The Slasher came up again “fresh as paint,” and

evidently but little injured by the contest. His left

ear alone showed serious marks of punishment; it was

much swollen and filled with coagulated blood. The

finger of his left hand was likewise cut; but the

contusions on his index were few and of trifling

consequence. He seemed anxious to renew the contest,

and denied that he had fallen purposely. The judgment

had been pronounced, however, and there was no

recalling it.

Johnny Broome was evidently mortified, and offered to

put down a score for the Slasher to fight Ben Caunt,

“then and there.” Spring said such a proposition

savoured too much of passion and folly, but said Caunt

was prepared to fight the Slasher or any man in England

for from £100 to £500, and the money was always ready

at his house.

REMARKS.――This was altogether an unsatisfactory

contest. The match was unequal, and the difference in

the size of the men, Freeman having already shown no

lack of personal bravery, left no room for speculation

on the issue. Everybody foresaw that the Giant must be

triumphant, notwithstanding he fought badly. In fact he

did not hit at points, and missed most of his

well-intentioned but ill-directed blows from the shifty

character of his opponent, as well as from his own wild

and uncertain mode of delivery. He hits round with his

right, as the Slasher’s ear testified, and his

left-handed deliveries are more like pokes than

punishing hits. That he is a game man we have no doubt,

but he is unwieldy, and possesses too much of “the milk

of human kindness” ever to become a “star” in the Ring,

even if his equal could be found. We are inclined to

think, however, that this will have been his last

appearance in the P.R., and should recommend him to

choose some more suitable occupation――although as a

sparrer, from his great size, he will always be an

object of curiosity. The Slasher is a mere rough, who

must be beaten by a well-scienced man. That he would

have shown to more advantage with a man of his own

pretensions and size we have no doubt; but with Freeman

he felt he could not hope to win, and therefore became

reckless and careless――seeking only how to escape those

visitations which, had he made a “fair stand-up fight,”

must have ended in more serious punishment. As it was,

both escaped with comparatively trifling injuries, and

remained to witness the subsequent fight. The

contusions on the Slasher’s ear were reduced by a

surgeon who was on board the steamer, and after a

little ablution he was himself again, repeating that

his going down without a blow was the effect of

accident, and not of design――an assertion the truth of

which few who saw the performance were disposed to

admit.

The ring being cleared, and M’Ginty, the Scotchman, having defeated

Bungaree (John Gorrick), the Australian, after a game battle of one

hour and forty-seven minutes, the voyagers possessed of “return

tickets” re-embarked on “Father Thames;” οι πολλος [oi pollos]

betaking themselves to their tugs, row-boats, and ten toes, as

necessity might compel. Although it was dark ere the boat passed

Blackwall, all were safely landed by seven p.m. at “Old Swan,” highly

gratified with the good order preserved by the ring-constables, and

the perfect arrangements of the managers for this great day’s

“outing.”

As a compliment and a help to Dick Curtis, who, on the Tuesday,

assiduously seconded both the Giant and Bungaree, his benefit was

fixed for the following Thursday, at the Westminster Baths, which were

crowded to excess by all classes, from the Corinthian to the

costermonger. The crowd assembled was scarcely less numerous than at

the Giant’s benefit, and the spirit in favour of boxing certainly more

apparent. We were gratified to recognise Mr. Jackson, Tom Cribb, Tom

Belcher, Tom Spring, Jem Burn, and most of the old originals. Freeman,

the Slasher, and Bungaree showed, but M’Ginty was _non inventus_.

Freeman and the Slasher scarcely displayed a scratch; but Bungaree

showed a few marks of _chasing_ and hammering on the mug, and his left

hand was in a sling, the sinews of the knuckle having been divided.

The setting-to was excellent and abundant, and included a long list of

talented exhibitors. Among others, Johnny Broome and Johnny Hannan

displayed great vigour and determination, and, after a matchless

exhibition of talent, it would be difficult to say which “bore the

bell.” Their exertions were rewarded by thunders of applause. Freeman

and Caunt also elicited the warmest approbation, the Giant sparring

with a freedom and ease that surprised many who were disinclined to

believe in his improvement. The appearance of Tom Spring with the

veteran Tom Belcher――who made his first appearance after a retirement

of fourteen years from the sparring-schools――produced an enthusiastic

sensation, and the set-to between these men afforded the greatest

satisfaction. Belcher, by the beauty of his position, and quickness

and neatness of his stops and hits, reminded us of what were indeed

the palmy days of the Ring. Spring had the advantage in length and

bulk of frame; still, the display was, upon the whole, a finished

specimen of the science of self-defence. King Dick and Owen Swift, the

retired champions of the light weights, wound up the sports, and were

most favourably received.

Johnny Broome then mounted the stage, and announced that the Slasher

would take a benefit in the same popular arena on Monday, January 2,

at which Freeman and Caunt had kindly promised again to appear; and,

by way of opening the New Tear, the Slasher would then be prepared to

make a match with Caunt, at 13st. 4lb., for £100 a side. [This

proposition had been previously made to Caunt, but he had declined.]

Tom Spring immediately mounted the stage, and said Johnny Broome well

knew his challenge would not be accepted, as it was impossible for

Caunt to reduce himself to the weight proposed. Caunt was ready to

fight Slasher or any man in England, from £100 to £500, “catch

weight;” but he (Tom Spring) knew too well the consequence of men

reducing themselves below the natural standard to sanction such a

proceeding. For himself, he could only say that he never fought 13st.,

and never barred weight, country, or colour, for he was satisfied

13st. was weight enough for anything living who meant fighting. He had

stated Caunt’s terms, and if Slasher did not choose to accept them,

there was no harm done.

Broome said he would not have made the proposition had not the Slasher

told him that Caunt himself made the offer.

Thus ended this sensational burlesque on boxing. On the ensuing

Tuesday the “Castle” was crowded to excess, on the occasion of the

giving up of the stakes to the undoubted winner. Freeman, the Slasher,

Caunt, Johnny Broome, Bungaree, _cum multis aliis_, were present. The

Stakeholder, in rendering his due to the victor, observed that he

should refrain from offering any comments on the character of the

fight, but at the same time give Freeman every credit for his

unassuming conduct since his arrival in this country, as well as for

his strict observance in the ring of those principles of fair play

which formed the groundwork of the rules of British boxing. He had

never offered a challenge, but being challenged he could not with

honour decline the invitation, but at the same time he entered the

arena without the most remote hostility towards his opponent. He had

come to this country on a friendly speculation in conjunction with

Caunt, and he (the Stakeholder) believed the match had been made on

the part of the Slasher rather to try the value of the weight of metal

which Freeman carried when placed in competition with the old English

breed, than from any anticipation that so small a craft could compete

successfully with a vessel of such magnitude. The issue had shown that

“the Giant” was too much for “the pigmy,” but as the experiment had

been fairly tried, there was no ground for censure on either side.

After some further remarks on the necessity of union among

professional boxers themselves, a strict adherence to honesty and fair

play, and a due sense of the necessity of propriety in their general

demeanour, he handed the “flimsies” to Freeman.

Freeman immediately rose, and dusting the cobwebs from the ceiling

with his “thatch,” expressed his deep sense of the kind and hospitable

manner in which he had been received in this country. He confessed he

touched English ground with different anticipations, but he was glad

of the opportunity of acknowledging that in England neither country

nor colour made any difference, and that all were alike sure of fair

play. He came in company with Caunt rather to see England than for any

other purpose, and being a little in the “glove fancy,” he thought he

might bring it to account to pay expenses. He never entertained the

idea of fighting, but being challenged, in justice to the United

States, of which he was a native, he felt that he could not do less

than stand by his flag when its character for courage was at stake. He

should have great pride when he returned to Yankeeland in expressing

his grateful feelings for the favours he had received, which were

those rather to be expected by a brother than a stranger.[19]

An appeal was then made for the losing man, and a few pounds were

realised, for which the Slasher returned thanks by giving his pimple

an extra pull forwards.

“The British and American Flags,” with an ardent hope that they might

never be unfurled but as the tokens of peace and union, was drunk with

enthusiasm, and this was followed by the healths of Tom Cribb, Tom

Spring, and Ben Caunt, the two past and present champions of England;

to which was added the health of Johnny Broome, who denied that the

imputations cast upon him of a disinclination to bring his man to “the

scratch” had any foundation. He said he was already £115 out of pocket

by the match, but that he believed the gentleman who had proposed the

match would not suffer him to be the loser.

