed――one-armed to blind――
    They stood, those dauntless two.
  Ah, me! that I have lived to hear
    Such men as ruffians scorned,
  Such deeds of valour “brutal” called,
    Canted, preached-down, and mourned!
  Ah! that these old eyes ne’er again,
    A gallant mill shall see!
  No more behold the ropes and stakes,
    With colours flying free!

       *     *     *     *     *

  But I forget the combat――
    How shall I tell the close?
  That left the Champion’s belt in doubt
    Between those well-matched foes?
  Fain would I shroud the tale in night――
  The meddling Blues that thrust in sight――
    The ring-keepers o’erthrown;
  The broken ropes――th’ encumbered fight――
  HEENANUS’ sudden blinded flight――
  SAYERIUS pausing, as he might,
  Just when ten minutes, used aright
    Had made the day his own!

  Alas! e’en in those brighter days
    We still had Beaks and Blues――
  Still canting rogues, their mud to fling,
  On self-defence, and on the Ring,
    And fistic art abuse!
  And ’twas such varmint had the power
    The Champions’ fight to stay,
  And leave unsettled to this hour
    The honours of that day!
  But had those honours rested――
    Divided as was due,
  SAYERIUS and HEENANUS
    Had cut the Belt in two.

  And now my fists are feeble,
    And my blood is thin and cold,
  But ’tis better than Old Tom to me
    To recall those days of old.
  And may you, my great-grandchildren,
    That gather round my knee,
  Ne’er see worse men, nor iller times
    Than I and mine might be,
  Though England then had prize-fighters――
    Even reprobates like me.


     [29] There were numerous pictorial representations of the
     battle both in England and America; some of them amusingly
     imaginative. The large, coloured engraving, published by
     Newbold, and its smaller American piracy, are faithful as to
     the men and the field of action. The object in view in these
     pictures――that of giving recognisable portraits of most of
     the pugilistic, and many of the sporting, and a few of the
     literary notabilities of the day, of course destroys all
     truthfulness or reality of grouping, as in so many works
     professing to represent great battles, festivals, or public
     commemorations. Our frontispiece, from a contemporary
     sketch, is less pretentious, and therefore more realistic
     and truthful.

     [30] An allusion to “Gladstone claret;” cheap, thin French
     wines being admitted first at low duty in      1860.――ED.

     [31] Domus Savilliana――Saville House, on the north side of
     Leicester Square, where sparring exhibitions and bouts with
     the gloves were frequent in those days. See also
     PUGILISTICA, vol. i., page 19, for a notice of Saville
     House.――ED.

     [32] Cusick, Heenan’s trainer, and Jack Macdonald (still
     living, 1881).

     [33] Harry Brunton, now host of the “Nag’s Head,” at Wood
     Green. Jemmy Welsh, late of the “Griffin,” Boro’.――ED.




CHAPTER II.

JEM MACE, OF NORWICH (CHAMPION).

1855-1864.


None who have witnessed the public appearances of this accomplished
boxer will dispute that he was one of the cleverest, smartest, and
most skilful pugilists that have sported buff in the 24-foot. Indeed,
had Jem appeared at an earlier and better period than the latter days
of the failing and moribund P.R.; and (another _if_) had he chosen
honestly and manfully to exert his powers, the fame that accompanies
the championships of the two elder Jems――Jem Belcher and Jem
Ward――might have shone on the career of Jem Mace. As we have already
more than once said, such as the patrons of the Ring (or, indeed, of
the turf and any other sport) are, such will the character of its
professors or exponents be. If horse owners are mere mercenary
speculators, can we expect jockeys to go straight? When the patronage
of the P.R. had fallen from noblemen, gentlemen, and the admirers of
courage and fair-play into the hands of the keepers of night houses,
“hells,” and even resorts yet more detestable, whose sole object was
to fleece the dissipated and unwary by the sale of high-priced railway
passes for “special excursions,” and bring customers and victims to
their dens of debauchery and robbery, could it be expected that boxers
would remain honest and brave? The encouragement of bravery and skill
being as nothing to these debased speculators. This, we regret to say,
was the degradation into which the Ring had fallen, or was fast
falling, when Jem Mace first became known as a boxer, and to these
influences some of the “shady” incidents of his career are easily
traceable.

  [Illustration: JEM MACE, OF NORWICH (CHAMPION) 1855-1864.]

Jem, who was born at Beeston, near Swaffham, in Norfolk, made his
first appearance on the stage of life in May, 1831, and, like St.
Patrick, “came of dacent people.” His “forebears,” as transpired
incidentally in evidence at the Commission _de lunatico inquirendo_
known as “The great Windham scandal,” which was tried at Gray’s Inn,
in 1861, seem to have been tenants on the Windham estates for more
than a hundred years. We have mentioned this fact, as a general
impression prevailed, from Jem’s nomadic antecedents and propensities,
that he was a born Bohemian; indeed, we more than once read in
newspapers that he was of gipsy extraction. Of Jem’s youth we know
nothing, except that he “growed,” like Topsy, and we should say rather
wild; for when we first heard of him he was proprietor of a travelling
booth, wherein, at fairs, races, and public gatherings he not only
played the violin――on which he is a tolerable performer――and supplied
refreshments, but was acknowledged as a skilful professor of the art
of self-defence. Indeed, he had not long been in this line of business
before Jem Mace’s booth was the resort of numerous admirers of
glove-practice, and Jem himself was famed for his readiness and
success in polishing off any aspiring yokel who might desire to try a
bout with the mittens. As Jem’s youthful weight did not quite balance
ten stone he was of course often “overweighted,” though never
overmatched in these encounters, and as he was always ready “to
accommodate” without regard to size or avoirdupois, Jem’s early career
taught him how to deal with “big ones,” as his after-fights with Tom
King and the gigantic Sam Hurst bear witness.

Jem was not a precocious pugilist, having attained his twenty-fourth
year before engaging himself to strip with a local boxer, bearing the
formidable name of Slack, in October, 1855. Of this “illustrious
obscure” we need only say that _Fistiana_ has but one line chronicling
his defeat by one Jack Baston (fighting as Mace’s Novice) in
September, 1857, when Slack broke his arm. Mace’s fight with Slack,
which took place at Mildenhall, October 2, 1855, was a one-sided
affair, Jem snuffing out his adversary’s pretensions in nineteen
minutes, which included the 9th and last round, and leaving off
without a mark of punishment. From this time, for more than a year,
Jem pursued the even tenor of his way, increasing his fame as a fistic
practitioner and professor, when the rumour of his “gift” of hitting
reached the great metropolis, and with it came an announcement that
Mace would be happy, upon finding a suitable customer, to exhibit his
talents in the London Ring with any 10 stone practitioner, and give a
few pounds.

Bill Thorpe, a fine made and well-proportioned 10 stone man, standing
about 5 feet 9 inches in his stocking-feet, had crept into favour with
some “over-the-water” sporting circles by his defeat of a man named
Bromley, in the same ring in which Dan Collins (Sayers’s early
opponent) beat Patsy Daly, on September 28, 1856. Thorpe, being on the
look-out for a job, was considered a fit match for Jem Mace, and his
friends placing him in the hands of Dan Dismore, the articles were
drawn and signed to fight on the 17th February, 1857, for £50, neither
man to exceed 10 stone. This limitation of weight suggests a rather
curious reflection as to the remarkable manner in which some modern
pugilists may be said to have increased in weight by “leaps and
bounds.” Jemmy Massey, who fought at 8st. 10lbs., could not latterly
scale under 10 stone. Sayers increased from 9st. to 10st. 12lbs., yet
he was twenty-four years old when he fought Dan Collins; Harry Broome
in two years grew from 10st. to 12st.; he, however, began unusually
young, while Jem Mace, who was twenty-six when he first appeared in
the London ring, increased from 9st. 10lbs. to 11st. 4lbs. just as Tom
Sayers did. The affair came off, after a shift from the Kentish
marshes, on Canvey Island, and although the men were termed novices,
there was a better muster than usual of the patrons of the ring, owing
to the popularity of Dan Dismore and Keene, who severally backed the
men. The weather was genial and more like a May day than February, and
a pleasant voyage was followed by an easy debarkation, and well-kept
ring. Thorpe first threw in his hat, esquired by Jemmy Welsh and Tom
Sayers――the appearance of the latter bearing testimony to the
wonderful strength of his constitution, one week only having elapsed
since his renewed and tremendous battle with Aaron Jones! Mace was not
long in following Thorpe’s example, being accompanied by the
accomplished Bill Hayes and a Norwich amateur. At three o’clock, all
being in apple-pie order, the men and seconds crossed hands, and the
former were left face to face to begin


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――As Mace threw himself into attitude there was
     a general expression of admiration among the best
     qualified judges at the style of “the countryman,” and
     the easy grace with which he moved in and out, as if
     measuring his opponent, without the least hurry or
     nervousness. Thorpe, who, as we have already said, is a
     fine straight young fellow, stood with his right leg
     foremost _à la_ Bendigo, and by his steady coolness
     showed he too was a practitioner in the sparring
     school, and not easily to be got at. Mace, however,
     filled the eye as a longer and altogether bigger man,
     though there was but three pounds difference in their
     weight. Thorpe, as his opponent tried to draw him,
     declined the temptation and retreated, closely and
     warily followed by Mace, who, at length seeing an
     opening, instantly planted a right-hander on Thorpe’s
     nob with a swiftness that completely astonished the
     Londoners. Thorpe did not shrink, but tried to
     cross-counter Mace’s left, when dash went in Jem’s
     mauley such a spank on Thorpe’s proboscis, that the
     Londoner was hit clean off his legs, a fair and
     indisputable “knockdown,” thus scoring the first event.
     On being carried to his corner, Thorpe was seen to be
     distilling the crimson from his olfactory organ, and
     “first blood” was also awarded to the member for
     Norwich. Thus early the odds were offered on Mace, but
     no response was made even to an offer of 6 to 4,
     followed by 2 to 1 from a Norwich speculator.

     2.――Mace lost no time in getting to work; he lashed out
     his left before he was well within distance. Thorpe
     retreated, but Mace did not get near enough for a prop,
     and Thorpe appeared to be confused at the manner in
     which his antagonist had planted on him in the opening
     bout, and was by no means desirous to have a second
     dose. In his tactics, however, he did not display
     science, for he neither hit with precision nor
     judgment. In his former battle with a 12st. opponent
     Thorpe fought with steady resolution, but the quickness
     and cleverness of Mace seemed to unnerve and puzzle
     him, and he hurriedly missed both hands, while after a
     little manœuvring, Mace let fly left and right in rapid
     succession on the head, and then got cleverly away.
     Thorpe, after following his man up, dashed out wildly
     with the right, and just missed getting home a stinger.
     Mace, in returning the compliment, again delivered a
     rattling spank on the nose, when Thorpe went down.

     3.――Thorpe, acting under the instruction of his
     seconds, led off, but was neatly stopped. Determined
     not to be denied――Jemmy Welsh seeing that out-fighting
     would never do, urged his man to go in, and go in he
     did in an impetuous manner, just reaching Master Jem on
     the top part of the cranium. In the counter-hitting,
     Mace had all the best of it, and after a scrambling
     kind of rally, they closed at the ropes, when both went
     down, Mace rolling over his opponent.

     4.――The countryman administered a pretty one-two on the
     front of his opponent’s nob, who did not appear to have
     the least idea of how to stop these telling
     visitations. In returning the compliment, Thorpe hit
     out wildly, and succeeded in getting slightly on Jem’s
     brain canister. This brought the combatants to a close,
     when Mace threw his man and fell on him; the London
     division looked blue at this proof of superiority at
     close quarters, and the “Norwich novice” was pronounced
     a “stunner,” by more than one good judge.

     5.――The Londoner led with the left and right, but
     without precision. Mace, in the countering, planted the
     left on the cheek, and in a bustling rally fought his
     man to the ropes, when Thorpe succeeded in getting home
     a heavy spank with the right on the top of the
     knowledge-box, and Mace slipped and went down.

     6.――Bill, in opening the ball, tried the right, but
     again missed. The London party vociferously encouraged
     their man, declaring the countryman was “half-licked.”
     Mace retreated as his antagonist came dashing in; but
     Thorpe was not to be denied, though, in the exchanges
     that ensued, he had all the worst of it, for Mace
     delivered the left and right full on the _os frontis_,
     when Thorpe went down in the middle of the ring,
     bleeding profusely.

     7.――On coming up, Thorpe displayed considerable marks
     of punishment, having a cut over the left peeper, and
     one under the right, a proof that his antagonist was a
     hard hitter, as well as a quick and rapid fighter. Bill
     again tried to take the lead, and to put in a hot ’un
     on the nob with the right, but the intended compliment
     was not within the mark. Mace, as Thorpe dashed to him
     for in-fighting, sent both mauleys full in the middle
     of the Londoner’s dial, but, in stepping back, slipped,
     and partly went down on his knees. On the instant,
     however, he recovered his equilibrium, and, after some
     spirited exchanges, in favour of the countryman, they
     closed, when Thorpe went down against his will.

     8.――Thorpe was unsteady on coming up; Mace had no
     sooner been met by his antagonist than he delivered the
     left with telling force right on the mark, following it
     up with a one-two on the nob, and then, to avoid his
     opponent’s rush, being near the ropes, went down
     cunning.

     9.――The supposed success of Thorpe in fighting down his
     man in the last round led to encouraging cheers from
     his partisans, who declared the countryman was “cutting
     it.” Thorpe, after leading off with little or no
     effect, closed, and got home a heavy thwack on the side
     of the head with the right, when, after a little
     fibbing, Mace broke ground, and went down.

     10.――Mace came from his corner with a smiling
     countenance. Thorpe had all the will to be dangerous,
     but lacked the judgment, for, in commencing the attack,
     he was again out of distance. Mace, when he had worked
     his way well to his man, administered the left and
     right once more on Master Bill’s damaged pimple, and
     then, as Thorpe rushed in for the close, went down
     easy.

     11.――After two or three ineffectual attempts, Bill went
     in resolutely and got home with both mauleys on the
     side of the nob; Mace, after returning the compliment,
     with a slight addition by way of interest, closed with
     his opponent, and both went to grass, Thorpe under.

     12.――Thorpe with the left got home slightly on the
     head, but in trying to improve upon this he was well
     stopped. In a wild rally the Londoner fought his man to
     the ropes, when the countryman with both the left and
     right gave him an additional dose of punishment on the
     nob, drawing another supply of claret. After these
     exchanges the men closed and fell.

     13.――Thorpe, after leading off, napped a stinger on the
     side of the nob, when he immediately closed with his
     opponent. Some half-arm fighting ensued, all in favour
     of Mace, and both were down.

     14.――Bill, in a wild impetuous manner, went dashing in
     at his man, but in the counters did little or no
     execution. Mace, after steadily planting both mauleys
     on the head, retreated, and in breaking ground slipped
     and fell.

     15.――The Londoner made an attempt with the right, but
     was well stopped. As Mace broke ground, Thorpe followed
     him up with much gameness and resolution, and in the
     exchanges delivered a tidy spank with the left on the
     side of the head, when Mace went down to avoid the
     close, with more prudence than pluck.

     16.――Mace, who had been allowing his opponent to do all
     the work, now saw he had him in hand; with great
     quickness and precision he let fly with both hands at
     the head, and repeated the dose without a return.
     Thorpe rushed at his man for the close, when Mace went
     down laughing.

     17.――Thorpe met his antagonist with much resolution,
     and with the right planted a stinger on the side of the
     head. Mace, in retreating, slipped and went down, but
     on the instant he was again on his pins, and renewed
     the battle. In the counter-hitting he got home with
     telling effect, and in retreating from his man he again
     slipped and went on his knees, but instantly jumped up
     and faced his opponent. Bill, though, as usual,
     receiving all the punishment, stood his ground
     manfully, until they closed, when, after some little
     fibbing, Mace went down.

     18 and last.――Mace in this bout gave his antagonist the
     _coup de grace_ in the most off-hand and masterly
     manner. Thorpe came up desperate, and Jem, after
     stopping the opening shots of his opponent, delivered
     his left and right with stinging force on the middle of
     Master Bill’s nob, the last hit with his right being
     full on his nasal prominence. This immediately sent
     Thorpe to grass, and when “time” was called, it was
     found that he was in no condition to renew the contest.
     Hereupon Jemmy Welsh throw the sponge up in token of
     defeat, the battle having lasted twenty-seven minutes.

     REMARKS.――There was but one opinion among the
     _cognoscenti_ as to the winner――namely, that he was one
     of the best boxers that we have seen for many a day. He
     is a quick and rapid fighter, and hits with judgment,
     precision, and remarkable force, as the condition of
     poor Thorpe’s head strikingly manifested. The Londoners
     knew by repute that he was considered to be a good
     general; but we are confident that they never for a
     moment imagined that he was anything like the man he
     turned out. As will be seen by our description of the
     rounds, he fights remarkably well, and when in danger
     has the ability to get out of it in clever style. From
     first to last he had the battle entirely in his own
     hands, Thorpe never having the remotest chance of
     winning, for he was out-fought and out-manœuvred in
     every round. Mace at the weight is a strong-made,
     powerful man, and if his pluck and bottom are in any
     way equal to his other qualifications, we can only say
     that it will require an opponent of first-rate ability
     to beat him. This tournament, however, is by no means a
     fair criterion of those qualities, for he had the
     fortune and skill to get in no way punished, absolutely
     winning the contest without so much as a black eye.
     Thorpe, the unfortunate loser, is, there can be no
     doubt, a very game man, but he will never be able to
     obtain a front position in the P.R. It must, however,
     be borne in mind that, as a game and determined fellow,
     he did his best, and it is to be hoped that he will not
     be forgotten either by his friends or by the winners.
     All being over, the company returned to the metropolis,
     which was reached before seven o’clock in the evening.

The money was given to Mace, at Mr. G. Smith’s, King Street, Norwich,
on the following Thursday, when several matches were talked of, but
nothing came of them. After a sparring tour, we find our hero in
London, making Nat Langham’s his headquarters, and offering to do
battle either with Mike Madden or Bob Brettle, of Birmingham, at 10st.
3lbs., for £100 a side. He was also “nibbled at” by Job Cobley
(nicknamed by Baron Nicholson “the Elastic Potboy”) whose victories
over Webb, Bob Travers (the black), and George Crockett, had brought
him into the front rank of middle-weights; Cobley’s engagement with
Mace going off, owing to the former being matched against Bob Brettle.
Some pourparlers with Jack Grant also ended in talk, until, early in
the month of September, Mace having left a deposit in the hands of the
Editor of _Bell’s Life_, Mike Madden covered the same, and articles
were signed for a fight for £50, to come off in the Home Circuit, on
the 20th of October, 1857.

Mace was now in business as a publican, keeping the Swan Inn, Swan
Lane, Norwich; and at the final deposit at Nat Langham’s on the
previous Thursday we heard an ominous whisper to the effect that there
would be “no fight;” while, _per contra_, we were assured by both
parties that each meant fighting and nothing else. On the Friday Mr.
Lockwood, of Drury Lane, on the part of Madden, and Langham, on the
part of Mace, attended at the Editor’s Office, and were there
informed, as that gentleman could not be present, he should exercise
the power vested in the stakeholder by the articles of naming the
referee, and further that he should appoint Dan Dismore to that
office, to which neither of the parties made the slightest objection.
On the Monday the men went to scale at Mr. Lockwood’s, and here there
were loud complaints on the part of Mace’s friends about Madden’s
style of weighing, they stating him to be overweight, also that he
jumped off the scale before the balance was fairly ascertained, and,
putting on his clothes, refused to return. On the other hand Madden
and Co. averred that Mace never meant fighting, that after the
weighing he went out of the house in his shirt sleeves, and did all in
his power to attract the attention of the police; and that in the
evening he went to Gravesend, where he ostentatiously paraded himself,
and even proclaimed the whereabouts of the coming mill.

On the Tuesday morning, on reaching the ground, we found an excellent
ring, which was quickly surrounded by a large number of Corinthians
and other Ring patrons, prepared to witness what many expected――a real
good battle. To their disappointment and surprise, however, when all
other preliminaries were arranged, Mace and his friends stepped
forward, and formally objected to Dan Dismore as referee, on the
ground that he had money on the fight. Dan instantly replied that he
had not a shilling on the result, and that he should not have been
present had he not received the letter appointing him referee. Mace’s
party persisted in their objection, and various propositions were
made, among others one by Mike Madden himself, who said he was willing
to fight with two umpires and without any referee; but to this Mace
objected, as “contrary to the articles.” Several gentlemen were
proposed for the onerous and thankless office, who either declined or
were objected to; so at last what was to have been the second fight
(between Clamp and Gibbs) was got off amidst disgraceful confusion,
Clamp proving himself the best man in one hour and thirty minutes.
Both Madden and Mace remained in or at the side of the ring while the
men were fighting, and after some more discussion of the vexed
question of a referee, all returned to London. On the Wednesday, after
a patient hearing of both sides, the stakeholder declared that Mace
having refused to go to the scratch, when called upon by the
duly-appointed referee, had thereby deliberately violated the articles
and forfeited the stake, £100, which in due course was handed over to
Madden. An unusual amount of irrelevant correspondence, statements as
to shares of stake-money, training expenses, unpaid bets, promises and
defalcations, from Mace, Madden, and Messrs. Lockwood, Hayes, Dismore,
Keene, &c., followed. Finally, after six months’ quibbling, a new
match was agreed on, and the 10th of March, 1858, named as the day of
battle.

Well do we remember the early muster on that spring morning at the
Eastern Counties Railway terminus at Shoreditch. There was “old Mike,”
whose deafness, solidity, and stolid look had already earned him the
prefix of “old,” though he numbered but thirty summers; he was
buttoned up to the chin, in an old-fashioned drab box-coat, with a
deep-red neckerchief, and a sealskin cap, the ears of which completely
covered his ears and cheeks. He was anxiously inquiring of the group
around for his “friend the enemy,” as the time for starting was near.
We entered the station. Could it be true? We had the word of the
traffic station-master for it. After a brief conversation on the
platform, in which some “d――d kind friend” inopportunely alluded to
the lamentable result of “ould Mike’s” last battle――that with Jack
Jones, of Portsmouth――Jem, with a nod of the head and a cheerful
expression, left his friends, and seating himself in an Ipswich
carriage just about to steam out of the station, coolly waved a
“good-bye” to the astonished group! Another account states, that after
Madden and Co. had gone down by the appointed train, Mace was found in
a neighbouring coffee-house, whither he had taken refuge from an
impending arrest by the police! It is not of much consequence which is
the correct version, as the claim of Madden to forfeit from the
absence of his opponent was made and fully admitted.

That the pugilistic qualifications and cleverness of Mace were still
believed in by some of the best judges of boxing is shown by the fact
that “George Brown’s novice,” as Jem was now called, was thought good
enough to back against Bob Brettle of Birmingham, whose conquests of
Roger Coyne, Sam Simmonds, and Bob Travers were then fresh in the
memory of Ring-goers. George Brown, Billy Richardson, and Jack
Macdonald were sponsors, and these knowing ones declared that the 21st
September, 1858, would show “the coming champion.” Nevertheless,
serious misgivings haunted the public mind, not only when the last
deposit of the £200 stakes was “tabled,” but even on the short railway
journey which preceded the voyage per steamer to Shell Haven, odds
being taken that there would be “no fight that day.” Great, therefore,
was the satisfaction when it was found that Mace was on board the
boat, not only well but cheerful, and apparently confident. After a
pleasant run down the river, a fitting spot was selected on the banks
of the Medway, where Tom Oliver and his assistants pitched an
excellent ring on a lovely piece of greensward.

The Champion of the Midlands was first to cast his beaver into the
ropes, amidst hearty cheering, Alec. Keene and Jem Hodgkiss attending
as his esquires. Mace soon after showed, advised by Jack Macdonald and
Jemmy Massey. It wanted ten minutes to twelve when the men shook
hands, the seconds retired to their corners, and the men threw
themselves into position for


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――There was very little time lost in
     manœuvring, both men surprising their friends by an
     almost nervous eagerness to get at it. Mace at once
     made play, and let go both hands in the style that had
     so disconcerted Thorpe; Brettle, however, making a good
     stop or two, and returning wildly, getting two or three
     severe cracks, one on the ear so specially heavy that
     the blood appeared from his auricular organ, and the
     first event was scored to Mace. After a short rally
     Brettle closed; Mace hit up sharply, but Bob got the
     crook and fell over him. The friends of Mace thought
     their man meant fighting, and the odds which had been
     offered――5 and 6 to 4 on Brettle――subsided to evens.

     2.――The men threw themselves into good form; Brettle
     tried to lead off with the left, but was stopped
     neatly, and after another offer and a shift, Jem landed
     his right smartly on Brettle’s left ear. Again there
     was a stop or two, and Mace got home slightly; Brettle
     retreated, and measuring his man as he came in, let go
     his right on the left side of Mace’s head, on the
     temple; down went the Norwich man, and the round was
     over. Alec Keene claimed “first knock-down” for
     Brettle, and the referee awarded it. Mace was picked up
     by his attentive seconds, when a strange commotion was
     seen in his corner; he glared round for a few seconds,
     then suddenly swooned in Jack Macdonald’s arms. Mac and
     Massey shook him, and the latter bringing a stool into
     the ring, tried to seat him thereon. In vain: his legs
     fell about like Mr. Punch’s, or the nether limbs of a
     _fantocchino_, and his toes determinedly found their
     way under the ropes. The syncope was so determined that
     the Brums began to roar and jeer, and the Eastenders to
     swear; when the enraged Mac administered such a
     vice-like pinch to his man’s ear, that he roared
     lustily, but the next moment was as insensible as ever
     to all outward things. “Time” was now called, and
     “Time!” was repeated by the referee. Jem was set up in
     a perpendicular position, but those recalcitrant legs
     sent up their heels, and Jem would have assumed a
     devotional attitude, but that the “stunted
     lifeguardsman” held him up by main strength, while his
     head fell sideways on Macdonald’s shoulder. “Time!” the
     eight seconds’ “grace” were counted. “There are none so
     deaf as those that won’t hear,” was once more verified,
     and Bob Brettle was declared the conqueror, the actual
     fight having lasted _three minutes_. On the boat it was
     observed that Brettle’s last hit had raised a very blue
     mouse on Jem’s cheek-bone, but that it had knocked him
     out of time――_credat Judæus Apella_――indeed we are sure
     no Sheeny from Houndsditch would believe it.

The elation of Brettle’s friends at this victory led them into a
mistake. They matched their man against Tom Sayers, and on September
20th, 1859, in a short quarter of an hour, seven rounds disposed of
the Brum’s pretensions, as may be fully read in our last chapter.

Mace’s next match remains a yet-unexplained riddle. He was backed on
this occasion by Bob Brettle――the man who had defeated him with such
apparent ease――against one of his own townsmen, Posh Price, at 10st.
10lbs., for £50 a side. Price was a boxer of proved game and no mean
capabilities. The deposits were posted by Brettle in the name and on
the behalf of a man called in the articles “Brettle’s Novice,” and it
was not until the last deposit that it was declared that Jem Mace was
the “Novice” thus described.

On the 25th of January, 1859, after the gallant battle between Dan
Thomas (the Welshman) and Charles Lynch (the American), in which the
former was victorious, a special train having conveyed the spectators
and combatants from London Bridge to Aldershot Common, the ring was
cleared and re-formed by Fred Oliver and his assistants. No sooner,
however, had the ropes been tightened, and the stakes driven firm,
than, to the chagrin of the expectant assemblage, a detachment of the
rural constabulary made their appearance, and a move into the adjacent
county of Surrey became imperative. The transit was quickly and safely
effected, and no sooner was the ring adjusted, than “Brettle’s
Novice,” attended by his backers, tossed his cap into the ropes in
token of defiance, and stood revealed to all as Jem Mace of Norwich.
His condition and bearing not even the most prejudiced could find
fault with. The men went to scale on the previous day at George
Brown’s, “The Bell,” Red Lion Market, both being well within the 10st.
10lbs. Posh Price, who was born in 1832, and won his first victory in
the Ring at eighteen years of age, was as yet unbeaten. He had
successively defeated Mush, Boucher, Leighton, Benson, Holland, Liddy,
and lastly the once renowned Ben Terry, who fought a draw with Harry
Broome. In all these battles he had borne himself bravely, and showed
no mean amount of skill. It was not, therefore, to be wondered at that
Price was favourite in the betting at 5 and 6 to 4. The Birmingham man
was seconded by Sam Simmonds and Joe Wareham, while Mace had behind
him Jem Hodgkiss and Brettle. Price, whose age was twenty-seven――Mace
being one year older――was all his friends could desire in point of
condition, and his hardy, good-natured mug wore a smile of confidence
in the result of


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――On the retirement of their seconds the
     belligerents at once threw themselves into attitude,
     the superior freedom of Mace’s style being quite
     evident to the initiated. He played round his man,
     watching him keenly; Price looking somewhat puzzled how
     to begin. Presently Posh broke ground, and retreated,
     keeping a good guard; Mace followed his man closely,
     and, getting well within distance, popped in his left
     on Price’s mazzard, but was countered by Price’s left
     on the forehead. Mace stuck to his work, and caught
     Price right and left in the head. Posh fought
     determinedly in the exchanges, but Mace drove him back,
     planting the left on Price’s right eye with such
     severity that the ruby streamed down his cheek. (First
     blood for Mace.) After a break and a little wincing
     they again got within striking distance, when some
     heavy exchanges ended in Price being on the grass.

     2.――The men went at once to work, and some slashing
     exchanges followed, in which Mace, partly from a hit,
     and partly from a slip, was down. In an instant he was
     on his feet again, and as the Brum, somewhat surprised,
     retreated before him, followed him close. Near the
     ropes Posh made a stand, and hit out with both hands.
     After some fine two-handed fighting in favour of Mace,
     Price was on the ground, Mace walking smilingly to his
     corner.

     3.――Mace forced the fighting. He led off with
     astonishing rapidity, doing terrible damage to the
     Brum’s dial and cranium. Posh stood to his guns like a
     man, but Mace’s metal was too heavy for him.
     Nevertheless, in the exchanges, Price got in a hot ’un
     on Mace’s jaw, and another on his neck, that made
     Master Jem look serious, and although the odds had
     changed, the Brums took heart from the general opinion
     of Mace’s deficiency of game. In the close both were
     down at the ropes.

     4.――Mace led off rather short, and as he got nearer
     Price planted his left in the middle of his opponent’s
     nob. (Tremendous cheering from the Brums). Mace drew
     himself together, and fighting rapidly, got heavily on
     Posh’s eye and mouth. The gallant Brum paused a moment,
     then dashed in, and after a magnificent rally, in which
     Mace astonished the spectators by the straightness and
     rapidity of his hitting, Price went down against his
     will.

     5.――Jem lunged out his left, delivering an enlivener on
     his adversary’s brain pan, and getting cleverly away
     from the Brum’s returns. After a little sparring, Mace
     got again within distance, and in some clipping
     left-handed exchanges got with tell-tale force on the
     Brum’s dial. Posh, scorning to retreat, stood his
     ground, and fought up. In the fall both were down,
     Price undermost.

     6.――Mace opened the ball with a shot from the left,
     when the Brum retreated. Jem followed, and again got in
     the left with telling effect. They closed at the ropes,
     when Posh, who was catching pepper, got down.

     7.――Heavy counters, each doing execution on the head.
     As Price retreated, Mace followed, and as the Brum
     turned on nearing the ropes, Mace caught him a terrific
     right-hander on the head, just behind the ear, opening
     a cut from which the carmine ran copiously; Posh, who
     appeared dazed by the effect of this rasper, went down
     on his knees in the middle of the ring.

     8.――Price came up slowly but steadily; in an instant
     Mace dashed in with electric rapidity, right and left,
     in his opponent’s damaged frontispiece; Price was,
     however, by no means idle, and stuck to Mace in the
     counter-hitting. In a rally Posh was down.

     9.――Mace came with alacrity from his corner; he was
     almost unmarked, while poor Posh’s countenance was out
     of shape in every feature. Still he kept his form――such
     as it was――and tried to stop his man, too often
     ineffectually. Mace drove him to the ropes, and would
     have screwed him up for fibbing, but Posh slipped down
     through his hands.

     10.――Posh made a desperate attempt to lead off, but
     Mace stopped him artistically, and caught him a smasher
     on the proboscis for his temerity; Posh in turn
     retreated, when Mace followed him. Price, to avoid a
     heavy right-hander, ducked his head, and in doing so
     caught his foot in the grass and fell.

     11th and last.――The combatants came up readily. The
     Brum seemed determined upon a last effort to stem the
     tide, and the Norwich man at once accepted the attack.
     The exchanges were effective and sharp, and while the
     men were thus fighting, Mace hit his man a terrific
     blow on the left arm, which caused Price to drop his
     hand, and stagger to his corner. A swelling on the fore
     arm was instantly visible, and it was stated that the
     small bone of the limb was fractured. Sam Simmonds
     stepped forward and declared that his man was disabled,
     and he would not permit the game fellow (who had risen
     to his feet to renew the contest) to fight any longer.
     The sponge was accordingly thrown up, and Mace hailed
     the winner, the battle having lasted exactly 17
     minutes.

     REMARKS.――We do not remember to have seen such severe
     and cutting punishment administered in so short a time
     in any battle of modern times. Mace, in this contest,
     not only justified the high opinion of his scientific
     quality which we always entertained, but displayed a
     steady resolution for which none had given him credit.
     True, he was never in danger of losing the fight, and
     as round succeeded round his superiority became more
     manifest. He fought throughout with wonderful
     quickness; and that his hitting was as hard as it was
     precise poor Posh’s battered mug and bruised carcase
     fully testified. Of the gallant Brum, we can only say
     he was out-classed, out-generalled, stopped, foiled,
     and punished at all points; and, as he did all that
     became a man, he deserves the respect of all who admire
     pluck and resolution; and it should not be forgotten
     that at last his defeat was due to an unfortunate and
     disabling accident, not to a surrender. The £100 was
     given over to Mace on the Tuesday following, at Bob
     Brettle’s “White Lion,” Digbeth.

Mace was now a publican, hanging out his sign at the Swan Inn, Swan
Lane, Norwich, and exhibiting his talents almost nightly at the
“Baronial Hall,” West End, Norwich. In the early months of 1859 we
read, “Jem Mace, wishing to try his hand once again in the London
P.R., will fight any man at 10st. 7lbs., in four months from the first
deposit, for £100.” This was answered by Job Cobley; but for a time
the friends of the “Elastic Potboy” hung back, and George Crockett
offered himself at 10st. This weight was simply preposterous as a
limit for Mace. Dan Collins, too, Sayers’s first opponent, proposed;
but, doubtless fortunately for himself and friends, the match went off
upon a question of amount of stakes.

At length in November, 1859, Bob Travers (then known as “Langham’s
Black”) responded to Mace’s cartel, and articles were drawn to fight
on the 21st of February, 1860, for £100 a side.

The character and antecedents of Travers left no doubt in the minds of
the patrons of pugilism that Massa Bob would fully test the stuff of
which Jem Mace was really composed. With the exception of a solitary
defeat by Job Cobley, Travers’s reputation had been well won. In his
first battle, October 29th, 1855, he beat Geo. Baker, in two rings
(after an adjournment from October 19th) in twenty-three minutes, for
£25 a side, at Tilbury. In February, 1856, he conquered Jesse Hatton,
at Combe Bottom, in 76 minutes, during which 39 hard rounds were
fought. George Crockett succumbed to his arm at Egham, in 37 rounds,
occupying 114 minutes, on May 13 in the same year, in which also (he
was fighting too often) he suffered his first defeat by Job Cobley,
after a tremendous battle of 3 hours and 27 minutes, in which 110
rounds were fought. In January, 1857, he beat Cleghorn for £100 a
side, on the Medway, in 36 rounds, 87 minutes, and in May 13th of the
same year defeated the accomplished Bill Hayes, in 3¾ hours (!), the
stakes being £100 a side. Beaten by Bob Brettle (Travers fell without
a blow), January 27, 1858, he received a forfeit of £90 from Johnny
Walker, who did not show, on the 25th May, 1858; and in April, 1859,
beat the game and unflinching Mike Madden in 45 rounds, 97 minutes, at
Ashford, Kent; and this brings us to his present engagement.

With such a deed-roll Travers’s chance was booked as a certainty by
the circle at the “Cambrian,” where Massa Ebony was a “bright,
particular star,” especially as many persisted in asserting the
visible “white feather” in Mace’s plumage.

