THE FIGHT.—THE RUINED GAMESTER.
The day on which the fight was to take place between the Birmingham
Bruiser and the Haggerstone Pet, now drew near.
Great was the excitement of the sporting world on the occasion; and all
those, who were not in the secret of the "cross," felt confident that
the Bruiser must win.
Indeed the odds had risen in his favour from five to four, to eleven to
five. There were numerous betters, and the takers were willing.
The following paragraph appeared in _Bell's Life_, on the Sunday
preceding the contest:—
"THE APPROACHING FIGHT.—The mill between the Birmingham Bruiser and
the Haggerstone Pet is to come off on Thursday next, at Wigginton
Bottom, near Snodsnook Park, in Essex. We are assured by persons who
have seen the Bruiser in training at Bexley Heath, and the Pet at
Cheshunt, that the men are in first-rate condition, and full of
confidence. The Bruiser has vowed that if he is beaten in this
fight, he will retire altogether from the Ring; but his friends do
not for a moment apprehend that the result will be such as to
occasion such a step. The admirers of this truly British sport have
begun to flock to the neighbourhood of the scene of action; and
every bed at Wigginton is already let. In fact we know of two
guineas having been offered and refused for a mere 'shake-down' in
the tap of the _Green Lion_, at that beautiful little village. The
odds in favour of the Bruiser have risen within these few days to
eleven to five. The Bruiser's backers are not known: they are most
likely some swell nobs, who prefer keeping out of sight. Some
thousands of pounds will change hands next Thursday."
On the appointed day Lord Dunstable drove his friends Egerton,
Chichester, Harborough, and Cholmondeley, down to Wigginton in his
four-in-hand—an equipage that he had only very recently set up, and
which had been purchased and was still maintained by the coin extracted
from the pocket of the credulous son of the deceased outfitter.
The scene of the contest was thronged with as miscellaneous a collection
of persons as could possibly be gathered together. There were specimens
of all classes, from the peer down to the beggar. The fashionable
exquisite was jostled by the greasy butcher;—the sporting tradesman was
crushed between two sweeps;—the flat was knocked down by one black-leg
and picked up by another;—the country-squire was elbowed by the
horse-chaunter;—the newspaper reporter was practically overwhelmed by
the influence of the "press;"—and, in short, there was such a squeezing
that many who had paid a guinea to be conveyed thither, would have
gladly given ten to be removed away again.
Presently a tremendous shout of applause welcomed the arrival of Lord
Snodsnook's carriage, from which leapt the Haggerstone Pet, who was
immediately surrounded by his friends; and shortly afterwards a "slap-up
turn-out," "tooled" by a sporting publican of the West End, to whom it
belonged, brought the Birmingham Bruiser upon the scene of action,
amidst renewed vociferations and another rush of supporters.
The preliminaries being all settled, the combatants stripped, entered
the ring, attended by their seconds, and then shook hands. The
newspapers subsequently declared that no two pugilists ever "peeled"
better, nor seemed more confident.
It is not our purpose, however, to dwell upon the disgusting
exhibition:—those brutal displays are loathsome to us, and, to our mind,
are a disgrace to the English character.
Suffice it to say, that the Birmingham Bruiser was quite able to beat
the Haggerstone Pet, if he had so chosen: but he had made his appearance
there on purpose to lose. For upwards of twenty rounds, however, he
secured to himself the advantage; and the general impression amongst the
uninitiated was that he must win. Those who were in the secret
accordingly bet heavily upon the Haggerstone Pet; and we need hardly say
that, as Egerton backed the Bruiser, he found several of his dear
friends perfectly willing to accept the odds at his hands.
By the twenty-fifth round, the Bruiser began to grow "groggy," and to
hit at random. Of course this was mere pretence on his part: but it gave
the Pet renewed courage; and in proportion as the latter acquired
confidence, the former seemed to lose ground rapidly.
Many of the backers of the Bruiser now exhibited elongating
countenances; and, when that champion was thrown heavily at the
thirty-first round, his former supporters manifested a desperate
inclination to "hedge." Egerton, however, remained confident in favour
of the Bruiser; but then he knew nothing about prize-fighting—it was the
first combat of the kind he had ever seen in his life—and, even if he
had been inclined to hedge his bets, he would have found no persons
willing at this stage of the proceeding to afford him the chance.
The Bruiser played his game so well, that even the most experienced in
the pugilistic science were unable to detect the fraud that was being
practised upon them; and thousands were deceived into a belief that he
was really doing his best to win.
At the fortieth round he fell, apparently through sheer weakness; and it
was highly ludicrous to behold the discomfited looks of those who had
bet most heavily upon him.
He stood up for three rounds more; but time was called in vain for the
forty-fourth—and the Haggerstone Pet was declared to be the conqueror.
The Bruiser seemed to be in a horrible plight: for some time he remained
motionless upon the ground, obstinately resisting all the efforts that
were made to recover him, until one of his friends thrust a huge pinch
of snuff up his nose—and then he was compelled to sneeze.