The year 1842 ended, and 1843 opened for the Slasher with a round of

“benefits” in London, Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool, Dublin, &c.,

organised and engineered by the clever Johnny Broome, who showed his

“golden belt” and intimated the immediate readiness of the Slasher to

meet Caunt on “fair” terms, which, however, were, when they came to

particulars, far from being “fair” in Big Ben’s estimation. A match

with Wm. Renwick, of Liverpool, to fight for £50 on the 22nd of

August, 1843, near Newcastle-upon-Tyne, ended in a severe

disappointment, Renwick being arrested on the previous Saturday at his

training quarters, when the whole of the stakes were down.

Perry lost no time in advertising his readiness for another customer,

barring neither weight, country, nor colour, and Tass Parker, of West

Bromwich, answered his cartel. Tass had just carried his fame to the

summit by his defeat of Brassey of Bradford, after a game and

scientific battle of 158 rounds, occupying two hours and fifty

minutes, in August, 1841, and subsequently receiving £70 forfeit from

Bendigo in June, 1842; the Nottingham champion being arrested at his

brother’s instance, which the suspicious did not fail to attribute to

Bendy “not fancying the job,” which was not the truth. Broome, who

certainly was “nuts” on this match, went straight ahead, and Tass’s

backers were equally fond, so that on Dec. 17th, the fight being fixed

for Tuesday, Dec. 19th, 1843, we find the coming battle thus announced

in _Bell’s Life_:――

“On Wednesday evening the ‘Rising Sun,’ in Air Street, was

crowded to an overflow by patrons of the milling school,

anxious to witness the completion of the stakes for the

match between these men, which was duly accomplished

according to articles. It was mutually agreed by the friends

of both to ‘sport a toe on the water,’ according to modern

usage, and the ‘Nymph’ Woolwich steamer has been chartered

for the occasion. She will leave her moorings off Hungerford

Market on Tuesday morning precisely at eight o’clock, drop

down to London Bridge, and from thence ruffle the stream to

Blackwall Pier, from whence she will make her final plunge

towards the Nore, and we heartily wish her a pleasant and

prosperous voyage. Tickets are on sale at Owen Swift’s,

Johnny Broome’s, and Tom Spring’s, and we recommend an early

application, as the number will necessarily be limited. Tass

Parker has arrived in town, looking so ‘full of bloom’ that

he has been backed at 6 to 4, and even 2 to 1. He certainly

is quite up to the mark, and books winning as a point

already gained. The Tipton Slasher has been finishing his

training at Stockbridge, under the watchful eye of Levi

Eckersley, who pronounces him right well, and fit for the

battle-field. We had heard that the Slasher had hurt his

right arm in setting-to with Harry Broome, at Bristol; but

of this we have no personal knowledge, and learn that the

blemish has been completely removed. Were it otherwise, we

should scarcely anticipate that Johnny Broome, who says he

has had to find almost all the money, would have gone on

with the match, and he certainly speaks with great

confidence. Parker has been visible at Owen Swift’s every

evening since Wednesday, and the Tipton Slasher will be at

Johnny Broome’s, Air Street, Piccadilly, to-morrow evening.

That Parker is a most accomplished fighter none will doubt,

but against this comes the rough and ready tact of the

Slasher, who combines courage with superior weight. All we

can hope is, that we shall have a fair and manly contest,

and that the best man may win.”

How little these expectations were realised, and these good wishes

availed in the event, may be read in the tale we shall now briefly

deliver; for we consider that a detailed account of the shifty and

contemptible farce performed by Parker, which occupied more than two

columns of small print in _Bell’s Life_ of December 24, 1843, would be

mere waste of space in a work like the present. This is more

especially the case when we find that the second and adjourned fight

(which we shall give) was as wearisomely similar in character and

incidents to the first.

Suffice it, then, to say, that the voyage per steamer was safely

carried out, and that the attendance of amateurs and professionals was

immense, notwithstanding the severity of the weather and the dreary

and inhospitable character of the Dartford Marshes, whereon the ring

was pitched. Peter Crawley having consented to preside as referee, the

performance began. In the opening rounds Parker displayed his superior

skill, both in getting on to his man and getting away; but the Tipton

had certainly greatly improved under the skilful mentorship of the

Broomes, and was no longer the mere hardy rough which many yet

considered him. He every now and then waited for, timed, and neatly

stopped his clever and crafty assailant, inflicting severe punishment

with his right upon Parker, who, finding he could not get near enough

to deliver without exposing himself to heavy returns, soon began to

fight shy. Indeed, round after round, after getting in a blow, Parker

resorted to the reprehensible dropping system, not only to avoid

hitting, but also to provoke and irritate his less skilful adversary

and thus tempt him to deliver a foul blow, or, at the worst, to bring

the fight to a “tie,” “draw,” or “wrangle.” In this way sixty-seven

rounds were fought, with no prospect of an approach to the decision of

the battle. At this period――one hour and thirty-four minutes having

been consumed――the Kentish constabulary made their appearance, and

stopped the tedious exhibition. The company, of necessity,

re-embarked, and the disappointed excursionists returned to the

Metropolis.

At a meeting of the men and their backers, at Peter Crawley’s (the

referee’s), to arrange when and how their interrupted encounter should

be concluded, Johnny Broome, on the part of the Tipton, asked a

postponement for three months, and produced the following medical

certificate:――

“194, Blackfriars Road. Dec. 25, 1843.

“This certifies that we reduced a fracture of the fore-arm

of William Perry on or about the 7th of November, and a

fracture of the lower jaw on the evening of the 19th of

December. These serious injuries will require a period of at

least three months before he can be in a situation to fight

again.

“CHARLES AND JOHN BRADY, Surgeons.”

Parker, after some protestation against so long a delay, was met by

Broome consenting to name that day ten weeks for the renewal of

hostilities. Parker insisting on eight weeks, Broome consented to

“split the difference,” and, finally, that day nine weeks was agreed

upon.

The adjourned battle was fixed for Tuesday, the 27th of February,

1844. Peter Crawley, who had been referee on the first occasion,

declaring he had no further interest in the affair, left it to the

parties themselves to settle their future proceedings. This was done

by Jem Parker (Tass’s brother), on the part of his Birmingham backers,

and Johnny Broome, on behalf of the Slasher. It was decided to engage

a special train on the Brighton line (an experiment which had proved

successful on some recent occasions). The tickets, at 10s. 6d. each,

were secured under the guise of “an excursion;” the departure and

return being arranged with the manager, so as not to interfere with

the order and regularity of the traffic at the London Bridge terminus.

In consequence of the damage received by both men in their previous

encounter, they were early sent into training, Tass Parker at

Finchley, the Slasher near Tring, and, in point of condition, no two

men could have been brought into better trim.

The time appointed for departure was nine o’clock, and before that

hour the terminus-platform was crowded by persons of all classes,

among whom we distinguished many members of the “upper ten thousand,”

some of whom had travelled long distances to be witness of what they

hoped would be a fair and manly mill. All were soon seated, and at a

few minutes to ten the iron-horse puffed and panted his way out of the

station, and after a single draw-up of a few minutes at Croydon, for

the passing of a down train, disembarked its living freight at Horley

(about twenty-five miles from London) at a little before eleven.

The excursionists, immediately on alighting, repaired to the “King’s

Arms” inn, and about half a mile thence, across Horley Common, the

Commissary obtained the use of a field, high and dry, and screened by

a dense belt of evergreen trees from the view of travellers by road or

by the Brighton line. The weather was delightful; but although there

had been a sharp frost during the night, the genial influence of the

sun had produced an unwelcome change in the roads and paths leading to

the field of action, and as all had to find their way to the “fixture”

upon their ten toes, the quagmire through which they had to wade,

however agreeable it might be in softness to their corns, was anything

but favourable to the polish on their trotter-cases, or pleasant to

those who happened not to have the good fortune to be well shod. These

little difficulties having been got over, the greatest good-humour

prevailed, and all waited anxiously for the appearance of the men.

With a view to prevent the inconvenience of the slippery state of the

sward, a quantity of sawdust was obtained, which was liberally spread

at the corners chosen by the men for their resting places. For the

accommodation of the members of the inner ring there was an ample

supply of stools, benches, and trusses of straw; while a few waggons,

after the fashion of times gone by, afforded comfortable

standing-places for those who preferred the outer circle. The new plan

of one person disposing of the tickets of privilege was on this

occasion adopted by Tom Spring, who undertook subsequently to

distribute the proceeds amongst those men who assisted in preserving

order. The plan proved most effective, and it is but justice to state

that all those who paid for the privilege of the inner ring were most

pleasantly located, and were enabled to sit comfortably without the

usual incursion of the “Vandals,” a result productive of the highest

satisfaction. That the partisans of the men occasionally indulged in

chaff we will not deny; but this, however unseemly, did not lead to

any encroachment upon general good order, and in this respect the

expressions of approval were general. Spring, Caunt, Crawley, Jem

Burn, the Greeks (old and young), Barney Aaron, Young Reid, Bill

Jones, _cum multis aliis_, assisted in this desirable plan, and kept

the disorderlies in control.