The men injudiciously delayed their departure from town until nine
o’clock, and after a long journey by rail much time was lost before
the excursionists got on board the “City of Rochester” steamer. John
Heenan, the Benicia Boy, was among the voyagers, attended by Jack
Macdonald, and was, as may be imagined, “the observed of all
observers.” After a long water trip a debarkation was attempted in
Essex, on an oft-visited spot, and there the ring was pitched, and all
in readiness, when the police came in sight, and all were compelled to
go on board again. After another steam trip of five miles a landing
was effected in Kent. Travers, who won the toss for choice of corners,
had for seconds Jerry Noon, and, to the mystification of many, Jem’s
whilom patron Bob Brettle, with whom a feud had arisen. Bos Tyler and
Jack Hicks attended upon Mace. Travers at the opening was an immense
favourite, 2 to 1 being offered on him. It was five minutes to five
o’clock when the men’s toilettes were completed and they stood up for


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――As they faced each other there could be no
     doubt that the condition of the combatants was
     faultless. Travers’s skin shone with an unmistakable
     lustre, resembling a dark piece of fine old Spanish
     mahogany. His massive and deep chest and broad lines
     displayed a grand development of muscularity, denoting
     the possession of exceptional strength. The only
     circumstance that detracted from his general appearance
     was his legs, and the looseness with which, like most
     niggers, he was put together. He looked all over smiles
     and grins, and as if perfectly confident he must be the
     winner. Mace, possessing the superiority in height and
     reach, with his keen eye, symmetrical frame, and
     graceful freedom of attitude, looked from head to foot
     an athlete to whom, if the heart were there, anything
     might be possible. His friends declared that he had
     “screwed his courage to the sticking place, and could
     not fail,” and the event proved their trust to be well
     grounded. Travers, after a little manœuvring round the
     ring, tried to lead off with the left, but was short.
     Mace was awake, and as Bob jumped back, Mace followed
     him, and Bob again hitting out, Mace nailed him with
     the left on the cheek, and then with the right on the
     left peeper. In the close, after a smart dose of
     fibbing, they struggled for the fall, when Mace threw
     Bob, but not cleverly. There was an attempt to claim
     first blood for Mace, but it was not admitted.

     2.――The ice being fairly broken, the men were no sooner
     up than at it. Bob again led off, out of distance, with
     the left, then retreated with rapidity; Mace followed
     him up, and some sharp exchanges followed; the Black
     getting home on Jem’s mouth, while Mace was home with
     both hands on the Woolly-one’s nob. In shifting
     position, Travers got with his back on the ropes and
     rolled down.

     3.――Both men came eagerly from their corners, and at
     once sparred for an opening. The Black, who was as
     lively as a young kangaroo, hopped about the ring; Mace
     kept to him, so at last, after hitting out without
     effect, Travers got down. (Disapprobation.)

     4.――The combatants came up smiling. As yet there had
     been little harm done Travers, as usual, opened the
     ball, planting the right on the body; in return, Mace
     timed his man with fine precision, landing both left
     and right effectively, the latter on the point of the
     chin, when the Black went down on his hands and knees.

     5.――After manœuvring and breaking ground, the men got
     to the ropes in Travers’s corner; the Black, after
     slight exchanges, getting down cunning. (There was an
     appeal of “foul,” which the referee disallowed, saying
     “Go on.”)

     6.――As the Darkey, in somewhat ungainly fashion, was
     dancing about the ring, Mace went to him, and at the
     ropes planted both mauleys on the head with rattling
     precision. In the close Travers had his back on the
     ropes, when Mace tried to put on the hug; Travers got
     down.

There was here a general cry of “Police!” and a posse of these
unwelcome intruders came to the ropes, when Bob, in his anxiety to
“make tracks,” nearly ran into the arms of the Philistines. Jerry Noon
had also a narrow squeak for it, and had he not jumped into the river
and swum to a boat, he would certainly have been nailed, as the Bobby
who had singled him out did not give up the chase until up to his
middle in water. The escape so pleased several of the lookers-on who
had reached the steamer in boats safely, that a subscription was made
to “dry Jerry’s clothes,” and liberally presented to him when on
board. The battle thus interrupted had lasted 21 minutes, and as
darkness would soon come on, the steamer’s prow was directed
homewards, and the referee ordered a meeting for the next day.

At an early hour on Wednesday morning, the men and their backers were
on board, and at a few minutes after nine Fred Oliver announced all to
be in readiness. Mace was first to throw his castor in the ring, which
action was immediately followed by Travers, who entered with the same
grin of nonchalance as on the preceding day. Mace had scarcely a
visible mark, while the black’s ebony complexion concealed all but a
cut over the left eyebrow. A rumour was spread that Mace’s left arm
was partially disabled; but this proved a _canard_, no doubt flown to
influence the betting, the Black still being backed at 2 to 1. The
seconds were the same as on the first day.


     THE RENEWED FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Just before the commencement of hostilities,
     Travers proposed to back himself to any amount at
     evens, and produced a roll of notes about as thick as
     the steamer’s shore-rope for that purpose; but Mace
     politely declined, regretting that his exchequer was
     not so flourishing as to permit him to indulge in such
     speculation. Travers, in taking the initiative, broke
     ground with more haste than judgment. Jem again
     followed him, got home with both hands, and, after a
     close at the ropes, the Black slipped down anyhow.

     2.――After a little sparring Mace got home beautifully
     on Bob’s black-letter title-page, when Travers
     retreated, hitting out wildly. Mace counter-manœuvred
     and followed, when Bob paused a moment, then rushed in
     hand-over-hand, but did not get home. Mace planted his
     left with fine judgment, following it with a job from
     the right; there was a little fibbing in the close, and
     both down by the ropes.

     3.――Travers again led with the left, the blow alighting
     on Mace’s breast, when Mace caught him on the side of
     the head. Bob retreated, and went down to avoid. (Bos
     Tyler here appealed to the referee, who declined to
     notice the get down. “Go on.”)

     4.――The Black, all activity, was all over the ring,
     Mace watching his gyrations keenly and following him
     close up. After a little fiddling, Mace got near
     enough, and planted his left sharply, but Travers,
     ducking his head at the instant, caught the blow on the
     top of his impenetrable skull. The Black tried to take
     a lead, but did not get home; Mace, getting to
     distance, planted a sharp left-hander in Bob’s face,
     who fell immediately in the middle of the ring. (Loud
     cries from Mace’s partisans of “Stand up! remember the
     13th rule!”)

     5.――Both men went eagerly to work, Mace got on a
     stinger over the left eyebrow; after some wild
     exchanges, in which Jem peppered the nigger handsomely,
     both were down, Travers first to earth.

     6.――Travers dashed to in-fighting, when Mace again
     propped him beautifully, and after a scramble in the
     close, Bob got down anyhow.

     7.――Travers, leading with the left, again reached
     Mace’s breast, when Mace stepped back and recovered
     guard. As Bob now broke in turn Mace followed as usual,
     and taking exact measure, popped in his left on the
     Darkey’s thick lips; Bob again sidled and skipped about
     the ring and as Jem was letting go a straight one the
     Black fell, as a bystander observed, “with the wind of
     the blow.”

     8 to 14.――Similar in character, and an appeal by Hicks
     to the referee followed by a “caution” to Travers from
     that functionary. From the 15th to the 30th round
     Travers pursued the same dropping tactics, getting home
     with little effect at the opening of each round, but
     unable to prevent Mace’s stinging deliveries, from
     which his left eye was now fast closing, besides other
     serious disfigurements. Loud disapprobation was
     expressed at the Black’s shifty tactics, and in the
     32nd round the referee got into the ring and went to
     Travers’s corner to warn him of the danger he was
     incurring. Bob assured him his fall was accidental,
     from the state of his shoes and the ground.

     33.――Travers fought his man foot to foot in a fine
     rally, the hitting all in favour of Mace, and both
     down.

     34.――Bob tried to lead once more, but Jem countered him
     beautifully, and the Black in getting away fell.

     35 to 40.――Travers at the old game again, leading off,
     getting home slightly, and then scrambling or slipping
     down to avoid the consequences of standing up to his
     man. That Mace was winning as fast as his opponent’s
     shiftiness would allow was manifest. In the 57th and
     last round, after hitting out, the Black shifted his
     position, and as Mace was delivering his blow
     deliberately threw himself down. The referee now
     decided the battle against him, and Mace was hailed the
     victor at the end of one hour and thirty-one minutes. A
     scene of disgraceful confusion followed; Travers’s
     friends assailing the referee with the foulest abuse,
     and refusing to accept his decision. Travers shed
     tears, and declared he was ready to fight on, refusing
     to shake hands with his opponent. Travers was severely
     punished; Mace’s bruises were unimportant.

After some acrimonious disputation and letter-writing, the referee’s
decision was properly upheld by the stakeholder, and the money handed
over to Mace at Mr. Smithers, “Golden Cross,” Charing Cross, Norwich,
on the ensuing Friday week.

We have already noted the fact of the disruption of friendly relations
between Mace and his quondam conqueror and subsequent friend and
patron Bob Brettle. In the early months of 1859 this ill-feeling took
the form of a challenge from Mace to Brettle, and some haggling
between the disputants on minor details and conditions. Mace’s last
two exhibitions had so far restored the much-shaken confidence of his
admirers as to satisfy them, however otherwise inexplicable his “in
and out running” might be, that, at his weight, none could “live with
him,” when he really meant “to stay.” So they listened to his
solicitation to give him a second trial “with the only man who had
ever beaten him, and that by a fluke”(?). In reply to Jem’s challenge
for £100 Brettle replied that being now a “bung” in a good way of
business it would not pay him to train under £200. Holywell Lane and
Club Row, and a “voice from Norwich” preferred a bigger stake, so the
prelims. were soon settled. The 19th September, 1860, was named as the
day, and Oxfordshire, as (half-way between London and Birmingham) the
_locus in quo_. Accordingly, the London division took their departure
from Euston Square, meeting Brettle and Co. at Wallingford Road; there
all alighted, and, under the pilotage of a local amateur, a charming
spot was selected. Many of the older Ring-goers, however, expressed
doubts as to the judiciousness of the selection, and foreboded an
interruption, which came all too soon. No time, therefore, was lost,
and at a few minutes before noon the men shook hands, and began.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――As the men toed the scratch it was clear to
     all that they were both all that could be wished in
     point of condition. Mace had three or four pounds’
     advantage in weight, and also a trifle in height and
     length. Brettle, who looked rounder, bore a smile of
     self-satisfaction on his good-natured mug, and as he
     swung his arms in careless fashion, and raised his
     hands, he nodded to a friend or two, as if quite
     assured of the result. Brettle tried to lead off, but
     Mace stopped him coolly, and tried a return, which was
     prettily warded off by Brettle, who shifted ground. Bob
     offered again, but was stopped, and Jem popped in a
     nose-ender in return which drew Bob’s cork, and
     established a claim of “first blood for Mace.” Bob
     shook his head as if annoyed, and in he went ding-dong;
     the exchanges all in favour of Mace, who hit
     straightest, hardest, and oftenest. Brettle closed, and
     Mace was under in the fall.

     2.――Brettle exhibited some red marks indicative of
     Mace’s handiwork, while Mace showed a mouse under the
     left eye. Bob again opened the ball, but he was
     baffled, and as he persevered Jem popped him prettily
     on the nose, and then on the mouth, Brettle,
     nevertheless, giving him a rib-bender with the right,
     and on Mace retorting on his kissing organ Bob got
     down.

     3.――Brettle’s countenance bore increasing marks of
     Mace’s skill as a face-painter, but he lost no time in
     going to work; Mace stood to him, and sharp
     counter-hits were exchanged; Mace on Brettle’s left
     eye, Brettle on Mace’s jaw. Exchanges and a close; the
     men separated, and Mace, in getting away, fell.

     4.――Brettle was more cautious. He waited, and tried to
     draw his man. After a little manœuvring Brettle, amidst
     the cheers of the Brums, dropped on Mace’s conk a
     rattler, producing the ruby. Jem looked rather serious,
     and the Brums were uproariously cheerful. Bob tried it
     again, but failed, for Mace was first with him with a
     smasher on the mouth. Brettle bored in, but Mace threw
     him cleverly, and fell on him.

     5.――Brettle slow, being shaken by the blows and fall in
     the last round. Mace waited for him, delivering right
     and left straight as an arrow, and getting away
     cleverly from the return. Bob followed him wildly,
     getting more pepper; and in the end Brettle was down in
     the hitting.

     6.――Brettle’s left daylight was nearly obscured, and
     the right showed a distinct mouse. His mouth too, was
     out of symmetry, and his nose, naturally of the Roman
     order, resembled a “flat-fish.” Notwithstanding, he
     went in, and got it on the nose and mouth, returning in
     a wild and ineffective fashion, until a hot left-hander
     brought him to his knees in anything but a cheerful
     condition. At this point a cry of “Police,” was
     followed by the appearance of a posse of “blues,”
     headed by a magistrate from Didcot. Hostilities were
     immediately suspended, and all returned to the train.
     On a council being held, the “manager” who had
     deprecated this landing, declared that there was now no
     hope of pulling up at any part of the line; so there
     was nothing for it but to order the men to meet the
     referee on the following morning. “Book agen” was the
     _mot d’ordre_, which was doubly vexatious for the
     Birmingham division, who _nolens volens_ had to journey
     to London, with very doubtful prospects of getting back
     their money at the next meeting.

After some discussion, all parties agreed to a renewal of the combat
on the 20th of the month. The day proving exceptionally fine, the men
and their friends started at an early hour from Fenchurch Street,
concluding the rail part of the journey at Southend, where a couple of
steam-tugs were in waiting, and a voyage to ground on the sea-coast of
Essex, never before visited by the Fancy, was chosen. The odds on Mace
were not taken, Brettle’s friends being few, and lacking confidence.
At five minutes to one, all being in order, the men stood up.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Brettle had not entirely got rid of the marks
     of the previous week’s encounter; besides a cut under
     the left eye, the right optic was “deeply, darkly,” but
     not “beautifully blue,” and his face looked somewhat
     puffy. Mace had no more than a skin-deep scratch or
     two. No sooner had Brettle toed the scratch, than
     instead of forcing the fighting he stepped back, as if
     to try whether an alteration in tactics might change
     the fortune of war. Mace appeared fora few seconds
     doubtful, then drawing himself together, he slowly
     followed his man. Getting closer, Brettle let fly his
     right, and got home on Mace’s head, too round to be
     effective, while Jem’s counterhit caught him flush on
     the dial. Brettle broke ground, Mace after him; Bob got
     home on Mace’s body, but fell at the ropes in
     retreating.

     2.――Mace came up smiling, and was met cheerfully by the
     Brum. Mace was no sooner within distance than he made
     his one two on the nose and eye, Brettle’s returns
     being short and ineffective. As Bob shifted position he
     slipped down on one knee, but instantly rising renewed
     the battle. In the struggle at the ropes, Mace was
     under, and a “foul” was claimed, on the allegation that
     Brettle had tried to “gouge” his man. The referee said
     “Go on.”

     3.――Mace came up with a slight trickle of claret from
     his proboscis. Brettle’s face looked as if Mace “had
     been all over it.” Brettle fought on the retreat, but
     Mace was too clever at long shots for him to take
     anything by that manœuvre. As Bob broke ground, Mace
     nobbed him so severely that his head nodded like a
     mandarin, and on a second visit down went Bob,
     staggering from something very like a knock-down.

     4.――The Brum came up bothered; yet he faced his man
     boldly――it was observed that he hit with the right hand
     open. Mace timed him with a straight prop and
     retreated. The Brum bored in; the men got across the
     ropes, when Brettle, lest Mace should fib him, slipped
     down, as quickly as he could.

     5th and last.――Brettle came up quickly, but Jem,
     perceiving he had got his man, stood to him, and
     delivered both hands with marvellous rapidity. Bob hit
     away desperately, fighting his opponent to the ropes,
     where Jem delivered two more punishers, and Bob was
     down “all of a heap.” His seconds carried him to his
     corner. “Time” was called, when Mace sprang rapidly
     from Johnny Walker’s knee. Brettle’s seconds were still
     busy at their man, until, the given eight seconds
     having expired, Jem Hodgkiss threw up the sponge, and
     Mace was hailed the conqueror; the second fight having
     lasted seven minutes, the first twelve――nineteen
     minutes in all.

     REMARKS.――These shall be as brief as the battles. From
     first to last Brettle was out-classed, over-matched,
     and out-fought, Mace fully proving that once on a
     winning track, at a winning pace, he was not to be
     beaten.

In the summer of 1860, a gigantic Lancashire wrestler, 6ft. 2½in. in
stature, and balancing 15 stone, put forth a claim to the Championship,
and to do battle with this Goliath no better man was found than the
once-hardy Tom Paddock, now on his last legs. They met on November
5th, 1860, when poor Tom was knocked out of time by the clumsy
Colossus in the 5th round (see _ante_ p. 307). With Sam Hurst――having
formed a very low opinion of his boxing capabilities――Jem was most
anxious to try conclusions, rightly estimating that a triumph over
such a “man mountain” would dissipate any lingering doubts in the
public mind of his personal pluck and prowess.

Accordingly, articles were drawn for a fight for £200 a side, Waterloo
Day, the 18th of June, 1861, appointed for this interesting combat,
and a trip down the river agreed to by both parties. It was determined
that, to avoid interruption, an early start should be effected, and so
well was this arrangement carried out that at a quarter before nine
o’clock the queerly-matched pair stood facing each other in a marshy
field on the river-shore, in the centre of a well-surrounded ring; Bos
Tyler and Woody being entrusted with the care of Mace, Jem Hodgkiss
and Jerry Noon nursing the North Country “Infant.”


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――The old comparison of “a horse to a hen,” was
     not so fully verified as might be supposed, there being
     five stone difference in their relative weights, though
     the discrepancy in size was certainly remarkable. There
     was another point of contrast which, to the eye of the
     initiated, was fully worth consideration in any
     calculation of the chances of victory, and that was,
     the condition of the men. The Norwich champion’s
     compact symmetrical figure, well set-on head, bright
     keen eye, and finely-developed biceps, with tendons
     showing like knotted whipcord, muscle-clothed
     shoulders, square bust, flat loins and rounded hips,
     the whole supported by a pair of well-turned
     springy-looking pedestals, looked a model gladiator.
     Hurst, on the other hand, loomed big, heavy, clumsy,
     while a slight lop-sided lameness, the result of a
     broken leg, which accident had befallen him since his
     battle with Tom Paddock, did not improve the naturally
     ponderous slowness of his movements. His skin, though
     clear, seemed loose in parts, and the flesh looked
     flabby on his back and sides. There was an ungainliness
     in every movement, too, which suggested a second
     edition of the Tipton Slasher, considerably enlarged.
     His face, however, was tolerably hard, and he had a
     look of determination which augured well for his own
     opinion of success. His friends depended much upon the
     effect of any single blow he might get in in the course
     of the mill, feeling a kind of confidence that any
     damage he might incur from Mace he would put up with
     without a murmur, and that he certainly possessed an
     amount of game which, had it been backed by an ordinary
     share of the other attributes of a pugilist, must have
     rendered him invincible. On taking position Hurst at
     first stood well, with his left rather low, and, if
     anything, his elbow a little too close to his side; his
     general attitude, however, was good, and all fancied he
     had improved since his appearance with Paddock. This,
     however, lasted for a very brief period. Mace appeared
     steady, serious, and cautious, and fully aware of the
     difficulties he would have to face. He sparred round
     his man, in and out, feinting with all the skill of a
     perfect master of the art, but for some time did not
     venture near the gigantic arms of Hurst which swung
     like the sails of a windmill. At last he crept up, and
     after a quick feint led off on Sam’s left eye, but not
     heavily. Hurst made a chop in return, but out of
     distance. Jem again crept near, feinted then hit Sam
     heavily, left and right, on the cheek and nose, without
     a return. Hurst, not liking this, lumbered after his
     man, and a sharp exchange followed, Mace on the cheek
     and Hurst on the ribs. Mace retreated, looking serious,
     walked round his man, jobbed him swiftly on the nose,
     and got away laughing. Hurst tried another rush, and
     made one or two chopping hits which Mace easily avoided
     and then planted a straight right-hander on the nose,
     gaining “first blood,” amidst the uproarious cheers of
     his friends. Hurst still bored in, but only to receive
     another smack on the left eye; he just succeeded in
     reaching Jem’s lips, and the latter fell, laughing.

     2.――Sam came up with the claret trickling from his
     nose, and his left eye swollen and discoloured; he
     commenced business at once by rushing at his man,
     slinging out his arms with no sort of precision. He
     caught Mace on the ribs and back, close to the
     shoulder, rather heavily with his right, which made the
     latter look very solemn, and caused him to retreat
     awhile, stopping right and left, and avoiding close
     quarters. At length he shook himself together, and
     again playing round, put in a heavy hit on the left
     cheek, and then got home with great force on the nose,
     drawing more blood; this he followed with a straight
     job in the mouth, drawing the ruby from the giant’s
     lips. The spectators were astonished at Sam’s
     inertness. Hurst let go both hands, when Mace with ease
     stepped between his arms, and delivered both hands with
     the quickness of lightning, and with tremendous force,
     upon the nose and eye. Again and again did he do this,
     and then step away, inflicting fearful punishment, and
     laughing defiance at Hurst’s ungainly attempts at
     retaliation. Hunt, who was clearly a mere chopping
     block to Mace, seemed bewildered by the severity of the
     hitting, but still persevered, only, however, to be
     jobbed heavily on the mouth, nose, and left eye, which
     latter was quickly shut completely up. Still the game
     fellow persevered, until it seemed perfectly cruel to
     let him go on. Mace did exactly as he liked without a
     return, and at length in a close both were down. It was
     a dog fall (side by side), but it proved that Hurst’s
     supposed superiority of power was destroyed, probably
     by the weakness of his leg. Mace was almost scatheless
     at the end of the round, while Hurst, as may be
     imagined, was fearfully punished.

     3.――Hurst, notwithstanding his injuries, was first to
     the scratch, his left eye closed, and the whole of the
     left side of his cheek bruised and cut; his nose too
     was swollen and bleeding. Mace, with the exception of a
     slight scratch on his mouth, was little the worse for
     wear. Hurst, in desperation, immediately rushed at his
     man, but Jem met him with a stinger from his right on
     the nose, drawing a fresh stream, and jumped back,
     covering his head completely. Sam, furious, persevered,
     but the more he swung out his arms the more did he lay
     himself open to an attack. He hit round, he sawed the
     air, he chopped, and, in fact, did everything that a
     perfect novice would do, but it was only to expose him
     to more attacks from his artistic foe. At length he
     succeeded in planting a heavy blow on the jaw, which
     almost knocked Mace down, but Jem steadied himself, and
     returned desperately on Goliath’s mouth. Mace got away,
     stepped quickly in again, and hit Hurst severely in the
     face, left and right, without a return. Hurst,
     thoroughly confused, tried another rush, but Mace
     retreated all round the ring, repeatedly jobbing him
     with impunity as he lumbered after him. At length Jem
     caught his foot against a stake, and fell, but was up
     in an instant, and after a feint or two got home on
     Sam’s good eye twice in succession. Hurst’s returns
     were ridiculously short; in fact they were not like
     blows at all, and never seemed to come from the
     shoulder. At length he got a little right-hander on the
     body, but received two heavy left-handed hits in quick
     succession on the cheek. Sam, in rushing in, here
     stepped on to Mace’s toe, the spike in his boot
     entering the flesh, and inflicting a severe wound. Jem
     drew back his foot in pain, and pointed to it, but
     Hurst shook his head, as if to say it was
     unintentional. After Mace had inflicted a little more
     punishment he slipped down; poor Hurst, who was
     completely blown by his exertions, panting like an
     overdriven dray-horse, stood in the middle of the ring.
     Some influential friends of Hurst’s wished him here to
     give in, but his principal backer would not bear of it.

     4.――Jem merely showed a slight bruise under the left
     arm, while Hurst was awfully punished about the face,
     but was still strong. He rushed at his man at once, who
     laughed, got away, and then, after leading him a dance,
     turned, and delivered another tremendous hit on the
     blind eye. Again and again did Hurst follow him, and as
     repeatedly did Mace hit him with stinging effect in
     every direction. Mace at last seemed tired of his
     exertions, and stood for a short time with his arms
     down. Hurst also rested a little from sheer exhaustion;
     at length he made another rush, and Jem, in getting
     away, slipped down. Hunt pointed at him, as much as to
     say it was deliberate, but Jem was up at once, and
     offered to resume the round, but Hurst’s seconds took
     him away. Thirty minutes had now elapsed.

     5.――Sam, whose face was coloured all over, made another
     rush and got slightly home on the body, when Jem again
     slipped down. Once more he jumped up to renew the
     round, but Sam walked away to his corner at the call of
     his seconds.

     6.――Jem made the fighting, and planted heavily on the
     cheek and nose, getting quickly and easily away. Again
     did he do this, and then again, hitting Hurst with
     stunning force in the middle of the head with both
     hands, until the poor fellow turned away completely
     bewildered. Nevertheless, he quickly rallied, and again
     tried his rush, but only to get into more difficulties,
     until everybody round the ring cried “Take him away!”
     (Hodgkiss here appealed to his backers to be allowed to
     throw up the sponge; they refused, indeed, it was
     evident that Sam himself would not yet consent to own
     that he was licked.) Sam made another rush, and after
     slight exchanges, closed; a brief struggle took place,
     when both fell, Hurst undermost. It was claimed by
     Mace’s friends as a cross-buttock, but it scarcely
     amounted to that, although Jem certainly had the
     advantage in the fall.

     7.――Bob Brettle now appealed to Sam’s backers to give
     in, but in vain. Bob tried to get into the ring, and
     did throw up his hat, but was forced away by Sam’s
     backers. Mace offered to shake hands, and seemed
     unwilling to inflict more punishment, feeling that it
     was useless cruelty. Sam would not hear of surrender,
     but made his rush, and succeeded in getting home his
     right on the body, when Jem fell.

     8th and last.――Hurst came up staggering, his face much
     disfigured; Mace also seemed rather tired. Sam made a
     final effort, letting go both hands, but was short, and
     received two more very straight hits on the cheek and
     nose, drawing claret in fresh profusion. Sam blundered
     in almost blind, and Mace pushed, rather than hit him,
     several times in the head, looking at him steadily and
     stepping back after each delivery. The “big ’un” was
     evidently powerless, and Jem was commendably
     forbearing. Another attempt was made by Brettle to
     throw up the sponge, and the referee stepped into the
     ring to remonstrate with Sam’s principal backer, but
     neither he nor Hurst would listen to reason. The
     consequence was that Jem was reluctantly compelled to
     hit him again, which he did with perfect impunity; and
     finally Jem Hodgkiss, finding it useless to reason with
     either Sam or his backer, took the responsibility upon
     himself, and threw up the sponge, forcing the unwilling
     giant to his corner, where Mace went up to him, and
     shook hands, although sorely against Hurst’s will, who
     could not even now reconcile to himself his defeat by
     one upon whom he looked with contempt. Mace was then
     proclaimed the victor, after fighting for _fifty
     minutes_. He bore his honours modestly, and as soon as
     possible went round with the hat, and collected the sum
     of £35 for his unsuccessful antagonist.

     Scarcely was this done, when the police made their
     appearance, fortunately too late to prevent a
     satisfactory conclusion.

     REMARKS.――Volumes could not prove more demonstratively
     the value of skill in the art of boxing as turning the
     scale against mere weight and strength, than this
     one-sided contest of Mace and Hurst. Poor Hurst, who
     had been trained by Turkish Baths, instead of hard
     work, ought not to have fought this battle. Apart from
     his want of condition, however, it was quite manifest
     he was not cut out for a fighting man. He had little
     knowledge of the art of self-defence, could not hit
     straight from the shoulder, and it was obvious that a
     man of his build and gait――even when endowed with the
     uncommon powers he displayed as a receiver――cannot hope
     to contend with success against extraordinary
     cleverness and activity, even though possessed by a man
     of far lighter calibre than himself. The unfortunate
     Sam was, however, a remarkably straightforward fellow,
     and from the first it was clear he had the interests of
     his friends more at heart than his own, and the
     greatest credit is due to him for his manly
     perseverance. No credit, however, is due to those who
     allowed him to go up after every possible chance of
     success had vanished.

     As to Mace, his fighting was faultless; he was not
     called upon to display any great amount of gameness,
     though the mere facing such a giant and exchanging
     shots at close quarters involves a confidence and
     coolness that shows no small amount of personal
     courage. As to Mace’s attack and defence, they were in
     every respect indicative of the master. It redounds to
     his praise that he abstained from making a more rapid
     finish, as he certainly might have done, unless
     restrained by a desire to spare his almost helpless
     antagonist. This battle elevated to the Championship of
     England one of the most finished boxers who had ever
     gained the title.

Jem Mace was now on the pinnacle of success, and as――

  “Envy doth merit as its shade pursue,
   And by the shadow prove the substance true,”

so the newly fledged Champion was carped at, criticised, challenged,
and unfavourably compared with all sorts and sizes of preceding and
even contemporary heroes of the Ring. As to the unconquered little
Champion, who had, after his great battle with John Heenan, in April,
1860, finally bid farewell to the fistic stage, he had left no
immediate successor; so “the world seemed left” for Jem Mace “to
bustle in,” and the question of the cynical Cassius was for a time
unanswered――

  “When went there by an age since the great flood,
   But we were famed with more than with one man?
   When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome,
   That her wide walks encompassed but one man?”

“Time and the hour,” however, never fail to bring “the man,” and in
these latter days of the Ring he came, in the person of Tom King,
whose first appearance in November, 1860, and subsequent career, will
form the subject of the concluding chapter of our history.

The form displayed by King in his first two battles, although neither
of his opponents stood high in the pugilistic roll, was thought to
give promise that the belt might again revert to a Champion of the
traditional 12-stone calibre and stature.

There can be no dispute that after the retirement of Tom Sayers, the
public sympathy with the Ring and favour with its professors had
completely faded away, just as, in the preceding century (in 1760),
after the defeat of Slack by Stevens “the Nailer,” the title of
Champion was dragged through the dirt by a set of unworthy “knights of
the _dirty_ cross,” until its restoration by the brave Tom Johnson. At
a later period came its reestablishment in more than its former renown
by John Jackson,[34] George Humphries, Mendoza, John Gully, the
Belchers, Tom Cribb, and Tom Spring, and their successors, who live
only in these pages which record its “decline and fall.”

To return from digression, we may state that the challenge of Tom
King, and the signing of articles for £200 a side, for a meeting on
the 28th of January, 1862, excited but faint interest even in those
circles where a struggle for the Championship was wont to set all upon
the _qui vive_. Indeed, those who were anxious that a change for the
better should take place, and a removal of the disgraceful disorder
which had driven from the ring-side those on whom both pugilism and
pugilists depended for their existence, were fain to confess that
pugilism was dead――dead by the hands of its own pretended friends, and
the misconduct of prizefighters themselves. Still a few of “the old
guard” rallied round the colours; and the good character of Tom King,
with the now well-earned reputation of Mace, gave them hopes of a
revival of honesty, manliness, skill, and “a fair field and no favour”
for both men.

The morning of the 28th of January, 1862, dawned――if such dim light as
struggled through the dense masses of dark clouds deserved the name of
dawn――wet, cold, cheerless and miserable, and to add to this
unpromising look-out, there were added unpleasant rumours that the
“authorities” of half a dozen home counties had taken sweet counsel
together how to frustrate the fight; that the magnates of the railway
boards had been notified and communicated with on the subject of
sinful “specials,” and the complicity of conveying company to the
field of blood; that every police inspector and superintendent had
been put on his mettle by the solemn warnings of “My Grandmother,” the
_Record_, _Watchman_, and a host of “unco guid” newspapers and
puritanical preachers, of “the awful responsibility to God and man”
they incurred in not “stamping out” this “national sin.” We quote from
a Sheffield print and preacher, who thus charitably described a fair
and manly contest for the belt――the symbol of skill and courage in the
exercise of the most humane mode of often unavoidable encounter
between man and man, especially among the lower orders. We name
Sheffield, because it was not long after infamous for the “organised
assassination” council of Messrs. Broadhead and Co.; whilst its
“public instructors” were denouncing and suppressing an art which
certainly does not include ginger-beer bottles charged with
blasting-powder placed under the beds of the wives and children of
obnoxious parents; cylinders of dynamite thrown through the fanlights
or windows of humble dwellings; the use of loaded bludgeons and
fire-arms from street corners or behind dead walls; the splitting of
grindstones; or the cutting of driving-bands, as modes of settling
personal or popular disputes. Yet from all these murderous and
treacherous cruelties the anti-fistic teachings of the Reverend Mr.
Lilyliver failed to wean and guard his “lambs.” We return from this
digression to our own “muttons,” whom, we opine, even in their last
and worst days, were as unlike “lost sheep,” and perhaps less like
“goats,” than their saintly slanderers.

Thus pleasantly forewarned by the croaker pessimists, the “managers”
prudently declined to give any hint of the “whereabouts” until the
Monday night previous to the encounter (January 28th), when tickets
were purchasable at Jem Mace’s house (Jem was now landlord of the “Old
King John,” Holywell Lane, Shoreditch), and at Nat Langham’s new
house, the “Mitre,” St. Martin’s Lane, merely conveying the facts that
the rendezvous was at London Bridge, and at the unusually early hour
of six o’clock. The difficult point of choosing a referee was also
judiciously arranged for. Arrived at the terminus of the South
Eastern, we found a more numerous gathering of the “right sort” than
we had anticipated; a proof that “still in their ashes lurked their
former fires,” and that a well-conducted mill had yet attractions for
the legitimate patrons of the sport. The last two championship battles
(those between Tom Paddock and the Staleybridge Infant, Hurst, and Jem
Mace and the same clumsy giant) were not, viewed as battles, anything
but exposures of the lamentable lack of good men; while the
disgraceful confusion, and double interruption of the police, of the
yet more recent fight between Bob Brettle and Rooke, almost
extinguished the last hope of the survival of the Provincial Ring.

It was nearly seven when the bell rang for departure, and the train
steamed away on its journey. Owing to the excellent arrangements of
Nat Langham, who acted for King, and Mr. Moss Phillips, who attended
to the interests of Mace, all parties were duly deposited at their
destination at a little after eight o’clock, Mace attended by Jack
Hicks and Bob Travers the Black, his late opponent, and King by Bos
Tyler and Jerry Noon. King, who had trained at Mr. Packwood’s, at
Hammersmith, was in first-rate fettle; nor was Mace, who had taken his
breathings near Norwich, and latterly near Newmarket, one whit behind
him in respect of condition; each was “fit to fight for a man’s life.”
“It is a long lane that has no turning,” and as we looked at the
orderly array of the inner and outer ring, and the attentiveness of
the ring-constables, armed with their brass-bound whips and their
badges, we flattered ourselves for a time that the turning-point had
been reached, and that “a fair fight and no favour, and may the best
man win,” might once again be a phrase with a meaning. Thus dreaming,
as “hope told a flattering tale,” we addressed ourselves to the duty
of observing the fight we here chronicle.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Having gone through the customary friendly
     salutation at the scratch, each man drew back and threw
     himself into position. There was at this moment a
     silence that might be felt, and the eager glances
     directed by all toward the combatants evinced the
     interest with which every movement was being watched by
     those surrounding the ring. There was undoubtedly much
     to rivet the attention of the patrons of the art; for
     though both were unquestionably fine fellows, yet there
     was that disparity between them which could not fail to
     impress itself even on the uninitiated. Mark the
     towering height of King, standing a clear 6 feet 2
     inches in his stockings, and, as he faces his opponent
     with attentive watchfulness, but without a sign of
     nervousness or anxiety, how immense and preponderating
     appear the advantages in his favour. Tom, we were
     informed by Langham, when he last scaled, pulled down
     12st. 8lbs., and taken for all in all must be declared
     a model man, although some judges of athletes declared
     his loins too slender for a man of his height Tom, like
     Mace, has a bright, keen eye, but he lacks the
     square-out jaw bone and hard angular contour which some
     judges of “points” declare to be always found in the
     “thoroughbred” boxer. Be that as it may, King’s length
     of reach, firm, round muscle, skin ruddy with the glow
     of health, and cheerful, courageous aspect gave promise
     of a formidable opponent, even to the scientific
     Champion, Jem Mace. As to the Champion, who pulled down
     11st. 4lbs. on the preceding Monday, he was “all
     there,” and as he himself said, felt “fit as a fiddle.”
     After keeping on guard a few seconds, during which Mace
     was keenly scrutinising him, Tom dropped his hands,
     resting his left upon his left thigh; Jem, being out of
     range, and seeing that Tom had lowered his daddles,
     followed suit, and the position of the pair at this
     moment caused some astonishment. Tom rubbed his left
     forearm with his right hand, and Jem, who also felt the
     chilly effects of the morning air on coming out of his
     flannels, rubbed his breast with his right palm. Tom,
     in shifting, had got nearer his own corner, when Jem
     advanced, and, from the manner he gathered himself
     together, evidently intended mischief; his left was
     admirably poised, while his right played with firm
     elasticity, ready as a guard, or, if occasion presented
     itself, a shoot. Tom, however, was on the alert, and
     Mace, after putting out a feeler or two, sprung back to
     tempt Tom to follow. King, who at first seemed a little
     puzzled, smiled and retreated, cool as a cucumber in an
     ice-well. There was more than one repetition of the
     movement we have here described, the men shifting,
     changing position, and manœuvring all over the ring
     without coming to business. King had heard so much of
     the ability of Mace that he felt he was standing before
     the best tactician of the day, and would not lead off.
     Mace, on the other hand, with the perception of a
     practised general, found that he had before him a
     dangerous and determined antagonist; one whom it would
     not do to treat in the style he had made an example of
     big Sam Hurst. At length, after a display of almost
     every sort of drawing and defensive tactic, Mace got
     well in, delivering a neat nobber with the left,
     stopping the return, and getting away. King dashed at
     him, his height enabling him to hit over Jem’s guard,
     and Tom got one in on Mace’s head with the right; the
     men closed and fibbed, then getting on to the ropes,
     both went down. The seconds were instant in their
     attendance, Bos Tylor claiming “first blood” for King,
     which was admitted, as the cochineal was trickling from
     a cut on the Champion’s shin. King’s partizans were in
     ecstasies, and “Who’ll lay 2 to 1 now?” met no
     response.

