CHAPTER III.

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.