He was now borne to the _Green Lion_ at Wigginton, and put to bed. A
surgeon in Sir Rupert Harborough's pay volunteered his services to
attend upon him; and, although the Bruiser had nothing more serious the
matter with him than a few bruises and a couple of black eyes, the
medical gentlemen assured the multitudes who flocked to the inn, that
"the poor fellow could not possibly be worse." A great deal of medicine
was also purchased at the village apothecary's shop; but it was all
quietly thrown away by the surgeon, and the Bruiser was regaled, in the
privacy of his chamber, with a good cut off a sirloin of beef and a
bottle of Port-wine.
Lord Dunstable, Mr. Chichester, Colonel Cholmondeley, and Sir Rupert
Harborough divided equally amongst themselves the money won by this
"cross;"—they sacked a thousand pounds each, Egerton alone having lost
fifteen hundred upon the fight.
The five friends returned to town in his lordship's four-in-hand, and
dined that evening at Limmer's, where Egerton speedily drowned the
recollection of his heavy losses in bumpers of champagne and claret.
The party afterwards repaired to Crockford's; but just as they were
ascending the steps, they beheld one of the waiters in altercation with
a person of emaciated form, haggard countenance, and shabby attire, but
who had evidently seen better—far better days; for his language was
correct, and even beneath his rags there was an air of gentility which
no tatters could conceal—no penury altogether subdue.
"Come, Major, none of this nonsense—it won't do here," said the waiter,
in an insolent tone. "Be off with you—there's gentlemen coming in."
"I care not who hears me!" cried the person thus addressed: "Mr.
Crockford is within—I know he is; and I must see him."
"No—he's not here—and he never comes now," returned the waiter. "If you
don't make yourself scarce, I'll call a policeman. Pray walk in, my
lord—walk in, gentlemen."
These last words were addressed to Lord Dunstable and his party; but,
instead of entering the Club, they remained on the steps to hear the
issue of the dispute.
"Call a policeman—oh! do," ejaculated the Major. "I wish you would—for I
should at least have a roof over my head to-night; whereas I now stand
the chance of wandering about the streets. But you dare not give me in
charge—no, you dare not! You know that I should expose all the infamy of
this den before the magistrate to-morrow morning. However—in one word,
will you deliver my message to Mr. Crockford?"
"I tell you that he is not here," repeated the waiter, insolently.
"Did you give him my note?" asked the Major, in an imploring tone.
"Yes—and he said there was no answer," replied the menial, placing his
thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat.
"My God! no answer for _me_!" cried the miserable man, in a voice of
bitter despair. "No answer for _me_—and I lost so much in his house!
Surely—surely he could spare a guinea from the thousands which he has
received of me? I only asked him for a guinea—and he does not condescend
to answer me!"
"Well, I tell you what it is," said the waiter, perceiving that not only
Lord Dunstable's party lingered upon the steps, but that there was also
another listener—a gentleman in a military cloak—standing at a short
distance:—"if you will go away now, I'll give you half-a-crown out of my
own pocket, and I will undertake that Mr. Crockford shall send you up a
sovereign to-morrow."
"God knows with what reluctance I accept that miserable trifle from
_you_!" exclaimed the unhappy man, tears rolling down his cheeks, as he
extended his hand for the pittance offered.
At the same instant Egerton, who was much moved by all he had just
overheard, drew forth his purse with the intention of presenting five
sovereigns to the poor Major: but the waiter, perceiving his intention,
hastened to drop the half-crown into the miserable wretch's palm with a
view to get rid of him at once;—for the domestic wisely argued to
himself that every guinea which Egerton might give away would be so much
lost to his master's bank up-stairs.
The half-crown piece had just touched the Major's hand, when the
individual in the cloak sprang forward—seized it—threw it indignantly in
the servant's face—and, dragging the Major away from the door,
exclaimed, "No—never shall it be said that a soldier and an officer
received alms from an insolent lacquey! Mine be the duty of relieving
your wants."
And, leading the Major a few paces up the street, the stranger bade him
enter a carriage that was waiting, and into which he immediately
followed him.
The servant closed the door, received some whispered instructions from
his master, and got up behind the vehicle, which immediately rolled away
at a rapid pace.
But to return to Lord Dunstable and his party.
The moment that the individual in the cloak sprang forward in the manner
described, and the light of the hall lamps streamed full upon his
countenance, both Harborough and Chichester uttered ejaculations of
surprise, and hastened precipitately into the Club, followed by
Dunstable, Egerton, and Cholmondeley.
"What's the matter?" demanded Dunstable, when the baronet and Chichester
were overtaken on the stairs: "and who's that person?"
"The Prince of Montoni," replied Harborough, whose countenance was very
pale.
"Yes," said Chichester, hastily; "we know him well—and, as he is very
particular in his notions, we did not wish him to see us coming here.
But, enough of that—let us adjourn to the Hazard Room."