Shortly before one o’clock, everything being in readiness, the men

were brought to the field, Tass Parker attended by Fuller and Tom

Reidie, and the Slasher by Bob Castles and a Nottingham amateur. The

former sported a flag of blue, with a white spot, and the latter a

stone colour, with a pink spot. On entering the ring, they shook hands

with apparent good humour, and each retired to his corner to prepare.

Then came the important question, the selection of umpires and a

referee. With respect to the former no difficulty was felt, and an

amateur for the Slasher, and Jack Hannan for Parker, were named. The

choice of a referee, however, was not so easily adjusted, and nearly

an hour was wasted in discussing the merits of various persons named

by both parties, each on his own especial behalf objecting to those

offered by his opponent. On the part of Parker it seemed to be

determined to have only one of four persons, and to five or six named

by the Slasher, some of whom were persons of the highest

respectability, a decided objection was made. In this way time

progressively, but unprofitably, advanced, and the greatest impatience

was displayed. At length Johnny Broome, on behalf of the Slasher, said

he was willing that each should select a referee, and that those two

persons should decide by toss which was to act, but this met with as

firm an opposition as anything by which it had been preceded. Johnny

Broome then offered to adopt any gentleman who might be selected from

the surrounding crowd, unknown to either party, but to this there was

again a negative response, and still more time was lost, while the

patience of the throng was put to the severest test from their

inactivity and the chilling blast to which they were exposed. All this

time the men remained wrapped in blankets at their respective corners.

The Slasher now rose from his bottle-holder’s knee, and approaching

Parker, offered to fight without a referee, the fight to be protracted

until one or other gave in, but still the obstinacy of Parker’s

friends was not to be overcome. Finally, after the expiration of an

hour at least, the stakeholder, who was present, stepped into the

arena, urged on by the repeated expressions of discontent from the

surrounding multitude, and having recapitulated the various

propositions which had been made, declared that, unless Tass Parker

and his friends thought proper to agree either to toss for choice of

referee or to fight without one, he should feel it his duty to give up

the stakes to that man who was willing to abide by one or other of

these propositions. The backer of Tass Parker, finding that he had no

alternative, at last agreed that the men should fight without a

referee; a resolution for which the subsequent conduct of his

principal throughout the fight afforded a sufficient reason, for had

any fair and honest referee been in office, there is no doubt that he

must have lost the fight over and over again. The interference of the

stakeholder was hailed with universal approbation, and the men

forthwith proceeded to peel for action, while the “All out!” of the

Commissary and the ring-keepers sent the stragglers to their posts.

The umpires having taken their seat close together, provided with a

time-telling chronometer, and all being removed from the immediate

vicinity of the ring――with the exception of one individual to take

charge of the water, and other refreshments of each combatant――Johnny

Broome for the Slasher, and Parker’s namesake for his _protége_ (a

most wholesome arrangement under the New Rules) business commenced.

Nothing but the force of habit could have made us write the words “The

Fight” at the head of the extraordinary and disgraceful parody on a

stand-up battle which we are now about to describe. It is, however,

only proper to premise that the Slasher must be entirely exonerated

from any personal share in this discreditable libel on the already

falling P.R., and therefore “to put the saddle on the right horse,” we

proceed to our account of

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――The men came up with their hands in good

position, and after manœuvring for a short time Parker

let fly his left, which was cleverly stopped. This led

to a rally, in which very trifling hits were exchanged

left and right, but as they were out of distance no

harm was done, with the exception of a slight

discolouration on the Slasher’s right cheek. Parker, in

getting away from the Slasher’s rush, fell on one knee.

2.――Parker again advanced bold as brass, looking all

over confident, while the Slasher was not less prepared

for action. After a few dodges, advancing and

retreating, Parker popped in his left on the Slasher’s

cheek. The Slasher fought wildly left and right,

missing some of his hits, but planting his right

heavily on the ribs under Parker’s left arm. Wild

exchanges, when, as Parker was slipping on his knees,

the Slasher caught his head under his arm, held it as

if in a vice, and hung on him till he fell tumbling on

him. The exchanges were trifling in their consequences,

and a little flush on the skin was the only indication

of punishment.

3.――Parker came up obviously undismayed by the result

of the last struggle, and apparently resolved to do his

best. He tried his left, which the Slasher neatly threw

aside with his right. The Slasher then advanced,

hitting left and right wildly, and Parker stepping back

to avoid execution. Trifling exchanges with the left.

Parker again away, and watching for an opening to

advance; dodging left and right, but no hitting. Parker

stole a march, popped his left in slightly on the

Slasher’s mouth, and broke away, the Slasher wildly

after him, hitting left and right, but Parker slipped

down on his knees and evaded receiving, thus commencing

his old system. On the Slasher being picked up, blood

was visible from his domino case, and this event was

declared in favour of Parker.

4.――Parker again prepared to lead off, advancing and

retreating, finding the Slasher ready to hit or stop.

At last he hit out with his left, which the Slasher

stopped, and then rushing in left and right he

administered a trifling upper cut with the latter.

Parker retired to his corner, the Slasher after him.

Parker, in ducking to avoid, slipped on his knees, but

was up again in an instant and popped in his left. The

Slasher hit out left and right without precision, and

after a wild, scrambling rally, without mischief,

Parker slipped down.

5.――Slasher first up to the scratch, waiting for the

attack. Parker dodged with his left once or twice, but

not within distance. At length he got closer to his

man, popped in his left on the Slasher’s jaw, who

countered slightly with the left, rushing after Parker,

who retreated to the corner, where he slipped down to

avoid, the Slasher dropping on his knees beside him.

6.――Both ready, but Parker afraid to approach his man.

The Slasher hit out left and right, but was out of

distance, and Parker broke away. Parker again dodging

for an opening, and on getting close up to the work,

left-handed counters were exchanged, but the

impressions were trifling. A wild rally, in which the

Slasher got a slap on the mug, and Parker a heavy hit

on the ribs from the Slasher’s right. A scrambling

exchange of hits left and right, when Parker slipped

down. The hitting was wild, and anything but effective.

7.――The Slasher’s mug somewhat flushed, but anything

but serious in its aspect. Parker feinted with his left

and popped in a pretty crack with his right on the

Slasher’s jaw, and then broke away. Dodging, but no

hitting. The Slasher hit out left and right, but was

short; Parker retreated to his corner; wild but

ineffective exchanges left and right, and Parker

dropped on his knees.

8.――Both at the scratch at the call of time. Parker

tried his left, but was stopped; advancing and

retreating. Parker endeavoured to steal a march, but

was unable to get home, and the Slasher retired

laughing. Parker again advanced, while the Slasher

retreated; neither would go near enough to get to work.

At last they got to a wild rally, missing their hits,

and Parker retreating. Having reached Parker’s corner,

the Slasher weaved left and right, but did not plant

his intended compliments. Parker slipped down, the

Slasher upon him. Parker’s right was puffed from the

effect of one of his flying nobbers.

9.――Offers, but no blows. The Slasher tried his right

at Parker’s nob, but was beautifully stopped, and

Parker broke away. Parker advanced ready to hit with

his left, when the Slasher rushed wildly to him,

weaving left and right, catching Parker on the left ear

with the latter. In the scramble which followed Parker

slipped down, the Slasher upon him.

10.――Parker’s ear flushed, and his nose following suit

in a slight degree. Parker advanced, but retreated the

next moment, and the Slasher went to him. On getting to

his corner there were slight exchanges with the left;

the Slasher hit over Parker’s head with his right, and

Parker dropped.

11.――Parker slow to the scratch, and on the Slasher

advancing he retreated to the ropes. A wild exchange of

hits with the left, when Parker again slipped down on

his knees.

12.――No mischief done as yet, although Parker’s flesh

under the arm indicated the visitations to which it had

been subject. Attempts left and right, in which both

missed their blows. Parker broke away, slipped on one

knee, but jumped up again. Wild exchanges, Slasher

trying his left and right. Parker, ducking to avoid the

Slasher, retreated, but again rushed to the charge,

weaving left and right, ultimately slipping on his

knees, amidst the cries of “cur.”