     2.――The cold rain now came down in earnest, and did not
     much abate throughout the rest of the mill. With ready
     alacrity each man came from his corner and scratched
     simultaneously with his opponent. Mace, who was still
     bleeding, looked flushed. After a little sparring, Mace
     popped in his left. His second hit was prettily
     countered, but notwithstanding King’s length, Jem’s
     blow seemed hardest, reaching home a “thought” before
     his adversary’s poke. Another exchange, Tom getting on
     the side of Mace’s head, but not severely, and Jem’s
     smack in return sounding all round the ring. In the
     close both were down.

     3.――The ball had now been fairly opened, and each bout
     improved the spirit of the performance, on which even
     the pitiless rain could not throw a damper. Jem, on
     coming from his corner, was still distilling the
     _elixir vitæ_ from the old spot, which as yet seemed
     the only mark made. King went dashing in to force the
     fighting, and the hot haste of the onslaught marred the
     pretty position of Jem. Tom, who seemed to hit from the
     forearm rather than the shoulder, got home his left on
     the jaw, and then, with the right, reached Jem’s head;
     his superiority of length of reach being fully
     demonstrated. Jem, however, quite balanced accounts by
     two severe props in the nob; King closed, and Mace got
     down easy.

     4.――The rapidity of King’s fighting seemed somewhat to
     surprise Mace, and he moved right and left in front of
     his man, his point well covered. Tom dashed in left and
     right, and went to work, his counsel advising the
     forcing principle; King, in hitting out, had his left
     hand partially open; Mace cross-countered with the left
     a smasher, but a second attempt passed over King’s
     shoulder. Jem broke away, and in retreating got to the
     centre stake. Tom, following, dashed out his right,
     when Mace ducked his head and slipped down, thereby
     escaping a rasper.

     5.――Mace first to scratch, King promptly facing him. As
     Tom tried to lead off with the left, Mace showed how
     well he was fortified by his left-hand guard, and then
     retaliating with the right. King, in turn, retreated.
     Tom, in shifting, got to the ropes, when Jem weaved in,
     getting both hands on head and body. Tom lashed out
     both hands defensively, but could not keep Jem off
     until he chose to retire to his own corner, where he
     got cleverly out of difficulty and was down.

     6.――King had evidently got home at the close of the
     last round, for Jem came up with his proboscis tinted
     with the carmine. Tom dashed at his man with more
     determination than judgment, hit from the forearm
     without doing execution; Jem, hitting up as he made the
     backward break, gave Master Tom a straightener, who,
     persevering, got his man down at the ropes; no harm
     done.

     7.――Jem advanced to the scratch with a firm step and
     determined bearing, as if the difficulties of his
     position had only produced a concentration of the
     resolute “I will.” The men stood eyeing each other in
     the pelting rain; Jem rubbed his chest, which had a
     large red mark as though a warm plaster had recently
     been removed. After manœuvring round the ring, Mace got
     to range, delivering a well-aimed shot on King’s
     cranium. As Jem broke ground he nearly lost his
     equilibrium from the slipperiness of the grass, but
     quickly steadied himself. After a feint or two, they
     got well together and countered splendidly, Mace
     sending home his left on Tom’s right cheek, King
     getting his right on the Champion’s left peeper,
     raising a small bump, and causing him to blink like an
     owl in sunshine. The men, with mutual action, broke
     away, and manœuvred all over the ring. At last Jem,
     measuring his man accurately, gave him such a
     left-hander on the snuff-box that claret _du premier
     crû_ was copiously uncorked. As Mace retreated after
     this smack Tom went in rather wildly, and closing, got
     his left leg between Mace’s and threw him. (Cheers for
     King.)

     8.――Tom no sooner faced his man than he made play, and
     got his right arm round Mace; he then tried to lift him
     by main strength for a throw, but the Champion put on
     the head-stop, with his hand on Tom’s face, and King
     had to let him go down an easy fall.

     9.――King, by the advice of his seconds, again forced
     the fighting, slung out both hands, and closed, when
     Mace cleverly put on the back heel, and down went Tom
     undermost.

     10 to 14.――The ropes had now got slack, and Puggy White
     busied himself in driving the stakes deeper, and
     tightening them. In this and the following four rounds,
     King still led off, and though his hits did not seem
     severe, he had got as often on Jem’s eye and nose, that
     his friends were confident of his pulling through.

     15.――The odds seemed melting away like butter in the
     sun, and the backers of the Champion were just becoming
     “knights of the rueful countenance;” while Tom’s
     partisans were as merry and chirpy as crickets; Jerry
     Noon, especially, dispensing an unusual and unseemly
     store of chaff among the despondent patrons of Mace.
     King once again went at his man, and both were down at
     the ropes. King’s seconds claimed the battle for a
     “foul,” alleging that Mace had tried to force his
     fingers into King’s eye in the struggle at the ropes;
     the referee crossed the ring to caution Mace, who
     indignantly denied any intention of so unmanly an
     action.

     16.――King seemed determined to lose no time. He rattled
     in, and Mace, nothing loth, stood up and hit with him,
     certainly straightest and swiftest. In the close both
     were down at the ropes.

     17.――In sparring, the combatants changed positions, and
     paused in the centre of the ring. King had been
     fighting very fast, and wanted a breathing time. On
     resuming, he went in, and after some exchanges Mace got
     down easy at the ropes.

     18.――Sharp exchanges, left and right, on the cheek,
     mouth, and jaw, when Jem, in shifting, dipped down. His
     seconds ran to him, but he motioned them away, resumed
     his perpendicular, and beckoned Tom with a smile to
     renew the bout. The challenge was cheerfully accepted,
     and fighting into a close both were down.

     19.――The men were admirably seconded in both corners,
     and both came up clean and smiling, though each had the
     contour of his countenance seriously altered by his
     opponent’s handiwork. In a close both fibbed away
     merrily and both were down.

     20.――There was an objection by Jerry Noon that Mace had
     some “foreign substance” in his left hand, King opened
     his hands before the referee, and Mace, following his
     example, merely showed a small piece of paper in his
     palm, which, however, he threw away. Mace’s left hand
     seemed somewhat puffed, and Tom’s leading counsel,
     observing this, told King that his adversary’s “left
     was gone,” which it was not, for Mace, this time, took
     the initiative, and landed the left sharply on Tom’s
     cheek. As Mace broke ground Tom followed, and when near
     the stake he landed a round hit from the right on Jem’s
     left jaw that sent him to grass――a clean knock-down
     blow.

     21.――Tom, eager to be at work, went in, but he did not
     take much by his motion; after several exchanges, Jem
     retreated. Mace slipped and got between King’s legs in
     a defenceless position, holding himself up by the
     handkerchief round Tom’s waist. King gallantly withheld
     his hand, threw up his arms and smiled, walking to his
     corner amidst general cheering.

     22.――King was now the favourite, odds being offered on
     him of 6 to 4, but no takers. King, as before, began
     the business, and Mace was down to close the round.

     23.――This was a harmless bout. King bored in; Mace
     missed as he retreated, backed on to the ropes, and got
     down.

     24.――Both men came up with alacrity, despite the
     pelting rain which streamed down their faces and limbs.
     King was evidently slower, and Mace tried a lead. He
     did not, however, get quite near enough, and Tom
     pursued him round the ring until both were down, Mace
     undermost.

     25.――A curious round. Tom dashed at Mace, who stopped
     him, then twisted round and got away. Tom followed, and
     Mace propped him; at the ropes, when down, both men
     patted each other in a good tempered manner.

     26.――Mace came up determinedly, but exhibited ugly
     punishment off the left eye and mouth. Still he was
     steady, and met Tom’s onslaught cleverly. King closed
     and tried to hold up Mace, but he slipped through his
     hands.

     27.――Tom administered a right hander on the jaw, and
     down went Mace against his will for the second time.

     28.――Mace recovered from the effects of his floorer in
     an amazing manner. Tom had now a serious bump on his
     right eye the size of a walnut, and had otherwise lost
     his facial symmetry. His friends were, however, more
     than sanguine, and urged him to keep his man at it. Tom
     tried to do so, but got nothing at it, and in the fall
     hit the stake.

     29.――King got a round right-hander on Mace’s back of
     his head, and both were down――a side fall.

     30.――Mace seemed wonderfully steady, and in good form.
     King, as before, made play; the ground was so soddened,
     cut up, and pasty, that a good foothold was impossible.
     Tom sent in his right, and Jem, with well-judged
     precision, returned with both mauleys, when King
     embraced him, but Mace put on the back-heel, and threw
     Tom cleverly on his back; as Mace rose first from the
     ground he patted King in a good-tempered manner, amidst
     cries of “Bravo, Mace!”

     31.――King, as he sat on his second’s knee, seemed much
     distressed. His sides heaved like a forge-bellows; his
     seconds were most assiduous, and sent him up clean and
     fresh. Tom came slowly from his corner; not so Jem, who
     advanced quickly to the scratch, and then tried to
     entice his man to lead off. At last he did so, and gave
     King as good as he sent, when Tom forced Mace to the
     ropes. The latter turned himself round, reversing their
     positions, and, after a short wrestle, threw Tom with
     the back-heel a fair fall.

     32.――Exchanges; King on the body, Mace on the head, and
     both down.

     33.――King still forcing the fighting; Mace as lively as
     a grasshopper. After some pretty exchanges, Mace got
     home the left on his opponent’s right cheek――a
     cutter――a close, some fibbing, and both down, King over
     the lower rope, and partly out of the ring.

     34.――Mace first from his corner, but had not long to
     wait for his opponent. Tom hit out with better
     intention than judgment, and failed to do execution. A
     close, Mace again got King with the back-heel, and
     threw him heavily.

     35.――The sun of success was brightening in the East,
     though the clouds were pouring heavily. King was
     suffering from his protracted exertions, and “bellows
     to mend” was the case in his corner. His heart was
     good, and he fought gallantly into a close, catching
     pepper; Mace, after delivering a flush hit, falling in
     the middle of the ring.

     36.――After a little manœuvring, the men got on the
     ropes, when King slipped down by a pure accident. As
     King’s friends had objected to Mace’s style of getting
     down, there were derisive counter-cheers and cries of
     “foul!” followed by enthusiastic cheers for both men.

     37.――Tom’s seconds found that their plan of forcing the
     fighting had miscarried, and now gave opposite advice.
     King waited for Mace, who manœuvred and feinted, until
     Tom let go his left, and was countered artistically.
     Mace then stepped in and delivered his left full in
     King’s dial and in an exchange both were down in the
     middle of the ring.

     38-40.――King, finding Mace his master at out-fighting,
     resumed his plan of going to work just as he was
     getting second wind. The rounds again were of the old
     pattern; King got the larger and heavier share of the
     hitting, and both were down, Mace choosing his own time
     to end the round. In the 40th round, King complained of
     Mace using him unfairly, but the referee saw nothing
     calling for his notice.

     41, 42, 43 and last.――King was visibly distressed in
     the first two of these three final rounds. In the last
     of these bouts the combatants closed in the middle of
     the ring, when Mace, who had delivered a heavy thwack
     on King’s neck, struggled with him for the fall. In
     going down, King, who was undermost, struck the front
     of his head with great force on the ground. Tom’s
     seconds had him in his corner in an instant, as the
     position was critical. The die was however, cast.
     “Time!” was called in vain. Mace, who was eagerly
     watching his opponent’s corner, advanced to the
     scratch. The referee entered the ring, watch in hand.
     The eight seconds were counted; but King was still deaf
     to the call of “Time!” and Mace was hailed the winner,
     after one hour and eight minutes of rapid fighting on
     both sides. Scarcely had the fiat gone forth when a
     posse of police made their appearance, who, to do them
     justice, seemed glad that the affair was over before
     their arrival.

     REMARKS.――The principal point to be noted is the
     admirable manner in which both the loser and winner
     fought out this gallant contest. The superiority of
     Mace as a scientific pugilist alone enabled him to
     contend with and finally defeat his brave, powerful,
     and in size and physique formidable antagonist; while
     to Tom King, the loser, the credit must be awarded of
     doing all that man could do towards victory, and
     yielding only to absolute physical incapability to
     continue the contest. Although, however, the majority
     were satisfied that the best man won, there was one who
     entertained the opposite opinion, and that was Tom King
     himself, as we shall presently see.

In April, 1862, some curiosity was awakened in fistic circles by the
return of John Heenan to England, preceded by an _annonce_ in the
American newspapers that he had “gone over to fetch the old belt, and
to fight Mace, the so-called Champion.” Hereupon Messrs. Moss Phillips
and John Gideon waited upon Heenan, on Mace’s behalf, offering to find
£500 or £1,000, if needful, to make a match. Heenan repudiated the
newspaper buncombe, saying that he had come over with the sole object
of fulfilling an engagement with Messrs. Howe and Cushing’s Circus
Troupe, and that he had “cut pugilism,” at least for the present. Jem,
who was now a London “pub.,” and host of the “King John,” in Holywell
Lane, was also on tour with Ginnett’s Circus, while in _Bell’s Life_
he declared his readiness to “meet any man for £1,000, barring neither
country, colour, nor weight.” In reply to this, Bob Brettle, still
sore from defeat, and, as he declared, “the ungrateful conduct of
Mace,” undertook to back “an Unknown” for £200 and the belt against
the Champion, and this Mace accepted. Hereupon King came out with a
statement that Mace had requested him not to challenge him “at
present,” for reasons which he gave, but now, as he had accepted a
challenge, he (King) claimed first turn. It may be proper here to
remark that King had joined Mace, at his request, in a sparring tour
early in 1862, which lends strength to King’s statement. Mace’s backer
having offered Brettle’s “Unknown” £25 to indemnify him for his
forfeit and expenses, articles were signed at Nat Langham’s, on June
18th, for a fight for £200 a side and the belt, to come off within six
months, the precise day not to be divulged until the night before the
battle, which was to take place in November or December. How Tom King
reversed the former verdict in 21 rounds, occupying 38 minutes, on the
26th November, 1862, may be read in the Memoir of King in the ensuing
Chapter.

King having publicly declared his retirement from the Ring, Mace
resumed the style of “Champion,” with whatever honours might still
attach to that tarnished title.

In December, 1862, Joe Goss, of Wolverhampton, an unbeaten pugilist,
weighing 10st. 10lbs., boldly offered himself to the notice of Mace
for “any sum from £200 to £500 a side;” and although the Wolverhampton
man waived any claim to the belt as the result of the battle, it was
said by his friends that they did not see why, if Mace alone barred
the way, their man should not claim the trophy. The match, though made
in December, 1862, had a most unbusiness-like aspect in some of its
details. The time of meeting being named as “nine months after
date”――a most suspicious period of gestation for such an
affair――September 1st, 1863, was the day. Nor was the amount of stakes
less calculated to tax belief, £1,000 being set down in the book; Mace
to post £600 to Goss’s £400, of which the Norwich’s man’s backers were
to table £330 to Goss’s £220 at the final deposit.

Match-making, at this time, appears to have got “considerably mixed.”
In May and June, Bill Ryall, of Birmingham, a twelve-stone man,
“seeing that Goss, though articled to fight Mace, did not pretend to
the Championship,” offered himself for “the belt and £200 a side, to
the notice of the Norwich hero,” after he had disposed of Goss. Mace
assented, and articles were signed, but before the decision of the
affair now under notice. Ryall’s friends appear to have repented of
their rash engagement, and forfeited the £25 or £30 down, as the
penalty of their indiscretion. The Brettle party’s choice of Ryall as
the man to lower the pretensions of Mace will seem the more surprising
when we state that Goss had beaten Ryall on September 24th, 1860, and
had fought him to a stand-still in a drawn battle for £100, February
11th, 1862. We will now return from this brief digression to the first
encounter of Mace and Gross.[35]

On the making good of the last deposit of £330 to £220, and the
announcement that it was duly “banked” in the hands of the Editor of
_Bell’s Life_, the almost dormant interest of many of the incredulous
was awakened, and crowds of anxious West End inquirers thronged to the
“Mitre” (Nat had shifted from the “Cambrian”), the “Three Tuns,” the
“Horseshoe,” the “Rising Sun,” the “Queen’s Head,” and the “Blue
Boar’s Head;” while the East Enders were as eager in their endeavours
to obtain the “straight tip” by looking in at Harry Orme’s, Joe
Rowe’s, Jemmy Welsh’s, Jem Cross’s, Jem Ward’s, Billy Richardson’s,
and the Champion’s own crib in Holywell Lane, Whitechapel.

Mr. Tupper having won the toss for Goss, the men went to scale at his
house, the “Greyhound,” Waterloo Road, when both were found within the
stipulated 10 stone 10 lbs., and, as we can safely affirm, from ocular
demonstration, in the perfection of condition.

In the face of a vigilant and hostile magistracy and police, the
managers necessarily adopted unusual precautions to confine the
knowledge of the time and place to none but “safe men.” Accordingly,
not only was the day kept secret, but it was not until the overnight
that even the line of rail and amount of fare were disclosed to
intending “excursionists.” When the “office” was given to those who
were prepared to invest £2 2s. in cardboard, the rendezvous was stated
to be the Paddington terminus of the Great Western, and the time _two
o’clock_ a.m., on the morning of St. Partridge, September 1st, 1863;
and thither, at that unreasonable and unseasonable hour, did the
“sheep destined for the shearing” eagerly repair.

Unhappily for the fortunes, nay, the very existence of the P.R., it
had become the practice of the floating fraternity of thieves,
mobsmen, and “roughs”――the latter too often combining the two former
in the same ruffianly individual――to stream to the railway station
whenever they got scent of a Ring “excursion,” instinctively knowing
that there plunder might be perpetrated. As where the carcase is,
there will the birds of prey be gathered, so on this 1st of September
in the darkness and gloom of a cloudy morning, a riot was got up
outside the entrances to the noble building, and many persons hustled,
robbed, and occasionally personally ill-treated, by a disorderly crowd
which, we can of our own avouch declare, did not comprise in its whole
body one single known pugilist. Yet more than one of our “best
possible public instructors” informed the public that “a mob of
prize-fighters and other ruffians robbed and maltreated the intending
travellers with lawless impunity.” Passing the baseless imputation
that “prize-fighters and other ruffians” were personally engaged in
this nocturnal _mêlée_, we must declare that of all the scenes of riot
and disorder we have witnessed, that at Paddington was the most
disgraceful, and marked the lowest stage in the downward journey of
the Ring, unless we accept the wrangles and rows of the partisans of
the men at some minor fights as exemplifying the Miltonic paradox――

              “Beneath the lowest deep a lower still.”

At the hour of four the train steamed out of the station, and it was
currently stated that Wootton Bassett, in Wiltshire, about five miles
below the great engine-works at Swindon, was our destination. On
arriving at Didcot Junction it was perceived that the Oxfordshire
constabulary were awake, like Johnny Cope, “Sae airly in the mornin’;”
but their only exercise of their function on this occasion seemed to
be to wave us a courteous farewell as we steamed off, with the
addition of a few “’Varsity men” (in masquerade) who had become
possessed of “the secret,” and joined our party. At Swindon we
“watered” our iron horse, and about five miles farther the brakes were
on, and all soon alighted. After some little refreshment of the inward
man from the stores of a well-plenished hamper, the “meynie” getting
what they could at a neighbouring public, we tramped a mile of a dirty
lane, until it opened on a spot where the Commissary (Fred Oliver) and
assistants had laid out an excellent ring. And now began the customary
squabble between the “clever ones” on each side about the choice of a
referee. The Editor of the chief sporting journal, for nearly forty
years the consistent and able advocate and supporter of the Ring, had
finally refused the now dangerous position, and had recently, in
consequence of disorderly defiance of the representative of the paper,
forbidden his reporter to officiate, unless in circumstances he might
consider exceptional. Thus much valuable time was cut to waste.
Finally, the reporter of a new sporting paper consented to act, was
enthroned on the judge’s straw truss, and the men quickly made
themselves ready. As they stood up Joe looked “as hard as nails,”
while Mace’s elegant position, as he stood awaiting the anticipated
onslaught of his opponent, was pronounced by more than one judge to be
“beautiful.” To the surprise of all, however, after some not very
graceful squaring of elbows and half-steps left and right, never
venturing beyond the scratch, Joe retreated, and shaking his head with
a grim smile invited his adversary to approach. Jem did not seem to
perceive the advisability of this, so he smiled and nodded in return.
Presently, after a shift or two right and left, Mace advanced,
resolved to open the ball. Joe retreated, covering his points well,
when from the outer ring rose a warning cry, and ere its cause could
be asked, half a dozen “prime North Wiltshires”――not cheeses, but
policemen――rolled into the ring. Mace darted under the ropes and
skedaddled into a thicket, his retreat covered by his seconds, bearing
his outward habiliments; while Joe had nearly rushed into the arms of
one of the “rurals,” but luckily gave him the go-by, and “made tracks”
in another direction. Meantime the “bobbies,” with the utmost
good-humour, surveyed the flight, and, without interfering with the
Commissary, left him to reload his light cart with the _impedimenta_
of the ring, then, slowly following the discomfited company, saw them
safely down the road on their return to the train, which soon returned
at the appointed signal from a “siding” where it had been temporarily
located. Once on board, though the day was yet young, the victims were
politely informed that no more could be done that day, and that the
“Company’s” obligation to the “train charterers” would be discharged
by the delivery of the “excursionists” at their starting-point at
Paddington. “But,” added the referee, in an immediate conference, “I
shall order, as I am empowered by the Rules, the men to meet again
this day, at Fenchurch Street Station, and go down to Purfleet. When
there, we must be guided by circumstances; but we will have the fight
off to-day if possible.” That this was “gall and wormwood” to sundry
persons who looked to another “special” rather than a “result” might
easily be seen. They did not, however, dare to do more than prophesy
disaster and obstruction, and propose “a meeting at the stakeholder’s,”
or anywhere else, to procure postponement, which was properly and
peremptorily negatived.

Arrived at Paddington, the neighbouring cab-stands were quickly
cleared of their yawning waiters, whose glee at this unexpected and
profitable “call” was certainly heightened when they “twigged,” as one
of the cabbies told us, that they were “a-helping some of the right
sort out of a fix.” At Fenchurch Street conveyance to Purfleet was
quickly arranged for, and at 3h. 30m. the men, _materiel_, and company
were duly delivered at the riverside. Here it was resolved, and
prudently, that a transit to Plumstead Marshes should be made, as
suspicious movements of an “Essex calf” were observed. Long Reach cost
many no less a sum than ten shillings for the ferry; but this did not
stop those who could command the best and least crowded boats, and at
five o’clock, in a well-formed and certainly select ring,


     THE FIGHT

     Began with Round 2; for we suppose we most pay the
     compliment to the _four and a half minutes_ of
     “fiddling” at Wootton Bassett, as counting for Round 1.
     As before it was expected that the “terrific Joe” would
     force the fighting, and show that game and hard hitting
     must tell against mere skill, with a slight and
     apparently ineradicable suspicion among the provincials
     from the North Midlands that Mace had a “soft place”
     which Joe was the very man to find out. Nevertheless,
     the Londoners offered 6 and even 7 to 4 on Mace. Again
     Joe retreated, and as Jem followed got away again and
     again, though in anything but a graceful style. His
     intention to fight a crafty battle was apparent, and
     did not seem to please his country friends. At last the
     men came to a stand, Joe having his back to the ropes.
     Jem let go his left sharply, but was prettily parried.
     Mace drew back, when Joe, plunging at him, got home his
     left straight on the body, getting, as might be
     expected, a rattling smack on the mouth in return. Goss
     licked his lips, and dodged about; Mace got closer,
     and, swift as thought, planted a cutting left-hander on
     the left eyebrow. It was a caution, and the crimson
     instantly following, “first blood” was awarded to Mace.
     Joe in jumping away from Mace’s advance slipped and
     fell.

     3.――Long and tedious sparring and manœuvring prefaced
     this round. Goss, to the dissatisfaction of many, being
     determined to avoid close quarters, and Mace equally
     resolved not to give a chance away at long shots. When
     they got closer, Mace sent in his left, and then his
     right slap in the middle of Joe’s head, when a couple
     of slashing counter-hits followed, Mace again
     delivering with precision on the head, and Goss on
     Mace’s forehead and chest. More sparring, Joe looking
     quite vicious, and twice missing his shifty adversary,
     until the latter accepted a rally, and some
     extraordinary counter-hitting took place to the
     advantage of Mace, he reaching Joe’s head, while the
     latter got home on the chest or shoulder. Joe was
     driven back, and as Mace pressed on to him slipped
     down.

     4.――The men seemed warming to their work, and lost no
     time in the useless dodging which marked the previous
     rounds. Mace led off and jobbed his man severely
     through his guard, following his first smack with
     another, and then getting away. Goss, though quick in
     his returns, was hurried, and twice missed his right by
     Maces’s quickness in shifting. Mace worked round into
     the centre of the ring, when Joe bored in, in what his
     friends called his “own old style.” In the exchanges
     Joe dealt Mace a tremendous hit on the right eye, which
     instantly left its mark. Mace broke ground and
     retreated with his hands up in good form. (Vociferous
     shouting from the Gossites, “The Young’un wins! The
     Young’un wins!” and the excitement was immense at the
     Wolverhampton corner.) Mace steadied himself, and,
     after a short pause, Goss tried to get on to him again,
     when, after some two-handed fighting not remarkable for
     effectiveness, Mace caught his adversary such a
     well-distanced left-hander on the head that Joe went
     clean down against his will. (First knock-down for
     Mace, being the second event scored.)

     5.――On appearing at the scratch the swollen state of
     Mace’s right eye told how heavily he had been hit in
     the preceding round. Goss, urged by his seconds, dashed
     in left and right, but was beautifully stopped. Joe
     tried to play round his man, but Mace stepped in, gave
     him a heavy hit in the mouth, then, after a few quick
     exchanges, closed and threw him.

     6.――Both men were now much marked, showing how heavy
     the hitting had been. Goss moved all over the ring as
     before, leading off, but ineffectively, being either
     out of distance or easily stopped. Eventually they got
     close, and exchanged heavy left-handed hits. More
     chasséeing about the ring by Goss, till Jem got close,
     and brought on more counters, Jem planting swift and
     hard in the face with both hands. Goss returned left
     and right on the head, and went down on his knees at
     the ropes. Jem was about to deliver a stinger, but
     checked himself, laughed, and walked away.

     7.――Goss led off, but out of distance, as was often the
     case when he attempted out-fighting. A long series of
     movements with no great merit in them followed, till
     Mace got in with his left, and then fine counter-hits
     came, Goss certainly hitting straighter than he had
     done in some preceding rallies. A little more
     manœuvring, and then Joe went at his man, and brought
     on some stunning exchanges――very heavy left-handed
     counters, Mace on the right cheek, Goss on the
     forehead. Goss, in getting away, fell.

     8.――Joe appeared at last to be tired of the scientific
     and waiting business, and went pluckily at Mace. He was
     certainly first in the hitting, planting heavily left
     and right on the head. Jem returned a couple of
     smashers on the front of the head, and in some severe
     exchanges his length and straightness of delivery gave
     him the pull. The men closed, and after a good wrestle,
     in which Goss displayed great muscular power, he got
     the best of the fall, Mace being under him. (Great
     applause for Goss, who was evidently fighting up hill.)

     9.――Once more Joe tried to lead off, but he was out of
     distance, and Mace could evidently make the fighting as
     he chose. At last they closed near the ropes, when they
     got a mutual hold, and some severe fibbing took place,
     both men getting it hot until they fell together.

     10.――Goss, instigated by his seconds, tried a rush. He
     was neatly stopped, and seemed perplexed as to his next
     move. Jem drew back and Joe followed, got home his
     right on the body slightly, and was away. Mace stepped
     on to him, dealt him a left-hander on the head, and Joe
     slipped down.

     11.――Mace now tried to make the fighting. He stepped in
     upon Goss, who retired and shifted round in the clear
     corner of the ring; at last Jem pinned him a stinger in
     the mouth, and then as he jumped sideways caught him a
     second crack with the same hand on the head; Goss
     rushed in, delivering both hands, and Mace slipped down
     amidst some hisses from Goss’s partisans.

     12.――Some tedious sparring. Mace, who now evidently
     meant fighting, tried to induce Goss to lead off, but
     he would not. At length, Joe being, as Mace thought,
     pushed in a corner, in he went, and a spirited rally
     ensued. Mace got home on Joe’s damaged left eyebrow,
     but Goss gave him a couple of rib-benders, and,
     closing, proved his strength by bringing down the
     Champion a sounder on the turf, and falling on him.
     (Deafening cheers――“Joe’s waking him up!”)

     13.――It was fully expected that Goss would now go to
     work in the “finishing” style that had earned his fame;
     but no! He again resorted to that clumsy yokel
     craftiness which could never beat a man of Mace’s skill
     and resource. He dodged about until Mace, seeing he had
     got him, dealt him a sounding spank on the head with
     the left, and then as he shifted about gave him a
     straight punch in the mouth with the same hand. Joe,
     stung with these visitations, went in too late, for
     though he got in a round hit on the side of Mace’s
     head, the latter clinched him and threw him.

     14.――Goss, in performing his usual dancing steps around
     the ring, caught his heel against a stake and stumbled;
     Mace dashed at him, when Joe got down somehow. (A claim
     of “foul” was preferred by Mace’s seconds, but
     overruled)

     15.――Goss was urged to “rattle in,” but he declined the
     experiment, and moved round his man, then, lunging out
     heavily with both hands got the left well home on the
     side of the head. Mace got quickly close, hit Joe
     severely in the mouth, and Goss fell in hurriedly
     getting back.

     16.――Mace measured his man carefully as they stood
     sparring in the centre of the ring, and then swiftly
     sent in a stinging left-hander. Joe shifted again, and
     Mace, pressing him too closely, received a couple of
     good hits on the head. Goss away as before; Mace worked
     close to him, dealt him a crack on the head, and as he
     stepped in again Goss slipped down. (Disapprobation.)

     17.――Goss all over the ring, but Mace pressed after him
     more sharply than hitherto. He fixed him at last, and
     delivered both hands like lightning on the head. A
     slashing rally, the best in the fight; Mace planting
     with amazing quickness and force, left and right, going
     home with severity. Joe stuck to his work, and lashed
     out desperately in return; but though he certainly hit
     his man heavily, Mace must have felt he had the
     superiority for good and all in this rally. The men
     closed, exhausted by severe exertion, and after a short
     struggle fell together.

     18.――Goss came up bleeding freely from the left brow,
     nose, and mouth. His punishment was certainly severe;
     Mace was also marked. After some sparring Joe lashed
     out viciously with both hands, Mace slipped back, and
     Joe, overreaching himself, fell. No mischief done, but
     the Gossites looked blue.

     19th and last.――Both slow to time. Mace, cool as a
     cucumber, seemed to be taking stock of his adversary,
     as if beginning a fight. Goss worked about, stepping
     first to one side, then the other, as if nervously
     anxious to begin “business.” Mace worked him slowly
     backwards, till close on the ropes, then, as Joe was
     about to break away, he delivered a tremendous
     right-handed lunge, straight from the shoulder; the
     blow landed on the left side of Goss’s left jaw, and at
     once hit him clean out of time. Poor Goss fell forward
     insensible, and all efforts of his seconds to rouse him
     proving vain, Mace was proclaimed the victor. Time, 1
     hour, 55 minutes, 30 seconds.

     REMARKS.――Notwithstanding the heavy hitting which came
     at intervals, we must pronounce this a bad fight;
     indeed, it could hardly be otherwise. Goss was entirely
     over-matched in science, length, and weight, and
     evidently felt it early in the fight. His dodging and
     clumsy wiles to steal a march on so perfect a
     practitioner as Mace were often almost ludicrous. His
     game, indeed his only chance, was to have forced his
     man to desperate rallies, and have trusted to his own
     hardihood, courage and endurance――though this, we do
     not believe, could have altered the final result. Mace,
     on the other hand, was, considering his manifold
     advantages, over-cautious. He not only would not risk a
     chance, but he continually gave a chance away by being
     too guarded. At the same time, we must admit that
     Mace’s mode of winning the battle on the line he had
     marked out exhibited consummate skill.

As a “side-light” may often elucidate a “dark corner,” we may remark,
that within a few weeks of this £1,000 victory we learned in a
disputation, that a neighbouring publican, and backer of Mace,
declared that Jem’s was a “bogus” proprietorship, and that the Norwich
“Champion” was heavily indebted to him.

At this period a wave of cant was passing over the country. The
_Morning Star_, a London daily long since defunct, in which John
Bright, the pugnacious Quaker, was largely interested, was furious in
its denunciations of the authorities for what it called “their
connivance in the brutalities of prize-fighters.” Contemporary with
the scripturally named _Morning Star_, was a yet more straightlaced
and puritan print, rejoicing in the title of the _Dial_, whose
mission, as we learned from its prospectus, was to “purify the daily
Press” by excluding from its columns not only racing reports and
“so-called sporting news,” but even cases from the police-courts,
divorce-courts, actions for slander or _crim. con._, and we know not
what else of the doings of this naughty world. The _Dial_, after
threatening to supersede the _Times_ (and all other dailies), spent
nearly all its capital in a very weakly issue, and finally threw the
balance of some thousands of pounds into the coffers of the _Morning
Star_, which therefore contracted a marriage, and added the words “and
_Dial_” to its title. We need not observe that marriage in the
newspaper world invariably means the death of the weaker vessel; and
so the _Morning Star_ and _Dial_, positively treated its readers,
after a few flourishes of condemnation, with a full, true, and
particular account of “this horrid prize-fight.” Surely hypocrisy and
the eagerness of saints to “turn a penny” could not further go? On the
other hand, the _Saturday Review_, a journal of manly independence,
and a sworn enemy of cant, published in its impression of the
succeeding week a life-like sketch from the pen of a scholar and a
gentleman, of his adventures in going to and coming from the fight,
with his impressions of what he saw thereat. Those who can refer to
the number will thank us for the reminder: here we can only find room
for the closing reflections.

“Looking dispassionately at this fight, and without admitting or
denying the truthfulness of the descriptions of other fights that we
have read, our conclusion is, that the epithets ‘brutal,’ ‘barbarous,’
‘disgusting,’ and so forth, are quite uncalled for. There are people
who don’t like fights, and there are people who view them as displays
of skill and fortitude. Yet much that is objectionable in the acts of
the supporters of the Ring and the practitioners of the art would
disappear if respectable society, so called, dared to look less
unkindly upon it and them. At any rate, we see no sufficient reason
why magistrates and police should display such excessive zeal in
hunting down a fight in such an out-of-the-way place as Plumstead
Marshes, and are glad they did not finally succeed on Tuesday,
September 1st, in disappointing the hundreds of people who had
travelled 200 miles to see the battle between Mace and Goss.”

So far as the history of the Prize Ring is concerned we would here
gladly close our record, leaving only the second combat of Tom King
and John Heenan for its finale; but a page or two of the suicidal
doings of its professors and destroying patrons must be added to
complete its story.

In the first month of 1864 a challenge, as in 1860, came across the
Atlantic. This time the cartel was in the name of one Joe Coburn, an
Irish American, and was responded to by Mace, whose backers proposed a
stake of £500 a side; and on May 27th, the challenger, accompanied by
Cusick, known aforetime as the companion and trainer of John Heenan,
and a Mr. Edwin James,[36] who described himself as Editor of the _New
York Clipper_, arrived in London to settle the preliminaries.

The articles as finally drawn were to the effect that Mace’s party
were to post £600, to £400 on the part of Coburn, and that at the last
deposit £100 was to be handed to the latter as expenses; that a
referee should be agreed on the day previous to the fight, which
should take place in Ireland, over 20 and under 100 miles from Dublin;
the money to be made good in ten fortnightly deposits.

