Round 1.――As Mace threw himself into att_Pugilistica: The History of British Boxing, Volume 3 (of 3) 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

a general expression of admiration among the best

qualified judges at the style of “the countryman,” and

the easy grace with which he moved in and out, as if

measuring his opponent, without the least hurry or

nervousness. Thorpe, who, as we have already said, is a

fine straight young fellow, stood with his right leg

foremost _à la_ Bendigo, and by his steady coolness

showed he too was a practitioner in the sparring

school, and not easily to be got at. Mace, however,

filled the eye as a longer and altogether bigger man,

though there was but three pounds difference in their

weight. Thorpe, as his opponent tried to draw him,

declined the temptation and retreated, closely and

warily followed by Mace, who, at length seeing an

opening, instantly planted a right-hander on Thorpe’s

nob with a swiftness that completely astonished the

Londoners. Thorpe did not shrink, but tried to

cross-counter Mace’s left, when dash went in Jem’s

mauley such a spank on Thorpe’s proboscis, that the

Londoner was hit clean off his legs, a fair and

indisputable “knockdown,” thus scoring the first event.

On being carried to his corner, Thorpe was seen to be

distilling the crimson from his olfactory organ, and

“first blood” was also awarded to the member for

Norwich. Thus early the odds were offered on Mace, but

no response was made even to an offer of 6 to 4,

followed by 2 to 1 from a Norwich speculator.

2.――Mace lost no time in getting to work; he lashed out

his left before he was well within distance. Thorpe

retreated, but Mace did not get near enough for a prop,

and Thorpe appeared to be confused at the manner in

which his antagonist had planted on him in the opening

bout, and was by no means desirous to have a second

dose. In his tactics, however, he did not display

science, for he neither hit with precision nor

judgment. In his former battle with a 12st. opponent

Thorpe fought with steady resolution, but the quickness

and cleverness of Mace seemed to unnerve and puzzle

him, and he hurriedly missed both hands, while after a

little manœuvring, Mace let fly left and right in rapid

succession on the head, and then got cleverly away.

Thorpe, after following his man up, dashed out wildly

with the right, and just missed getting home a stinger.

Mace, in returning the compliment, again delivered a

rattling spank on the nose, when Thorpe went down.

3.――Thorpe, acting under the instruction of his

seconds, led off, but was neatly stopped. Determined

not to be denied――Jemmy Welsh seeing that out-fighting

would never do, urged his man to go in, and go in he

did in an impetuous manner, just reaching Master Jem on

the top part of the cranium. In the counter-hitting,

Mace had all the best of it, and after a scrambling

kind of rally, they closed at the ropes, when both went

down, Mace rolling over his opponent.

4.――The countryman administered a pretty one-two on the

front of his opponent’s nob, who did not appear to have

the least idea of how to stop these telling

visitations. In returning the compliment, Thorpe hit

out wildly, and succeeded in getting slightly on Jem’s

brain canister. This brought the combatants to a close,

when Mace threw his man and fell on him; the London

division looked blue at this proof of superiority at

close quarters, and the “Norwich novice” was pronounced

a “stunner,” by more than one good judge.

5.――The Londoner led with the left and right, but

without precision. Mace, in the countering, planted the

left on the cheek, and in a bustling rally fought his

man to the ropes, when Thorpe succeeded in getting home

a heavy spank with the right on the top of the

knowledge-box, and Mace slipped and went down.

6.――Bill, in opening the ball, tried the right, but

again missed. The London party vociferously encouraged

their man, declaring the countryman was “half-licked.”

Mace retreated as his antagonist came dashing in; but

Thorpe was not to be denied, though, in the exchanges

that ensued, he had all the worst of it, for Mace

delivered the left and right full on the _os frontis_,

when Thorpe went down in the middle of the ring,

bleeding profusely.

7.――On coming up, Thorpe displayed considerable marks

of punishment, having a cut over the left peeper, and

one under the right, a proof that his antagonist was a

hard hitter, as well as a quick and rapid fighter. Bill

again tried to take the lead, and to put in a hot ’un

on the nob with the right, but the intended compliment

was not within the mark. Mace, as Thorpe dashed to him

for in-fighting, sent both mauleys full in the middle

of the Londoner’s dial, but, in stepping back, slipped,

and partly went down on his knees. On the instant,

however, he recovered his equilibrium, and, after some

spirited exchanges, in favour of the countryman, they

closed, when Thorpe went down against his will.