13.――No sooner at the scratch than the Slasher

advanced; Parker immediately retreated to the ropes,

the Slasher after him; the Slasher hit out right and

left, but Tass ducked under his arm, and escaped the

intended compliments. Parker dropped on one knee, but

again sprang up and caught the Slasher on the cheek

with his left. Slasher missed his left and right, and

Parker fell.

14.――Parker fought on the retreat: a wild scrambling

rally to the corner, and the Slasher slipped down.

15.――Parker advanced and retreated, the Slasher after

him, to his corner. Wild attempts at hitting left and

right on the part of the Slasher, but he was out of

distance, and missed. The Slasher then bored Parker

down on the ropes, himself falling over outside the

ring.

16.――Still no indications of serious mischief. The

Slasher desirous of going to work, Parker retreating.

The Slasher weaving left and right; an exchange of hits

with the latter, and the Slasher again popped in his

right on Parker’s ear, from whence blood was visible.

The Slasher closed, forced Parker down on his knees,

and fell on him.

17.――Parker on the retreat to his corner, the Slasher

after him. Exchanges with the left and right, Parker

getting prettily home with the former. A wild rally,

both missing their blows, when Parker dropped.

18.――Slasher the first to the scratch, and full of

fight; Parker retreated to his corner, the Slasher

after him. Slasher hit out left and right, but without

precision. Parker, on his guard, went down without

attempting to hit.

19.――The Slasher, as usual, the first to obey the call

of time. Parker tried his left, but was cleverly

stopped. The Slasher then rattled to him; Parker

evidently ready to drop, when the Slasher slipped and

fell.

20.――Parker hugging his corner, when the Slasher

rattled to him, but missed; wild hits left and right.

Parker popped in his left and broke away. Slasher again

to the charge, followed his man, caught him a heavy

whack with his right on the jaw, from the effects of

which Parker staggered and fell. The first knock-down

blow for the Slasher.

21.――Tass’s left stopped, and the Slasher rushed in

wildly left and right. In the exchanges the Slasher had

it on the mouth, but again planted his right on his

shifty opponent’s pimple, when he got down.

22.――The Slasher the favourite, and offers to back him

at evens. The Slasher first on his pins. Parker

retreated, the Tipton after him, hitting wildly left

and right, when Parker dropped, but jumped up, hit out

with his left, caught the Slasher slightly, and again

fell, amid exclamations of disgust.

23.――Parker slow from his corner, the Slasher to him,

when, after wild exchanges left and right, with no

execution, Tass went down.

24.――Parker came up evidently a dastard in spirit, and

upon the Slasher rushing to him he slipped down, amidst

the cries of “cur!” and “coward!” Blood was now flowing

freely from the knuckle of Parker’s left hand, which

had in some of the previous rounds come in contact with

the Slasher’s tooth. From this to the thirtieth round

Parker pursued the same cowardly game of making a show

as if he intended to fight, but the moment the Slasher

went to him to hit left and right purposely dropping,

and thereby avoiding the mischief which might be

effected. The Slasher was greatly incensed, turned

round as if appealing to the spectators, who shouted

“cur!” and “coward!” with stentorian voices. The

Slasher’s umpire repeatedly cried “foul,” and nothing

could have been more decidedly opposed to every rule of

fair play; but Hannan, Parker’s umpire, did not

respond. He was silent, but it was not difficult to

discover which way his feelings inclined. In the

thirtieth round Parker, after retreating to his corner,

endeavoured to get down to avoid one of the Slasher’s

wild rushes. The Slasher endeavoured to hold him up,

but in vain; down he went, and the Slasher dropped on

him with his knees. Parker’s backer immediately claimed

“foul” amidst the derision of all around him. It would

be an insult to the understandings of our readers if we

were to pursue our description of the 102 imaginary

rounds which followed, during which Parker went down

fifty times at least, the Slasher most forbearingly

avoiding all temptations to strike or even to fall on

him so as to afford pretence for a claim of “foul.”

More than once Tass threw up his feet so as almost to

kick at his man as he rolled or scrambled over him,

after missing his one, two. It was in vain that the

Slasher essayed to nail him left and right. He ducked

and tumbled whenever there was the slightest chance of

sustaining a hit, inducing universal marks of disgust

at his cowardice, and the words “cur” and “coward”

resounding from all quarters.

In the fifty-seventh round the Slasher was lucky enough

to afford him another excuse for a fall, by giving him

a home slap from the left on the mouth, and laying him

prostrate, while he pointed at him with derision. The

real motive for refusing to agree to the appointment of

an impartial referee now admitted of no doubt. It had

been foreseen that such a man would have long before

this settled the point at issue by declaring the battle

won over and over again by the Slasher. But even the

absence of such a character did not serve the intended

purpose. Hannan, who acted as umpire, declared his

situation to be of a most unenviable description. He

looked appealingly to all around him, and, satisfied

that the conduct of Parker was at variance with every

principle of honour and fair play, he repeatedly sent

to warn him that if he persisted in the same atrocious

cowardice he must agree with the repeated claims of his

co-umpire, who in vain called for his honest and

impartial judgment. The poor fellow actually trembled

with vexation at the shouts of derision which were

directed towards his man, and at length, in the 126th

round, on Parker going down without the most remote

shadow of a blow, unless the wind of the Slasher’s fist

could deserve that character, he involuntarily

exclaimed, in conjunction with his co-partner, and in

accordance with the universal exclamations from every

quarter of the ring, “foul!” This conduct on the part

of Hannan elicited loud approbation, but in a moment he

was surrounded by a knot of the most outrageous

partisans of Parker, who threatened instant

annihilation if he dared to repeat his just opinion. It

was in vain we looked for the honest co-operation of

the real members of the Ring to drive these ruffians

from the arena――they ruled the roost with unblushing

impudence, and treated those who cried shame on their

conduct with insolence and contempt. At last a second

appeal was made to Hannan, but he was dumb, and nothing

but a renewal of the fight would satisfy his

assailants, and renewed the disgraceful scene was, but

with a perfect anticipation of what must be the

ultimate result. Many gentlemen, old and sincere

patrons of fair boxing matches, retired from the

discreditable exhibition. The backer of Tass Parker

asserted that he was so weak as to be incapable of

keeping his legs, while every person who had the power

of exercising the commonest judgment saw that when he

thought proper he could stand as firmly on his pins as

when he commenced. He had not, in fact, received a blow

which could have, in the slightest degree, impaired his

vigour, and were his heart in the right place, he was

just as capable of continuing operations as at the

commencement of the fight. Hannan having resumed his

seat, but pale as ashes, and shaking like an aspen

leaf, the farce was renewed, and for seven rounds more

Parker got up but to fall in the same dastardly manner

which had marked his career. In the 133rd round he made

a show of fighting, and exchanges left and right took

place. Parker then retreated towards the ropes, the

Slasher after him. When the Slasher was about to

commence his wild and indecisive deliveries left and

right, Parker, finding he could not get away, for the

last time dropped without a blow, and the shouts of

“cur” and “coward” were renewed with additional

indignation. This was too much for Hannan, and

incapable longer of stultifying himself and the Ring,

of which he had been, and is, a gallant member, he at

once agreed with the umpire on the other side that

Parker had fallen without a blow, and had thereby lost

the fight. Thus ended this libel on the “manly sports

of the Ring.” The roughs were taken by surprise, and

were incapable of stemming the torrent of general

indignation; but the weak and powerless Parker, in

order to justify the false opinion expressed by his

backer, jumped up with the vigour of a lion, and

rushing to the corner where Johnny Broome stood, having

possessed himself of the colours which had been tied

round the stakes, tore his own colours from his hand,

thereby proving that weakness was the least excuse

which could be offered for his poltroonery. Everybody

except the partisans of Parker was rejoiced at the

termination of this most contemptible display, and

heartily concurred in the propriety of Hannan’s

conduct.

The battle, if it may be so called, admits of but few remarks. The

Slasher fought with a wildness and want of precision which enabled

Parker to protract the struggle almost indefinitely; for had he been

lucky enough to give him one or two stingers, his heart, which was not

bigger than a pea, would have forced him at once to shut up; but by

his contemptible shifting and dropping he escaped the visitation, and

thus owed the confirmation of his defeat to his own pusillanimity. It

is stated that the injury to Parker’s right hand early in the fight

had disabled that limb, and that he acted under an impression that as

there was no referee he had a right to protract the battle by any

device, till one or other was incapable of obeying the call of

time――that is to say, that every principle which renders boxing

praiseworthy should be abandoned, and its worse enemies gratified. In

other words, that he might exercise a treacherous strike and drop from

the return. Such an argument would not be recognised by the veriest

tyro in the P.R. The Slasher, also, complained of his right arm being

injured, from having come in contact with Parker’s nob early in the

contest, but he certainly brought it into use notwithstanding this

injury.