On the occasions of these diplomatic protocollings, which were
conducted with a Yankee ‘cuteness and cavilling that were suspiciously
suggestive of knavery rather than straightforward honesty of purpose,
we saw a good deal of Mr. Joe Coburn, and the more we saw of him the
more assured were we that the astute “managers” of the affair must
have had some other design in view than a fair fight for a thousand
with such a man as Jem Mace. Joe Coburn, who stood about 5 ft. 8½ in.,
was a well-built fellow, something under 11 stone, and tolerably
good-looking; his countenance was the reverse of pugilistic in
formation or outline, his nose being decidedly of the Roman arch, and
the bony contour of his face and nob rather of the “hatchet” than
either the “snake” or the “bullet-headed” type. He told us that he was
a native of Middletown, County Armagh; that he was in his 26th year,
having been born July 20th, 1838; and that his parents took him to
America at an early age. At first his “business matters” were
entrusted to the care of the experienced Nat Langham, but “Ould Nat”
was soon thrust aside by the loquacious Hiberno-American “agents,”
“secretaries,” “friends and advisers” of Mr. Coburn, who, of himself,
appeared quiescent, modest, and taciturn. And here a word on the
wretched hands into which, in these latest days, the interests of the
Ring and pugilists had fallen. In times of old, but yet within his
memory, the writer has witnessed or been cognizant of conferences at
Tom Spring’s “Castle,” at Jem Burn’s, at Limmer’s Hotel, at
Tattersall’s, and especially in the editorial sanctum, the front
parlour of No. 5, Norfolk Street, Strand, whereat Honourables, M.P.’s,
and gallant Guardsmen――such patrons of pugilism as the Marquises of
Drumlanrig and Waterford, Lord Ongley, Lord Longford, Sir Edward Kent,
Sir St. Vincent Cotton, Harvey Combe――with squires, country gentlemen,
and sportsmen, have taken part in discussing the interests of fair and
honest pugilism and pugilists, and aiding them by purse and patronage.
He may add that in those times Lord Althorp (afterwards Earl
Spencer),[37] the present courtly diplomatist and Foreign Minister,
Earl Granville (Lord Leveson-Gower), the greatest of the Sir Robert
Peels, the Honourable Robert Grimston (brother to the Earl of
Verulam), Lord Wenlock, Lord Palmerston, and the now venerable
philanthropist, the Earl of Shaftesbury (then Lord Ashley),[38] with
other “brave peers of England, pillars of the State,” did not disdain
to sanction and approve, by example, speech, and pen, the practice and
principles of boxing, and the peculiarly English and manly Art of
Self-defence.

All these had already disappeared, or withdrawn in disgust, and left
no successors. Their places were usurped by a clamorous crew of sharp
practitioners, loud-mouthed disputants, and tricky match-makers――the
sweepings of society in the Old and New Worlds. Those on this side of
the water were backed by the ill-gotten gains of the keepers of low
gambling hells and night-houses, those on the other side by the
proprietors of bar-rooms, drinking-saloons, and the large crowd of
loungers, loafers, and rowdies who hang on the skirts of the Sporting
World of the Great Republic and are its disgrace and bane. The
cardinal principle of these worthies, like that of the “welshers” of
our own race-courses, being “heads I win, tails you lose,” it was
certainly a trial for an Englishman’s patience and gravity to hear and
read it urged, as a reason for choosing Ireland as a battle-ground,
that our Hiberno-American cousins (or cozens) were afraid their man
“would not get fair play” in England. But we must proceed.

No sooner had the conditions been duly published to the world in the
sporting papers than the “high contracting parties” set off upon their
provincial tours, with the summer all before them. With Coburn’s
progress his “secretary” kept the newspaper press _au courant_; we
were told, from week to week, how he put on the mittens with Joe Goss,
Bill Ryall, Jack Rooke, Reardon, and others, at Birmingham,
Manchester, Liverpool, Glasgow, and Dublin, and of course “bested”
them. Those who knew how these things were arranged, took them with
the needful “grain of salt,” and we coupled them with the significant
fact that three of the pugilists named each separately expressed to us
his envy at Mace’s good luck, and his regret that _he_ was not in his
place to “try conclusions” with the newly imported “champion.” Mace,
too, was not behind in travelling the “circuits,” having for his
“agent in advance” and “secretary,” Harry Montague, well known, even
up to 1881, as secretary to “Myers’s Great American Hippodrome and
Circus.”

We skip over the months until we come to September 24th, at which
time, strange to say, not a single detail seemed to have been arranged
by either party, and when, at the last deposit at Harry Brunton’s,
Barbican, the £1,000 was declared to be made good, and the £100 cheque
of the stakeholder thereafter handed over to Coburn and Co., we must
confess we were much exercised in mind to know what would be the next
move in the _kriegspiel_. We were soon enlightened. Coburn’s
representatives having won the toss, communicated that the rendezvous
would be Mr. Woodroffe’s, “Cambridge Arms,” Island Bridge, near
Dublin, on Monday, October 4th. Accordingly, to “mak’ siccar,” we
booked ourselves, on the previous Saturday, by the “Wild Irishman” for
Holyhead, and thence by the swift mail-packet, the “Scotia,” landed
early on Sunday morning at Kingstown, suffering some delay from a
tremendous south-wester in the Channel. Here we found our Irish
friends all alive, and as full of questions and eager inquiries for
news as if they had been ancient instead of modern Greeks. _More
Hibernico_, too, we soon found that they could tell us more than we
knew about the matter; for by way of a secret we were informed in the
street, before we had landed six hours, that “Joe” (Coburn) “shure was
in Limerick, and that the foight ’ud come off nigh hand there, at
Goold’s Crass,” which, if thus publicly known, made us sure that it
would not. We stood on the pier watching the arrivals. By the
Liverpool packet came a large accession to the English division; among
them Jerry Noon, Bos Tyler, Welsh, Hicks, with Fred Oliver, the
Commissary, and his henchman, Puggy White, and not a few familiar
faces from London, Birmingham, Manchester, and the North.

In Dublin we found not a few “London particulars” of the Press: the
editor of _Bell’s Life_ (Frank Dowling), with young Holt as his
aide-de-camp, the editor of the _Era_, ditto of two new penny
_Sportsmen_, with half a dozen penmen of the London dailies and
weeklies, all seeking pabulum for their “special correspondence” from
the Irish capital. At “the Imperial” we met an American party, which
included John Heenan, his “secretary (!)” Mr. Hamilton, Cusick, and
the literary and artistic representatives of a New York “illustrated”
journal. Here, too, we met our friend Shirley Brooks (the editor of
_Punch_, _in posse_), looking fair, fresh, and pleasant, and more
resembling a smart Meltonian fresh from “the shires” and following the
brush across a grass country than a London Press-man just escaped from
the consumption of the midnight gas. To him, as one of the
“uninitiated,” we imparted our confidence, that he had better enjoy
himself in the pleasant circles of Dublin society, than set out on any
such “pig-shearing” expedition as the contemplated journey must in all
probability prove.

Monday morning came, and we strolled down Dame Street. We were quickly
hailed by a car-driver, “Would we like jist a dhrive to Monkstown?
Shure an’ Mishter Mace is up there, at the Salt Hill hot-el, he is;
an’ there’s lots o’ gintry as he’s a shtrippin’ an’ showin’ hisself
to――shure I seen him mysilf through an open windy, yesterday marnin’;
an’ by the same token he a-runnin’ a quarter race like a shtag, an’
batin’ his man, a rig’lar paydesthrian too. Will I dhrive yer hanner?”
Yes; but not to Monkstown. At this moment we were accosted by an old,
very old acquaintance, none other than the erewhile host of the “Blue
Boar’s Head,” Long Acre, a renowned English “paydesthrian,”
Drinkwater, better known in sporting circles by his alias of
“Temperance.”[39] This worthy relic of a better period and better men,
had been for some years located in the Irish capital, in a
confidential employment in an extensive commercial institution, and,
as he was among the curious, we mounted the jolting jaunting-car, and
away we went for Island Bridge.

The scene here was curious, and quite novel to an English eye. Groups
of people, consisting of men with a large sprinkling of slatternly
women and barefoot children, were thickly scattered on the roads and
river-banks, while vehicles of every description, and some of no
possible description, rattled through the crowds amid cheers, shouts,
and now and then objurgations and cries from the assemblage. Hard by,
to complete the oddity of the picture, stood a squad of active,
good-looking, and apparently good-humoured constabulary, each carrying
his handy rifle-carbine and sword-bayonet, and all seemingly on the
best of terms with Paddy and Shelah, and the “gossoons” who formed the
holiday gathering. Making our way into the house we there found, that
though the much-talked-of Goold’s Cross was the appointed _champ
clos_, that not only was there, up to this time, no train or other
mode of conveyance thither even suggested, but that the “assembled
chiefs” were only about to discuss the nomination of a referee, as
provided by the articles. Had this matter been left to Harry Brunton
on behalf of Mace, and “Ould Nat” as the representative of Coburn, no
doubt that matter would have been quickly and amicably settled. That
this did not suit the “managers” was quickly apparent. We found a
meeting much resembling, on a smaller scale, a Yankee “caucus,” or an
assembly of French communards at Belleville, gesticulating, shouting,
swearing, and all talking at once, while in the midst our deaf friend,
Harry Brunton, Old Nat, Mr. Edwin James, and half a dozen Hibernian
amateur counsellors in vain tried to obtain a hearing. Finally, as
nothing could be done here, an adjournment took place to a more
private apartment. Here the squabble was renewed. For referee, after
various names had been assented to by Brunton and rejected by the
Coburn party, the latter declared, that they would fight under the
refereeship of no man but a certain Mr. Bowler, of Limerick, a person
utterly unknown to any one present, and of whom no one could certify
that he had the slightest acquaintance with the rules of the Ring, or
the duties of the office thus proposed to be thrust upon him. At this
time, too, it was truly reported that a body of 100 constabulary were
posted near Thurles, and that a man had been just arrested at Goold’s
Cross on suspicion that he was Coburn, who, however, was stated to be
safe at a place called Ballangella, twelve miles from Limerick.
Brunton now put his foot down in refusing the mysterious Mr. Bowler,
and as Messrs. James and Co. were equally obdurate, the dispute as to
whether _either_ party meant fighting went on until the clock struck
three, when the match, according to the articles, was actually _off_.
Hereupon Harry Brunton declared his intention of not trusting his man
to the forbearance of the Irish police, and, unless a fair referee
were agreed on, he would wash his hands of the whole affair and return
to England. Harry then left the house, and embarked on board the
Holyhead packet, Mace also leaving at nine o’clock. And now came the
concluding scenes of this Irish comedy. The Coburn clique loudly
proclaimed their intention of claiming the £900 in the hands of the
stakeholder. They would go down to Goold’s Cross――and they did so――and
then and there summon the “runaway” to meet their man. Resolved to see
out the farce, we took tickets. On the platform were a hundred
greencoats armed with carbines; and a ruddy-faced young rustic, whose
name proved to be Ryan, as unlike Mace as could be, having been
pointed out by some practical joker as Mace, was forthwith arrested as
the redoubted English champion, but soon set at liberty. The ring,
consisting of four posts and a rope, having been pitched at a place
called Pierstown, Kilmana, and the police being assured that there
being but _one_ man there could be no fight, stood laughing by, while
proclamation for the appearance of the English champion was made and
the stakes duly claimed, and so the curtain fell.

The scene shifts to England, where the stakeholder, after innumerable
criminations and recriminations, declared “a draw” of the battle-money
by each party as the only possible verdict. Of course the Mace party,
and Harry Brunton especially, were seriously out of pocket by the
_fiasco_, in travelling, training, and other expenses, beyond the £100
disbursed to Coburn and Co. The editor of _Bell’s Life_ thus sums up
the case:――

     “Looking at the matter calmly and dispassionately, we are
     led to think that Mace has been treated harshly. Of Coburn
     we have formed this opinion, that he never had the slightest
     intention of fighting; that he had not even trained; that he
     was a mere instrument in the hands of others, and believed
     the match would be turned to account by some trick of Yankee
     juggling, without the peril of exposing his cutwater
     countenance to the active props of Mace’s handy digits.
     Taking the affair as a whole, it has been one of the
     greatest and most fatal blows to pugilism within our memory,
     and will tend more to estrange and disgust true patrons of
     the Ring than any event of our time. We have not heard any
     more appropriate name bestowed upon any great disappointment
     than that invented by the sporting editor of the _Morning
     Advertiser_, when he described the no-result as ‘the
     collapse of a gigantic wind-bag.’”

While on the subject of the Press, we cannot refrain from a pleasant
episode in relief of so much chicanery and knavery.

No one can deny the native humour of our Irish fellow-countrymen, and
their keen sense of the ridiculous, hence some Irish wag turned this
affair of Mace and Coburn to laughable account. A certain portion of
the “unco’ guid” Puritan and eminently pious Catholic press of Dublin
was loud in its outcries of horror, and its denunciations of the
unhallowed incursion of “fighting men” into the peace-loving “island
of saints.” It called loudly for the strong arm of the law to preserve
intact the holy soil, miraculously cleared by St. Patrick, from a
renewed invasion of foreign “vermin.” Some sly wag (the hoax was
worthy of Theodore Hook himself) accordingly indited the following
“pastoral” from the Cardinal Archbishop of Dublin, which, being
forwarded to the leading Irish papers, found ready insertion and
approving editorial comment:――

                  “_Dublin, Feast of the Angel Guardians, 1864._

     “VERY REVEREND BRETHREN,――My attention has been called by
     some respectable gentlemen to a report now widely
     circulated, that this city, or its vicinity, is to be made
     the theatre of a signal combat between two foreign
     pugilists, who are about to expose their lives to imminent
     danger for a certain sum of money. This report must be the
     subject of great regret to every one who is imbued with the
     spirit of Christian charity, and who recognises in his
     fellow-man the image of his Creator. It is not necessary for
     me to call on you to use all your influence to preserve this
     Christian country from an exhibition so disgraceful, and so
     well calculated to degrade human nature. I shall merely
     request of you to publish, as soon as possible, from your
     altars, that such combats, in which human life is exposed to
     danger, are prohibited under the severest penalties by the
     Holy Catholic Church. Passing over the decrees of the
     Council of Trent, it will be sufficient to state that the
     learned Pontiff Benedict XIV. excommunicates the principal
     actors in such fights, their seconds, and all who encourage
     them, and all who designedly become spectators of such
     unworthy scenes. If you denounce these penalties from the
     altar I am confident that the faithful of this diocese, who
     are so devotedly attached to Holy Catholic Church, and so
     obedient to its laws, will listen with contempt to the
     invitation of those who would implicate them in the misdeeds
     of foreign gladiators, and will abstain from countenancing
     or encouraging anything condemned by our holy religion, and
     contrary to the dictates of the Gospel.

                                                  “PAUL CULLEN.”

The absurdity of the date of this “pastoral,” and the satirical retort
on Lord Lyndhurst’s celebrated speech, in which he characterised the
Irish as “aliens in blood, in language, and religion,” by describing
Mace and Coburn as “foreign gladiators,” might have aroused suspicion.
But no; with the godly, when they attack the wicked, _on fait flêche
de tout bois_; so the Puritan and Methodist prints actually praised
the anti-combatant zeal of the Cardinal, and the “pastoral” was
reproduced with approbation in a paper containing two savage
assaults――in one of which a man’s nose was bitten off――and four other
outrages of the “foinest pisanthry” with weapons, in two of which the
victims were left senseless and apparently dead!

That the English newspapers took the hoax _au sérieux_ is hardly to be
wondered at, but the two following specimens, one ridiculing, the
other approving, the ingeniously fabricated “pastoral,” are really
worth preserving as curiosities of newspaper literature.


     (From the _Manchester Guardian_, October 5, 1864.)
     “THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE PUGILISTS.
     “_To the Editor of the_ ‘EXAMINER’ AND ‘TIMES.’

     “SIR,――I perceive from your journal of to-day that
     Archbishop Paul Cullen has issued a pastoral to his clergy
     against the great fight that was to have come off in
     Ireland, in which country it is well known that fighting is
     the very last thing the inhabitants ever resort to for the
     settlement of differences. As the men are not going to
     fight, there will be little difficulty in obeying the
     injunction of Cardinal Paul. Had it been otherwise, I am
     afraid a few of ‘the faithful’ would have been congregated
     in the outer ring, and perhaps some few (who of course could
     not read or had not read the Pastoral) might have got up
     some little independent shindies of their own, even as young
     buds surrounding the inner red roses, or noses. But are we
     quite sure the Archbishop really alludes to the same thing
     as we do? He describes the projected fight as between ‘two
     foreign pugilists.’ Now I understand Mr. Coburn is not an
     American, but an Irishman. Mr. Mace is undoubtedly from
     Norwich; and although, in a certain sense, that Quaker,
     crape-weaving city may be described as _in partibus
     infidelium_, yet letters from Limerick to Norwich are not
     yet forwarded _viâ_ Ostend. I fancy what the Archbishop
     means is this, that in the case of real native
     Irishmen――take the Belfast Catholics and Protestants, for
     example――fighting could not possibly occur, and that he
     wishes to show that only individuals ‘not to the manner
     born’ could import so dangerous a custom or practice into
     that peaceful land. A ‘foreigner’ from London or from Oldham
     might possibly come to fisticuffs in the county of Wicklow,
     but they would receive no countenance or encouragement from
     the peace-loving natives, who, refusing to hold their hats
     or coats, or to mop off any casual claret, would avert their
     eyes, and, like the soldier in the song, ‘wipe away a tear.’
     I have no interest in the two persons called ‘foreigners’ by
     the Archbishop, but I think in so designating them his
     Eminence has administered a severer punishment than the
     occasion required. I should not like to retort upon the
     Archbishop or call my Irish fellow-citizens
     ‘foreigners’――writing a paragraph for your journal, for
     instance, to the following effect――‘Two foreigners, named
     Dennis Blake and Patrick O’Rafferty, were brought before Mr.
     Fowler for fighting in Deansgate. O’Rafferty, who spoke with
     a strong foreign accent, said “Blake tould me, plaze yer
     hannar, he’d jist bate the soul out o’ me in a brace of
     shakes, an’ Oi――――” Mr. Fowler, “I’ve evidence enough. You
     are ’aliens in blood, in language, and in religion”――I am
     quoting an eminent jurist――and you must pay a fine of ――, or
     go to prison.’

     “It must, however, be a great consolation and relief to the
     minds of Mr. Mace and Mr. Bos Tyler that the Archbishop
     ‘passes over the decrees of the Council of Trent,’ and
     merely throws the ‘learned Pope Benedict XIV.’ at their
     heretic heads. It seems to me that one of the Pope
     ‘Bonifaces’ would be more appropriate in a case of ‘pubs,’
     and prize-fighters, for a ‘stinger over the left.’

                         Faithfully yours,
                                                       “J. F. T.
    “_Manchester, October 5, 1864._”

An extract from that immaculate journal _The English Churchman_,
culminates the joke:――


     “THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE BOXERS.

     “‘No good thing is without its attendant evil,’ is a
     platitude as old, at least, as the time of Lucretius. Old,
     however, as it is, and platitude as it has become, it is a
     truth, notwithstanding. The intercourse and intercommunion
     of nations is an undoubted good. It has, however, we are
     reminded, its repulsive as well as its attractive aspect. An
     international Congress may be useful. International
     Exhibitions, apart from the boastful self-sufficiency which
     attends them, may be good. International Copyright is what
     all authors sigh for, and we can even enjoy the noise and
     bustle of an International Dog Show. We have, however,
     advanced beyond this, and have within the last week only
     barely escaped the disgrace of another International Prize
     Fight. Amidst the dearth of political news; the stagnation
     of home scandals; and the absence of our chief notabilities
     from London, if not from England, Mr. Edwin James――the same
     person, we presume, who so recently ‘left his country for
     his country’s good,’ has sought to manufacture telling
     paragraphs for newspaper editors by getting up an
     International Prize Fight in the sister island.[40] Happily
     for the character of Ireland, its police, jealous of all
     fighting save amongst the native element, and with the
     lawful and national weapon――the shillelagh――have prevented a
     repetition of these scandalous scenes and gatherings; and
     the English Champion has had to return to London _re
     infecta_. With the squabbles of the would-be combatants and
     their friends――with the recriminations of Yankee sharpers
     and English blackguards, we have nothing to do. We leave the
     patrons of the Ring to settle the important question of the
     stakes among themselves. Nor are we about to try the
     patience of our readers with either a defence or an attack
     upon the immunities of the Prize Ring. What we desire to
     chronicle is the worthy attitude assumed by the Roman
     Catholic Archbishop of Dublin, who addressed the following
     letter to the clergy within his jurisdiction. [The letter
     will be found elsewhere.] This letter we gladly publish as
     worthy of the position of the writer. If successful, as but
     for an accident it might have been, it would have afforded
     an encouragement to the author, as it will be a valuable
     precedent to himself and to the rest of his brethren, and
     will, we have no doubt, lead them to ‘announce’ the same
     ‘penalties’ of excommunication against the midnight
     assassin, watching to take the life of his landlord; so that
     the pugilist and the hired murderer alike will before long
     both be sought for in vain in the peaceful ‘Isle of the
     Saints.’ With the fact of the publication of such a document
     we are too gratified to attempt to cavil at its language.
     The emphasis laid on the circumstance that Mace and Coburn
     were two ‘_foreign_ pugilists,’ and that they were two
     ‘_foreign_ gladiators,’ seams at first sight a covert way of
     claiming the monopoly of fighting for the faithful and
     non-alien portion of the community, and is hardly consistent
     with the fact that one of the would-be combatants was born
     in the county of Armagh, which is usually considered a part
     of Ireland. We have, however, no doubt that these words,
     though not literally correct, were judiciously thrown in by
     the Archbishop, in order to enlist the patriotism and
     national feeling of those to whom this letter was addressed,
     and with the hope that those Irishmen who might be
     indifferent to the wishes and orders of ‘Paul Cullen,’ would
     readily follow the directions of the writer when they were
     fortified by the belief that the two invaders of the
     peace――the two gladiators――were, after all, only
     ‘foreigners,’ and hence undeserving of the honour of an
     Irish audience.”

At the “settlement” of accounts――Messrs. James and Co., receiving a
cheque of £400――a funny little incident of modern practice oozed out.
Harry Brunton, among other liabilities, had made himself responsible
to a silk-mercer for Mace’s “colours,” and now asked to be reimbursed.
In olden times, when a pugilist distributed his colours, it was with
the honourable understanding, on the part of the recipient, that in
the event of victory the man should receive a guinea (subsequently a
“sov.”), and _nothing_ if he lost. This was the understanding; not as
a sale, but, as the newspapers say of correspondence, “as a guarantee
of good faith.” In modern times, however, as Molière’s _Quack Doctor_
assures _Géronte_, “_Nous avons changé tout cela_,” and the gallant
and generous dispenser insists on the prepayment of a guinea――we
suppose “as a guarantee of good faith”――on the part of his patron.
Indeed, we do not see how he could safely do otherwise, as the looms
of Spitalfields and Coventry would hardly suffice to supply the
demands of silk kerchiefs on “a promise to pay,” while the deposit of
a sovereign each (not returnable), for a few dozen of handkerchiefs,
invoice price 5s. 6d., most have a certain consolation in case of a
draw or a lose.

Accounts being squared, Mace, as he said “to clear his character,”
offered to fight Coburn anywhere in England for £100 or “on his own
terms.” Bill Ryall, Joe Goss, Jack Rooke, also, were all “ready to
meet Coburn.” The latter responded that he was ready to fight Mace, in
“any part of Her Majesty’s dominions in America, for £1,000, but not
in England _with a mob at his back_.” Brunton published a list of
Mace’s backers, “to whom their money had been returned;” a similar
document of the deposits made on behalf of Coburn might have proved a
curiosity. Our sole apology for treating at such length these later
doings is, that we look upon them as the concluding chapter in the
downfall of the Ring, and as the elucidation of a question often put
to us, “Do we consider its revival possible?” to which our reply has
uniformly been, “Not only not possible, but not even desirable; ‘other
times, other manners:’ its revival would be an anachronism.” Yet did
the old bull-dog spirit die hard, and several good battles were
contested in the years 1863-70. In November, 1864, a new big one, Joe
Wormald, claimed the Championship, when he was answered by another big
’un, hight Andrew Marsden. Mace sent forth a challenge to meet the
winner, who proved to be Wormald, who received the belt. The day of
battle was named for November 1, 1865, for £200 and the Championship;
but a severe accident disabling Wormald, Mace received the sum of £120
forfeit.

The year 1866, opened with another “train-swindle.” A second match
“for £200 and the belt” had been got up with Joe Goss, and Tuesday,
May 24th, appointed for its decision. About four hundred tickets
having been disposed of by industrious touting, at two guineas first
class, and £1 10s. 6d. second, the company started at half-past five
on the appointed morning, on “an excursion there and back,” as the
card-board expressed it. At 6h. 13m. we passed Farningham Road, and at
6h. 35m. slackened speed and disembarked at Longfield Court, near
Meopham, Kent, where a ring was formed, and after the customary
ceremonies, Jem Mace and Joe Goss――after much waiting for the police,
who came not――stood up face to face, at a respectful distance, for the
first and only round of the


     NO FIGHT.

     Round 1.――Mace would not lead off, but nodded and
     beckoned to Joe, who, however, declined his invitation
     and nodded and grinned in return, squaring his elbows
     and stepping first to right and then to left, in an
     ungainly manner, but never trusting himself within what
     Mr. Gladstone calls “a measurable distance” of a knock;
     Mace, also, politely preserving an interspace in all
     his manœuvres. As minute after minute dragged on, and
     it was clear neither man meant to fight, the referee
     stepped into the ring, and warned the men, unless blows
     were struck he would declare “a draw.” The announcement
     was received with the utmost indifference by both the
     principal performers, who walked about during the
     discussion, chafing their arms and breasts with their
     hands, and exchanging recognitions with acquaintances
     and friends. Again the men faced each other, and again
     alternately advanced and retreated; fifty minutes, one
     hour elapsed, and not a blow was struck. Again and
     again did the referee remonstrate. He might as well
     have “whistled jigs to a milestone.” At the end of 74
     minutes he leaped into the ring for the last time, and
     amidst the laughter and hisses of the spectators,
     declared it “a drawn battle;” whereupon the unscathed
     gladiators shook hands, grinned, and put on their
     clothes, Mace coolly informing us, that he had
     “sprained his ankle severely a few days before,” and
     that “he was not fit to fight;” though how that ensured
     Goss’s forbearance was left unexplained. So all
     returned to town――the sheep and their shearers.

     “Hope springs eternal in the human breast,”

and so, in the hope of witnessing a fight at last, Mace signed
articles once again for £200, and to ensure that the men should get
closer together this time, a ring of 16 feet was agreed upon. In this,
on August 6th, 1866, Jem Mace displayed indisputable superiority by
giving Master Joe an exemplary beating in 21 rounds, occupying one
minute over the half-hour.

The bubble of 1866-7 was the appearance of a new “Irish giant,”
standing 6 ft. 4½ in., first dubbed O’Baldwin, and afterwards Ned
Baldwin――a name familiar to Ring history. Having beaten one George
Iles, O’Baldwin claimed the belt, and Mace (who had retired) backed
“an Unknown” against him. This “Unknown” Mace afterwards declared to
be Joe Goss; but Mace having got into trouble over a battle between
Holden and Peter Moore, at Derby, and Joe injuring his shoulder in his
Bristol fight with Allen, Mace was allowed (for a consideration) to
name Joe Wormald in his stead, and to postpone the fight for a
fortnight, and yet farther to Saturday, 23rd April, 1867, so as not to
clash with the Two Thousand Guineas Stakes. Will it be believed that
300 persons travelled that morning by the South Eastern Railway to
find that “the Giant” had somehow mistaken the terminus, and by a
misdirection was sitting in a four-wheeler, doubled up like a
pocket-knife, under a dry arch in Tooley Street, while the special
steamed off without him, and so Joe Wormald received the £200 forfeit?

To console the confiding public, Mace now offered himself to the
notice of O’Baldwin on the usual terms, to meet on October 15th, 1867.
The £400 was made good, and Jem was ordered from Newmarket, where he
was training, to Woodford, Essex, when it was communicated that the
officers were after him, and he crossed over into Surrey. Here, at
Herne Hill, he was arrested by Sergeant Silverton, of the Metropolitan
Police, together with Pooley Mace, his cousin, brought before Sir
Thomas Henry, at Bow Street, and duly bound over to keep the peace in
sureties of £300. At the examination, Inspector Hannan stated that the
tickets were, to his knowledge, sold at two, three, and four guineas.
So each man, as we were told next week, “drew his stake,” on the
ground of “magisterial interference.” Again Mace had retired, and Joe
Wormald being disabled by illness, O’Baldwin was left, like the Giant
Blunderbore, “King of the Castle.” The reader has already, in this
Memoir, had the opportunity of forming an opinion of the pugilistic
pretensions of Sam Hurst, “the Stalybridge Infant.” Yet Sam Hurst was
dragged from his obscurity, and it was thought a good thing might be
made of the _gobemouches_ by a Championship fight between the giants!
This was, however, too utterly preposterous, and it broke down. In
December, 1867, Joe Goss and Wormald were matched, which ended in a
forfeit, and Wormald, O’Baldwin, and Co. were announced as departing
for America!

Here, in 1868, as we learn from the Transatlantic journals, Joe
Wormald and the prodigious O’Baldwin were matched “for 2,500 dollars
and the Championship of the World.” They met at Lynnfield,
Massachusetts, when, after a scramble of ten minutes in a single
round, the “sheriff and his merrie men” interfered and stopped further
proceedings. Thereafter, we are told, the “stakeholder having ordered
Wormald to renew the fight,” and he not complying, that functionary
handed the money to “the Irish champion,” a proceeding which, in the
words of Lord Dundreary, “no fellah can understand.” After returning
for awhile to England, Mace sailed for the Antipodes, and by the
latest accounts was a prosperous publican in Melbourne.

Our tale is well-nigh told. In 1870, Jem Mace, being in America, met
Tom Allen for 2,500 dollars a side. They fought near New Orleans, on
May 10th, when Jem polished off the Birmingham bruiser in style in 10
rounds, 44 minutes.

As the design of “PUGILISTICA” is to supply a reliable and honest
history of the British Prize Ring and the deeds of its worthies, we
shall here drop the story of New World rowdyism. The Ring had finished
its career――had died in the country of its birth; its last expiring
flicker had sputtered out, and _exit in fumo_, exiled for its misdeeds
to a land where its true merits and principles never had an existence.
Having thus traced it to its ignominious end, we return, for a single
chapter, to the doings of Tom King, whom we have already styled
“_Ultimus Romanorum_.”


     [34] See PUGILISTICA, vol. i., p. 33, _et seq._

     [35] The career of Joe Goss shows that even in the last days
     of its degeneracy the P.R. had brave men who would have gone
     straight, had they not been warped from the direct course of
     honesty by knaves who sought only to make the pugilist the
     instrument of their own nefarious ends. Goss’s birthplace
     was the file-making town of Wolverhampton, on the 16th of
     August, 1838; and he made his _début_ at the age of
     twenty-one, in a battle with Jack Rooke, of Birmingham, for
     £25 a side, on the 20th September, 1859. His defeat of Rooke
     in 1 hour and 40 minutes, after 64 sharp rounds, was a
     promising first appearance, seeing that that boxer had
     recently beaten Tom Lane――brother to the renowned “Hammer”
     of that ilk. His next match was with Price, of Bilston, a 12
     stone man, who has been often confounded with Posh Price, of
     Birmingham――also, at a subsequent period (1862) beaten by
     Goss. This battle ended in a forfeit by Goss, he being
     arrested at the instance of his father when going to scale,
     November 9th, 1859. Joe was determined not to be baulked,
     and at a meeting between himself and Price, the latter
     offering to fight him for £10, as a solace for his
     disappointment, the money was posted, and the men met on the
     10th of February, 1860, near Wolverhampton. Joe’s activity,
     power of hitting, and fearless style soon brought his
     opponent down to his own weight; and in the short space of
     25 minutes, in which 15 rounds were fought, Price was
     consummately thrashed. Bodger Crutchley, who was in high
     esteem for his victories over George Lane, Sam Millard, Bos
     Tyler, Smith (of Manchester), and who had last fought Posh
     Price a drawn battle (interrupted by the police), was Joe’s
     next opponent. They met near Oxford, July 17th, 1860, for
     £100 a side, when, after a gallant struggle of 120 rounds,
     lasting 3 hours and 20 minutes, Goss was hailed the victor.
     On September 24th, 1861, Joe met and defeated Bill Ryall,
     for £50 a side, in 2 hours 50 minutes, during which 37
     tedious and shifty rounds were fought; and on the 11th of
     February, 1862, Joe a second time faced Bill Ryall for £100
     a side (on the Home Circuit), for _three hours and eighteen
     minutes_, when, as neither man could or would finish, the
     referee declared “a draw.” This brings us to his battle with
     Mace for £1,000, detailed above. On December 16th, 1863,
     Goss entered the ring with Ike Baker for £100, whose
     pretensions Joe disposed of in 27 rounds, lasting 80
     minutes, the punishment being all on one side. Joe’s next
     two matches were defeats by Mace. On March 6th, 1867, Goss
     was matched for £100 a side with Bill Allen, of Birmingham.
     This was a remarkable muddle; after fighting 34 rounds in
     three different rings, time inclusive 1 hour and 54 minutes,
     darkness came on, and “a draw” was declared. Soon after
     Allen sailed for America, landing at New York, July 21st.
     Joe, who considered he had been treated unfairly, and robbed
     of the fair reward of his milling superiority, followed him,
     and, notwithstanding his voyage, issued his challenge to
     Allen on the 8th of April, six days after his arrival. This
     was promptly accepted, and the match made for 5,000 dollars
     (£1,000), to be fought for on the 7th of September. We need
     hardly remind the reader that the Irish newspaper Press of
     the United States is in the hands of expatriated Irishmen,
     whose buncombe and bombast is only exceeded by their
     prejudice and ignorance. These worthies magnified the
     contest into a battle for “the Championship,” but as Goss
     had been two and a half times beaten by Mace, and Allen had
     done nothing in England beyond drawing the stakes in a
     forfeit with Posh Price, and failed to do the same in his
     draw with Joe Goss, it would puzzle “a Philadelphia lawyer”
     to know how this could be a “fight for the Championship of
     the World,” except of Irish America, to which title they are
     both welcome. The “Cincinnati Fight” ended by a “foul” blow,
     Tom Allen hitting Goss when on the ground! _Sic transit_,
     &c.

     [36] We need not say that this gentleman was not the
     ex-recorder of Brighton, ex-member for Marylebone, and
     ex-Q.C., who about this period had left this country for the
     New World.――ED.

     [37] See Vol. I., Preface, pp. viii. and ix.

     [38] No doubt many of the weak-kneed brethren, the disciples
     of a flabby, invertebrate pseudo-humanitarianism, will feel
     surprised, if not scandalised, at this claim of Lord
     Shaftesbury as a patron of pugilistic practice. His
     lordship’s Christianity, however, has always been practical,
     and of the order called “muscular.” Witness his gallant
     successful efforts to emancipate the poor little white
     slaves in our factories by his glorious Ten Hours Bill, and
     other humane legislation――legislation, let it never be
     forgotten, opposed by John Bright and the Gradgrind social
     reformers of the doctrinaire and politico-economical kidney.
     The friend and benefactor of the Street Arab, the Shoe
     Black, and the founder of Ragged Schools bore outspoken
     testimony of his admiration of boxing only a few weeks since
     in a speech at Exeter Hall, at the Young Men’s Christian
     Association, wherein he recommended sparring with the gloves
     as a gymnastic exercise of high value, and recalled, at
     eighty years, the days when he was himself accounted no mean
     antagonist, and “reckoned a good boxer among those who were
     judges of the art.” His style was worthy of a Homeric
     hero――a Nestor of the Ring.

     [39] Some who remember “old times” and “the Kentish Town
     match,” may like to hear that on his annual visit to
     England, in December last, we smoked a pipe and recalled
     faded scenes and memories over a cheerful glass with
     “Temperance” Drinkwater; his activity, mental and bodily,
     being phenomenal for a man in his 77th year.――ED.

     [40] The clerical Editor’s “presumption” is equal to his
     gullability. We have already pointed out that these
     gentlemen are “two Dromios.”――ED.




CHAPTER III.

TOM KING (CHAMPION).

1860-1862.


The brief history of the last legitimate champion of the British P.R.
is, in many respects, a consoling contrast and relief to the
chicanery, trickery, and moral or physical cowardice which marked the
“latter-day” professors of pugilism, and their yet more disreputable
and despicable patrons. If Tom King fell short in scientific
attainments and the intuitive fighting gifts which were so conspicuous
in Tom Sayers, Tom Spring, Jem Belcher, Dan Mendoza, John Jackson, and
Tom Johnson, he nevertheless exemplified through his brief but bright
pugilistic career the boldness, honesty, and fairness which are the
accompaniments of true courage; and, whether winner or loser, won or
lost upon his merits.