8.――Thorpe was unsteady on coming up; Mace had no

sooner been met by his antagonist than he delivered the

left with telling force right on the mark, following it

up with a one-two on the nob, and then, to avoid his

opponent’s rush, being near the ropes, went down

cunning.

9.――The supposed success of Thorpe in fighting down his

man in the last round led to encouraging cheers from

his partisans, who declared the countryman was “cutting

it.” Thorpe, after leading off with little or no

effect, closed, and got home a heavy thwack on the side

of the head with the right, when, after a little

fibbing, Mace broke ground, and went down.

10.――Mace came from his corner with a smiling

countenance. Thorpe had all the will to be dangerous,

but lacked the judgment, for, in commencing the attack,

he was again out of distance. Mace, when he had worked

his way well to his man, administered the left and

right once more on Master Bill’s damaged pimple, and

then, as Thorpe rushed in for the close, went down

easy.

11.――After two or three ineffectual attempts, Bill went

in resolutely and got home with both mauleys on the

side of the nob; Mace, after returning the compliment,

with a slight addition by way of interest, closed with

his opponent, and both went to grass, Thorpe under.

12.――Thorpe with the left got home slightly on the

head, but in trying to improve upon this he was well

stopped. In a wild rally the Londoner fought his man to

the ropes, when the countryman with both the left and

right gave him an additional dose of punishment on the

nob, drawing another supply of claret. After these

exchanges the men closed and fell.

13.――Thorpe, after leading off, napped a stinger on the

side of the nob, when he immediately closed with his

opponent. Some half-arm fighting ensued, all in favour

of Mace, and both were down.

14.――Bill, in a wild impetuous manner, went dashing in

at his man, but in the counters did little or no

execution. Mace, after steadily planting both mauleys

on the head, retreated, and in breaking ground slipped

and fell.

15.――The Londoner made an attempt with the right, but

was well stopped. As Mace broke ground, Thorpe followed

him up with much gameness and resolution, and in the

exchanges delivered a tidy spank with the left on the

side of the head, when Mace went down to avoid the

close, with more prudence than pluck.

16.――Mace, who had been allowing his opponent to do all

the work, now saw he had him in hand; with great

quickness and precision he let fly with both hands at

the head, and repeated the dose without a return.

Thorpe rushed at his man for the close, when Mace went

down laughing.

17.――Thorpe met his antagonist with much resolution,

and with the right planted a stinger on the side of the

head. Mace, in retreating, slipped and went down, but

on the instant he was again on his pins, and renewed

the battle. In the counter-hitting he got home with

telling effect, and in retreating from his man he again

slipped and went on his knees, but instantly jumped up

and faced his opponent. Bill, though, as usual,

receiving all the punishment, stood his ground

manfully, until they closed, when, after some little

fibbing, Mace went down.

18 and last.――Mace in this bout gave his antagonist the

_coup de grace_ in the most off-hand and masterly

manner. Thorpe came up desperate, and Jem, after

stopping the opening shots of his opponent, delivered

his left and right with stinging force on the middle of

Master Bill’s nob, the last hit with his right being

full on his nasal prominence. This immediately sent

Thorpe to grass, and when “time” was called, it was

found that he was in no condition to renew the contest.

Hereupon Jemmy Welsh throw the sponge up in token of

defeat, the battle having lasted twenty-seven minutes.

REMARKS.――There was but one opinion among the

_cognoscenti_ as to the winner――namely, that he was one

of the best boxers that we have seen for many a day. He

is a quick and rapid fighter, and hits with judgment,

precision, and remarkable force, as the condition of

poor Thorpe’s head strikingly manifested. The Londoners

knew by repute that he was considered to be a good

general; but we are confident that they never for a

moment imagined that he was anything like the man he

turned out. As will be seen by our description of the

rounds, he fights remarkably well, and when in danger

has the ability to get out of it in clever style. From

first to last he had the battle entirely in his own

hands, Thorpe never having the remotest chance of

winning, for he was out-fought and out-manœuvred in

every round. Mace at the weight is a strong-made,

powerful man, and if his pluck and bottom are in any

way equal to his other qualifications, we can only say

that it will require an opponent of first-rate ability

to beat him. This tournament, however, is by no means a

fair criterion of those qualities, for he had the

fortune and skill to get in no way punished, absolutely

winning the contest without so much as a black eye.