All being over, the crowd returned to the train, stopping at the

“King’s Arms” to partake of such refreshment as that hostelrie

afforded, which, from long privation, became most acceptable. Parker

went through the farce of going to bed, but soon afterwards joined his

co-travellers in the train, and all were quickly wafted to the London

Bridge terminus once more, from whence they took their departure to

their respective quarters. The Slasher scarcely bore a mark of

punishment, and on arriving at Johnny Broome’s was hailed with general

acclamations. Some of Parker’s friends expressing doubts of his

qualities, he announced that he was ready to make a fresh match for

£200 a side with his opponent.

On the following Wednesday the stakeholder, notwithstanding a notice

of action from Parker’s backers, gave up the stakes (£200) to Johnny

Broome, under a guarantee, and of course all bets went with the

battle-money. We shall pass over the cloud of correspondence,

challenges, and counter-challenges which ensued, to come to the

renewed match, which, after innumerable delays, was finally made in

the early months of 1846.

On the 4th of August, 1846, Parker for the third and last time entered

the ring with “the Tipton,” assuring his somewhat sceptical friends

that he had “screwed his courage to the sticking place” and determined

to do or die. As the Slasher was now viewed by many as the “coming

champion” the final contest between him and his scientific but

soft-hearted opponent will be read with interest.

Lindrick Common, Nottinghamshire, eight miles from Sheffield, was the

scene of action, the ropes and stakes being furnished by the

Manchester Commissary. The attendance of the “upper crust” was by no

means numerous, but there was a tidy sprinkling of Yorkshire sportsmen

of the north-country Fancy, and a perfect crowd of swarthy miners and

pitmen from the neighbouring districts as far as Chesterfield and

Derby. An excellent ring was formed, and, as the writer can testify, a

degree of order observed which might well shame the “roughs” nearer

home. At half-past eleven o’clock the men entered the ring, Reid, of

Sheffield, and Nobby Clarke waiting on the Slasher, Jem Parker and

Cottrell, of Birmingham, seconding Tass. The betting was tolerably

brisk at five to four on Parker, whose friends seemed to be in the

ascendant, and certainly better “breeched” than those from “the

Potteries.” After nearly an hour’s delay, owing to objections to

several parties named as referee――the representative of _Bell’s Life_

positively declining――Squire Edison accepted the office amidst

acclamations, and the men faced each other for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――The attitude of Parker, his left well up in a

line with his left foot, and his right fore-arm

slightly bent, and below the level of his left elbow,

was graceful and attractive; he stood firm, yet

springy, poised lightly on his forward foot, and was

equally prepared for advance or retreat. His condition

appeared first-rate, and his weight, 11st. 6lb., seemed

well distributed for activity and powerful effort; his

countenance was smiling and confident, and his age (33

years) sat lightly upon him. His massive and ungainly

antagonist offered a striking contrast; brown, burly,

and, as Paddy would say, “big for his size,” he grinned

grotesquely at his slighter rival, nor was the oddity

of his mirthful mug by any means lessened by the fact

of his front railings having been displaced in bygone

battles. He, too, was hard, and had evidently been

brought, by severe training, into as good condition as

we have ever seen him on former occasions. From the

waist to the shoulders he was a model for a gladiator,

but we doubt if the artist or the sculptor would feel

inclined to copy his capital or his pedestals, inasmuch

as the first is, despite a comic expression of

good-humour, as odd a conglomeration of features as

Gillray or Cruikshank would desire to pencil; while the

latter more resemble the letter K than the parallel

supports which society has agreed to term symmetrical.

His weight was 13st. 4lb.; his age twenty-seven, having

been born in 1819, although the displacement of his

grinders gave him a more antique aspect. Little time

was lost in sparring, for the Slasher, his left

presented and his right kept close to the mark, walked

in upon his man, grinning mischief. Tass let go his

left, but was stopped rather neatly; he broke ground

and retreated, but the Slasher, working round, forced

him into his corner, where several sharp and rapid

exchanges took place, Parker twice popping in his left,

but ineffectively, and the Slasher countering, in one

instance with a heavy hit on Tass’s chest. After a

little manœuvring, the Tipton, resolved to force the

fighting, stepped gradually in, Tass retreating, and

endeavouring to plant his favourite job; it was no go;

taught by previous experience, the Tipton would not

make play until his opponent let loose, and then, with

more tact than we have hitherto seen him display, he

countered with his left, and bringing up his right,

caught Tass a sounder on the ribs. Toss leaped back,

but renewed the hitting merrily, getting down at close

quarters to avoid a return of the Tipton’s right.

2.――Tass, serious, looked as if measuring his work; the

Tipton grinning. Fast fighting for big’uns seemed the

order of the day. Tass got in on the Slasher’s mouth,

who followed him fiercely, screwing himself up for

mischief. Tass fought beautifully, but there seemed

little sting in his deliveries; there was some

excellent mutual stopping, which elicited applause,

especially for the Slasher, of whom it was least

expected. Tass again got in one on the Tipton’s chest,

who returned it with his right, and Tass went to earth,

half with his own consent.

3.――The Slasher came up on the grin, and walked into

his opponent without delay. Parker again fought well,

though both were over fast. Merry work, but little harm

done, till Tass sent his right, straight as an arrow,

on the Tipton’s left jaw, and down went his house,

Parker also falling from his own blow. An uproarious

chevy; first knock-down for Parker.

4.――Parker came up cautious, with an ugly cut over the

right eyebrow. First blood for the Slasher. A short

round; the Tipton again drove Tass before him to his

corner, where he got down to avoid.

5.――As before, the Slasher seemed to have made up his

mind there should be no idling; no sooner at the

scratch than he was at work. Tass popped at him, but

was short, and the Tipton missed his counter-hit. The

Slasher laughed, and tried it again, but was stopped. A

little rally at the ropes, and Parker, after an

exchange or two, dropped on his knees.

6.――Tass manœuvring, Tipton fighting, but not getting

home. Tipton’s seconds advised him to wait for Tass’s

play; he did so, and was rewarded by success. He met

Parker, as he jumped in, with the left, and bringing up

his right gave him a ribber that laid him on the earth,

half doubled up.

7.――Slasher too fast, his opponent too slow. A short

specimen of “You run away, and see if I don’t come

after you.” At length Tass popped in a blow on

Slasher’s shoulder, who closed. A brief struggle

followed; the Tipton got the crook with his crooked

leg, and threw Tass, falling with his broad base on his

antagonist’s victualling store. It was a burster (two

to one on the Slasher).

8.――A short bout of hitting, stopping, and feinting.

Tipton let fly, Tass slipped away and got down cunning.

9.――Slasher’s left neatly stopped, and Parker’s return

parried. Parker flared up for a moment, and got in one,

two, but produced no impression on his man, who went in

laughing. Tass tried to evade him, but the Slasher

closed; both down after a struggle, during which Tass’s

hand was seen across the Tipton man’s face, and a cry

of “foul” was raised. Some confusion; Slasher appealed

to the referee, charging Parker with the unmanly act of

biting him in a previous round, when he was in the act

of throwing him, and in this round of an attempt to

injure his eye. The referee ordered the men to proceed.

10.――Tass came up with a large black patch on his

sinister eyebrow, and his most prominent feature

somewhat damaged. Tipton eagerly after him, but Tass

was too shifty to be immediately had; he gave the

Slasher two pops; the latter, however, was with him,

and ultimately hit him down.

11.――Tass held his arms almost at full extent, and

manœuvred round his man; the Slasher, more cautious,

faced him steadily. At length the men got nearer,

exchanged blows, and Tass fell to finish the round.

12.――So soon as up the Tipton went in, but Tass

declined the compliment, and avoiding his one, two,

which were wasted on thin air, got down anyhow.

13.――Half a minute’s posturing. Tass plunged in with

his left, but was short; tried his right, but was

stopped. The Slasher got close, Tass was unable to hit

him off, and he delivered a half-arm pounder with his

right. Tass fell because this time he could not help

it.

14.――Tass played with his man; he seemed more than half

tired of his job. The Tipton leary, and not to be drawn

by feints. Slasher went in, and down tumbled Tass,

amidst shouts of disapprobation.

15.――Parker came up slowly; good stops on both sides;

Tipton, quitting the defensive, rattled in; Tass

rallied sharply, but in the end received an ugly

upper-cut on the dial, and fell.