  [Illustration: TOM KING (CHAMPION), 1863.
  _From a Photograph._]

Tom King first saw the light on the 14th of August, 1835, in Silver
Street, in the “maritime district” of Stebonheath, or Stepney; an East
London parish in which, by an ancient popular tradition, all children
born on the high seas have their “settlement.” Among the amphibious
population of this region of docks, wharfs, stairs, and jetties, Tom’s
earlier days were passed, and here, with “a brother Tham,” he grew in
due time to the stature of six feet two inches in his stockings, and
the weight of twelve stone and some odd pounds; as active and straight
and “pretty a piece of man’s flesh” as a recruiting sergeant ever cast
eyes on, and tempted with the “Queen’s shilling” to become a bold
dragoon or a stately grenadier. But Tom’s inclination by birth,
parentage and education, was all towards “the sister service,” and at
an early age he was a “sailor bold” on board of one of Her Majesty’s
ships. In this capacity he made a voyage to the coast of Africa, and
subsequently another in a trading vessel. On his return his good
conduct and character obtained him a position as foreman of labourers
at the Victoria Docks, and here, among a very rough class of fellows,
Tom, though a giant in stature, and of the mild behaviour which so
often accompanies size and strength, could not escape insult. In fact,
our hero, instinctively brave, exemplified the wise precept of
Laertes’ father:――

           “――――Beware
   Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
   Bear it that th’opposed may beware of thee,”

and so soon found some of the long-shore men who presumed on Tom’s
easy temper and mildness of manner. The mode in which, on one
particular occasion, he disposed of a half-drunken bully, known in
Wapping by the odd nickname of “Brighton Bill,” whose pugnacious
propensities and violence had made him a sort of standing terror to
his fellow-labourers, got quickly noised abroad, and coming to the
ears of Jem Ward, who at this time kept the “George,” in his old
quarter of Ratcliffe Highway, the ex-champion sought him out. The pair
were quickly on friendly terms, and the scientific Jem, after a few
trials of the youngster’s quality with the gloves, in which he quickly
perceived the excellent material, in pluck and good temper, he had to
work upon, introduced King to some staunch patrons of boxing. Hereupon
a notification was published early in 1860, that “’Jem Ward’s big
’un,’ who had never fought in the P.R.,” could be matched for £50 a
side against any comer “catch weight.” Of course this modest price was
utterly beneath the notice of modern P.R. professors, who condescended
to nothing less than five hundreds and thousands, or――save the
mark――five thousands and ten thousands when they came to reckon in
dollars. So nobody nibbled at the chance, save one Clamp, of Newgate
Market, who had fought and won a battle in the London Ring, in
October, 1857. A friend of Clamp’s, calling on Jem, posted a “fiver”
on his man’s behalf; but, being of an inquisitive turn, Mr. Clamp
presented himself at Ward’s sparring saloon, being personally unknown,
and put on the gloves, as a casual customer, with the “young sailor.”
The result being a “receipt in full” in a single round, the “fiver”
was quickly forfeited, Mr. Clamp retired from the public gaze, and Tom
was again adrift without an engagement.

As our hero’s fame was principally spread among long-shore men and
“the Salts,” Tommy Truckle, of Portsmouth, found friends to back him
for a trial with “Jem Ward’s big ’un.” Truckle’s local fame in
disposing of dockyarders and fighting “blues” at the great naval port
and arsenal was good, and the £50 a side was duly tabled, November
27th, 1860, being the day of battle. King on this occasion was placed
by Mr. Richardson, who became his money-finder in the later deposits,
under George Woody, the trainer, at Mr. Lyon’s, the “White Hart,”
Romford. The “Young ’un” had certainly an alacrity in making flesh,
for we were assured by Woody, that when he took him in hand, he drew
all 14 stone; but that such was his docility and steady determination
in training that he had him down in four weeks to 12st. 10lbs. with
great improvement in stamina and activity. Tommy Truckle, a hardy
fellow, seemed always in condition at about 12st. but fought at 11st.
6lbs., and his 5ft. lOin. of stature seemed long enough for anything.
He trained at Portsmouth, under the watchful eye of George Baker. On
this occasion Truckle started from Mr. Tupper’s “Greyhound,” Waterloo
Road, and his colours, a black kerchief with puce and gold border,
seemed to be pretty liberally taken by his friends. An early morning
trip per rail conveyed the travellers to the water-side, below bridge,
where a steam tug was in waiting, by which the principals and their
friends were conveyed to the Kentish marshes, where a good ring was
quickly formed by Fred Oliver and Co., a large accession of spectators
arriving by another tug and numerous row boats.

On the men entering the ring, King being first to show, they were
warmly greeted; King being attended by Jem Mace (then called the
“coming Champion”) and William Richardson; while Truckle was waited on
by Bob Travers (the Black) and Walker, of Stony Stratford. King, who
had completed his toilette long before his opponent, whose boots
seemed to give great trouble, loomed large as he walked about
enveloped in a rug, until, the word being given, Truckle stood up, and
King, throwing away his blanket and stripping off his under shirt,
displayed a bust and general figure which surprised and delighted his
partisans. Truckle, when stripped, looked small and somewhat stale,
though hardy and resolute, as he confronted the youthful and
symmetrical giant.


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――As the men stood face to face King looked the pink of
     condition, and not only did he stand over Truckle, but his
     attitude was decidedly the more artistic and unconstrained.
     Truckle stood firmly, his left well out, and his right fore arm
     covering the mark, so that there was little of the novice in his
     position. Both men seemed anxious to begin work, and manœuvred in
     and out when after a few offers on each side, they mutually
     stepped back, looked earnestly at each other and rubbed their
     arms. King threw up his hands and advanced, when Truckle cleverly
     propped him with the left flush in the nose, and drew the
     carmine. (Cheers, and “first blood for Truckle.”) King again
     stepped in, and this time got home us right a sounder on
     Truckle’s ribs, when Truckle got away and down.

     2.――Each sparred for an opening. Truckle feinted and tried to
     draw the Young’un, but it was no go. King smiled and shook his
     head. Exchanges: Truckle on King’s neck, while, on getting near,
     King again visited Truckle’s ribs a sounder. Truckle, in trying
     to get back, slipped, but recovering himself, closed, when King,
     weaving away, fought Truckle clean through the ropes in his own
     corner.

     3.――As yet little mischief was done on either side, and on coming
     up each man eyed his opponent confidently. After sparring and
     manœuvring a bit, each trying to find a weak point in his
     adversary’s defence, Truckle broke ground and retreated, King
     boldly following him step by step, when Truckle sent in his left
     at King’s drinking fountain, which at once answered with a
     crimson spurt; King, without a check, delivered his right sharply
     on Truckle’s head, and down went the Portsmouth hero; a sort of
     staggering fall.

     4.――On coming to the call of “Time,” Truckle’s left daylight
     seemed to have a half shutter up. After some rather pretty
     sparring, Truckle tried his left, which was neatly stopped by
     King, amidst some applause; the next moment the Young’un let go
     both hands straight as a dart, visiting Truckle’s kissing and
     olfactory organs with a one, two, which tapped the homebrewed
     copiously. Again he invested on Truckle’s left ear with the right
     in a heavy exchange, and bored Truckle down in the hitting at the
     ropes.

     5.――Truckle came up bleeding from nose and mouth, and some
     sparring took place for position, the sun shining brightly in
     King’s face. They, however, soon got together, Truckle leading
     off, and getting his left on to King’s mouth, inflicting a cut on
     his lower lip, which compliment the Young’un returned by another
     crack on the left listener, which was also cut, and the
     Portsmouth man found his way to grass in a hurry. (7 to 4 on
     King.)

     6.――Truckle, first to the scratch, led off, but was short; King
     went in with both hands, and Truckle fell on both hands and one
     knee, looking up at King, laughingly; it was a bid for a “foul,”
     but “no go,” as King withheld his hand, nodded, and walked away
     to his corner, amidst applause.

     7.――A very short round. King, as soon as his man faced him, let
     go both hands, which alighted heavily on Tommy’s cheekbone and
     kissing-trap, and Truckle went down to escape a repetition of the
     dose. (2 to 1 on King.)

     8.――After a short spar the men rushed to a close, embraced, and
     Truckle tried to bring his man over. He did not succeed, for King
     shifted his hold and threw him.

     9.――Both up together, when King cleverly ducked his head aside,
     and avoided Truckle’s left, then rushed to a close, during which
     he administered some rib-roasters to his adversary’s corpus, and
     ended by throwing him cleverly, not, however, without getting
     some sharp half-arm punches about the head and body from the
     Portsmouth man’s busy right.

     10.――The fighting had up to this time been unusually fast for big
     ones, yet both were active and spry as ever. King went to his man
     resolutely, and after two or three exchanges with little attempt
     at stopping, Truckle went down, King standing over him.

     11.――King seemed determined to give his opponent scant
     breathing-time. No sooner was he at the scratch than he went
     across the ring, and let go both mauleys on his man’s _os
     frontis_, who slipped down at the ropes.

     12.――Truckle popped his left sharply on King’s peeper as he came
     on; King immediately closed, and tried to get on the lock, but
     Tommy slipped through his hands, and was on the grass. (18
     minutes only to these 12 rounds.)

     13.――King’s left came in contact with the left side of Truckle’s
     knowledge-box. Tommy retorted on King’s mouth, but next moment
     went down with a flush hit on the forehead, falling partly by his
     own consent.

     14.――Tommy short with his left, when King measured him and
     dropped his right, a wax melter on his man’s left auricular,
     which was already badly swollen. In the close both were down side
     by side. This was the first time, as yet, that King had measured
     his six foot length on the ground.

     15.――King, who had certainly been making all the fighting, seemed
     a little blown, as they sparred for a few seconds, and Truckle
     feinted with the left; King once again got on a rattler on
     Tommy’s nob, and Truckle got down. (An appeal was made to the
     referee, that the Portsmouth man had fallen without a blow, but
     the fiat was “Fight on.”)

     16.――Good counter-hits. King on the side of the brain-pan with
     his right; Truckle on King’s forehead, raising a visible bump.
     The men closed, when King forced Truckle down. (Some confusion,
     and a cry of “Police.” It was a false alarm.)

     17.――King got home his left on Truckle’s mazzard. Truckle rushed
     to an embrace and seized King round the waist, but he could not
     throw him, and got down without harm on either side.

     18.――King first at the mark. Truckle sparring, tried his left,
     but, as usual, was short. King avoided Truckle’s second delivery
     by throwing his head aside, caught Tommy on the ribs, and the
     Portsmouth man got down somehow.

     19.――King with the left on the mark, and the right on the jaw,
     received two ineffective returns. Truckle slipped on his knees
     and hand, and looked up as if expecting a “foul,” but the blow
     was not delivered.

     20-28.――Similar in character, except that King twice threw
     Truckle.

     29.――King got twice on to Truckle’s head, whose returns were wild
     and ineffective. (Another appeal on Truckle’s style of getting
     down. “Fight on,” was the renewed order.)

     30-40.――Of similar character. More than one appeal from King’s
     umpire, but disallowed. Truckle receiver-general, and apparently
     getting more and more “abroad” in each succeeding round.

     41.――Truckle game as a pebble, but without a chance of turning
     the tide of battle; King hit Truckle so sharply on the ivories
     that he drew a fresh supply of Chateau Margaux, and Tommy fell as
     if shot.

     42-47.――King strong and fresh; Truckle sinking under repeated
     doses of punishment; in the last-named round King hit poor Tommy
     clean off his feet with the right hand. “Take him away;” but
     Tommy refused to strike his colours, and came up for Round

     48.――When the Young’un sent him to grass with a right-hander on
     the jaw. Still he would come again for Round

     49, and last.――As Tommy stood at the scratch, in a somewhat
     puzzled condition, King dropped into him left and right, which
     brought Truckle forward. His head came against King’s cranium
     with some force, and Truckle immediately saluted his mother
     earth. George Matthison, who was one of Truckle’s backers, here
     stepped into the ring and, by consent of Tommy’s seconds, threw
     up the sponge, as his man had not the remotest chance of winning.
     King was accordingly hailed the winner of this hard-fought battle
     after a bustling contest of one hour and two minutes.

     REMARKS.――There was but one opinion on both sides, that, for
     novices, both men had acquitted themselves in a first-rate
     manner. King is undoubtedly the finest made young fellow it has
     been our lot to behold for many a long day. He is, in our
     opinion, far finer and more symmetrical in frame than Heenan, not
     being so clumsily legged as the Yankee Champion, and his weight
     (ordinarily 12st. 12lbs.) more proportionately distributed; and
     we cannot help thinking, if ever they should come together (and
     it is reported that Heenan challenges the belt) that our “novice”
     is just the sort of man to give a good account in a passage of
     arms with that redoubtable and over-boasted gentleman. King does
     not use his left in leading off, as more practised pugilists do,
     but that is a fault he has full time to amend, and as his pluck,
     endurance and presence of mind, seconded by undebauched wind and
     a fine constitution, were fully demonstrated in this trial, we do
     not know where to look for his master. Throughout the battle the
     Young’un behaved in the most manly manner, refusing to fall on
     his antagonist on several occasions, when he had clearly the
     right to do so, and resisting the temptation to deliver a blow,
     though sorely provoked by his opponent’s shifty getting down.
     Truckle has little pretensions to science; but is a rough and
     ready fighter. It must be admitted that, from the first round to
     the last, he tried his utmost to get a turn in his favour, but
     was overmatched and outfought at all points. His friends must
     have been satisfied that he only succumbed to a superior man in
     all respects, and then only when nature could do no more. A
     subscription for the beaten man was collected on the spot by the
     winner, which was added to at the giving up of the stakes. King
     exhibited on the following Monday night, at the Rotunda,
     Blackfriars Road, at Tom Paddock’s benefit (after the latter’s
     defeat by Sam Hurst), showing but trifling marks of his recent
     encounter.

Early in 1861, there was much tall talk of a match with Heenan, whose
intention of returning to England and claiming the championship from
Sam Hurst, the holder of the new belt, was loudly boasted, but all
ended, as it had begun, in mere talk.

The tough and gallant Harry Poulson, of Nottingham, was proposed as a
competitor, and articles were signed in February, to fight for £100 a
side, May 23rd being fixed for the encounter, and £12 a side posted;
but the backers of the veteran Harry took second thoughts, and at the
second deposit (of £20) failed to put in an appearance, and King
pocketed the forfeit.

After the defeat of Sam Hurst by Jem Mace, King lost no time in
challenging the new champion, for the “regulation stake” of £200 and
the belt, which trophy had been duly handed over by Hurst to the
stakeholder. A match with Young Broome, however, intervened, and came
off in October, the championship battle being fixed so far forward as
January 31, 1862.

Of the way in which the Ring, even when the Championship itself was
involved, was made subservient to the quackery of benefit gaggery, the
puffery of the Circus, and the gobemoucherie of the gaping rustics and
sightseekers, the following from a leading contemporary sporting paper
will show:――

     “The deposit this week of £15 a side, making £130 a side
     down, was duly posted yesterday, and another of like amount
     must be staked on Friday next. The big event for the belt
     does not excite much interest, from the fact of the Young
     Big’un (King) having a previous engagement with Wm. Broome
     (Young Evans), on the issue of which, we need hardly say,
     must rest his claim as a competitor for the belt and its
     contingent honours. Young King, we can say, is taking every
     care of himself for the approaching encounter. Jem Mace is
     still starring it in the provinces with Pablo Fanque’s
     circus, but on Monday week he will re-appear in one of his
     superior qualifications at Birmingham, he having matched
     himself to run ten miles within the hour for a bet of £100
     to £50, on Monday week, Oct. 21st. The ex-champion, Tom
     Sayers, we are informed, has also entered into business on
     his own account as a circus proprietor, having bought (?)
     the three well-known circuses, including Messrs. Howe and
     Cushings’, and Jem Myers’s Great American Circus (!). Tom
     intends commencing his tour this day, &c., &c., &c.” [We
     omit the rest of the “gag.”] “Mr. Edwin James (not the
     Q.C.), a New York gentleman, called at our office on
     Wednesday last, immediately after his landing, and informed
     us that, owing to the war, business is almost at a dead
     standstill in the United States; nevertheless, J. C. Heenan,
     the gallant competitor of Sayers, is driving a lucrative
     trade in his profession (?). Heenan repudiates the fulsome
     praises of himself and the absurd tirades against Sayers
     inserted in several of our Transatlantic contemporaries.”

To return to the “trial fight” between Young King and William Evans
(known as Young Broome), which came off on Monday, October 21st, 1861,
on a spot not far from where the International Contest was left
undecided in 1860, we may say, in partial contradiction of our
quotation, that there was a lively interest in pugilistic circles,
whether “a line” could not be drawn from the event as to the
capabilities of the “Novice” to wrest the laurel from the brow of the
scientific Jem Mace. Immediately after the match was made King was
placed under the fostering wing of Nat Langham, who took him out of
town, and placed him at Tom Salter’s, “The Feathers,” at Wandsworth,
where he had the combined advantages of the river and the road, and
from time to time the preceptorship of “Ould Nat” in imparting
“wrinkles” from his own practical experience. His walking and rowing
exercises were carefully superintended by John Driver, and the
condition of King was a credit alike to himself and his trainer.

We must here devote a paragraph to the boxer who was thought good
enough to risk 50 sovs. and expenses upon, as a “trial horse” for
Young King.

William Evans (whose Ring alias was “Young Broome”) was born in
August, 1836, stood 5 feet 10 inches, and, on this occasion, weighed
11st. 2lb. He had fought twice before in the P.R.――viz., with a
gentleman of colour, called Kangaroo, whom he defeated, for £15 a
side, 18 rounds, 30 minutes, down the river, on March 13, 1858. He
next fought and beat Tom Roberts, for £25 a side, in 30 rounds, 50
minutes, down the river. He afterwards received £10 forfeit from
Tyson, who could not get to weight; and £10 forfeit from Joe M’Gee;
but, on the other hand, forfeited £10 to Joe Goss. Young Broome,
having expressed a depreciatory opinion of King’s pugilistic
capabilities, and finding some friends who shared his views,
challenged the Young One to fight at catch-weight for £50, which was
accepted, and Broome, after getting his patrons to rally round him,
went to train at Mr. Packwood’s, the “Boileau Arms,” Hammersmith
Bridge, at that time weighing about 13st., which bulk was reduced by
hard work to 11st. 2lb. Dando, the well-known trainer of Tom Paddock,
looked after Broome, and most certainly did his duty to his man. Alec
Keene had the management of Broome, who showed the night previous to
the fight at the “Three Tuns,” Moor Street, Soho, from which he took
his departure in the morning.

There was but little betting on the event, only a few speculations
being made at 2 to 1 on King. A very early hour was arranged for the
departure, which was made from London Bridge with unusual quietness
and absence of bustle; and, after a pleasant trip by rail over about
sixty miles of ground, by no means in a direct line, a spot was found
in the county of Surrey fit for the amusement. No time was lost in the
ring being formed, by Fred Oliver and assistants, when Broome was the
first to throw in his cap, attended by a well-known retired pugilist,
and Bob Travers. King quickly followed suit, with Joe Phelps and Bos
Tyler as his attendants. As both parties meant business, the referee
was quickly chosen, and the colours tied to the stake, Broome sporting
a salmon-coloured handkerchief, with a narrow magenta stripe and
border, for his flag. King had for his standard a chocolate
handkerchief, with white, blue, and yellow lozenge, and blue border.
During the progress of the toilets of the men, a large number of the
neighbouring farmers and gentry assembled on horseback, and,
altogether, the gathering was of a superior order. The ring was well
kept by Billy Duncan, the P.B.A. Inspector, assisted by Young Shaw,
Tom Paddock, and Dan Collins. At length, all the preliminaries having
been arranged, the men stood up at 9h. 44min. for


     THE FIGHT.

     Round 1.――King was, of course, the first to attract the
     eye of the _cognoscenti_, and his condition was
     immediately a moot point, many, who are by no means bad
     judges, stating that he was some pounds too heavy;
     while others thought that he was in very good trim, but
     no doubt without the polish which could have been shown
     had his finishing touch been given by a first-rate
     proficient. As King placed himself in attitude, his
     commanding height showed to great advantage, while the
     free play of his shoulders and arms indicated that,
     whatever artistic skill he might be deficient in, still
     there was propelling power sufficient to compete with a
     greater amount of _talent_ than was generally credited
     to his opponent. The Young’un certainly exhibited a
     wide spread of shoulder, combined with great
     development of the muscles on the back; his chest well
     arched, showing that there is plenty of room for the
     play of his lungs when in work; his loins are rather
     narrow, while his legs are worthy the proportions of
     the upper part of his frame. His attitude was very
     erect, his right hand well across his chest, and the
     left well advanced, but low. Young Broome looked, in
     comparison, small, but, on scanning his proportions, a
     great amount of power could be discovered in the
     muscles, which stood out fairly developed, each as
     sharply defined as in an anatomical study. His attitude
     was rather stiff, with the left well in front, but with
     no forcible action, the position of the right rather
     showing a determination for mischief with that weapon.
     The way in which Broome stood as he sparred, prepared
     the spectators for an exhibition of “trotting,” of
     which they were most pleasingly disappointed. No time
     was lost in sparring, for, both being in the mind for
     serious business, hostilities were commenced at once,
     by King getting close to Broome and feinting with his
     left, but Broome was “wide oh,” and got out of danger.
     Broome, who was more than eager, dashed his left at the
     head, but, in consequence of his great hurry, he was
     short. King, who would be busy, got his left fairly on
     the front of Broome’s head, receiving on the chest.
     This led to good exchanges, in which both fought very
     last, until Broome went down.

     2.――On time being called Broome came up first, amidst
     the cheers of his friends, who were taken by surprise
     at his cleverness in avoiding punishment. King, who
     appeared determined to finish the affair off-hand, went
     straight to his opponent, who, nothing loth, met him,
     and they fought right and left with both hands, King
     getting well on the nose and forehead, Broome landing
     on the chest and neck, the “pepper-box” being freely
     handed from one to the other. This bout was finished by
     Broome getting to close quarters, when King picked him
     up in his arms, and by sheer strength threw him, after
     a good struggle, and fell upon him.

     3.――Both came up piping when time was called;
     nevertheless, they commenced as soon as they were
     within distance by right and left deliveries, Broome
     getting fairly on to King’s neck and forehead; King
     delivering his left on the nose and jaw; Broome getting
     his left on the neck heavily, grazing the skin and
     drawing the blood. King at the same time landing his
     left on Broome’s forehead, made the first event (first
     blood) equal. They then closed, and exchanges took
     place until Broome went to grass.

     4.――As Broome came up, the effects of the blow
     delivered by King upon his forehead were very apparent,
     there being a lump with a cut, while King had his right
     cheek and chest flushed. Broome, who evidently thought
     he had only to go in and win, fought very fast, which
     tactics met the ideas of the candidate for the
     championship, for they fought furiously with both
     hands, until Broome was knocked down by a right-hander
     on the jaw. The quick fighting that had taken place,
     and the eagerness of the combatants, can be well
     explained by stating that the time occupied in the four
     rounds was only four minutes.

     5.――Broome, who appeared to have had the worst of the
     previous round, came up smiling, and, in point of fact,
     forced the fighting by leading off with his left at the
     head, which was rendered ineffective by King getting
     home with his left on the nose. This brought on some
     heavy exchanges with both hands, King getting well on
     the forehead and nose, receiving on the chest and cheek
     until they got to the ropes, where the same tactics
     were pursued until they closed, when King proved
     himself much the stronger man, as he picked up Broome,
     and, after a short struggle, threw him, landing his
     right on the chest as Broome fell.

     6.――When time was called, both came up with a
     determination to settle the matter “off-hand,” which
     was evident from the manner in which rapid exchanges
     were delivered on both sides. King landed his mauleys
     on the nose, forehead, and right ear; Broome getting
     well on the cheek and chest twice, and falling from the
     force of his own blow at the finish.

     7.――Both were blowing as they left their seconds’
     knees; nevertheless, the game was kept alive by their
     simultaneously delivering their left on the face and
     chest, King having the best of the exchanges. Broome
     missed a couple of well-intended right-handers, for
     which mistakes he was fought down, after a good rally.

     8.――The same tactics were pursued as in the previous
     rounds, the right and left exchanges being of the same
     character. Broome, after breaking away, got his right
     on King’s jaw twice, steadying the rush of the “big
     ’un,” who reached Broome’s forehead with his right.
     This forced a rather wild rally, in which King missed
     one or two well-intended shots with the left. Broome,
     who got on a right-hander on the forehead, fell from
     the force of his own blow.

     9.――Broome, who was first up, was blowing very freely,
     and had a cut on the left eyebrow. King had no
     prominent mark, with the exception of his right cheek
     being slightly swelled. No time was lost in sparring,
     for they commenced proceedings as soon as they met.
     Both being eager for work, they closed, and some fast
     and wild exchanges took place, Broome getting on the
     cheek and forehead, King on the nose and cheek; they
     then closed, and after a short struggle, were down side
     by side.

     10.――The equal fighting of the previous round had
     decidedly roused the energies of both, as they missed
     their first deliveries, being too eager to get on. On
     steadying themselves they countered neatly with the
     left, Broome getting upon the cheek, but King more
     effectively on the nose. Broome, who was determined to
     make the pace good, tried to land his right twice, but
     without avail, getting at the third attempt on King’s
     neck, who retaliated by sending his left on Broome’s
     nose; the latter hit out at a venture with his right,
     which reached the side of King’s head, and Broome went
     down rather suspiciously from the “wind” of King’s
     right hand.

     11.――No sooner were the opponents at the scratch than
     they commenced proceedings by countering with the left
     flush on the front of the head, after which King got
     his left on the cheek; Broome, in retaliation, sent his
     left on the jaw, and popped his right under the left
     eye. Exchanges followed, in which King proved himself
     the stronger by forcing Broome down in his own corner.

     12.――Broome was first up, and as King faced him, took
     the initiative by leading off with his left, which was
     rather short, landing on the chest. King, who was
     equally eager to try conclusions, rushed in, delivered
     a couple of heavy blows on the nose and shoulder,
     receiving a right-hander on the forehead, a left ditto
     on the cheek, which was followed by Broome delivering a
     fair smack with the right on the eye, which forced King
     backward against the ropes. (Offers to take 7 to 4 that
     Broome would prove the winner.)

     13.――Broome, when time was called, came up bleeding
     from the cut under the eye, administered in the
     previous bout, but, nothing loth, met King with great
     determination, and, both being equally bent upon
     mischief, the exchanges which took place were wildly
     delivered, until they closed, when Broome twisted King
     off his legs, who, nevertheless, was uppermost when
     they reached the ground.

     14.――Both again eager, were up on time being called;
     King showing with a lump on his cheek, which was open
     under the left eye; Broome had his nose sadly out of
     shape and his forehead swelled. No time was lost in
     sparring, each commencing by sending out his left, and
     each missing from over impetuosity. Broome, who tried
     his left and missed, got down cleverly.

     15.――This round was remarkable for the quickness of the
     exchanges, both getting it on the head and chest. When
     they closed, King held Broome by sheer strength, and
     got on his right three times, twice on the nose and
     forehead, and the third time on the shoulder. King
     stumbled against the stakes, and Broome went down.

     16.――This round was commenced by each sparring for
     wind, King putting his hands down and walking round the
     ring. Broome, who was advised by his seconds to force
     the fighting, went to work resolutely, got his left
     well on the mouth, catching it in return on the nose.
     He, nothing daunted, rushed in, and got his right on
     the cheek, then fell, apparently from the force of his
     own blow.

     17.――A cry that the police were coming was raised, and
     both men being confident and eager to settle the
     business, they commenced by delivering counters on the
     eye and nose, which led to exchanges at close quarters,
     Broome receiving on the nose, King having one on the
     same spot――“a hot ’un.” This stirred the Young One up,
     and he sent his right straight on the mark, Broome
     planting in return on the cheek. They then closed, and
     some very heavy exchanges took place, Broome twice
     visiting King’s head, but not heavily, while King, who
     was very busy, planted his left between the eyes,
     cutting to the bone, then taking hold of Broome, he
     delivered three straight right-handers nearly on the
     same spot, and Broome was eventually fought down.
     Twenty minutes.

The alarm of the arrival of the police was now realised. Several of
the county blues appeared at the ring side, but were waiting orders
from their superiors, who had not kept pace with them. The men and
seconds skedaddled from the ring, and the spectators moved off. They
passed across the border of the county, and there the attentive escort
left them. In twenty minutes after, as this invasion was unexpected, a
ring was formed in a retired spot, and at half-past ten the men were
in position for


     THE RENEWED FIGHT.

     ROUND 18.――On the men again appearing, Broome had his
     nose strapped with a bit of adhesive plaster, his mouth
     was swelled, and his left eye discoloured. King had his
     jaw swelled, and a cut beneath his left eye; but seemed
     as strong as at the commencement. Broome, who still
     looked confident, commenced the proceedings by leading
     off with his left at the head, getting it on the nose
     in return. This led to exchanges, both delivering
     heavily on the head and chest, until Broome was fought
     down in his own corner.

     19.――King came up with alacrity, and commenced
     proceedings by planting his left on the sore spot,
     receiving on the forehead. Broome succeeded in planting
     his left on the cheek and neck, receiving some heavy
     returns on the nose and right ear, and was finally
     fought down at the ropes.

     20.――The battle from this time took a decided turn in
     favour of King, who, notwithstanding the pace at which
     they had been fighting, was as fresh as at the
     beginning of the battle. Broome, who was suffering from
     repeated visitations on the nose, tried all he could to
     turn the tables, but without avail, as, on his forcing
     the fighting, King hit him away; and notwithstanding
     all the left-hand visitations of Broome, succeeded in
     delivering severe right and left blows; the round was
     concluded by King knocking down Broome with a
     right-hander on the jaw.

     21-30.――The fighting in these rounds was of precisely
     the same character; notwithstanding all the game and
     determined efforts of Broome, who never at any time
     flinched, and in several instances surprised his
     backers and the spectators by the manner in which he
     struggled against the fate, which, though slowly, was
     surely declaring against him. In the last of these
     rounds Broome tried to get away from the repeated
     visitations of King, and cleverly slipped him; but King
     followed him closely, and finally knocked him down with
     the right. Time in the second ring, fourteen minutes.

     31.――Broome, as game as man could be, came up bleeding
     from the cut on the nose, and with his ears much
     swelled from the blows administered by King, who had
     few marks except some red patches on the ribs and
     shoulders, and the left eye nearly closed.
     Notwithstanding the punishment Broome had received, he
     persevered to turn the tables, and met the determined
     onslaught of King as well as he was able. It was
     evident at this time that his (Broome’s) left hand was
     going or gone, as he several times gave his head in an
     attempt to bring the battle off in his favour by a
     cross-counter with the right. King forced the fighting,
     and some good exchanges took place in favour of King,
     who, after a spirited rally, fought Broome down.

     32-34.――The same tactics were displayed by both
     opponents, King, now by far the stronger man, forcing
     the fighting as fast as he could, and the seconds of
     Broome sending him up to fight, knowing that it was
     only a matter of time, unless their man could land the
     victory by an accident This he most strenuously
     endeavoured to do by getting his right on the jaw; but
     King bored Broome down in each round until the 34th,
     when Broome landed his right on the temple, which
     staggered King, who fell on his knees.

     35.――Broome, who came up resolutely, but weak, met the
     rush of King with great determination, but was, as
     before, the chief recipient of the punishment. His left
     hand could not be administered with effect;
     nevertheless, he closed, and, after a good rally at the
     ropes, threw King, but not heavily.

     36.――The cheers and encouragement given to Broome, as
     he came up, had decidedly nettled King, for, the
     instant he had left his second’s knee, he rushed to
     close quarters, and, despite all the efforts of Broome,
     fought him down at the ropes.

     37.――Broome, who came up slowly, was bleeding from the
     cut between the eyes, which were fast closing, and,
     with his mouth, much swelled. Despite his weakness he
     was resolute, and did not flinch from the onslaught of
     his opponent, who sent his left on to the old spot.
     Broome sent in his right well upon the ribs, but King,
     not to be stalled off, bored in, and fought Broome down
     in the latter’s corner. Time in second ring, twenty
     minutes.

     38.――Broome came up this round apparently better than
     heretofore; he was quicker on his legs than in the last
     eight rounds. King rubbed his ribs as he came up, and,
     getting within reach, rushed to close quarters, when
     some very heavy hitting took place; King fighting at
     the head, and Broome at the body. On breaking away,
     Broome landed his left on King’s nose, for which he was
     fought down at the ropes, despite all his endeavours to
     “hold his own.”

     39.――Broome, in this round, slightly revived the
     failing hopes of his friends, as, on King missing his
     left, he planted his left neatly on Tom’s nose, and his
     right immediately afterwards on the jaw, King dropping
     on his knees.

     40.――It was but a transient gleam of hope. Despite the
     turn in his favour in the last round, it was apparent
     that Broome was fast falling weak from exertion and
     loss of blood. The seconds of King, seeing the state of
     the case, cried out to him “to go in and win,” and he
     fought Broome down in his own corner.

     41-43, and last.――In each of these rounds Broome only
     came up to be hit down. In the last but one he was
     knocked down as he came game, but staggering, to meet
     his opponent. In the last, King walked straight to
     Broome’s corner, as the latter retreated before him,
     and, delivering a spank on the head, Broome fell
     forward on his face. His seconds, finding it was
     useless to prolong the contest, threw up the sponge in
     token of his defeat, Young King being hailed the
     conqueror, after fighting forty-two minutes in the two
     rings.

     REMARKS.――The resolute and unflinching manner in which
     this splendid contest was carried out from start to
     finish, invested the forthcoming encounter for the
     Championship with greater interest. The manner in which
     King put up with the right-handed deliveries of Broome
     (which were by no means light), raised him in the
     estimation of all who witnessed the fight, and already
     speculation on that event has commenced. King has
     improved in his fighting greatly since his encounter
     last autumn with Truckle, of Portsmouth, and no doubt
     he has learned a lesson or two in this encounter with
     Broome. He is too impetuous in his rushes, in one of
     which he got the cut under the left eye, as well as
     several right-hand props, which at all times are
     dangerous, a chance blow having, in many instances,
     brought off a battle when all chance was apparently
     gone. That he is thoroughly game there can now be no
     question, and his steadiness in training, &c., is a
     certain proof that he will in the eventful contest for
     the Championship be as fit as man can be possibly
     trained. Young Broome, although defeated, is by no
     means disgraced, and his friends, to a man, are
     satisfied with his performance, which has taken even
     his warmest admirers by surprise. Rumours had been
     flying about respecting Broome’s gameness, and he
     having heard of the same, stated his determination to
     be game on this occasion; that he most faithfully kept
     his word, a perusal of the above account must prove.
     After the sponge had been thrown up, Broome was
     carefully attended to by his seconds, but,
     notwithstanding all their attention, he soon became
     blind. On reaching the first convenient domicile, he
     was put to bed, when, despite the usual remedies, he
     was attacked with a severe fit of cold shivers, which
     could not be subdued for some time. At a late hour of
     the afternoon he was recovered sufficiently to take his
     departure for town, where, on his arrival, he met with
     a hearty reception. His friends expressed their
     intention to pay him for his colours the same as if
     they were winning ones, and a benefit was arranged for
     as a solace for his defeat. King left for town at an
     earlier period than his opponent, and passed the
     evening amidst his friends at the east end, but little
     the worse for the encounter.

Both Broome and King rapidly recovered from the effects of their
battle, Broome being able to visit Aldershot, on the Thursday, with
Alec Keene. He was also present at the deposit for the Championship,
which took place on Thursday, when he received some substantial
recompense for his gamely contested fight.

The stakes were given up to King on the ensuing Tuesday, at Joe
Phelps’s, the “Blakeney’s Head,” High Street, Islington, when a few
admirers of Tom King ventured to lay evens on their pet for the great
event in perspective; though 5 and even 6 to 4 was the price in the
east as in the west.

King trained for the great encounter at Hastings, Mace near Norwich;
the latter coming to town to be present at the fight between Bob
Brettle and Jack Rooke, on the 31st December, 1861, for £200 a side
and a bet of £300 even,[41] the moderate sum of £1,000 being dependent
on the issue.

“Time and tide speed on their course, and wait for no man,” and the
month of January, 1862, had reached its 28th day, when, on as
cheerless and miserable a winter’s morning as combined damp, drizzle,
mizzle, snow, sleet, and marrow searching cold could mix up, our bold
aspiring young sailor met the practised and scientific Norwich boxer.
How his “greenness,” despite his gameness, fell before superior skill,
tact, and experience, may be found fully set forth in the preceding
chapter.

As we have already said, there was one person, and that one a most
important factor in the question, who thought he was beaten by an
accident――his name was Tom King. Tom maintained, without any intention
of disparaging for one moment the credit due to Mace for his skill and
also his courage, that he felt convinced, if his friends would stand
to him, he should be able to reverse the first verdict, or, at any
rate, he would then acknowledge that Mace was the better man.

After the long and undecided battle between Joe Goss and Ryall, Goss
was brought forward by his Wolverhampton backers, as a competitor with
Mace for the belt. In April also, “the Benicia Boy” arrived from
America, bringing with him a brother “Jem,” who was said by some
Yankee paragraphists to have come “to pick up the belt.” We have
already noted, in our life of Mace, that Heenan repudiated this
newspaper bounce; and here, to avoid repetition, the reader is
referred to the memoir of Mace for the circumstances under which the
second match between King and Mace was brought about and carried to a
conclusion.

Mace, at the time the articles were signed, was making hay after the
manner of Tom Sayers, in travelling with an equestrian circus――that
being the only ring in which he appeared to have a chance of a job.
This employment he kept up for some time after the match was made.
King, too, for a few weeks was tempted to “do the mountebank” with a
travelling company; but Tom did not take kindly to the business of
“busking,” and threw it up, returning to his London patrons.

As the time drew on, each man found it expedient to mingle more
decidedly in sporting circles, and thus create a greater interest than
had heretofore been exhibited, and this wise discrimination gradually
had the desired effect. The match began to be talked about in all
quarters, flocks of admirers followed the rival champions on every
race course, or at any place of public resort, and soon the discussion
of their respective merits led to a comparison of their deeds and
their appearances with those of the heroes of the old ring.