The conversation between the Major and the waiter, displaying as it did
a fearful instance of the results of gaming, had made a deep impression
upon Albert Egerton; and for some time he was thoughtful and serious.
But Dunstable attacked him so adroitly with the artillery of
flattery—the waiter offered him claret so frequently—the excitement of
the play appeared so agreeable—and the fear of losing ground in the good
opinion of his aristocratic acquaintances was so strong in his mind,
that he seized the dice-box, staked his money, lost as usual, and was
conducted home in a state of intoxication at about half-past three in
the morning.
* * * * *
In the meantime the unfortunate Major Anderson—for such was his name—had
received substantial proofs of that goodness of heart which prompted the
Prince of Montoni to espouse his cause against the brutal insolence of
Crockford's waiter.
Immediately after the carriage rolled away from the corner of St.
James's Street, Richard drew forth his pocket-book, and placed a
bank-note, accompanied by his card, in the Major's hand.
"By means of this temporary relief, sir," he said, "you can place
yourself in a somewhat more comfortable position than that in which I
deeply regret to find you; and, when you feel inclined to see me again,
be good enough to write me a note to that effect, so that I may call
upon you. For, if it would not be impertinently prying into your
affairs, I should wish to learn the sad narrative of those reverses
which have so reduced a gentleman of your rank and station."
"Oh! sir—whoever you are," exclaimed the Major—for it was too dark to
permit him to read his benefactor's card,—"how can I ever sufficiently
thank you for this noble—this generous conduct? But think not that your
bounty will have been bestowed in vain—think not that I would risk one
sixpence of this sum—whatever be its amount—at the gaming-table! Oh! my
God—who would ever play again, that had been in such misery as I? No,
sir—no: I would rather throw myself headlong from one of the bridges
into the silent waters of the Thames, than enter the gamblers' den!"
"Then let me tell you frankly," said Markham, much moved by the touching
sincerity of the ruined officer's tone and manner,—"let me tell you
frankly that my object, in wishing to see you again, was to satisfy
myself that you had in reality abjured the detestable vice which has
beggared you, and that you are deserving of all I am prepared to do for
your benefit."
"To-morrow afternoon, sir," answered the Major, "I will take the liberty
of writing to you; for by that time I shall once more be the possessor
of some humble lodging. And now, with your permission, I will alight
here."
Richard pulled the check-string; and the carriage stopped in Oxford
Street.
The Major alighted—pressed our hero's hand fervently—and hurried away.
When the carriage had disappeared, and the poor man's feelings were
somewhat composed, he stopped beneath a lamp to learn the name of his
benefactor.
"The Prince of Montoni!" he exclaimed joyfully: "oh! then I am saved—I
am saved; he will never let me want again! All London rings with the
fame of his goodness: his whole time seems to be passed in benefiting
his fellow-creatures! Wherever poverty is known to exist, thither does
he send in secret his unostentatious charity! But such good deeds cannot
remain concealed; and I—I for one will proclaim to all who have spurned
me in my bitter need, that a stranger has saved me—and that stranger a
great Prince whose shoes they are not worthy to touch!"
Such were the words which the grateful man uttered aloud in the open
street; but when he glanced at the bank-note, and found himself suddenly
possessed of fifty pounds, he burst into a flood of tears—tears of the
most heart-felt joy!
And Richard returned home with the satisfaction of having done another
charitable action:—we say _another_, because charitable deeds with him
were far more common than even promises on the part of many richer men.
But Markham delighted in doing good. Often of an evening, would he
repair into London, and, leaving his carriage at the corner of some
street, wander about the immediate neighbourhood to succour the poor
houseless wretches whom he might meet, and to discover new cases in
which his bounty might be usefully bestowed. Without hesitation—without
disgust, did he penetrate into the wretched abodes of want—go down even
into the cellars, or climb up into the attics, where poverty was to be
relieved and joy to be shed into the despairing heart.
And when he returned home, after such expeditions as these, to his
beloved wife and darling child,—for he was now a father—the happy father
of a lovely boy, whom he had named Alberto,—he found his reward in the
approving smiles of the Princess, even if he had not previously reaped
an adequate recompense in the mere fact of doing so much good.
Indeed, there was not a happier house in the world than Markham
Place;—for not only was the felicity of Richard complete—save in respect
to his anxiety concerning his long-lost brother Eugene,—but that of his
sister was also ensured. United to Mario Bazzano, Katherine and her
husband resided at the mansion—beneath the same roof where Mr. Monroe
and Ellen also continued to enjoy a home!
But let us continue the thread of our narrative.
True to his promise, Major Anderson wrote on the following day to
acquaint our hero with his place of abode, and to renew the expression
of his most fervent gratitude for the generous conduct he had
experienced at the hands of the Prince of Montoni.
In the evening Richard proceeded to the humble but comfortable lodging
which the Major now occupied in the neighbourhood of the Tottenham Court
Road; and from the lips of the individual whom his bounty had restored
to comparative happiness, did our hero learn the following terrible
narrative of a Gambler's Life.