16.――Tass somewhat disfigured, while the Tipton’s ugly

mug seemed altogether unaltered. After some slight

exchanges Tass dropped.

17.――Parker’s tactics seemed at fault; he sparred a few

seconds, but on the Slasher stepping in, found his way

to the ground rather equivocally.

18.――Tass flared up momentarily. He tried it on with

both hands in succession. Tipton cleverly foiled him;

indeed, Tass did not get near enough to his man to do

work. Tipton returned. The old game was played――Tass

selected his mother earth.

19.――Tass’s left again short; he was too fond of long

bowls. A close, and Tass got down as well as he could.

20.――Parker made play, and getting a little nearer,

dropped his bunch of fives on the Tipton’s mouth; tried

it again, but fell short, and got a left-handed nobber

in return that floored him neatly.

21.――Both Tass’s hands seemed to have lost their

cunning. His heart was not big enough to carry him in,

nor, when there by accident, to allow him to stand a

rally. He fought badly and out of distance, and at

length scrambled down to avoid the resolute charge of

the Slasher, who gave him a nasty one on the side of

the nut as he was on his journey to earth.

22.――Perry drove his man all across the ring. Some

pretty exchanges. Parker got home on Tipton’s dial, who

missed the return. A short, irregular rally. Tass again

got in once or twice, but they seemed mere taps. At

length the Slasher, who had been screwing himself up,

sent out his left straight as an arrow at his

opponent’s head. The concussion was like the kick of a

coach-horse, took effect at the base of Parker’s left

nostril, and he fell as if shot. “It’s all over,” was

the cry; and the Tipton remained for some time in the

middle of the ring to favour the company with a few

polka steps, for which his swing leg was peculiarly

adapted.

23 and last.――Tass, to the astonishment of all, came up

at the call of time, but it was evident the last hit

had been a settler and had sent his faculties all

abroad. Although he assumed an attitude, he stared

perplexedly at his opponent, and swerved from the

perpendicular as he broke ground. The Tipton surveyed

him a moment before he stepped forward, but no sooner

did Tass perceive his approach, than, either from

bewilderment or a faint heart, he fell forward on both

knees, and thence on his hands. The Slasher turned

appealingly to the umpires and referee, without having

even offered to strike. The case was clear; and amid

the shouts of the multitude the Slasher was greeted as

the conqueror. Time, twenty-seven minutes.

REMARKS.――The Slasher fought better than we have seen

him on any previous occasion; his confidence and

condition――of which latter absurd rumours were

afloat――were on a par with his coolness and courage. To

the former he added tact in waiting for his opponent’s

delivery of a blow, and a skill in counter-hitting for

which we did not give him credit; this, added to his

physical superiority in weight and thews, left his

lighter and more active opponent almost without a

chance, and the contest was reduced to a mere question

of time, the ultimate result being scarcely within the

scope of doubt. Of the defeated man we can only say

that although he fought three or four rounds in a

spirited――nay, an almost desperate manner, his conduct

in the vast majority so much savoured of Falstaff’s

“better part of valour,” that his claim to the

character of a game man still remains unproven, while

his attribute of skill, so loudly vaunted by his

infatuated admirers, has suffered considerably by this

exhibition; this, however, may partly be owing to the

improvement in his antagonist’s tactics which, by

frustrating his earlier efforts, so disheartened him

that he never showed to less advantage. The question of

superiority can no longer be mooted; Tass’s quickness

and skill have lost their striking advantage, while the

Slasher’s strength and pluck, on this occasion seconded

by a respectable amount of science, have by no means

fallen off. Tass’s friends attribute his defeat to his

having had two ribs broken in the seventh round, from

the Slasher falling heavily on him, and he certainly

remained under the surgeon’s hands, who confirmed the

aforesaid fracture.

After the above battle, the Tipton Slasher issued a challenge to Caunt

to fight for £100 a side; this Caunt declined to do, and staked £500

in the hands of the editor of _Bell’s Life_, declaring, at the same

time, his willingness to fight the Slasher for £500, but for no

smaller sum. Much angry correspondence passed between them, which is

utterly unworthy of preservation; and in the latter part of 1846

Johnny Broome presented a belt to the Slasher, whereon Caunt lowered

his terms to £200, with a stipulation that if that condition was not

accepted within a month, his retirement from the Ring was absolute.

This, however, was not suitable to Broome and Co., though the Slasher

was ready and willing.[20]

We may hear note, retrospectively, that in December, 1844, yet another

“big ’un” had made his _debut_ in the P.R., who, in a future chapter,

will figure among the numerous candidates for the much-wrangled

Championship. This was Tom Paddock, who, in the month of December,

beat Elijah Parsons, at Sutton Coldfield. Following this, he twice

defeated Nobby Clarke, a chicken-hearted but scientific 12-stone man,

in January, 1846, and in April, 1847. Paddock’s next venture was with

the renowned Bendigo, with whom he lost the battle by a foul blow,

June 5, 1850.

In September, 1849, the Tipton, having forfeited to Con Parker, on

account of ill-health, was challenged thereafter by Tom Paddock, soon

after the latter had lost what many thought to be a winning fight with

Bendigo. In this affair, by some shuffling on the part of Perry’s

money-finders, a curious “draw” was manipulated, neither of the

parties being ready to go on at the fourth deposit, on August 22nd,

1850, taking back their stakes by mutual consent. The Slasher, finding

other and more reliable friends, renewed the articles, and on December

17th, 1850, the rivals at last came together, face to face, in the

ring. The Tipton trained for this encounter under Levi Eckersley, near

Liverpool, while Paddock had his advice and exercise with Bob Fuller

and Jem Turner, than whom two better trainers did not exist.

On the Monday previous, the Slasher arrived at Tom Spring’s, and

Paddock set up his rest at Jem Burn’s, where they were surrounded by

admiring coteries. The betting was 6 to 4 on the Slasher, whose

superior weight and experience gave him that advantage in the odds.

All requisite arrangements for the meeting had been undertaken by

Spring and Burn, and after sundry cogitations they decided on an

excursion-train on the South Western Railway. Half-past nine on

Tuesday morning was the time named for departure, and long before that

hour arrived, the platform at Waterloo displayed a goodly muster of

folks “wot love a mill,” including many old stagers, “swells,” and

patrons of all degrees. The professors were also numerous in their

attendance, and included twenty men who had been selected to preserve

order. We could not but remark, however, the absence of that quaint

fun and humour which, in the days of Josh Hudson, Jack Scroggins,

Young Dutch Sam, and Frosty-faced Fogo, flung an air of good-humoured

frolic on such assemblages, affording scenes for the pencil of George

Cruikshank, and food for the pen-and-ink sketches of the

Ring-historians of the day. To the question “Whither are we bound?” no

response was given. The captain started with sealed orders, and had a

sort of roving commission as to the place at which he should cast

anchor. Suffice it to say, the pace was first-rate and there was but

one stoppage till Bishopstoke was reached. The men were in separate

carriages, and there was a wide contrast in their bearing, Paddock

being all mercurial and double jolly, and the Slasher as solid and

steady as Cardinal Wiseman on a fast-day.

It was intended to turn off on the Salisbury line and bring up at

Dean, on the borders of Wilts. The Hampshire police, however, were on

the alert, with an assurance that the Wiltshire folks were equally

wide-awake, and determined to spoil sport. Information to this extent

was quickly conveyed to the managers, and, after a short consultation,

“bock agen” was the order of the day. Various places were mentioned as

likely to afford a quiet and welcome reception, and the first attempt

was made between Andover and Winchfield, but no sooner was the ring

pitched than the Hampshire blues once more hove in sight, and the

jaded travellers had again to enter the carriages. Thus was time

wasted, and the hour of three arrived before the caravan again got

under way. It was then agreed to go to Woking Common, and many bets

were offered that the contest would not come off that day. A strong

desire, however, was expressed that it should be settled, and about

half-past three a stoppage was made between a couple of high

embankments, which, on being scaled, exposed to view a remote corner

of Woking Common. The land of promise thus reached, the office was

given, for the last time, to disembark. A site for a ring was quickly

discovered, and although not a very desirable spot, still, it was the

only one to be had, and no time was lost in forming the magic square.