The nearer the time approached the mystery observed as to the actual
“where” tended not a little to foster anxiety, many of the intending
spectators being kept in a ferment of funk lest they should be thrown
over at the last. It was known it must be either at the end of
November or the beginning of December, and as the fights between Hicks
and Gollagher and Dillon and Reardon, both for high stakes, were fixed
for about the same time, the chance of being put on a wrong scent, and
arriving at the wrong ring side, redoubled the fears of the fidgety.
The men themselves even were not made acquainted with the actual day
until within a week of the time, and so well was the secret kept,
that, until the previous Monday, we believe the number of persons
“fly” to the arrangements might be numbered upon the fingers of the
two hands.

Both Mace and King being sober, steady fellows in their habits, and
both being pretty well in their prime, and accustomed to hard work,
there was no inconvenience felt by either in their training in
consequence of the uncertainty as to the day of milling――both being
well up to the mark, and, indeed, almost fit to fight before they went
into training, which they did some seven weeks before the eventful
Wednesday; Mace at Newmarket, at the old training quarters of Tom
Sayers, under the care of Howard, the Bradford jumper; and King at the
“Baldfaced Stag,” near Woodford, Essex, under Harry Harris. It is
creditable to the respective mentors of the men, that nothing was left
undone which could ensure the respective champions being in a meet
state for the arduous task they had set themselves.

Although there was so much excitement, and so much pleasurable
anticipation of the mill, it cannot be concealed that mixed up with it
was a taint of suspicion that all was not quite serene and square,
arising from the fact that the respective backers of the men had
changed sides since January, and that King, formerly an Eastern sage,
and then an enlightened West Ender, had relapsed into his original
form; while Mace had, after a fall from West to East, once more
started Westward, and was backed from the Haymarket, with at any rate
a side wind help from his former patrons. Some people imagined that
nothing could be square under such circumstances as these. They shut
their eyes to ascertained facts, and then, by a series of winks and
knowing grins, strove to create a prejudice which spread, no one knows
how, and finally gained for the Ring and its _protégés_ that pleasing
character they labour under among those who at all seasons, and on all
possible occasions, do all they can to decry the old manly sports of
their country.

The acting representatives of the men on this occasion were Mr.
Richardson, of the “Blue Anchor,” Church Street, for King, and Mr.
Coney, of Panton Street, for Jem Mace, who was partly backed by some
old fanciers. To these diplomatic managers the stakeholder in due
course communicated the actual day he had determined for the fray, but
he declined to fix a scene for the performance, as he considered an
arena could be better settled by the agents themselves, who could
consult other parties likely to have a finger in the pie, and without
whose aid there would certainly be no getting to the rendezvous, and
without whose judgment that rendezvous could not be determined on
without great risk. The plan turned out a wise one, and thanks to the
energy and discrimination of those concerned, all was satisfactorily
arranged without let or hindrance.

We have alluded already to the difficulties which beset the managers
of Ring affairs at this period, and on the Monday morning Messrs.
Richardson and Coney received the unwelcome information, that the
officials of a certain railway company, with which they had made all
pleasant for the “excursion,” had decided to cancel the arrangements,
and that no special train would be provided. Here was a pretty fix for
the executive. An alternative line was immediately decided on. All
ticketholders would be conveyed by ordinary train to Thames Haven,
where two commodious steamboats would be ready for the conveyance of
the voyagers to a _terra incognita_. While these arrangements were
perfecting on the Monday and Tuesday, the uncertainty added to the
excitement, and telegrams flew over the wires from every point of the
compass from “country cousins” seeking the “straight tip,” and town
friends anxious to communicate the same. The sporting houses, East and
West, were thronged, reminding some of the olden days when “Le Boxe,”
as Alphonse calls it, was an “institution.”

As we have given an instance of “clerical” interest in Ring sports, on
another occasion, in the sister island, we may here note that a high
Anglican Church authority entered itself among the “tipsters” on this;
the _Record_ giving a prominent place to the following paragraph:――

     “The fight between James Mace and Thomas King is to take
     place on Tuesday next in the neighbourhood of Aldershot.”

We hope the “tipster” who so egregiously sold the reverend editor, as
to day and place, did not add dishonesty to his pious fraud. At any
rate we fear, as we did not see him in his accustomed position, that
our right reverend friend, “the Bishop of Bond Street,” may have been
misled by ecclesiastical authority; we believe the police were――of
course we were not.

By four o’clock on Wednesday morning the approaches to Fenchurch
Street were alive with intending excursionists, who on arriving at the
station found the entrance crowded by a strong posse of roughs and
thieves, always to be found at their posts on such occasions. These
gentry had a good time of it, and so strong and daring were their
forces, that the few ring keepers engaged to protect the public were
completely overpowered, and, in many instances, eased of their own
property. Bob Travers, among others, was attacked and forcibly
deprived of all he had about him. Many lost their tickets, and many
gentlemen were so intimidated that they declined facing the ordeal,
and returned home. The scene was, on the whole, disgraceful. The
managers of the undertaking were great sufferers, and were loud in
their complaints that the conduct of these roughs prevented their
reaping the harvest they had anticipated. Although the company
commenced assembling at four o’clock, it was fully seven before there
were any signs of a start, and the impatience of the early birds,
although extreme, was fully justifiable. There was no help for it,
however, as all was in the hands of the railway officials.

Fortunately the ring forces when concentrated were strong enough to
exclude most of the undesirables from the platform; still some few
managed to penetrate the ranks of the officials, and by their presence
caused considerable annoyance, although the force of ring keepers was
sufficiently strong to prevent their attempting any combined mischief.
At length at seven o’clock the whistle sounded, and we were off for
the appointed spot, where two vessels were found in waiting, and on
board these the travellers, nearly 300 in number, at once repaired. It
was now suggested that it would be well to try and get the fight off
on the spot, instead of going further afield, where the Bobbies might
be in force. This recommendation was accepted with promptitude, and
while the Corinthians were luxuriating in a hot and comfortable
breakfast on board, provided in admirable style by their old caterer,
Dan Pinxton, the ring was pitched, and soon after eight all was in
readiness. Through the exertions of Billy Duncan and his pals such
admirable arrangements were made for the comfort of the inner ring
ticket-holders that all were seated without difficulty, and, so far as
we could perceive, the whole thing was carried out in a manner to
reflect the highest credit on all concerned. As soon as the office was
given by Fred Oliver the men approached the magic circle; Mace being
the first to drop his castor within the ropes. He was attended by his
old opponents Bob Brettle and Bob Travers, while King, who was
somewhat behindhand, was waited on by Bos Tyler and Macdonald. Both
men were welcomed with loud cheers from their partisans, which each
acknowledged in a suitable manner. There was a good deal of lively
betting at 6 and 7 to 4 on Mace, and his backers, we believe, would
have gone on to any extent at that figure. A brisk business was done
by the sale of inner ring tickets, but by no means to the extent we
have known on former occasions. The sum received was nearly £37. Among
the spectators were Tom Sayers, Heenan, and many other fistic
celebrities, who eyed the tourney throughout with curiosity. And now
the men stand up, approach each other and grasp hands, then separate;
the seconds retire to their corners, and all eyes are fixed upon them
as they upraise their daddles, and square their elbows for


     THE FIGHT.

     ROUND 1.――The moment so fraught with interest and
     excitement to the partisans of the belligerents had now
     arrived; the busy and careful work of the seconds was
     at last completed to their entire satisfaction, and the
     men were delivered at the scratch. While their
     toilettes were being arranged, the “making ready” had
     been eagerly watched by all with almost breathless
     silence. As Jem turned to face his opponent, he gave a
     momentary glance at the sky, whose dull, cheerless
     aspect was anything but calculated to enliven the
     combatants. Both advanced to the scratch with that
     firm, confident step which denotes the action of
     well-drilled practitioners. Perhaps the first thing
     that riveted the attention of the spectators, as the
     men stood front to front, was the striking difference
     in height that existed between them. It had been
     confidently stated Mace had never been in better
     condition; certainly as he stood thus confronting his
     antagonist there was nothing in his appearance that
     even the most fastidious could for a moment find fault
     with, and in all things he looked a far superior man to
     what he did at their former meeting. In weight Jem,
     when he last poised the beam, pulled down 11st. 4lb.,
     and with inward confidence beaming in his every look,
     he stated it was impossible for a man to feel better,
     and this assurance there can be no doubt had great
     weight with his admirers, many of whom from
     over-caution had waited for this “opinion” from Mace
     himself before they had ventured to “put it on.” If
     condition of itself could alone endow a man with the
     requisite “resin” to tune the first fiddle in such a
     grand pugilistic overture, Tom might well put the thing
     down as a “certainty,” for it must be admitted he was
     all the most critical could desire, and spoke of the
     result with a confidence devoid of anything in the
     shape of braggadocia. The moment the men had been “set”
     by their seconds, there was perceptible that twitch and
     shrug of the shoulders which denote a disapproval of
     the morning air. Jem having put up the prop in proper
     order drew from range, and of his position it may be
     said the skill of the master was at a glance displayed,
     for he was well covered at all points. Tom also stood
     remarkably well, and although by some good judges he is
     stated to be a little too fine about the loins, and by
     no means deep set enough in the jaw and neck, yet we
     think it was conceded by all impartial persons that he
     looked a most formidable opponent. Mace, as he
     manœuvred, looked at his man with a sharp, penetrating
     glance, as though he was mentally summing up “the
     King’s affairs.” The result seemed satisfactory, for
     Jem gave one of his well-known jerks of his nob, as
     much as to say, “Tom, I intend to give you another
     dressing.” King smiled at his man, as to intimate, if
     he really imagined he was capable of dressing him again
     he would oblige by being quick about it, as there
     needed something in the shape of excitement to warm up
     the system. After a little sparring, Mace drew from
     range and dropped his mauleys, and then with his right
     rubbed his breast and arms. King imitated his action,
     as he felt numbed about the arms, and thought it
     necessary to do the burnishing to promote the
     circulation. Jem, with a cautions step, drew into
     range, and then by way of a feeler slightly let go the
     left, but Tom, who was decidedly quicker on his pins
     than we had found him in any of his preceding battles,
     got well away with the back step, thus showing that
     these efforts on the part of his opponent to draw out
     his guard were not likely to be successful. As Mace
     broke for the purpose of getting from distance, King
     dashed at him in a most impetuous manner, and missed
     administering a fine right-handed shot from the
     fore-arm. Mace, as Tom came on for the purpose of
     forcing the fighting, retreated, but just opposite the
     referee and umpire the men closed, when Jem, finding he
     was likely to get in an awkward position, ducked his
     head and went down, King looking at him. Both men were
     loudly cheered, and as there was just a shade of
     commotion among those who formed the uprights of the
     outer circle, Professor Duncan, attended by the
     “faculty,” promptly administered a mild dose of his
     efficacious remedy for disorder――the “syrup of
     whips”――and the cure was instantaneous.

     2.――At the call of “Time,” both men, with the eagerness
     of swimmers for the first plunge, rushed simultaneously
     from the knees of their seconds, and threw up their
     hands at the scratch. After toeing the mark each again
     drew back from range, and began rubbing himself,
     looking meanwhile at each other like two game-cocks.
     Mace then led with the left, but did not get it home,
     as King got well from range. Tom now dashed at his man,
     and delivered the left on the top of the head, and put
     in another from the fore-arm on the mouth, which had
     the effect of producing a slight show of the crimson.
     (“First blood,” as on the former occasion, for Tom.)
     Jem, after getting home slightly with the left and
     right on the face, closed with his man, when, finding
     he was likely to get into an awkward position, he
     slipped from him and got down, there being so far not
     much harm done on either side, King fighting with
     remarkable fairness; his opponent decidedly more crafty
     and shifty, though, as Jack Macdonald said, “We’ll give
     him all that in.”

     3.――Jem was the first from his corner, but no sooner
     did the busy seconds of King see that his antagonist
     was on the move than they gave the office, and with
     that impetuosity of action so characteristic of him, he
     at once advanced to the scratch. After shifting,
     changing position, and taking fresh ground, King went
     dashing at his man for the purpose of forcing the
     fighting, and, getting partly over Jem’s right
     cross-guard, planted the left on the right cheek, and
     with a wild, slinging round hit from the right also got
     home on the side of the knowledge box. Mace, in the
     counter-hitting, administered one with his stinging
     left on the jaw, when, as Tom was not to be kept out,
     they closed. In the struggle for the fall King got his
     right arm round his man, and they went down near the
     referee in a curious, awkward fall, Mace, who had his
     head bent down, hitting the top part of it against the
     ground. It was imagined by many at the moment that Jem
     might have received some severe harm, but they were
     soon convinced to the contrary, for when the men had
     become disentangled and Jem with his usual agility had
     righted, he looked up with a broad grin, as much as to
     say, “Don’t be uneasy, I’m all right.” There was in the
     excitement again a slight manifestation of pressure in
     “Court,” the “special jury” being the least bit
     inconvenienced, but Duncan, as head usher, brought up
     his efficient corps to point, and the weight of this
     legal element was on the instant sufficient to restore
     matters to their proper balance, and the business of
     this admirably kept ring went on as smoothly as ever.

     4.――While the combatants were in their corners every
     movement of their seconds was watched with the utmost
     minuteness, and it was a treat to observe in what fine
     order they sent them up to the mark. Tom was the first
     to present his towering height at the scratch, but was
     almost on the instant met by his opponent. Bos Tyler
     pointed at Mace, in a good-humoured manner, as much as
     to intimate Jem had had some of the burnishing powder.
     Mace feinted with the left, but, finding he could not
     get in with artistic effect, he did not let it go
     freely from the shoulder. Tom, for the purpose of
     taking better range, followed up and with the left got
     home on the right cheek, and also put in one from the
     right. As Mace broke to get away, Tom hit out with both
     mauleys, but did no execution, as Mace threw the left
     off well with the right guard. After slight sparring
     and manœuvring Tom led the left, but it was not sent
     sufficiently well in to be effective, nor did he meet
     with any better success in following up with a wild hit
     from the right, for Jem drew well out of range. On
     again coming to distance, King worked with his right
     arm backwards and forwards, as though he intended to
     let it go, but did not. As Jem shifted Tom followed,
     when Mace got home a fine left-handed hit on the jaw.
     The combatants in the most spirited manner fought
     across the ring, Mace administering some of the cayenne
     with both mauleys. In the close both struggled for the
     fall, when Tom got from his man and went to grass in
     his own corner.

     5.――Mace was the first to come from his corner, but he
     had not long to wait before Tom faced him. Both men
     were considerably pinked, and their physiognomies now
     possessed more touches of beauty than are to be found
     in their photographs in George Newbold’s collection of
     celebrities. Jem, as he came from his corner, bent his
     head forward, as though he was mentally debating in
     what new manner he should try to get well at his man,
     who by the rapid style in which he had been fighting,
     had given proof that he was a dangerous antagonist.
     King, the instant he had put up his hands, went dashing
     to force the fighting. With the left he administered a
     stinger on the right cheek, and followed up with a half
     round hit from the right. Mace, as his opponent rushed
     at him to close, drew out, but Tom, not to be denied,
     followed up, when, in a rally, Jem pegged away with
     both mauleys, left and right, with astonishing
     rapidity, doing a great deal of heavy execution. In the
     close they struggled for the fall, when Mace threw his
     man in clever style, near the ropes. (The friends of
     Mace were in ecstasies, and long odds were offered on
     their pet.)

     6.――Tom in the first two or three rounds had
     unquestionably had a shade the best of it, from the
     style in which he had gone dashing at his man, and the
     quickness he had displayed. Mace did not exhibit that
     steadiness in his practice he afterwards did. Now,
     however, that Jem had got the true measure of his man
     there was a total change in his tactics, and the manner
     in which he now fought proved that he was in all
     respects superior to the “big-’un” in science. Both, on
     presenting themselves at the mark, bore evidence of
     having been by no means idle, for Jem was swelled about
     the ivories in a very conspicuous manner, while King,
     from the appearance of his left peeper, gave
     unmistakable proof of having been warmed up; he was
     likewise slightly bleeding from the nose. Still there
     had been no serious damage done on the part of either.
     After some little manœuvring, the combatants changing
     and shifting position, King dashed at his antagonist in
     his usual style, getting home left and right on the
     head. Mace met his man as he came with the rush on the
     milling suit, and, in one of the finest rallies that
     could be witnessed, the combatants fought right across
     the ring; there was something delightful to the
     admirers of boxing in Jem’s style of fighting his man
     with both hands, left and right, at the nob. These
     blows were delivered with a rapidity that was quite
     electrifying, being sent ding dong, straight home, so
     that Jem was all over his man in an instant, the blows
     making an impression as though Tom had been stamped
     with a couple of dies. Tom was by no means idle, but
     also pegged away at his man with the left on the head
     and the right on the body in merry fashion. In the
     close they got on the ropes, when Jem for the moment
     touched the top cord with his right hand, but Tom
     having shifted his position, the men struggled for the
     fall, when Tom, as a termination to this well-fought
     round, was under.

     7.――As the battle progressed, so did it increase in
     interest, for there was a marked speciality about the
     manner in which it was being fought that could not
     possibly fail to enhance its importance among the
     admirers of bold and genuine boxing. There can be no
     disputing, both men had been from the commencement
     fighting remarkably well, and the battle, as will be
     seen, had already presented two striking and prominent
     features; for though, until Jem had thoroughly got the
     measure of his man, King had in the opening bout been
     considered to have a slight lead, yet the style in
     which Mace was now performing was sufficient to
     convince all that there had not been the slightest
     mistake made in his merits as regards milling
     excellence. The combatants came simultaneously from
     their corners. Tom, as he stood at the scratch, opened
     his mouth and rubbed his hands, and then, on again
     putting himself into position, drew out and retreated
     to his own corner, Mace following. Both, as they again
     drew to range, steadied themselves, and in a fine
     counter with the left got well home, Jem doing
     execution on the snout, Tom on the top part of the
     cranium. Mace, on breaking, got to the ropes, when, as
     Tom came boring in to close, he slipped from the
     embrace of the young giant and got down.

     8.――From the manner in which the tints had been rubbed
     in it was apparent the colours had been well worked up,
     though this was much more conspicuous on Tom’s dial
     than his opponent’s, for King’s left peeper had a small
     lump on the side of it, while the nose and mouth looked
     a good deal puffed. Tom, as usual, taking the
     initiative, lunged out the left, but did no execution,
     as he was not well to distance. Mace, after King had
     opened with this wild hit, took up fresh position, and
     in doing so, as he was followed by his antagonist, he
     hit the back part of his head against the stake. As Tom
     pressed in, Jem pulled himself together, and after some
     fine left-handed counter-hitting, in which Mace
     delivered very heavily on the middle of the head, they
     closed and went down, Mace through the ropes. The
     battle had now lasted 22 minutes, and it had been
     nothing but downright hard fighting and no mistake.

     9.――King made another dash at Jem, “on hostile thoughts
     intent,” and got home apparently a hot-’un on the right
     eye, but there was no sign of injury, evidently owing
     to Jem’s excellent condition. Jem instantly returned a
     severe prop on the dial with the left, and then
     countered a second effort on the part of King, who
     essayed his right. Tom, desperate, now dashed in with
     headstrong determination, and bored his man through the
     ropes, to the delight of the Kingites, who, however,
     declined to take 6 to 4, freely offered by the backers
     of Mace.

     10.――Mace, the instant the signal was given, came forth
     with the utmost alacrity to renew the struggle. King,
     as an opening to the attack, lunged out the left, and
     administered a telling spank on Jem’s right jaw; and
     then, as Tom came dashing on, the men fought in a fine
     two-handed rally right across the ring, when King got
     his man’s nob for an instant in the right arm lock, and
     pegged away in the fibbing beautifully. Jem, like a
     good tactician, extricated himself; and after some
     severe milling, in which Mace got in the most telling
     manner on his man’s mouth, cheek, and nose――going, in
     fact, all over the dial with his clenched digits in a
     rapid and surprising manner――the men closed at the
     ropes right opposite to the umpire and referee, when
     Jem got his man in position, and gave him a fair
     back-heel fall. Immense cheering for Mace.

     11.――King’s left eye looked worse than ever, while his
     good-looking mug was knocked out of all symmetry.
     Nevertheless he was again first to begin the attack,
     and in leading got home the left on the right cheek,
     following it in with one from the right on the side of
     the pimple. Jem, who timed his man beautifully,
     administered another tremendous left-hander on the
     mazzard, when Tom’s nob, from its effect, went waving
     back. On the instant, however, he pulled himself
     together and dashed in to renew the struggle, when Jem
     met him, and delivered a tremendous left-hander on the
     nose, which produced a copious flow of blood. As Mace
     took fresh ground Tom again dashed in, and they fought
     a regular ding-dong, slogging give-and-take to a close.
     Tom, with his usual style of bending his head slightly
     forward, went dashing at Jem, and got more than one
     straightening prop. They again fought in regular
     ding-dong to a close, when Tom, while receiving Jem’s
     props on the dial, made use of the right once or twice
     in a very efficient manner on the body, upon which Mace
     got from his man and went down. The referee here called
     the attention of Tom’s seconds to the fact that their
     man had struck Jem while he was down, which was true;
     but Mace was just on the go, and King could not help
     the hit, which was evidently unintentional, and no harm
     was done.

     12.――Another splendid rally in this round, Mace again
     in a telling manner doing execution with both mauleys,
     but evidently forced back by King’s irresistible
     advance. The men, who had fought right across the ring,
     closed in Mace’s corner, when Jem got down, Tom falling
     on him. During this round the referee had several times
     to caution the seconds, who, in a most reprehensible
     manner, followed their principals as closely as
     frequently to be in the way of the combatants.

     13.――The men again went to work in a spirited and
     determined manner. Jem, with his left, got well home on
     the front of his man’s dial, and jumped back; when Tom,
     with his right, administered some sounding spanks on
     the ribs. As Jem broke to get away, King followed him
     up, and Mace went down to end the round.

     14.――Mace commenced operations by getting well in range
     and delivering a pretty left-hander full on the nose,
     knocking Tom’s head round as though it had been shaken
     off its connections; nevertheless Tom again tried to
     force the fighting, when, after some merry exchanges,
     they closed, and in the fall went down together in the
     centre of the ring. King’s friends cheered him
     heartily, as he fully deserved.

     15.――Some sharp fighting, rather in favour of Mace,
     who, in the end, went down in the hitting, and King
     fell over him.

     16.――Tom dashed in viciously, and after a fine exchange
     of compliments, in which each did execution, they
     closed, and Jem, who had had the best of the exchanges,
     fell under.

     17.――Tom again forced the fighting, but though he
     delivered with his left, he was a little too round with
     his right to be effective. Mace, after countering with
     his antagonist, and getting well home with the left in
     the middle of the head, and following up at half
     measure with the right, got cleverly away from his man.
     As Jem took fresh position, Tom followed him up, and
     the men in a rally fought to the ropes. In the close
     both got under the top rope, and fell nearly out of the
     ring.

     18.――Such a certainty was the battle looked upon by
     some of Jem’s admirers that Johnny Gideon here offered
     £30 to £5 on him, but there were no takers. Indeed,
     Tom’s umpire, a good judge, said that, bar accident,
     Mace could not lose. After some more severe fighting,
     in which Mace again delivered in a telling manner on
     Tom’s dial with both mauleys, Tom made a slip in
     getting from his man, and fell on his knees. On the
     instant the game fellow recovered his perpendicular,
     and as Jem noticed this he beckoned him to renew the
     round. King was willing, but his well-skilled seconds,
     seeing the fast work he was doing, refused to allow
     him.

     19.――It now seemed “all over, but shouting,” to the
     partisans of Mace, who called out any odds, without
     response. As the men came up it was easy to see that
     Jem, thinking himself already victorious, was anxious
     to finish off the business, lest the appearance of the
     police, which had been rumoured, should rob him of his
     conquest at the last moment. He worked in with both
     hands in weaving style to get well to distance, and as
     he took up his position he got into a slight hollow of
     the ring. Jem, who had repeatedly tried to land a
     clipping cross-counter with his right, had just opened
     himself for the purpose of trying it on, when Tom, who
     stood firmly to his guns, met him with one of the most
     tremendous hits we ever saw. It was a cross-counter on
     the left cheek with his right hand――a blow that seemed
     to go all over Jem’s face with crushing effect. Jem,
     bleeding from the mouth and nose, reeled and staggered
     from the effect of this visitation, and then, to the
     consternation of friends, fell in the middle of the
     ring all of a heap. So sudden a change in the aspect of
     affairs had hardly ever been witnessed in the memory of
     the oldest ring-goer, and Jem’s seconds were working
     with a zeal which told how serious was the position.
     Down came the odds. “The Champion’s licked,” said
     twenty voices in a sort of stage whisper, and all eyes
     were strained in the direction of the busy group in
     Mace’s corner.

     20.――King walked up to the scratch, watching the
     referee with ill-concealed anxiety to hear the call of
     “Time.” When, however, that functionary had twice
     repeated his summons, Mace, who had by no means
     recovered from the settler he had received, came
     unsteadily from his corner. Tom walked up to him, and
     Mace tried a wild delivery with his left, Tom retorted
     with a hot blow on the nose, and Mace, in getting away,
     went down close to the referee’s seat like a lump of
     lead. There was now the greatest commotion and
     excitement all round the ring. It was now as clearly
     King’s victory as it had previously been Mace’s.
     Brettle and Travers worked with a will, doing for their
     man everything possible, and he gallantly seconded
     their efforts, resolutely refusing to allow them to
     throw up the sponge.

     21 and last.――Before Mace left his corner Tom was
     waiting for his man, and no sooner did Mace come up
     than King went to him, and, with a slight push on the
     head, sent him down. Jem, who was weak and exhausted,
     and who had the right side of his phiz swelled in an
     extraordinary manner from the effects of King’s
     right-hander, was now clearly _hors de combat_, and his
     friends, seeing he had not the remotest chance of
     winning, threw up the sponge in spite of his protests.
     This token of defeat was hailed with loud shouts by
     Tom’s friends, who were, of course, doubly delighted at
     the bravery and good fortune of their man, and they
     crowded enthusiastically round King to hail him as the
     last addition to the roll of brave men who have borne
     the proud title of Champion of England. The battle
     lasted exactly thirty-eight minutes.

     REMARKS.――There can be little question as to the fact
     that King’s decisive victory was more immediately due
     to the tremendous hit to which Mace laid himself open
     by his over-eagerness to plant what he considered a
     sort of _coup de grace_ on his gallant adversary. His
     skill in administering, as well as avoiding punishment,
     had given him an apparent best, but he had not reduced
     the courage and confidence, nor exhausted the strength
     of his dangerous antagonist. The “hit” that King “had
     left in him,” was, as Jem found to his cost that day,
     worth the Championship of England. That this is no
     disparagement of King’s victory all must admit, and a
     more gallant display of skill and bravery could not
     have been witnessed in any day present or past. King’s
     fairness of style in the finish of several rounds, when
     the lead trembled in the balance, shone conspicuously,
     and was warmly acknowledged by the spectators.

At the giving up of the stakes, on the Thursday night week, King once
again announced his intention of not contesting the Championship. This
was generally understood as owing to obligations of another
description in which a “ring” also had a part, and not a few of Young
Tom’s intimates drank a toast to his matrimonial felicity, in the old
formula of “The single married, and the married happy.”

A curious telegraphic contretemps, which may serve as a caution to the
over-clever, occurred on this occasion. Mr. William Wright, of
Fulwood’s Rents, who was at this period an immense authority, had
arranged with his London clerks that, to prevent surreptitious use of
the earliest intelligence, for which he had incurred a large outlay,
his telegram would give the losing man as winner, and they were to
read it and manifold it accordingly. Having therefore sent off, at the
earliest possible moment, “Mace beat King,” with the number of rounds,
&c., the telegraph clerk on the spot, thinking he knew to the
contrary, innocently set the message _right_, and, out of kindness,
sent over the wire, “King beat Mace;” whereon the clerks dutifully
followed their instructions, and the wrong result was extensively
circulated to clubs, subscribers, &c., and for some hours a
bewildering uncertainty prevailed.

The Young Sailor, however, had excited too great an interest in the
public mind to be allowed to sink quietly into oblivion. He had
distinctly stated that he did not seek the distinction, if distinction
it was, of the Championship, and he resigned the belt into the hands
of the Editor of _Bell’s Life_. Heenan, however, having made some good
friends among gentlemen of the turf by his civility, intelligence, and
good conduct, intimated to several of these, that if there was any
“big one” desirous to try conclusions with him, he was ready to make a
“quiet match” for not less than £500, and he had friends who would
make it £1000 if required. This was formally communicated to the
Editor of _Bell’s Life_, with a wish that no bouncing or offensive
challenge should be inserted. The Editor at once put these facts in
circulation in proper quarters, and the proposition, like most
American notions, “a big thing,” made some of Tom King’s friends prick
up their ears. Mace was engaged “two deep,” and moreover was not
“their man.” A conference was held at Owen Swift’s, to which Tom King
was invited, and he, with ready gallantry, declared the opportunity
was most inviting and welcome. Money was forthcoming on both sides,
and as both sides meant business, the paper subjoined was soon
formulated――

    “ARTICLES OF AGREEMENT entered into this 17th day of March,
     1863, between John Camel Heenan and Thomas King. The said
     John Camel Heenan agrees to fight the said Thomas King a
     fair stand-up fight, according to the new rules of the ring,
     by which the said John Camel Heenan and the said Thomas King
     hereby agree to be bound. The said fight shall be for the
     sum of £1,000 a side, and shall take place on the 8th day of
     December, 1863, within 100 miles of London. In pursuance of
     this agreement, £100 a side are now deposited in the hands
     of Mr. John Coney, who shall transmit the same to the Editor
     of _Bell’s Life_, who shall be final stakeholder; the second
     deposit, of £50 a side, shall be made at Mr. W.
     Richardson’s, “Blue Anchor,” Shoreditch, on Thursday, March
     26; the third, of £50 a side, to be made on April 9; the
     fourth, of £50 a side, on April 23; the fifth, of £50 a
     side, on May 7; the sixth, of £50 a side, on May 21; the
     seventh, of £50 a side, on June 4; the eighth, of £50 a
     side, on June 18; the ninth, of £50 a side, on July 2; the
     tenth, of £50 a side, on July 16; the eleventh, of £50 a
     side, on July 30; the twelfth, of £50 a side, on August 13;
     the thirteenth, of £50 a side, on August 27; the fourteenth,
     of £50 a side, on September 10; the fifteenth, of £50 a
     side, on September 24; the sixteenth, of £50 a side, on
     October 27; the seventeenth, of £50 a side, on November 5;
     and the final deposit, of £100 a side, on November 26, at
     Mr. W. Richardson’s, “Blue Anchor,” as above, when the men
     shall mutually agree to the place of fighting. The said
     deposits to be made between the hours of eight and ten p.m.
     on the days and at the houses named; either party failing,
     to forfeit the money down. The houses at which the deposits
     shall be made shall be named by each party alternately, and
     to be made in London. The place of the next deposit to be
     named as the staking of the previous one, Heenan having to
     name the place of the third deposit. The men to be in the
     ring between the hours of ten a.m. and one p.m. on the day
     named, or the man absent to forfeit the money. But, in the
     event of magisterial interference, the referee shall decide
     the next place and time of meeting, the same day, if
     possible. The expenses of the ropes and stakes shall be
     borne mutually. Mr. Dowling, the Editor of _Bell’s Life in
     London_, to be referee. Two umpires to be chosen on the
     ground; and, in case of dispute between them, the decision
     of the referee to be final.

    “In pursuance of this agreement, we hereunto attach our names――

                                 “JOHN CAMEL HEENAN.
                                 “CHARLES BUSH, for Thomas King.
    “Witness: H. A. REED.”

The match made, each man at once proceeded to make trading capital out
of it by travelling the provinces, and this at first led to a belief
that the match would never come to anything, but was merely got up for
this purpose. On the other hand it was asserted, that the match was
sure to come off, but the result had been cut and dried; that the
backers of the men intended to make a trading speculation out of the
“Special” which was to convey the belligerents to the scene of action.
It was known that a sum of more than £1000 had been divided between
Sayers and Heenan out of the profits of the train for their match, and
the supposition was, perhaps, not unnatural that £500 would be very
good interest upon £100 for a few months, setting aside the off chance
of something else turning up into the bargain. As the day approached
for the men to go into training fears as to the affair not being
genuine quickly subsided, and in racing circles the match created much
interest, numerous bets of 6 to 4 being laid on the Benicia Boy, whose
appearance at Newmarket during the October Meetings fully justified
the confidence reposed in him. Heenan took his breathings almost
entirely at Newmarket in company with his own brother Jem, and
Macdonald, but required very little, if any, looking after. His feats
as a pedestrian during his work were something extraordinary, six
miles and a “bittock” did he generally turn in ordinary walking, and
many a spin and a tie up did he give to some of our crack jocks, among
whom are to be found no mean specimens of fair toe-and-heel walkers.
Jack’s spins at the top of his speed, too, not a little astonished the
Browns, and we have been credibly informed he could on a pinch do his
quarter in 56 seconds――not bad for a 14 stone man, standing nearly 6
feet 2 inches. When stripped his frame was a model for a sculptor.
Every muscle was developed to a gigantic size, every tendon and sinew
was distinctly visible; and, taken altogether, we doubt whether such a
specimen of a Hurculean frame has been witnessed in the British P. R.
for very many years. That Heenan possessed every confidence in himself
may be gathered from the fact that some three weeks previously he sent
a message to the stakeholder, requesting him to state that if he did
not lick King the public ought to stigmatise him as the greatest
impostor who ever entered the Ring. The Editor tells us that he
declined to insert this statement at the time, as not being fair to
either party, and considering that should the result justify the
observation it would be time enough to make it when the battle was
over. Heenan, as may be recollected, was born in 1834, at Troy, United
States, of Irish parents. His fighting weight on stripping on the
present occasion was, as near as possible, 14 stone 2lb.

As the time of battle drew near the difficulties of a mode of transit
to the ground increased. One after another refusals of accommodation
were returned, the powers and authorities having experienced the
disorders which seemed inseparable from the gathering of such a crowd
as had now made it a custom to gather on such an occasion. During
Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday, the offices of the sporting newspapers,
to say nothing of the “houses of call” for sporting men, were besieged
by questioners; but beyond the fact that tickets at three sovereigns a
head were procurable, no definite tip was to be had.

Tuesday evening was a night of festivity at all sporting pubs. The
public fully believing that on the following morning the mill would
come off, and all being agog to get the necessary tip. It was not
until well into the small hours that many would believe that Wednesday
was not the day. The same scene was repeated on Wednesday, with the
exception that delay had doubled the excitement, and the houses, which
on Tuesday were crammed, were on the following night well nigh
overwhelmed, and the ordinary business could scarcely be transacted.
At Owen Swift’s much anxiety was expressed as to whether a bet of £600
to £400 appointed to be put down the night before the fight would
really be forthcoming, certain half-sceptics pinning their faith on
this ceremony as calculated to prove the genuine nature of the match.
It was also expected it would materially affect the betting, many
considering that the staking would show such confidence on the part of
King’s backers as would justify his being backed for money.

On our arrival at London Bridge Station a few minutes before five in
the morning, we found that the “rasping” division had dwindled away to
an insignificant few. The fact is, the busy tongue of rumour had sent
them so often to the various stations on a Will o’ the Wisp errand,
that the detrimentals were completely tired out, and, after the lesson
of Tuesday and Wednesday nights, without anything turning up, they
denounced the whole affair as “a sell,” and stayed at home. Never was
a secret of such a kind better kept, and the wide-awakes who “knew the
exact spot to a yard,” found themselves neck deep in the mire, after a
fashion they little calculated on; the cut-purse family wiping the
frosty icicles from their noses in the west, when they should have
been looking out for squalls in the South Eastern horizon. The
delightful result was that the congregation of the fistic art passed
through the thin dark line of worn and weary snapper-badgers. The
arrangements of the legitimate “conveyancers” were most excellent;
everybody was comfortably “taken in and done for,” whilst the presence
of the ring-constable volunteers set the foot of authority down with a
crash upon all attemps at “rigging the market.” In fact, one might
have thought that he was going to see an early ploughing match, whilst
the “Yahoo” business didn’t rise as high as the song of an old
tea-kettle. Indeed, that ugly element was wise in the course it was
constrained to adopt; had it done otherwise there was force enough
present to have brought every atom of it to grief. Both the men
reached the ground in good time, and both had their fair quantity of
supporters, who would persist in blocking up each carriage door, so
that the entrance of a breath of air was almost next to an
impossibility.

The train consisted of thirty carriages, in each of which, to use a
theatrical phrase, there was not standing room. We were “horsed” by
two powerful engines, and, at about a quarter past six glided out of
the station without the least confusion, and with the greatest
regularity. The morning stars were just beginning to show signs of
that glimmering faintness which indicates the approach of daybreak.
Once the train got in motion, not a sound was to be heard save the
outburst of some occasional hearty laugh at the jocularity going on
inside. But even this was of the mildest possible character, and there
was an entire absence of that reprehensible boisterous outpouring
which has too often awoke the slumbering people along the route,
filling their half-dreamy imaginations with the horror that the
Philistines were upon them. We were more than half afraid that the new
plan of paying at the doors would have been productive of the direst
confusion, but our apprehensions were agreeably dispelled.