A limited outer ring was also formed, and tickets, at 5s. each,

distributed to those who sought the privilege of a close proximity to

the scene of action, the produce being afterwards equally divided

among the ringkeepers. It was now four o’clock, and the day fast

waning; in fact, it was difficult to distinguish the faces of persons

from one side of the ring to the other; but a clear moon hung out its

lamp, and promised a continuance of light. All being in readiness,

Paddock flung his castor into the ring, following it himself amidst

loud cheers. He was attended by Jack Hannan and Bob Fuller. The

Slasher, who was not long after him, was waited on by Nobby Clarke and

Jem Molyneux. Paddock looked fresh, laughing, and apparently

confident; while the Slasher was cool, quiet, and smiling. After a

great deal of difficulty as to the selection of a referee, both

parties agreed upon Ned Donnelly. Jem Burn addressed this functionary

on the part of Paddock, and said all he wanted was a fair and manly

fight, and that there should be no captious objections to any

accidental occurrence. He wished the merits of the men might be fairly

tested, and only desired that the best man might win. The men now

prepared for action, and at thirty minutes past four, the rising moon

looking modest from the east, and the last rays of the setting sun

painting the western horizon, the gladiators appeared at the scratch,

and commenced

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――The men having chosen their corners, fortune

enabled the Slasher to place his back to the rising

moon, so that his toothless mug was in shade. His

herculean frame was, however, sufficiently visible, and

his easy confidence and quiet deportment increased the

confidence of his friends, and led all who scanned his

proportions to consider him perfectly competent to hit

down a hippopotamus; or, like the Greek boxer of old,

floor a cantankerous bull, even without the assistance

of the cestus. Paddock, although when opposed to

Bendigo he appeared of the burly breed, loomed small in

contrast with the Slasher. The disparity in their size

was obvious, and as he jumped about seeking an opening,

a veteran ring-goer exclaimed, “It’s any odds against

the young’un, he’s got his master before him now.” In

fact, the very style of holding up his hands, and the

yokel-like feints (completely out of distance) with

which he commenced, showed he was puzzled how to begin

the job he had so confidently undertaken; presently he

determined to chance it, and jumped in. Fortune favours

the bold, and he gave the Slasher a clout on the

jaw-bone with his left, the Tipton hitting in return on

his shoulder or breast, and driving him back. The

Slasher stepped in; Paddock retreated before him to his

corner, hitting up again, but the Tipton stopped him. A

smart exchange took place, and Paddock slipped down to

get out of mischief.

2.――Paddock began by trying his left twice, and barely

reaching the Slasher, who dealt him a body blow with

the right. Some heavy hits in weaving style, and a

half-round body blow or two followed, the sound rather

than the effect of the hitting being perceptible. The

Tipton closed with Paddock, who struggled for a moment,

and was then thrown on his back, the Tipton lending him

thirteen stone additional to hasten his fall.

3.――Two to one on the Tipton. The Slasher missed

Paddock two or three times, owing to his active,

jumping away; still he steadily pursued him. Paddock

tried both hands, but had the worst of the exchanges;

still there was no harm done. Paddock made a lunge with

the right, but Tipton met him a smasher, and hit him

down, almost falling over him. First knock-down for the

Slasher.

4.――It was now stated that Paddock had dislocated his

shoulder; it was no doubt injured, but not out of

joint. He tried his left in a flurried manner, but the

Tipton feinted with the left, drove him back, and

Paddock fell to avoid.

5.――The Tipton went to work quickly, but steadily; he

caught Paddock on the body with the right, and on the

left cheek heavily with the left, as he was jumping

round, and down went Paddock among the bottles in his

own corner.

6.――Tipton gave Paddock no rest or time for reflection,

but pelted away. Paddock skipped about, and escaped

against the ropes; from his corner, hit up, catching

the Tipton on the side of the neck slightly, and

dropped on one knee. The Tipton might have given him a

finisher, but did not avail himself of the chance,

threw up his hands and walked away.

7.――Paddock hit Tipton sharply with the left on the

forehead as he came in. Tipton missed his right, but

caught Paddock a nasty “polthogue” on the nob as he was

going back. Paddock fell on the ropes but was not down.

The Tipton dropped his hands and came away from him,

disdaining to hit him in that position. “Bravo,

Tipton!”

8.――As before; Tipton making the play and forcing his

man, who could not make head against the attack, and

jumped about like “a parched pea.” Paddock fell at

Tipton’s feet, who, the friends of Paddock declared,

tried to tread on him, and appealed accordingly. It was

a “forlorn hope,” and the referee said “he saw nothing

foul.”

9.――Paddock jumped up as usual, just reaching Tipton’s

chin, for which he was punished with a sounding ribber.

Tipton stepped in, and down dropped Master Paddock.

10.――Exchanges, but no effects visible, except a little

blood from Paddock’s cheek. First blood for Tipton. The

Tipton hit out right and left, and caught the Redditch

man on the nob and body, who staggered half-way across

the ring, and fell.

11.――Tipton once again on Paddock’s body. Paddock fell

in the bustle without a hit.

12.――Paddock shifting and retreating. A slight

exchange, and Paddock fell to avoid.

13.――Tipton forced Paddock into his corner, but before

he could do any mischief Paddock fell. A claim of

“foul,” but not acknowledged.

14.――Tipton just touched Paddock with his left, who

kept slipping back. Tipton followed him, and he

dropped. Another appeal that Paddock fell without a

blow, but the Tipton party waived the objection.

15.――Paddock hit the Tipton, then slipped half down,

jumped up again, and resumed the fight. Tipton went to

work, and hit him down in the short rally.

16, 17, 18, and 19.――As like each other as peas.

Slasher made at Paddock, who wouldn’t stand his charge,

and fell to avoid. Appeals. “We don’t want to win by a

foul,” said the Tiptonians.

20.――Paddock’s right arm hung as if disabled, but he

brought it into play when action commenced. The Tipton

drove him to the ropes, and hit him down.

21.――Paddock, in jumping away, caught his right heel

against the centre stake, and stumbled down, but jumped

up again. Seeing Tipton close on to him, however, he

dropped on to his knees.

22.――As the moon got higher, the light improved. The

Tipton, in bustling Paddock, got a body hit, which he

retorted with a heavy right-hander on Paddock’s

smelling organ, and down he went quite bothered.

23.――Paddock came up with his face painted carmine

colour, and was no sooner at the scratch than he was

down. Another appeal.

24.――Wild exchanges. Paddock on the shift. The Tipton

gave Paddock a topper on the head, high up, when he

fell, and Tipton over him.

25.――A slight rally in Paddock’s corner. Paddock rushed

at Tipton, who made an awkward step back. Paddock

pushed rather than struck at him with the left, and

forced the Tipton over. (Cheers for Paddock.)

26.――It was all U.P. Tipton went in with both hands,

and Paddock fell without a blow. Appeal repeated.

27 and last.――The odds were the Great Glass-case of ’51

against a cucumber-frame. The Tipton gave Master

Paddock a pelt on the head, and began punching at him

among his bottles and traps at the corner stake.

Paddock dropped, and the Tipton, fearing to give a

chance away, was about to return to his own corner, as

he had several times done when up jumped the Redditch

man, and rushing at the Slasher, lent him such a dig

just at the back of the left ear, with his right, that

down tumbled Tipton, half with astonishment, half with

the blow, and, as Paddy would say, “the third half of

him fell just because it was not used to stand

upright.” A more palpable “foul” was never seen. The

spectators jumped from their seats, and all sorts of

people got into the ring. The Tipton walked towards the

referee for his decision, and that functionary

pronounced it “foul;” and so ended the great little

fight for the Championship, in forty-two minutes, the

dial showing twelve minutes after five.

REMARKS.――A Scotch proverb declares――

“It’s muckle cry, and little woo,

As the de’il said, when he clipt the soo;”

and this exhibition was certainly a complete

“pig-shearing” excursion. The Slasher was not only in

splendid condition, but his method of fighting, long

arms, and great experience, made it no match. True, he

was not to blame that it was so bad a fight, for as one

man can take a horse to water, but twenty can’t make

him drink, so let a man be ever so willing to make a

merry mill of it, he can’t do so, if his opponent won’t

have it. As to Paddock, he was so manifestly

over-matched, and over-rated, that he had not the

shadow of a chance; and the rush that proved perilous

to Bendigo――old, stale, under 12 stone, and a practiser

of retreating tactics――was not only useless against the

bulky, firm-standing Slasher, but was certain

destruction to the assailant, from the Tipton’s tact at

countering, his superior strength, and immense weight.

In fact, it was “a horse to a hen” on all points.