On casting a quiet running glance through the interior of each
carriage, before we started, we found the genuine patrons of our
national manly “trial by battle” in very strong force indeed. We heard
one and all join in a universal chorus of satisfaction at the way in
which we had been “got off.” On and on we rolled through the fair
county of Kent, and as the grey dawn of morning rose eastward on our
track the mild fresh breeze played upon our half-sleepy faces, waking
us up to a sense of life and activity that was as agreeable as it was
invigorating. The morning was beautiful and mild, and away now to our
left the bright blue-tinged light of early day could be seen breaking
gently and softly, widening and lengthening as it imperceptibly spread
over the landscape in a manner that would have excited the admiration
of a Gainsborough or a Creswick. Still on and onward we go through
deep cuttings and over high embankment; anon the iron horses slacken
their speed, and the next instant the reverberating sounds of our
whirling wheels tell us that we are passing through the bowels of
mother earth. On emerging from the tunnel into open country our ears
were saluted with voices that unmistakably marked the owners as
denizens of the aristocratic regions west of Regent Street.
Speculation made itself heard, and 6 and 7 to 4 on the Benicia Boy
seemed to be the chorus of the song. Just as we could distinguish
houses and buildings sufficiently, the train glided noiselessly into
Reigate Junction, where we were “regaled” by the sight of a strong
covey of early “blue birds” belonging to the Surrey County
Constabulary. It is needless to say that they were not there on our
invitation. We considered them more free than welcome, and following
the prudent and time-honoured example of those philosophic
predecessors of theirs, Masters Dogberry and Verges of blessed memory,
we stole ourselves out of their company with all possible alacrity and
despatch. A thin white frosty veil of mist floated over the landscape
as we again got in full swing, whilst the leaden coloured clouds as
they lay heavy and motionless overhead gave us cause for grave
anxiety, but, as our fears were rising to an uncomfortable grade on
our nervous thermometer, in we rushed to another tunnel. When we
issued forth we made a series of weatherwise surveys all round us, and
were joyed to find the dark curtain lifting evenly and gradually up on
our right, whilst on the opposite side bright broken patches
encouraged our most earnest hopes, Another turn of the steam valve,
and away we sped at over forty miles an hour; wood and dell, hamlet
and village, cottage and mansion flew by like the magic of the
kaleidoscope, and the question of our journey’s end took the place of
other topics for the moment. A few miles further on and we shot by
Tunbridge Wells. By this time we could see that the “bold peasantry”
were discussing their breakfast, but as we rattled on at the rate of a
mile a minute and a half, we did not take particular notice of what
they ate. At length we drew up in a secluded and well-selected spot,
where we got out, yawned, stretched ourselves, and gulped in the sharp
morning air most voraciously. On account of the extreme softness of
the ground it was some time before a decent place could be found. At
this hour, about a quarter past nine o’clock, the sun was shining out
as magnificently as on a fine May morning, and as we toiled some mile
and a half up a steep clayey hill, the “stuff” was taken out of many.
At length a chosen spot was taken possession of, and the ring pitched
in a field at Wadhurst, near Frant, below Tunbridge Wells. King first
dropped in his castor, amid loud cheers, accompanied by Jerry Noon and
Bos Tyler, and was immediately followed by Heenan, who was similarly
received, being esquired by Jack Macdonald, and, for the sake of
theatrical effect, Tom Sayers. Colours were now unfolded on both
sides, and the combatants began to dress. The choice of ground was won
by Heenan, and then came the referee. Some wrangling here took place
in respect to that functionary, during which the betting went on with
offers at 40 to 20, &c., on Heenan, but there did not seem to be any
takers. Confusion now became the ruling element, wasting away precious
time on the top of a hill that could be seen for twenty miles around.
There were the men and their seconds ready, while the referee was
expected to come from the clouds. Three quarters of an hour was spent
in this way before matters were finally closed, and the referee
originally proposed was ultimately agreed to. The men then began the
important duty of the toilet, and in the hands of their respective
valets that operation was soon completed. The ring was then cleared,
and the men showed themselves ready in battle array. Heenan was the
first to exhibit, mid the loud cheers of his admirers, and was
instantly followed by King, for whom another salvo rose up from the
throats of his party. Exactly at ten o’clock the men were delivered at
the scratch, shook hands, and prepared to commence


     THE FIGHT.

     ROUND 1.――As the men advanced towards the centre of the
     ring the first glance seemed to show how great were the
     physical advantages of Heenan, who looked quite the
     stone heavier man he really was――King being
     comparatively a fair-skinned stripling; but a closer
     inspection revealed a jaded appearance. He looked
     clumsier altogether than when he fought Sayers. King,
     on the contrary, was as well as ever he could be, and
     there was a bloom and healthfulness about him, which
     spoke not only of steady training, but of an unvitiated
     constitution. He had not altogether the cut of a
     professional pugilist, but would rather be described as
     a fine, fresh, good-looking young countryman. The men
     threw themselves into attitude, and opened the round
     with a little sparring, but there was a hurried, not to
     say nervous, manner about each of them, which indicated
     that the scientific display would not be very
     prolonged. Heenan led off once or twice, but was not
     close enough. King was equally out of distance in
     trying to return. At last they got nearer, and
     exchanged good counter-hits. A couple more heavy hits
     were given, and King was drawing back to take up fresh
     ground, when Heenan plunged desperately at him, and got
     his left arm round his neck; the impetus of his rush
     carrying them both to the ropes. Here Heenan sought to
     fix his man in the dangerous manner he had practised
     with Sayers, but King’s strength enabled him to wrench
     himself up, and, locked together, they wrestled back to
     the centre of the ring. Here Heenan hung upon his man,
     squeezing him tightly, and trying to force him down.
     King, whose arms were at liberty, hit him heavily about
     the body left and right, until he fell, dragging Heenan
     with him, but the Yankee was uppermost. (The referee
     here entered the ring and cautioned Heenan as to his
     “hugging” system, which was certainly an unsightly mode
     of attack.)

     2.――Both men were somewhat flushed about the head from
     the previous round, and King appeared a little
     distressed from the severe struggle. He was urged to be
     first with his man, and led off directly he came to the
     scratch. He got well home on Heenan’s head; the latter
     countered, but without much precision, and some wild
     but heavy exchanges took place with both hands, King
     dealing the Yankee a severe blow on the mouth. Tom was
     pressing his man, when Heenan made a dash at him, and
     showing great superiority in strength, after a few
     seconds of squeezing, threw him heavily, a very
     dangerous fall, coming with all his weight upon him.
     (_First blood_ was here given to King; Heenan’s lips
     being cut and bleeding.)

     3.――King seemed anxious to keep away from his man spar;
     there was no doubt that he was already considerably
     shaken by the severe falls he had received. Heenan
     appeared more anxious to seize a favourable chance to
     grasp his man than to hit him. After a moment’s pause
     they got together, and lashed out heavily with the
     left, each getting home. This led to some more
     exchanges, desperately heavy, it is true, but made in a
     wild style, and not like two finished boxers. Heenan
     again plunged in, King meeting him heavily as he came,
     but he grappled Tom, and again brought him down with
     shattering force across the lower rope, which was
     pressed to the ground. Luckily the ground was not hard.
     (Unpleasant as was Heenan’s style of fighting, he was
     considered to be getting the best of the battle, as
     King evidently could not resist his rush and clinching
     throw.)

     4.――King’s left eye was marked with a mouse, but
     otherwise he did not show much signs of punishment. The
     rounds were all short ones, Heenan forcing his way in
     upon King, a few slashing exchanges; then King was once
     more caught in the hug, and thrown a desperate fall.
     (Great disapprobation of Heenan’s style of fighting――if
     fighting it could be called. His hugging and squeezing
     was far worse than even in Sayers’s fight.)

     5.――King was as ready at the call of “time” as his
     antagonist, yet evidently felt the falls he was
     receiving, and sparred a bit for wind. Heenan was
     distressed also, and glad of a pause. They worked round
     a bit until they got near, when King, with the
     swiftness of lightning, dealt the Yankee a terrific hit
     in the middle of the head with his right, almost
     knocking him off his legs, and drawing streams of
     claret from a cut on his mouth. It was nearly a
     floorer, and on Heenan trying a return, King
     cross-countered very heavily on the side of the head.
     Heenan was for a moment at a standstill, and King led
     off again, but was out of distance, and the Yankee
     again “clinching”――we must borrow an Americanism which
     expresses more than our word “closing”――succeeded in
     once more putting on the “hug” and throwing King
     heavily; though he pitched over him so far as to strike
     the ground with his own head.

     6.――The fighting had been wild enough before, but in
     this round there was no attempt at precision or
     steadiness. The men punched――or punched at――one another
     wildly, King getting the best of what hitting did tell,
     till Heenan closed, and, getting his regular grip,
     flung King a burster.

     7.――The men went to work directly they faced each
     other, and in a slogging rally some really terrific
     hitting was given and taken. They broke away, but only
     for a few seconds, when they got together with more
     tremendous exchanges, yet still to the advantage of
     King, who allowed what little science was exhibited,
     and hit straightest. By a desperate snorter with his
     right, during this rally, he drew a fresh burst of
     crimson. Heenan closed in the hitting, hugged his man
     viciously, and then threw him one of the heaviest
     cross-buttocks seen for many a day. It was a crusher,
     and King lay for a few seconds until his seconds picked
     him up and bore him to his corner.

     8.――King, to the delight of his friends, came up
     promptly; although he was piping a little, he seemed
     marvellously little hurt by these continuous throws.
     Heenan was ready to fight to improve his supposed
     advantage, and the men exchanged stinging counters
     directly they faced each other, and heavy exchanges
     followed. Heenan dashed in as usual to seize his man,
     but on this occasion he was foiled, for King caught him
     in his arms; and, after a moment’s struggle, threw the
     Yankee heavily and fell on him. (This was a fair,
     unmistakable back fall and the cheering for King was
     tremendous.)

     9.――Heenan looked vexed as he came up; he had plainly
     made up his mind to recover his wrestling superiority,
     and tried for an opening. King was with him, and met
     him left and right; then, getting away again, planted
     on him with tremendous effect as he came in, catching
     his man well in the middle of the head; and now and
     then, in each of the rounds, giving a home hit on the
     body. Heenan at last got in, squeezed his man savagely,
     and again threw him a shattering fall.

     10.――The wildest and fastest of fighting still
     continued, in fact, the rally more resembled a
     “turn-up” of two angry navvies than the tactics of
     skilled boxers. The exchanges were of the severest
     description, although most of the blows seemed given at
     random. Heenan was wholly bent on throwing, and once
     more hugged King and threw him.

     11.――Heenan showed that the pace was telling on him,
     and it was doubtful whether he was not taking almost as
     much out of himself by his desperate struggles to throw
     King, as he was out of King by the falls. He persevered
     in his wrestling game, however, for hardly an attempt
     was made at a blow in this round before he grappled
     with King, and brought him over.

     12.――Tom was a little more on his guard this time, and
     led off; Heenan returned, and a few seconds of very
     hard fighting took place, both men being hit severely
     about the head till they closed, when King again
     succeeded in turning the tables, and threw Heenan
     heavily.

     13.――Although this round began with some countering
     which looked very heavy, yet Heenan’s blows did not, as
     a rule, tell very much; and when his seconds sent him
     up King looked clean, and comparatively free from
     punishment. Heenan again gave his man the hug, and
     threw him. After this round Heenan’s left hand became
     gradually of less service to him.

     14.――Heenan feinted with his left, and threw in a
     smasher on the head with his right. King stuck to him,
     but after some stinging exchanges, in which he had the
     best, he was thrown――one of the most tremendous
     cross-buttocks ever seen――and so stunned and shaken was
     King, that but for the tact and presence of mind of
     Jerry Noon, it is doubtful if he could have come to
     time.

     15.――In spite of the very heavy falls being nearly
     always in his favour, Heenan was now almost as much
     distressed as King, and the punishment given was
     certainly much against him. After a little sparring,
     heavy counters were exchanged, and then three or four
     smashing hits left and right, without a semblance of
     stopping or avoiding. Heenan drew back a little, and
     then lunging tremendously with his right, nailed King
     with such terrific force that he staggered and went
     down. (This was _first knock-down blow_ in favour of
     Heenan, and was one at the few clean hits he delivered
     or even attempted to deliver during the fight.)

     16.――Although slower than before in answering the call
     of “time,” King came resolutely up, and did not seem
     greatly shaken by the knock-down blow. Indeed, Heenan
     appeared worse from the effects of the last round than
     did his opponent, as King had planted so heavily on his
     left eye that it was badly cut and nearly closed. In
     some more heavy punching――pure slogging give-and-take,
     without any show of science――Heenan’s eye was quite
     shut up, and he showed some decided signs of weakness.
     King dashed in, and, after an exhausting struggle,
     forced him down.

     17.――In this round Heenan again got the fall; but it
     was for the last time. He was evidently falling off;
     and when once his superiority in strength or wrestling
     power was gone he seemed useless and almost helpless as
     a boxer. King hit him tremendously about the side of
     the head and on the eyes, and it appeared as if Heenan
     would soon be blind. However, as just said, he clutched
     King desperately, and threw him one of the hardest
     falls in the fight. But it was his last effort, and
     while he became visibly weaker every minute, King,
     strange to say, seemed little the worse.

     18.――There was at first some fear that the ring would
     be broken in; for the intense excitement among the
     outer crowd had induced a rush, which broke through the
     lukewarm resistance of the constables, and brought the
     mass up to the ropes. Luckily, however, nothing came of
     it. Heenan, thinking he had shaken King more than was
     really the case, and probably feeling that he was
     growing exhausted himself, rushed furiously at his man
     to improve his advantage. King, however, who had
     quickly recovered himself, met him with a couple of
     hits left and right, stopping the Yankee’s rush, and
     while he was yet on the stagger King closed, and,
     giving him the crook, pitched him over, and tell on him
     with stunning force.

     19.――Heenan came up rather hurriedly when time was
     called, but it was at once seen that he was almost
     beaten, and was quite groggy. He tried his rush, but it
     was no longer dangerous, and King stepped back twice,
     measured his distance, planted on him without a return,
     and, by a second straight hit, sent him down. In the
     20th round King managed to back-heel Heenan. The same
     description applies to the next two rounds, excepting
     that in each of them Heenan grew shakier and wilder,
     and King’s superiority more marked. At the commencement
     of the 23rd round it was proposed to throw up the
     sponge, but Heenan would not hear of it, and staggered
     at his man with the semblance of his former rush. He
     staggered after receiving a blow, and was thrown by
     King without a chance of resisting. His backers, seeing
     that it was hopeless, and that it was only exposing the
     sinking boxer to punishment, insisted on his surrender,
     and the sponge was thrown up in token of defeat, after
     a desperate, but slashing, hugging, and unscientific
     battle of _thirty-five minutes_, and twenty-four
     rounds.

     REMARKS.――We may well spare any lengthened comment upon
     a contest the leading characteristics of which were
     “clinching,” rushing, squeezing, and attempts at
     strangulating hugs on the one side, and wild, desperate
     sledge-hammer defensive hitting on the other. Heenan
     proved beyond doubt or cavil that he did not deserve to
     rank in the first or even second rank of artistic
     boxers, and that sheer brute strength, seconded by
     weight, stature, and a certain amount of mere animal
     courage were his only qualifications. He seemed to have
     little idea of sparring for an opening, or as a means
     of defence; while the use of the skilful feints,
     well-timed delivery, or accurate measurement of
     distance, of getting close and then getting away, as
     practised by professional boxers, he ignored or
     despised. It was not the fault of Tom King that the
     fight was so bad. His form and style were far the
     better of the two, for he did not trust to mere
     wrestling and hauling his man about, and would have
     made a better show of tactics with a better man. Those
     flatterers who told Heenan that he could stand a
     comparison with King’s former opponent, Jem Mace, must
     have been grossly ignorant or wilfully deceived
     themselves. Few who saw this contest but felt, that it
     was solely the accident which so early in the battle
     disabled the gallant Tom Sayers’s right arm, had
     prevented the signal defeat of Heenan on the memorable
     day at Farnborough. King showed but few marks of severe
     hitting after the fight, nor was he so seriously
     exhausted by the falls as might have been expected,
     considering the weight and stature of both men. On the
     other hand, Heenan was seriously disfigured, indeed,
     utterly prostrate, and nearly blinded at the close of
     the encounter. Altogether, while an honest and game
     fight, it was an unsatisfactory one; the sole point
     settled being the entire absence, on the part of
     Heenan, of those scientific attainments and steady
     attributes indispensable to the successful practitioner
     in the Prize Ring. The immense stake, £2,000, so
     glaringly disproportionate to the merits of the battle,
     was duly paid over to King. For the circumstance of the
     appearance of the once formidable Tom Sayers at the
     ring-side, as second to his former antagonist, John
     Heenan, the reader is referred to pages 435 and 436 of
     the present volume.

Again, and for the last time, Tom King announced his retirement from
professional pugilism; we shall not, therefore, follow him into
private life farther than to say, that he has carried with him the
respect he earned by his public career, and that the last we heard of
him was that he had earned the peaceful distinction of a prizeman, as
a successful cultivator of flowers at horticultural shows, held in the
neighbourhood of his suburban dwelling. And here we legitimately close
the task we voluntarily imposed on ourself, of committing to the press
the history of ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-FOUR YEARS OF BRITISH BOXING.


     [41] As an example of the way Ring affairs were managed, we
     may note that, after 21 rounds in one hour and a quarter,
     the police really did come; that the men met the next day,
     January 1, 1862, and the police, after three rounds in 17
     minutes, again appeared, there being strong ground for
     suspicion that they were sent for by telegram. Brettle
     having sprained his ankle, a postponement was granted until
     March, and then they met (the bet of £300 being off), and
     after four rounds, occupying one hour and 40 minutes, the
     referee gave them 15 minutes to strike a blow; but as one
     wouldn’t and t’other didn’t, a “draw” was declared, March
     11, 1862.




L’Envoy to the Reader.

“CONSTANT READER!”――for surely he deserves that title who hath borne
me mental company through fifteen hundred pages――this is an
old-fashioned book, written by an old-fashioned “pen,” recording
old-fashioned manners, customs, and pursuits of men in times fast
becoming old fashioned; it therefore seems fit that, in the old
fashion of the L’Envoy, the Author and the Reader should have a few
“more last words” ere they part company.

When Cid Hamet Benengeli, in the ultimate Chapter of “Don Quixote,”
apostrophises his pen, he speaks of scribblers “who compile false and
idle histories.”[42] Even so does the smaller author of PUGILISTICA
feel as he ceases from his “Story of the Ring.” It would seem from the
denunciation of the worthy Cid Hamet that in all times there have been
literary fabricators and forgers, and the writer can certify that the
History of the Ring in the present day has more than one flagrant
instance. Foremost of these is a weekly newspaper professing to be the
Argus of the Turf, and the Titan of Tipsters. The “Famous Old Fights”
appearing in its columns are pure fiction, grafted on well-known
names, dates, and anecdotes procurable from standard works of
reference; the details of incidents, of rounds, &c., &c., being the
emanation of the lively imagination of the newswriter, who, to our
knowledge, and from innumerable instances in his blundering romance,
is utterly ignorant and innocent of any acquaintance with the Ring,
its professors, or the scenes he so inventively describes. The sole
reason for this _exposé_ is, that as, in many instances, these forged
accounts of battles purport to be between men whose combats are
authentically given in these pages, the reader should be made aware,
that no such reports exist in any contemporary publications, of which
innumerable proofs might be given, but that we cannot spare the space,
time, and trouble to “break a butterfly on the wheel.” Yet do we bear
no grudge to the ingenious fiction-writer; and having set the point of
truth and accuracy in its true light, we say, as did Uncle Toby, when
he released the fly, “Go thy ways, there is room enough in the world
for both of us.”

And now for one other topic of our desultory gossip. In the later
portions of the Lives of the Boxers, we have had occasion to notice
the crusade which cant, cowardice, and hypocrisy successfully carried
out to the bitter end against pugilism and pugilists; we shall not
here iterate their defence or apology. To render, however, the work
more complete as a reference, in times when even the first principles
of fair-play to an antagonist, and forbearance towards the vanquished
seem to be little more than a memory, and to be fast vanishing out of
the minds of a pusillanimous populace, we shall here preserve the text
of the latest form of the “Regulations” which governed the practice of
honourable combat between professional opponents in the P.R. The old
Code, known as “Broughton’s Rules,” are given in volume i., page 25.


RULES OF THE RING, AS REVISED BY THE PUGILISTIC ASSOCIATION.

     It having been found that many of the Rules of the Ring
     are insufficient to provide for the various
     contingencies which continually arise in prize battles,
     an entire revision has been determined on, and a
     committee of gentlemen, members of the Pugilistic
     Association, undertook the task. When the revision was
     complete, the laws were submitted to a general meeting
     of the members of the Prize Ring (being members of the
     Association) and unanimously agreed to.

     RULE 1.――That the ring shall be made on turf, and shall
     be four-and-twenty feet square formed of eight stakes
     and ropes, the latter extending in double lines, the
     uppermost line being four feet from the ground, and the
     lower two feet from the ground. That in the centre of
     the ring a mark be formed, to be termed “the scratch;”
     and that at two opposite corners, as may be selected,
     spaces be enclosed by other marks sufficiently large
     for the reception of the seconds and bottle-holders, to
     be entitled “the corners.”

     2.――That each man shall be attended to the ring by a
     second and a bottle-holder, the former provided with a
     sponge, and the latter with a bottle of water. That the
     combatants, on shaking hands, shall retire until the
     seconds of each have tossed for choice of position,
     which adjusted, the winner shall choose his corner
     according to the state of the wind or sun, and conduct
     his man thereto; the loser taking the opposite corner.

     3.――That each man shall be provided with a handkerchief
     of a colour suitable to his own fancy, and that the
     seconds proceed to entwine these handkerchiefs at the
     upper end of one of the centre stakes. That these
     handkerchiefs shall be called the “colours;” and that
     the winner of the battle at its conclusion shall be
     entitled to their possession as the trophy of victory.

     4.――That two umpires shall be chosen by the seconds or
     backers to watch the progress of the battle, and take
     exception to any breach of the rules hereafter stated.
     That a referee shall be chosen by the umpires, unless
     otherwise agreed on, to whom all disputes shall be
     referred; and that the decision of this referee,
     whatever it may be, shall be final and strictly binding
     on all parties, whether as to the matter in dispute or
     the issue of the battle. That the umpires shall be
     provided with a watch for the purpose of calling time;
     and that they mutually agree upon which this duty shall
     devolve, the call of that umpire only to be attended
     to, and no other person whatever to interfere in
     calling time. That the referee shall withhold all
     opinion till appealed to by the umpires, and that the
     umpires strictly abide by his decision without dispute.

     5.――That on the men being stripped it shall be the duty
     of the seconds to examine their drawers, and if any
     objection arise as to insertion of improper substances
     therein, they shall appeal to their umpires, who, with
     the concurrence of the referee, shall direct what
     alterations shall be made.

     6.――That in future no spikes be used in fighting boots
     except those authorised by the Pugilistic Association,
     which shall not exceed three-eighths of an inch from
     the sole of the boot, and shall not be less than
     one-eighth of an inch broad at the point; and it shall
     be in the power of the referee to alter, or file in any
     way he pleases, spikes which shall not accord with the
     above dimensions, even to filing them away altogether.

     7.――That both men being ready, each man shall be
     conducted to that side of the scratch next his corner
     previously chosen; and the seconds on the one side, and
     the men on the other, having shaken hands, the former
     shall immediately return to their corners, and there
     remain within the prescribed marks till the round be
     finished, on no pretence whatever approaching their
     principals during the round, under a penalty of 5s. for
     each offence, at the option of the referee. The
     penalty, which will be strictly enforced, to go to the
     funds of the Association. The principal to be
     responsible for every fine inflicted on his second.

     8.――That at the conclusion of the round, when one or
     both of the men shall be down, the seconds and
     bottle-holders shall step forward and carry or conduct
     their principal to his corner, there affording him the
     necessary assistance, and that no person whatever be
     permitted to interfere in this duty.

     9.――That on the expiration of thirty seconds the umpire
     appointed shall cry “Time,” upon which each man shall
     rise from the knee of his bottleholder and walk to his
     own side of the scratch unaided; the seconds and
     bottle-holders remaining at their corner; and that
     either man failing so to be at the scratch within eight
     seconds, shall be deemed to have lost the battle. This
     rule to be strictly adhered to.

     10.――That on no consideration whatever shall any person
     be permitted to enter the ring during the battle, nor
     till it shall have been concluded; and that in the
     event of such unfair practice, or the ropes or stakes
     being disturbed or removed, it shall be in the power of
     the referee to award the victory to that man who in his
     honest opinion shall have the best of the contest.

     11.――That the seconds and bottle-holders shall not
     interfere, advise, or direct the adversary of their
     principal, and shall refrain from all offensive and
     irritating expressions, in all respects conducting
     themselves with order and decorum, and confine
     themselves to the diligent and careful discharge of
     their duties to their principals.

     12.――That in picking up their men, should the seconds
     or bottle-holders wilfully injure the antagonist of
     their principal, the latter shall be deemed to have
     forfeited the battle on the decision of the referee.

     13.――That it shall be a fair “stand-up fight,” and if
     either man shall wilfully throw himself down without
     receiving a blow, _whether blows shall have previously
     been exchanged or not_, he shall be deemed to have lost
     the battle; but that this rule shall not apply to a man
     who in a close slips down from the grasp of his
     opponent to avoid punishment, or from obvious accident
     or weakness.

     14.――That butting with the head shall be deemed foul,
     and the party resorting to this practice shall be
     deemed to have lost the battle.

     15.――That a blow struck when a man is thrown or down,
     shall be deemed foul. That a man with one knee and one
     hand on the ground, or with both knees on the ground,
     shall be deemed down; and a blow given in either of
     those positions shall be considered foul, providing
     always that, when in such position the man so down
     shall not himself strike or attempt to strike.

     16.――That a blow struck below the waistband shall be
     deemed foul, and that in a close seizing an antagonist
     below the waist, by the thigh, or otherwise, shall be
     deemed foul.

     17.――That all attempts to inflict injury by gouging, or
     tearing the flesh with the fingers or nails, and
     biting, shall be deemed foul.

     18.――That kicking or deliberately falling on an
     antagonist with the knees or otherwise when down, shall
     be deemed foul.

     19.――That all bets shall be paid as the battle-money,
     after a fight, is awarded.

     20.――That no person, under any pretence whatever, shall
     be permitted to approach nearer the ring than ten feet,
     with the exception of the umpires and referee, and the
     persons appointed to take charge of the water or other
     refreshment for the combatants, who shall take their
     seats close to the corners selected by the seconds.

     21.――That due notice shall be given by the stakeholder
     of the day and place where the battle-money is to be
     given up, and that he be exonerated from all
     responsibility upon obeying the direction of the
     referee; that all parties be strictly bound by these
     rules; and that in future all articles of agreement for
     a contest be entered into with a strict and willing
     adherence to the letter and spirit of these rules.

     22.――That in the event of magisterial or other
     interference, or in case of darkness coming on, the
     referee shall have the power to name the time and place
     for the next meeting, if possible on the same day, or
     as soon after as may be.

     23.――That, should the fight not be decided on the day,
     all bets shall be drawn, unless the fight shall be
     resumed the same week, between Sunday and Sunday, in
     which case the bets shall stand and be decided by the
     event. The battle-money shall remain in the hands of
     the stakeholder until fairly won or lost by a fight,
     unless a draw be mutually agreed upon.

     24.――That any pugilist voluntarily quitting the ring
     previous to the deliberate judgment of the referee
     being obtained, shall be deemed to have lost the fight.

     25.――That on an objection being made by the seconds or
     umpire the men shall retire to their corners, and there
     remain until the decision of the appointed authorities
     shall be obtained; that if pronounced “foul,” the
     battle shall be at an end, but if “fair,” “time” shall
     be called by the party appointed, and the man absent
     from the scratch in eight seconds after shall be deemed
     to have lost the fight. The decision in all cases to be
     given promptly and irrevocably, for which purpose the
     umpires and the referee should be invariably close
     together.

     26.――That if in a rally at the ropes a man steps
     outside the ring to avoid his antagonist, or to escape
     punishment, he shall forfeit the battle.

     27.――That the use of hard substances, such as stone, or
     stick, or of resin, in the hand during the battle shall
     be deemed foul, and that on the requisition of the
     seconds of either man, the accused shall open his hands
     for the examination of the referee.

     28.――That hugging on the ropes shall be deemed foul.
     That a man held by the neck against the stakes, or upon
     or against the ropes, shall be considered down, and all
     interference with him in that position shall be foul.
     That if a man in any way makes use of the ropes or
     stakes to aid him in squeezing his adversary he shall
     be deemed the loser of the battle; and that if a man in
     a close reaches the ground with his knees his adversary
     shall immediately loose him or lose the battle.

     29.――That all stage fights be as nearly as possible in
     conformity with the foregoing rules.

We ask, in the name of humanity, too often taken in vain, a calm and
dispassionate perusal of these rules, confident that the appeal will
at least induce a more charitable opinion of the men who could frame
and act upon them than ignorance or prejudice would form. “It has been
constantly urged,” says an experienced writer, “as a ground of
objection to the study of the skilful use of the fist that it makes
men pugnacious, and more ready to seek than to evade a quarrel, in
order that they may display their fancied superiority. Observation and
experience do not confirm this view. We have almost invariably found
(except with persons who cannot command their temper, and if this be
the case, whatever be their acquirements, they will be equally without
control) that the consciousness of power inclines men to be less prone
to quarrel, and more forbearing against an opponent. Of this abundant
proofs are to be found, not only among the ordinary classes of
society, but more particularly among professed pugilists, who, with a
few exceptions, are the last to invite a quarrel, and the first to
seek a reconciliation. Many instances are on record, and have passed
under our notice, in which the most respectable members of the Prize
Ring have actually submitted to positive insult rather than exercise
their athletic powers and take advantage of the weakness of an
assailant. This calmness of disposition, joined with perfect
self-possession, is in fact one of the most valuable attributes of a
British boxer, and one of the best tests of true courage. That there
may be and are exceptions to this rule cannot be denied; but all must
concur in the proposition, that for the strong to oppress the weak, or
the scientific boxer to take advantage of an ignorant and helpless
opponent, is an act of cowardice deserving the utmost contempt. The
ruffian who would strike a woman is not less deserving of execration
than he who, for the mere purpose of displaying his scientific
acquirements, would assail another not equally gifted. The great end
of pugilistic instruction is, to instil into the mind of the pupil a
manly and honourable bearing, combined with personal confidence in the
hour of danger; we have no apprehensions, therefore, that its pursuit
will lead to the abandonment of those principles of self-respect and
fair play which are alike estimable in the minds of all classes.”

And here we will once again ask the question, without fear of a valid
retort, “Has the experience of the last twenty years, read by the
light of our police reports, and the records of our criminal courts,
shown any improvement in the character of what are called ‘offences
against the person’?” On the contrary, familiarity with the use of
deadly weapons, of the knife in murderous varieties of “the bowie” the
“Spanish,” “the Arkansas tooth-pick,” the “knuckle-duster,” the
many-chambered revolver, with the stringent repression of all
pugilistic conflict by an ever and over-vigilant police, has
undoubtedly led to swifter, more sanguinary, more treacherous, and
more deadly modes of settling those differences which must arise,
especially among the lower classes of society. To this humiliating
catalogue of brutality we may add the savage use of the iron-bound
clog, and the “running kick,” so fatally studied and practised by a
section of the community which in ruder and in better times would have
scorned such an unmanly mode of attack, and would not even have
permitted it where several spectators were gathered together. But
alas! the outcome of the decay and suppression of fair fighting is
manifest; the doctrine of assassination is publicly preached in the
press and in public meetings, and “the gospel of dynamite” is the
latest development of the “superior civilisation” of a people who

  “Scorning all treacherous feud and deadly strife,
   The dark stiletto or the murderous knife,
   Boasted a science sprung from manly pride.
   Linked with true courage, and to health allied――
   A noble pastime, void of vain pretence――
   The fine old English Art of Self-defence.”

Whether fair and regulated prize-battles are destructive of life, and
absolutely and directly shorten the period of man’s longevity, may be
fairly a subject of inquiry. A few statistics may well give us pause
before we decide this point, which an insufficient investigation and
popular prejudice would pronounce in the affirmative, while a candid
consideration of the following table may prove the negative――that is,
as compared with many other gymnastic and sporting exercises. Deaths
in the prize-ring, or even as the consequences of pugilistic
encounters, do not show a marked diminution of the term of human life,
in the recorded instances of the ages of the most celebrated
professors and practitioners of the art of boxing:――


        AGES OF THE CHAMPIONS FROM BROUGHTON TO TOM KING.

                                   BORN.    DIED.    AGE.
   John Broughton                     1703     1789     85
   Tom Johnson (Jackling)             1750     1797     47*[43]
   Daniel Mendoza                     1763     1836     73
   John Jackson                       1769     1845     76
   Jem Belcher                        1781     1811     30*[43]
   Tom Belcher                        1783     1854     71
   John Gully, M.P.                   1783     1863     80
   Tom Cribb                          1781     1848     67
   Tom Spring                         1795     1851     56*[43]
   Jem Ward (still living)            1800      ――      81
   Bendigo (William Thompson)         1811     1880     69
   Benjamin Caunt                     1815     1861     46*[43]
   William Perry (Tipton Slasher)     1819     1881     61
   Tom Sayers                         1828     1866     38*[43]
   Jem Mace (living in 1881)           ――       ――      ――
   Tom King (living in 1881)           ――       ――      ――
                                                       ――――――――
                                                       880 yrs.
        An average of fourteen lives nearly 63 years.

Our last plea shall be drawn from the records of the “collective
wisdom” of the nation, wherein we flatter ourselves manly common sense
will find little difficulty in discriminating the characters of the
meddling, malignant and persecuting preachers of the doctrine of
“sweetness and light,” from the generous and tolerant spirits who
declined to use the powers of government against the much-maligned
Ring, its professors and patrons.

We have noted the wave of puritan cant which for some ten years
previous to 1860 had rolled over the land, and the force of which was
long after felt. In the last-named year it gave trouble and unrest in
the Senate.

On the 13th of April, Mr. HADFIELD gave notice, on presentation of a
petition, that he would call the attention of the Government to a
meditated breach of the peace, by a pugilistic contest to take place
between an American citizen and a British subject for a so-called
Championship. He added the extraordinary information that “the
newspapers had given notice of the time and place (?); “therefore he
asked the Secretary for the Home Department whether he intended to
take measures to put down such intended disturbance of the public
peace and prevent an exhibition so contrary to the religious sense of
the country at large――(laughter)――and he would further ask whether the
public might rely on his doing his best to prevent so brutal and
demoralising an exhibition to the rising generation as the announced
contest between this American gladiator and――――(Laughter prevented the
rest of the hon. member’s question reaching the reporters’ gallery.)

Sir GEO. C. LEWIS, rising, said: The contest between these redoubtable
champions (a laugh) has been brought under my notice, and I have
transmitted the letter to Sir Richard Mayne, who, I have no doubt,
will take the necessary steps to prevent a breach of the peace within
the metropolitan district. Beyond this I cannot assure my honourable
friend; I cannot venture to give any positive promise――for if he is
informed of the time and place I am not, and I don’t think they are
fixed――it is, therefore, impossible for me to say whether the police
will succeed in preventing the “incursion” in question. (Laughter.)

Mr. HADFIELD was by no means satisfied with the Right Honourable
gentleman’s answer, and should again raise the question.

The fight came off unsatisfactorily, as all the world knows. _Punch_,
in the following week, tells us (in his “Essence of Parliament”):――
“_Commons._ More fun about the fight. Mr. Ewart admitted but deplored
the interest taken, and the questions raised upon this matter; but
wanted to know what power there was to suppress such doings, except
the police power to suppress riot? Sir G. G. Lewis was also at a loss
to know how to deal with our modern Dares and Entellus.”

A young Yorkshire noblemen, however, a newly-fledged M.P., Lord
Lovaine (now Earl of Beverley) sought to make political and religious
capital out of the affair. His lordship opened fire by an attack on
the directors of a certain railway company――the South Eastern――for
“their conduct in offering facilities for the conveyance of persons to
these illegal contests,” and to raise the question, my Lord Lovaine,
“moved for copies of any correspondence on this subject, which had
passed between the Government and the South Eastern Railway Company.”
He also inquired whether the Government had attempted to enforce the
law, or whether anything had been done to stop the practice of letting
trains for the purpose he mentioned.

To these impertinences, spiced with some personal inuendoes, Lord
Palmerston replied in the following terms:――“He would not argue the
technical legal question that a fight between two men――not a fight of
enmity, but a trial of strength――is, legally, a breach of the peace,
and an act that renders the parties liable to prosecution; nor whether
the persons who go to witness it are not, technically, involved in the
charge. But, as far as they are concerned, they may conceive it to be
a very harmless pursuit; some persons like what takes place; there may
be a difference of opinion, as a matter of taste, whether it is a
spectacle one would wish to see, or whether it is calculated to excite
disgust. Some people look upon it as an exhibition of manly courage,
characteristic of the people of this country. I saw the other day,”
said his lordship, “a long extract from a French newspaper, describing
this fight as a type of the national character for endurance, patience
under suffering, of indomitable perseverance in determined effort, and
holding it up as a specimen of the manly and admirable qualities of
the British race (hear). All this is, of course, entirely a matter of
opinion; but really, setting aside the legal technicalities of the
case, I do not perceive why any number of persons, say 1,000 if you
please, who assemble to witness a prize fight, are in their own
persons more guilty of a breach of the peace than an equal number of
persons who assemble to witness a balloon ascent (laughter). There
they stand; there is no breach of the peace; they go to see a sight,
and when that sight is over they return, and no injury is done to any
one. They only sit or stand on the grass to witness the performance,
and as to the danger to those who perform themselves, I imagine the
danger to life in the case of those who go up in balloons is certainly
greater (hear and laughter) than that of two combatants who merely hit
each other as hard as they can, but inflict no permanent injury upon
each other (hear, hear). I think there is moderation in all
things――moderation in all opinions; and although it may or may not be
desirable that the law should be enforced――whatever the law may
be――still I do not think any advantage is gained or good done, either
to public morals or public feeling, by the sort of exaggerations in
which the noble lord has indulged. At the same time the motion is one
to which I see no objection, and therefore I do not oppose it.”

Some sparring took place, in the course of which Lord Lovaine taunted
the Premier with a love of pugilism, and with sanctioning rather than
discouraging these meetings. Mr. Scully also had a fling at the
Premier.

Lord PALMERSTON replied as follows:――“I distinctly stated that it was
ruled by legal authorities that such prize fights were breaches of the
peace; but I protest, at the same time, against the exaggerated terms
in which the noble lord (Lord Lovaine) characterised the conduct of
the spectators on those occasions.”

“Colonel DICKSON was surprised to hear his hon. friend (Mr. Scully)
take the noble lord at the head of the Government to task for the
remarks he had made on this occasion, for he (Colonel Dickson) could
not understand an Irishman objecting to fighting (a laugh). The noble
viscount (Palmerston) had not laid himself open to such taunts. He sat
on a different side of the House from the noble lord, and did not
often find himself in the same lobby with him on a division, but he
would say for the noble viscount that if he had one attribute more
than another which endeared him to his countrymen, it was his
thoroughly English character and his love for every manly sport
(cheers). He (Colonel Dickson) never saw a prize fight in his life;
but he would say that the two men who fought on the recent occasion
showed qualities of which the whole English race had reason to be
proud, our own man in particular (laughter), who evinced powers of
endurance and an indomitable pluck which entitled him to the
admiration of his countrymen (cheers.) Many men in this country
received honours who did not so well deserve them. He did not think
Parliament ought to legislate with the view to put down manly sports;
and, with regard to the duties of magistrates the law was clearly laid
down. Magistrates themselves ought to know when to act and when to
shut their eyes (a laugh).”

The returns were then ordered; but whether any such papers existed, or
of what use they were to the meddlesome movers, the world is to this
day in ignorance. We should say that the whole debate was a peg on
which to hang a sanctimonious attack to the glory of the “unco’ guid”
assailants. While on this topic we will add a well-authenticated
anecdote which was current at the time in the clubs.

While the Home Secretary (Sir G. Cornewall Lewis) was solemnly
explaining and admitting the illegality of Ring-fights, a well-known
sporting M.P. was collecting a “purse” for Sayers. Lord Palmerston
came upon the group, and was instantly arrested by the amateur
collector. “My lord, I want a sov. for Tom Sayers.” “A sov. for
Sayers? Splendid fellow that; I’ll give you five.” “Thank you, my
lord; but the subscription is limited to a single sov.” His lordship,
with subdued alacrity, “Well, here it is; but I wish it was five.”
There were noblemen then, in soul as in title; in humble life as in
exalted. Do they survive, and have they the courage even of their own
opinions?

   Ah, me that I have lived to hear
     Such men as ruffians scorned.
   Such deeds of valour “brutal” called,
     Canted, preached-down, and mourned!
   Ah! that these old eyes ne’er again,
     A gallant mill shall see!
   No more behold the ropes and stakes,
     With colours flying free!
   Yet, in despite of all the jaw
     And gammon of this time,
   That brands the art of self-defence――
     Old England’s art――as crime,
   From off mine ancient memories
     The rust of time I’ll shake.
   Your youthful bloods to quicken
     And your British pluck to wake;
   I know it only slumbers,
     Let cant do what it will,
   The British bull-dog _will_ be
     The British bull-dog still.


            _Valete ac plaudite_: The curtain has fallen!


  WOOD GREEN.                                           H. D. M.


     [42] “And now, my slender pen, whether cunningly cut, or
     unskilfully shaped, it boots not much; here, from this rack,
     wire-suspended, shalt thou enjoy repose to future ages, if
     no presumptuous and wicked hand shall take thee down, and
     profane thee by compiling false and idle histories.”――“THE
     ACHIEVEMENTS OF THE SAGE AND VALIANT DON QUIXOTE DE LA
     MANCHA,” book iii., ch. XXII. Smollet’s translation.

     [43] A reference to the memoirs in these volumes will fully
     show, that in each of the instances of early death, marked
     with an asterisk (*), extraneous causes account for the
     comparative shortening of life.――ED.





  INDEX TO VOLUME III.


                                                            PAGE

  B

  BENDIGO. _See_ THOMPSON, WILLIAM.

  BENJAMIN, BILL, or BAINGE                             399, 406

  BRASSEY, of Bradford (JOHN LEECHMAN).
    Fight with Young Langan                                  340
    Fight with Tass Parker                                   344
    His death                                                351

  BRETTLE, BOB.
    His pugilistic career                                    414
    His battle with Tom Sayers                               416
    Defeats Jem Mace                                         451
    Is beaten by Tom Sayers                                  452
    Is challenged by Jem Mace                                457
    Adjourned fight                                          458
    Is beaten by Mace                                        459

  BROOME, HARRY (Champion). 1851.
    Younger brother to the renowned “Johnny”                 308
    Born at Birmingham                                       308
    Early glove displays                                     308
    Rivalry of East and West. The Broomes                    309
    Fred Mason (the “Bulldog”)                               309
    Harry matched against Mason for £50                      309
    A prepossessing “first appearance”                       310
    Harry beats the “Bulldog”                                311
    A twelvemonths’ rest. Joe Rowe                           314
    A trip down the river                                    315
    Harry defeats Joe Rowe                                   316
    Tom Spring resigns his post as referee                   319
    Second battle of Broome and Joe Rowe                     321
    Matched with Ben Terry                                   323
    A suspicious affair and a “draw”                         324
   “The Great Unknown,” Harry and the Tipton Slasher         325
    Broome’s remarkable increase in weight and stature       325
    His fight with the Tipton, and Peter Crawley’s decision, 327
    Negotiations with Harry Orme                             330
    Matched for £250 a side                                  330
    Defeats Harry Orme                                       333
    The old “Tipton” again                                   336
    Broome forfeits to the “Tipton”                          338
    And to Tom Paddock                                       338
    Is beaten by Paddock                                     338
    Retires from the Ring                                    339
    Becomes a publican at Portsmouth                         339
    His death in 1865, aged 39                               339
    Joe Rowe’s “Sultan Stores” (note)                        339

  BURKE, JAMES (“the Deaf’un”).
    His birth and parentage                                   94
    Strand Lane Stairs. “Jack-in-the-water”                   95
    The Thames in the first quarter of the century            95
    The old “fighting days”                                   96
    Joe Parish. “the Waterman.” “The Spotted Dog”             96
    Eminent watermen pugilists                                96
    The Deaf’un’s first fight                                 97
    The butchers of Clare Market                              98
    An Impromptu mill. Defeats Tom Hands                      98
    Defeats a “New Black” for “a purse”                       99
    Enrolled in the _corps pugilistique_                      99
    Beats Berridge at Leicester                               99
    Matched with Fitzmaurice                                  99
    Beats Fitzmaurice at Harpenden                           100
    Spars with Young Dutch Sam                               100
    Is ruptured by an accident                               101
    Defeated by Cousens of Chichester                        101
    Defeats Girdler at North Chapel, Sussex                  102
   “Whiteheaded Bob” and the Duke of Cumberland              102
    High prizes prohibitory of prize-fights                  104
    A stratagem. Grabbing the wrong man                      104
    Beats Gow at Temple Mills                                104
    Bob Hampson’s challenge and defeat                       105
    Three battles within six weeks                           105
    Beats Tim Crawley                                        108
    Tommy Roundhead and Frosty-faced Fogo                    109
    A Homeric battle; the muses appeased                     110
   “The Deaf’un’s” merits as a sparrer                       110
    Matched with Birmingham Davis                            111
    A disappointment                                         111
    Defeats Birmingham Davis                                 112
    Matched with Blissett                                    113
    Beats Blissett                                           114
    A dinner at Tom Cribb’s; and a match                     115
    Beats old Jack Carter                                    115
    A “little go.” Lazarus and Jem Brown                     116
    An interval and a sparring tour                          116
    Beats Yorkshire Macone                                   117
    Challenges from Cousens and Josh Hudson             117, 118
    Bill Charles, “the Welsh Champion”                       118
    Claims the Championship                                  118
   “Too heavy” for Young Dutch Sam                           118
    Sign articles with Simon Byrne                           119
   “The Deaf’un’s” courage and humanity                      119
    The “Irish Champion” and “the talent”                    119
    The day before the battle                                120
    The fight and fatal result                           121-125
    Verdict of “manslaughter” against Burke and others       126
    Subscription for the Widow Byrne                         126
    Trial and acquittal of Burke                             127
    Presentation of a service of plate to the Editor of
      _Bell’s Life in London_                                128
    Challenged by O’Rourke                                   128
    And by Young Dutch Sam for £500 (!)                      128
    And by Jem Ward for £500, but not less than £100 a side, 128
    O’Rourke’s challenge and departure for America           129
    The Deaf’un’s “ancient statues”                          129
    Harry Preston and “the Deaf’un”                          130
    Plays at Sheffield in “Valentine and Orson”              131
    Burke’s “farewell,” and high stakes for prize battles    131
    A maximum stake of £200 voted                            131
    Sails for America                                        132
    His welcome in the New World                             132
    Sails South to meet O’Rourke                             133
    Riots in New Orleans, and escape of “the Deaf’un”        133
    Returns to New York                                      134
    Battle with and defeat of O’Connell                      135
    The _New York Herald_ and the P.R.                       135
    Burke’s arrival in Liverpool                             138
    The “big ones” of 1838                                   138
    A general challenge from “the Deaf’un”                   138
    The school of “Tom and Jerry;” a trip to France          139
    Returns, and is beaten by Bendigo                        139
   “The Lament of Deaf Burke”                                140
    The Deaf’un again in the field, and matched with
       Nick Ward                                             141
    Beaten by Nick Ward                                      141
    The Deaf’un’s oratory                                    142
    Indicted with Owen Swift, Ned Adams, Dick Cain, Lord
       Chetwynd, and others                                  143
    The “Battle of Bedford” and Parson Cautley               143
    Address of Deaf Burke to the Grand Jury of Bedford       144
    The trial and its result                                 148
    Receives forfeit of £15 from the Tipton Slasher          148
    Night-houses in the Haymarket                            149
    Bob Castles and “the Deaf’un”                            149
    A match between Old Ones                                 149
    The voyage to Rainham Ferry                              150
    The fight. Burke the conqueror                           151
   “Triumphant epistle of Deaf Burke to Bob Castles”         155
    Dissipation, disease, and death                          156


  C

  CASTLES, BOB                                               149

  CAUNT, BENJAMIN (Champion) 1841.
    A native of Nottinghamshire                               47
    Hucknall Torkard and Lord Byron                           47
    His first defeat by Bendigo                               47
    Beats William Butler                                      47
    Beats Boneford                                            48
    Second match with Bendigo                                 48
    A mail-coach Journey to Doncaster in 1838                 48
    The road to the fight                                     52
    The combatants “interviewed”                              53
    Incidents and mishaps                                     54
    The fight; a magisterial interference                     56
    The fight won by a “foul”                                 58
    Remarks on the battle                                     59
    Caunt receives the stakes                                 60
    A new match for £100 a side and a forfeit                 60
    Challenges by Brassey and Caunt                           60
   “An heroic epistle from Brassey to Caunt”                  61
    Estimates of the men                                      62
    Newmarket and its neighbourhood                           64
    A battle of “big ’uns”                                    66
    Caunt the victor                                          69
    Claims the Championship                                   69
    Challenged by Nick Ward                                   69
    Loses with Ward by a “foul blow”                          70
    A second match made                                       70
    Stratford-on-Avon the rendezvous                          71
    The field of battle, Long Marsden                         72
    The Champion’s new belt                                   73
    Caunt defeats Nick Ward                                   74
    Caunt “Champion,” sails for America with the “Belt”       77
    A “buncombe” challenge                                    77
    Charles Freeman, “the Giant”                              78
   “The Michigan Giant” and “New York Baby”                   78
    Returns to England, March, 1842                           79
    Caunt’s “Champion Cup”                                    79
    Challenges Bendigo, Tass Parker, and the Tipton
       Slasher, in six months, each for £200                  79
    Bendigo again in the field                                80
    Caunt loses his third battle with Bendigo                 80
    A dreadful domestic calamity                              80
    Caunt and Nat Langham; a silly feud                       81
    Matched for £200 a side                                   81
    Ben’s challenge to Tom Sayers                             83
    Misgivings as to Caunt and Langham’s encounter            84
    The battle                                                86
    A “draw” and a “dispute”                                  88
    The “dropping” system                                     92
    Caunt in retirement                                       93
    His death, Sept. 10, 1861                                 93


  H

  HURST, SAM (“the Staleybridge Infant”).
    His battle with Tom Paddock                              307
    Matched with Jem Mace                                    459
    His battle with Jem Mace                                 460
    Defeat and retirement                                    463


  J

  JONES, AARON.
    His fights with Harry Orme                          253, 262
    Ditto with Tom Paddock                                   283
    Beaten by Tom Sayers                                237, 287
    Fight with Bob Wade                                      245
    Challenges Tom Sayers                                    419
    A renewed match with Sayers                              431
    Surviving in 1881                                        358


  K

  KING, TOM, (Champion) 1862.
    His birthplace, Stepney                                  490
    Adopts a sailor’s life                                   490
    Voyages to Africa                                        490
    A foreman in the docks                                   490
    His inoffensive character and courage                    491
    Disposes of a “’long-shore” bully                        491
    Introduced to Jem Ward                                   491
    A challenge for a small stake                            491
    A forfeit from Clamp                                     491
    Matched with Tommy Truckle, of Portsmouth                491
    Beats Tommy Truckle                                      492
    Arrival of Heenan                                        494
    Matched with Harry Poulson, of Nottingham                494
    Challenges Sam Hurst for Championship                    494
    Matched with Evans (Young Broome)                        495
    The Championship and Circus quackery                     495
    Ring performances of Young Broome                        495
    King defeats Young Broome in two Rings                   496
    Large stakes for little fights                           500
    Matched with Mace                                        500
    A tedious interval                                       501
    The approaching day――anxiety                             501
    A clerical “tip”                                         501
    The journey to the fight                                 505
    King defeats Mace for the Championship                   505
    King resigns the belt                                    509
    A telegraphic message corrected                          510
    Heenan again in the field                                510
    Agrees to meet Heenan                                    511
    Articles for £1,000 a side                               511
    Heenan in training                                       512
    His pedestrian feats                                     512
    Difficulties as to the place for combat                  513
    Three nights of watchfulness                             513
    Scene at London Bridge                                   513
    The “roughs” at fault                                    513
    A morning ride                                           514
    Speculation; arrival at the ground                       514
    The ring at Wadhurst                                     515
    The fight                                                516
    King defeats Heenan                                      516
    Remarks                                                  517
    Conclusion                                               518


  L

  LANGHAM, NAT.
    His qualities and “unlucky” weight                       234
    Born at Hinckley, Leicestershire                         234
    His first fight                                          234
    Comes up to London                                       235
    An impromptu battle. Defeats Tom Lowe                    235
    Challenges Joe Bostock                                   235
    Beats “Doctor” Campbell                                  236
    Challenges; matched with Gutteridge                      236
    Defeats Gutteridge                                       237
    Nat receives forfeit from Angelo and Gutteridge          238
    Matched with Sparks the Australian                       238
    A trip per steamer and a strategic movement              239
    Nat defeats Sparkes                                      240
    In want of a customer                                    242
    Matched with Harry Orme                                  242
    Beaten by Harry Orme                                     243
    Goes into business at Cambridge                          243
    Alec Keene, Tom Sayers, Harry Brunton                    243
    Nat matched with Tom Sayers                              244
    A trip per Eastern Counties Railway                      245
    A model mill; Nat defeats Tom Sayers                     246
    Tom and Nat, rival pubs                                  251
    A ridiculous match. Langham and Ben Caunt                251
   “A draw.” Nat dies at the “Cambrian,” Sept. 1st., 1871    252

  L’ENVOY TO THE READER.
    The extinction of the Ring                               518
    Fabricated accounts of Prize Fights                      519
    The Crusade against the Ring                             519
    The noble supporters of Boxing                           519
    Ages of the Champions from Broughton to Tom King         524
    Parliamentary discussions                                524
    Railway directors and special trains                     525
    Anecdote of Lord Palmerston                              526
    Cant and cowardice _versus_ manly courage                527
    Farewell to the reader. Finis                            528


  M

  MACE, JEM (Champion).
    His merits as a boxer                                    444
    Degeneracy of pugilists and Ring-patrons                 444
    Birth of Mace                                            444
    His parentage                                            445
    His travelling propensities                              445
    His first Ring fight                                     445
    Matched with Bill Thorpe                                 445
    Rapid increase in weight of some pugilists               445
    Mace beats Bill Thorpe                                   445
    Comes to London. Proposals for matches                   448
    Returns to Norwich, and matched with Mike Madden         449
    A dispute and a disappointment                           449
    Six months’ quibbling                                    450
    A new match and a “bolt”                                 450
    Reappears as “George Brown’s Novice”                     450
    Matched with Bob Brettle                                 451
    Beaten (?) by Bob Brettle                                451
    Appears as “Bob Brettle’s Novice”                        452
    Matched with Posh Price of Birmingham                    452
    Defeats Posh Price                                       453
    Becomes a publican                                       454
    Challenges; matched with Bob Travers (Black)             454
    Career of Bob Travers                                    454
    Beats Bob Travers (an adjourned fight)                   456
    Quarrel with Bob Brettle                                 457
    Match for £200 with Brettle                              458
    Beats Brettle in an adjourned fight                      459
    Matched with Sam Hurst                                   459
    The “Staleybridge Infant”                                459
    Defeats Sam Hurst                                        460
    Mace hailed as Champion                                  462
    Tom King challenges the title                            462
    Mace defeats Tom King                                    465
    Heenan returns to England, 1861                          468
    Mace in business as a publican                           468
    Brettle backs “an Unknown” against Mace                  469
    Brettle receives £25 from King’s backers to retire       469
    Mace defeated by Tom King                                469
    Matched with Joe Goss, of Wolverhampton                  469
    Mace stakes £600 to £400 on the part of Goss             469
    Match-making “considerably mixed”                        469
    Fighting career of Joe Goss (note)                       470
    Precautions against police interruption                  471
    Riotous conduct of roughs at railway terminal            471
    An early journey into Wiltshire                          472
    The “referee” difficulty again                           472
    A police intervention                                    473
    A disappointment, and return to town                     473
    An adjournment “down the river”                          473
    The fight on Plumstead Marshes                           474
    Mace defeats Joe Goss                                    474
    A “side-light” on “bogus” stakes                         475
    The anti-pugilistic press                                476
    The _Morning Star_ and _Dial_                            476
    The _Saturday Review_: reflections on the fight          476
    A “champion” from the New World                          477
    Mace and Coburn matched for £1,000                       477
    Cavilling negotiations                                   477
    A sketch of Joe Coburn                                   477
    Edwin James & Co.                                        478
    Contrast of olden Ring “patrons” and modern Ring
      “agents”                                               478
    Lord Shaftesbury an admirer of boxing (note)             478
    Provincial tours                                         479
    A journey to Dublin                                      479
    A public “secret” _more Hibernico_                       479
    Press men in Dublin                                      480
    Irish arrangements                                       480
    A London celebrity                                       481
    A scene at the rendezvous                                481
    Goold’s Cross, Limerick, named                           481
    A shindy, and the match “off”                            482
    A farce, and the a stakes claimed                        482
    The stakes drawn                                         482
    Irish humour                                             483
    An archiepiscopal hoax                                   483
    Comments thereon                                         484
    Colours and “good faith”                                 485
    Mace offers to fight Coburn for £100                     486
    Degeneracy of the Ring                                   486
    New “big ones” and the Championship                      486
   “Train-swindles”                                          486
    Mace and Joe Goss’s second match                         486
    A “no-fight”                                             487
    A new giant, O’Baldwin                                   487
    O’Baldwin claims the belt                                487
    Mace’s “Unknown”                                         487
    O’Baldwin and Joe Wormald for £200                       487
    O’Baldwin loses his way                                  487
    Forfeits £200 to Wormald                                 487
    Mace offers to fight O’Baldwin                           487
    Mace arrested and held to bail                           488
    Sam Hurst brought on the stage                           488
    Flight of the Champions to America                       488
    Their “doings” there                                     488
    Mace beats Tom Allen at New Orleans                      488
    Returns to England                                       488
    A publican at Melbourne, 1881                            488

  MASON, FRED (“the Bull-dog”)                          309, 311


  O

  ORME, HARRY.
    His birth. Harry an “East-ender”                         253
    His brief but brilliant career                           253
    Aaron Jones of Shrewsbury                                253
    Orme defeats Aaron Jones                                 254
    Is matched with Nat Langham                              256
    Beats Nat Langham                                        257
    A second match with Aaron Jones                          259
    The “ring,” at Newmarket                                 259
    Hazardous ground. A shift                                260
    Fight No. 1                                              262
    Fight No. 2. A second interruption                       263
    A misunderstanding. Jones refuses a third meeting.
       The victory awarded to Orme                           266
    The stakes given to Orme. Legal proceedings              268
    Orme viewed as the “coming Champion”                     269
    Matched with Harry Broome                                269
    Defeated by Harry Broome                                 269
    Becomes landlord of the “Jane Shore,” Shoreditch         269
    His death, June 9, 1864                                  269


  P

  PADDOCK, TOM.
    The Championship at the appearance of Tom Paddock        271
    Tom fought the best men of the day                       271
    Born at Redditch                                         272
    Beats Pearce, of Cheltenham                              272
    Defeats Elijah Parsons                                   272
    Nobby Clarke                                             274
    Paddock backed against and beats Clarke                  274
    Second match with Nobby Clarke                           276
    Clarke loses by a “foul” blow                            276
    Paddock as Johnny Broome’s Unknown                       276
    Loses the fight with Bendigo by a “foul”                 276
    Forfeit with the Tipton Slasher                          276
   “Draw” with the Tipton Slasher                            276
    Receives forfeit from Jack Grant                         277
    And from Con. Parker                                     277
    Is beaten by Harry Poulson                               277
    Beats Harry Poulson                                      277
    Convicted of “a riot,” and imprisoned ten months         278
    Letter from “Lydon” on the affair                        279
    A third match with Poulson                               279
    Beats Harry Poulson a second time                        280
    Is a matched with Aaron Jones                            283
    Beats Aaron Jones                                        283
    Aaron Jones’s qualifications                             285
    Paddock challenges the Championship                      287
    Receives £180 forfeit from Harry Broome, who is
       arrested                                              287
    The late Mr. Vincent Dowling                             288
    Renewed match with Aaron Jones                           288
    Beats Aaron Jones                                        290
    Harry Broome’s challenge                                 294
    Preliminary proceedings                                  294
    An excursion by the “Eastern Counties” rail              295
    The fight; defeat of Harry Broome                        299
    Sympathy for the loser                                   302
    The Tipton Slasher again                                 304
    Tom forfeits to the “Tipton”                             304
    Challenges Tom Sayers. Alec Keene’s letter               305
    Caunt challenges Sayers                                  305
    Paddock’s serious illness; kindness of Tom Sayers        306
    Paddock’s recovery. Match with Tom Sayers                306
    Beaten by Tom Sayers                                     306
    Beaten by Sam Hurst                                      307
    His death, June 30th, 1863                               307

  PARKER, TASS.
    His battles with the Tipton Slasher                      191
    His fight with Brassey of Bradford                       347
    Ditto with Harry Preston                                 351

  PERRY, WILLIAM (“the Tipton Slasher”).
    His birth at Tipton                                      157
    The Slasher’s _coup d’essai_                             157
    Beats Tim Dogherty, near Chelsea                         158
    Returns to the “Black Country”                           158
    Fights and beats Ben Spilsbury                           158
    Matched with “the Gornel Champion”                       159
    Beats Jem Scunner, and becomes “a lion”                  159
    Tass Parker, Harry Preston, &c.                          159
    Forfeits £15 to Deaf Burke                               160
    Johnny Broome “manipulates” the “Tipton”                 160
    Charles Freeman, “the American Giant”                    161
    Theatres, the Circus, and the P.R.                       161
    A challenge to Freeman by “an Unknown”                   161
    William Perry is declared as “Broome’s Novice”           162
    Matched for £150 against Freeman                         162
    The Giant “in training”                                  163
    Description of Charles Freeman                           164
    Comparisons of bulk and strength of men                  166
    The journey to the field                                 167
    A contrast                                               168
    The fight interrupted by darkness                        170
    The return and its incidents                             173
    The adjourned battle; magisterial interference           176
    Stanzas: “The unfinished fight of the American Giant
       and the Tipton Slasher”                               177
    A trip down the river agreed upon                        179
    Freeman’s benefit at the Westminster Baths               179
    The voyage to the fighting ground                        180
    Aristocratic Ring-goers: “the Bishop of Bond Street”     180
   “A shave:” Joe Banks, “the Stunner,” Jem Burn, &c.        181
    The fight and defeat of the “Tipton”                     182
    The return: Dick Curtis’s benefit                        185
    A challenge to Caunt                                     185
    The stakes given over to Freeman                         186
    Death of the American Giant, of consumption;
       infrequency of deaths from Ring encounters (note)     186
    Johnny Broome and the “Slasher”                          187
    Tass Parker and the “Tipton” matched                     187
    Unsatisfactory result; police interruption               189
    The adjourned battle                                     190
    A railway “excursion”                                    190
    A squabble about the referee                             192
    The fight: the “tumble-down system”                      194
    Johnny Hannan’s good conduct                             195
    The stakes given to the “Tipton”                         196
    Third battle with and defeat of Tass Parker              196
    Challenge to Caunt, who declines to fight under £500
       a side                                                199
    Candidates for the Championship (note)                   199
    Tom Paddock                                              200
    A forfeit, and a match with Paddock                      200
    A trip per South Western Rail                            200
    A day misspent: Wiltshire and Hampshire tabooed          201
    A mill by moonlight                                      201
    A “pig-shearing” excursion, and a “foul” blow            203
    The Tipton claims the belt                               204
    Johnny Broome’s “Unknown” and the “Slasher”              204
    Harry Broome “the Veiled Prophet”                        204
    Defeat of the “Slasher” by “Young Harry”                 204
    Receives forfeit from Harry Broome                       205
    Perry becomes a publican                                 205
    Rise of Tom Sayers and his challenge of the
       Championship                                          205
    Defeat of the “Slasher” by Tom Sayers                    205
    Death of Perry, in January, 1881                         205


  R

  ROWE, JOE.
    His fight with Harry Broome                          314-321
    In business, 1881 (note)                                 339


  S

  SAYERS, TOM (Champion).
    His birthplace disputed                                  359
    An Irish pedigree                                        359
    Born at Pimlico, near Brighton                           359
    A bricklayer on the Preston Viaduct, at Brighton         360
    Comes to London. First fight with Aby Couch              360
    Matched with Dan Collins                                 360
    First fight interrupted by darkness                      361
    Tom beats Dan Collins                                    361
    Various challenges. Matched with Jack Grant              361
    Beats Jack Grant                                         362
    Matched with Jack Martin                                 365
    Beats Jack Martin                                        366
    Matched with Nat Langham                                 368
    Tom’s first and last defeat                              369
    Langham declines a second encounter                      369
    Match with George Sims; £50 to £25                       369
    Beats George Sims                                        370
    Proposes to go to Australia                              370
    Harry Poulson of Nottingham                              371
    Jem Burn, his backer, and Bendigo his trainer            371
    Sayers defeats Poulson                                   373
    The Championship in sight                                379
    A new belt and its claimants                             380
    The Championship in suspense                             380
    Sayers and Aaron Jones for £200                          380
    A change of route                                        381
    A voyage down the river                                  381
    Sayers fights Aaron Jones                                383
    A “draw” and darkness                                    386
    Renewed battle with Jones                                387
    Sayers beats Aaron Jones                                 387
    Challenges the Tipton Slasher                            392
    Excitement in the sporting world                         393
    Preliminaries of the battle                              393
    Sayers defeats the Tipton Slasher                        395
    Challenged by Tom Paddock                                399
    Paddock’s illness                                        399
    Matched with an “Unknown” for £200                       399
    Bill Bainge, or Benjamin                                 399
    First battle with Benjamin                               400
    Recovery of Paddock and his challenge accepted           401
    The “Three Toms”                                         401
    Anecdote of Alec Keene                                   402
    Sayers defeats Tom Paddock                               403
    Tom Sayers against “the field”                           404
    Second match with “The Unknown” for £100 and the belt    406
    Bill Benjamin once again                                 407
    Sayers announces his intended retirement after his
       battle with Benjamin                                  408
    Extraordinary rumours                                    409
    The second defeat of Benjamin                            410
    Bob Brettle, of Birmingham                               412
    Sayers fights Brettle £400 to £200                       412
    £200 to £20 that Brettle was beat in _ten minutes_       412
    Mr. John Gideon’s “arrangements”                         413
    A “monster” train                                        414
    Bob Brettle’s career                                     414
    Sayers defeats Brettle                                   416
    Silly imputations on defeated pugilists                  419
    Aaron Jones returns to England                           419
    Defeat of Heenan by Morrissey                            419
    A challenge from America                                 420
    Negotiations for an international contest for the belt   420
    Aaron Jones in the field. He retires                     420
    A match proposed for Heenan and Sayers                   420
    Correspondence between New York and London               421
    Arrival of Mr. Falkland. Preliminary arrangements        423
    Heenan and Morrissey. Heenan lands at Liverpool          423
    The day fixed, April 17th, 1860                          423
    A rush for “tickets”                                     423
    Two monster trains                                       424
    The journey down                                         424
    A distinguished company                                  425
    Appearance of the men                                    426
    Pictorial representations of the battle (note)           426
    The fight                                            427-432
    Conflicting reports of the result                        432
    Departure of the referee                                 433
    Return to town                                           433
    Condition of the men                                     433
    Humane decision                                          434
    Two belts ordered                                        434
    Circus buncombe                                          434
    Subscription for Sayers at Stock Exchange, Lloyd’s,
       Mark Lane, &c.                                        435
    Sayers a partner in a circus                             435
    Free living and its results                              435
    Sayers’s last appearance in the Ring                     435
    The needs of consumption                                 436
    Last illness                                             436
    His death                                                437
    £1,000 invested for his children                         437
    Tom Sayers’s personal appearance                         437
    His grave and monument in Highgate Cemetery              438
    The Combat of Sayerius and Heenanus――“A Lay of Ancient
       London”                                               439


  T

  THOMPSON, WILLIAM, of Nottingham (“Bendigo”).
    His birth: one of three sons                               5
    Nottingham Lambs. Puritanism and Pugilism                  5
    Early battles, and first fight with Caunt                  6
    Challenged by Brassey (John Leechman), of Bradford,
       and others                                              7
    Beats Brassey                                              8
    Receives forfeit from Jem Bailey                           8
    Comes to London                                            8
    Proposed match with Molyneaux, and forfeit from Flint
       of Coventry                                             9
    Defeats Langan of Liverpool                                9
    Challenges any 12 stone man in England                     9
    Looney’s challenge replied to by Jem Ward                 10
    Looney declines Ward and is beaten by Bendigo             10
    Challenges from Tom Britton, Fisher, Molyneaux, &c.       12
    Matched a second time with Caunt                          13
    Beaten by Caunt                                           13
    Caunt forfeits in a new match                             14
    Deaf Burke returns from America, his challenge accepted   14
    Burke goes to France and the match falls through          14
    Stanzas from Bendigo to Deaf Burke                        15
    Burke returns and articles are signed                     16
    Narrow escape of Bendigo                                  17
    Shrove Tuesday at Ashby-de-la-Zouch                       17
    The road to Appleby                                       18
    Bendigo beats Deaf Burke                                  18
    Challenges from and to Caunt. Benefit humbugs         22, 24
    Bendigo in London. A serious accident                     24
   “The fine old English Pugilist;” a fancy chaunt            25
    Bendigo redivivus appears at Jem Burn’s                   26
    Matched with Tass Parker                                  26
    Arrested at the instance of his brother and held to bail, 27
    Caunt returns from his American tour                      27
    Renewed negotiations and “A Valentine from Bendigo
       to Brassey”                                            27
    Third match with Caunt                                    28
    Preliminaries of the fight                                29
    Bendigo defeats Caunt                                     30
    Disputed result and decision of “the Old Squire”
       (Osbaldiston), the referee                             36
    Caunt and Bendigo shake hands                             37
    Pretenders to the Championship                            37
    Bendigo accepts Tom Paddock’s challenge                   38
    Defeats Paddock                                           39
    Receives the battle-money and retires from the Ring       45
    Bendigo’s eccentricities. Takes “the pledge” and
       becomes a preacher                                     45
    Beelzebub and Ben Caunt; an anecdote                      45
    True etymon of the nickname “Bendigo”                     46
    Dies from the effects of an accident, aged sixty-nine     46

  TRAVERS, BOB (Langham’s Black).
    His Ring career                                          454
    Beaten by Brettle                                        454
    Beaten by Jem Mace                                       455


  W

  WARD, NICHOLAS.
    His claims to a place in this “History”                  206
    His birth in East London                                 206
    His maiden battle with Jack Lockyer                      206
    Matched with Jem Wharton (Young Molyneaux)               206
    Arrested and held to bail                                207
    A journey to Moulsey and a disappointment                208
    A black job: Sambo Sutton                                209
   “Nick” is defeated ignominiously                          210
   “Brother Jem” backs Nick for a second trial               210
    Misgivings: a “Beak” at Bicester                         210
    The Philistines out                                      211
    Drawing a badger                                         212
    A fight and a fiasco                                     212
    Matched with Jem Bailey                                  212
    A trip to Woking: an interrupted fight                   213
    A second match; Nick forfeits to Bailey                  214
    A match with Brassey “no go”                             214
    Articled to fight the “Deaf’un”                          214
    A trip to Stony Stratford                                219
    Adventures                                               220
    Nick defeats “the Deaf’un;” a wrangle                    221
    Challenges Ben Caunt                                     223
    The stakes awarded to Nick Ward                          224
    Matched with Ben Caunt                                   225
    A long journey and its vicissitudes                      226
    Hostility of the “beaks”                                 227
    The fight: a bloodless victory for Ward                  229
    A chaunt of the Ring: “Nick Ward and Caunt”              231
    The stakes given to “Nick”                               232
    Second fight with Caunt, and defeat                      232
    Death of Nick Ward, Feb. 17, 1850                        233




Transcriber's Note:

Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the
end of the section in which related anchors occur. Inconsistent
hyphenation, dialect, obsolete words and misspellings were left
unchanged. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside down, or
partially printed letters, were corrected. Spacing was adjusted between
paragraphs for consistency. Transliteration of one phrase in Greek
follows within brackets.

Comments:

  There are five anchors to Footnote [43].
  Occasional sentences lack a verb.
  “Edinburg” on the title page and “L’Envoy” at the end of the book are
    in blackface in the original.
  Fight rounds occasionally omit some numbers.
  The meaning of one line ending with a hyphen is uncertain:
          … and that gentle-
          and Orme;…
    The letters, ‘man,’ may have been omitted, or the first word on
    the following line, ‘and,’ may be a misspelling for ‘man.’

The following items were changed:

  Added final stops missing at the end of sentences.
  Removed duplicate words at line endings or page breaks.
  Capitalized lower case letters at beginning of sentences.
  Removed spurious stops mid-sentence.
  Adjusted mis-matched quotation marks around citations.
  Added spacing between words, crowded by printer.
  Removed misplaced comma preceding a list.
  Changed commas to stops after numbers of subparagraphs.
  Changed stops to commas mid-sentences.
  Added commas unprinted in lists.
  Added missing dashes after fight round numbers.
  Added missing page number in index for first entry of Tass Parker.