The return to the carriages was as speedy as circumstances and awkward

clayey drains and ditches would permit, but all were safely seated,

the agreeable whistle of departure sounded, and the whole party

delivered at the Nine Elms terminus by six o’clock; the Slasher, merry

as a grig, and loudly cheered, while Paddock complained of severe

injury to his shoulder, which, if serious, was certainly aggravated by

his last effort to do unlawful execution. The Tipton was received at

the “Castle” with a flourish of “See the conquering hero comes!” while

Paddock quietly returned to the “Queen’s Head,” where he received

surgical attendance; and it was officially reported that he “had

injured the bone of his shoulder, and that a sling must be worn as a

safeguard against the consequences of moving the joint.”

Once more the Slasher laid claim to the Championship, and requested

that Bendigo would, “according to agreement (?)” hand over the belt

which he had so long held, or, if he declined doing so, the Tipton

“would be proud to give him the chance of retaining it, by meeting him

for any sum he might like to name.” The Tipton further announced his

readiness “to make a match with any man in the world from £200 to £500

a side.”

A fortnight after the _annonce_, a letter appeared from Bendigo,

stating that he would fight for £500 a side, but so far as the belt

was concerned, it had been presented to him as a gift or testimonial,

and was his own property. This vaunt was quickly replied to by the

Tipton, who at once sent £50 to the Editor of _Bell’s Life_, “to make

a match on Bendy’s own terms,” whereupon the latter backed out, and

never after appeared as a candidate for fistic honours.

Finding that high prices would not command the market, the Tipton

issued another challenge to fight any man for £100 or £200, but for

several months this lay unaccepted. At length, at the latter end of

May, 1851, his former patron and backer, Johnny Broome, appeared in

print, accepting the Slasher’s gage on the part of “an unknown;”

Johnny’s favourite mode of exciting public curiosity in matchmaking.

Spring,[21] on this occasion, acted as Perry’s best friend, and

declared his readiness to “go on” upon the name of “the unknown” being

declared. What was the surprise of the “knowing ones” when Johnny

declared his brother Harry to be the “veiled prophet,” on whose future

championship he would wager £200, while Harry, who was present,

stepped smilingly forward and modestly declared his candidature. The

Tipton “grinned horribly a ghastly smile,” and could hardly be

persuaded as he “saw Young Harry with his beaver up,” gallantly and

coolly affirming his readiness to second his brother’s words by deeds.

The Tipton, as Michaelmas day (September 29) was named as “no

quarter-day,” at once went into training at Hoylake, in Cheshire,

under the care of Jem Wharton and Jem Ward. How they met, and how the

Slasher lost the fight, without a scratch, by his own clumsy

precipitancy, must be read in the Life and Career of Harry Broome, in

a future chapter of this volume.

Broome, on the giving up of the stakes, professing his readiness to

maintain his title against all comers, accepted the offer of the

Tipton to settle the _vexata quæstio_ by another meeting, and articles

were drawn up, and deposits to the amount of £25 made good, when Harry

forfeited, on the plea that he had a match on (it came to nothing)

with Aaron Jones, and had also accepted an engagement with Paddock.

Curiously enough, the Slasher, who now dubbed himself “Champion,”

afterwards signed articles with both these men, who both forfeited to

him; Aaron Jones to the tune of £70, in July, 1856, and Paddock (whom

he had formerly beaten), to the amount of £80, in October following.

Perry, who had been twenty-one years before the public, now became a

publican and vendor of eatables and drinkables in a canvas caravansery

at races, fairs, and all sorts of rural gatherings in the Black

Country.

All this time the star of a 10st. 10lb. champion had been rapidly

rising on the pugilistic world. Tom Sayers, having polished off the

middle-weights, had been playing havoc among the “big ’un’s;” in 1856

defeating Harry Poulson (who had once beaten Paddock), and, in 1857,

Aaron Jones fell beneath his conquering arm.

Six years had elapsed when “The Old Tipton,” as he was now popularly

designated, was dared to the field by this new David. Right cheerfully

did the old “Philistine man of might”――for the Tipton never lacked

personal courage――respond to the “little ’un’s” crow. How the

oft-repeated error of “trusting the issue of battle to waning age,”

was again exemplified on the 16th of June, 1857, at the Isle of Grain,

when the once formidable Slasher was conquered in the contest for £400

and the Champion’s belt by the marvellous little miller, Tom Sayers,

may be read by those who are curious in minute details, in the life of

that phenomenal pugilist, in Chapter XI. of this volume. This was the

closing scene of the Tipton’s long and chequered career. He retired,

defeated but not dishonoured, to his native county and early

associates. In his latter days the Tipton is said to have never

refused “a drink for the good of the house,” said house being his own

special “tap.” Death finally overtook him, rather suddenly, at his

home, near Wolverhampton, on January 18, 1881, in his sixty-first

year.

[19] From this period Freeman returned to his theatrical and

professional circus exhibitions, in which his gigantic size

attracted the popular wonderment. He was a careless,

good-natured fellow; and it was stated by the medical

officers of Winchester Hospital, where the emaciated giant

died of consumption on the 18th of October, 1845, that he

had within him the fatal seeds of pulmonary disease from his

first period of manhood. His end was of necessity

accelerated by repeated colds, caught in the light attire of

fleshings and spangles, in which he exhibited in draughty

canvas erections, and crowded theatres and booths. This last

remark is drawn from us by a senseless paragraph, in which a

Hampshire penny-a-liner endeavoured to “improve the

occasion” by suggesting that the early death of the

good-natured, soft-headed acrobat was due to the dreadful

injuries “he must necessarily have received in his terrible

combat with the formidable bruiser known as the Tipton

Slasher――injuries which from the tremendous stature of the

combatants, must have been beyond ordinary calculation.” To

this it may fairly be replied that the few fatal results on

record from battles between big men is actually

phenomenal――Andrew M’Kay (June, 1830) and Simon Byrne (May,

1833) being the only two on record; the others resulting

from contests between middle or light weights, and several

of these regrettable fatalities being proved by subsequent

surgical examination to have resulted from accident,

excitement, or apoplexy, induced by violent exertion.

[20] Not to complicate this confusion of “claimants” for the

belt, we may here state that while Caunt, Bendigo, the

Deaf’un, and the Tipton were playing duettos, trios, and

quartettes, as leading performers in the discordant overture

to the farce of “Who’s the Champion?” there was no lack of

accompanying instrumentalists, each blowing his own trumpet

of defiance, and thumping the big drum of “benefit” bounce.

At the end of 1845, Caunt introduced a new candidate in the

person of a formidable black, standing a trifle over six

feet, and weighing hard upon 13st., who, rather curiously,

dubbed himself William Perry! This mysterious “darkey”

displayed such remarkable talent with the gloves, and was,

in many respects, a man of such superior address and

conversation, that he might well have been expected to turn

out more than a second Molyneux. As, however, the proof of

all pudding, whether black or white, is in the eating, an

opponent was sought for the American importation. Bill

Burton, of Leicester, a much smaller man, standing five feet

nine, and weighing 11st. 10lb., was selected. Burton’s

credentials were good; he had defeated Angelo, of Windsor,

in May, 1845――a game contest of seventy-four rounds――and had

been previously victor in many unrecorded affairs. The

meeting took place on the 20th January, 1846. The Black more

than justified the anticipations of his backers. He defeated

Burton with the greatest ease in fifteen rounds, the

Leicester man’s friends humanely throwing up the sponge at

the end of twenty-four minutes of a hopeless, one-sided

contest. This was the first and last appearance of the

so-called William Perry in the English P.R. He proved to be

connected with a gang of forgers of American bank-notes, and

having been previously imprisoned more than once, he was now

transported to the Antipodes, being provided with passage to

Australia at Government expense, where, it would appear, he

became a ticket-of-leave man, as he is recorded as having

defeated Hough, the “Champion of Australia,” at Cumming’s

Point, Sydney, in December, 1849. In the last-named year

(1849) another “big ’un” came out, but quietly went in

again. This was Con (Cornelius) Parker, standing six feet,

and weighing 12st. 10lb.; his first victory was over Jem

Bailey (Irish), in the Essex Marshes, February 13th, 1849.

He then received forfeit from the Tipton in the same year;

but, on November 26th, also in 1849, he had his

“championship” pretensions ignominiously snuffed out at

Frimley, in Surrey, by Tass Parker, who somewhat retrieved

the disgrace of his double defeat by the Tipton, by

triumphantly thrashing Mister Con, who ended the battle by a

“foul.” Con then emigrated to America, where he died rather

suddenly, on the 2nd December, 1854, at Buffalo, U.S. Soon

after Tass took the money for this victory, his friends

injudiciously claimed for him the title of “Champion,” but

Tass wisely declined, in a letter, such a prominent

position.

[21] Spring, after a short illness, died on August 20th,

1851, while this match was in progress. (See vol. ii.

chapter 1.)