Thorpe, the unfortunate loser, is, there can be no

doubt, a very game man, but he will never be able to

obtain a front position in the P.R. It must, however,

be borne in mind that, as a game and determined fellow,

he did his best, and it is to be hoped that he will not

be forgotten either by his friends or by the winners.

All being over, the company returned to the metropolis,

which was reached before seven o’clock in the evening.

The money was given to Mace, at Mr. G. Smith’s, King Street, Norwich,

on the following Thursday, when several matches were talked of, but

nothing came of them. After a sparring tour, we find our hero in

London, making Nat Langham’s his headquarters, and offering to do

battle either with Mike Madden or Bob Brettle, of Birmingham, at 10st.

3lbs., for £100 a side. He was also “nibbled at” by Job Cobley

(nicknamed by Baron Nicholson “the Elastic Potboy”) whose victories

over Webb, Bob Travers (the black), and George Crockett, had brought

him into the front rank of middle-weights; Cobley’s engagement with

Mace going off, owing to the former being matched against Bob Brettle.

Some pourparlers with Jack Grant also ended in talk, until, early in

the month of September, Mace having left a deposit in the hands of the

Editor of _Bell’s Life_, Mike Madden covered the same, and articles

were signed for a fight for £50, to come off in the Home Circuit, on

the 20th of October, 1857.

Mace was now in business as a publican, keeping the Swan Inn, Swan

Lane, Norwich; and at the final deposit at Nat Langham’s on the

previous Thursday we heard an ominous whisper to the effect that there

would be “no fight;” while, _per contra_, we were assured by both

parties that each meant fighting and nothing else. On the Friday Mr.

Lockwood, of Drury Lane, on the part of Madden, and Langham, on the

part of Mace, attended at the Editor’s Office, and were there

informed, as that gentleman could not be present, he should exercise

the power vested in the stakeholder by the articles of naming the

referee, and further that he should appoint Dan Dismore to that

office, to which neither of the parties made the slightest objection.

On the Monday the men went to scale at Mr. Lockwood’s, and here there

were loud complaints on the part of Mace’s friends about Madden’s

style of weighing, they stating him to be overweight, also that he

jumped off the scale before the balance was fairly ascertained, and,

putting on his clothes, refused to return. On the other hand Madden

and Co. averred that Mace never meant fighting, that after the

weighing he went out of the house in his shirt sleeves, and did all in

his power to attract the attention of the police; and that in the

evening he went to Gravesend, where he ostentatiously paraded himself,

and even proclaimed the whereabouts of the coming mill.

On the Tuesday morning, on reaching the ground, we found an excellent

ring, which was quickly surrounded by a large number of Corinthians

and other Ring patrons, prepared to witness what many expected――a real

good battle. To their disappointment and surprise, however, when all

other preliminaries were arranged, Mace and his friends stepped

forward, and formally objected to Dan Dismore as referee, on the

ground that he had money on the fight. Dan instantly replied that he

had not a shilling on the result, and that he should not have been

present had he not received the letter appointing him referee. Mace’s

party persisted in their objection, and various propositions were

made, among others one by Mike Madden himself, who said he was willing

to fight with two umpires and without any referee; but to this Mace

objected, as “contrary to the articles.” Several gentlemen were

proposed for the onerous and thankless office, who either declined or

were objected to; so at last what was to have been the second fight

(between Clamp and Gibbs) was got off amidst disgraceful confusion,

Clamp proving himself the best man in one hour and thirty minutes.

Both Madden and Mace remained in or at the side of the ring while the

men were fighting, and after some more discussion of the vexed

question of a referee, all returned to London. On the Wednesday, after

a patient hearing of both sides, the stakeholder declared that Mace

having refused to go to the scratch, when called upon by the

duly-appointed referee, had thereby deliberately violated the articles

and forfeited the stake, £100, which in due course was handed over to

Madden. An unusual amount of irrelevant correspondence, statements as

to shares of stake-money, training expenses, unpaid bets, promises and

defalcations, from Mace, Madden, and Messrs. Lockwood, Hayes, Dismore,

Keene, &c., followed. Finally, after six months’ quibbling, a new

match was agreed on, and the 10th of March, 1858, named as the day of

battle.

Well do we remember the early muster on that spring morning at the

Eastern Counties Railway terminus at Shoreditch. There was “old Mike,”

whose deafness, solidity, and stolid look had already earned him the

prefix of “old,” though he numbered but thirty summers; he was

buttoned up to the chin, in an old-fashioned drab box-coat, with a

deep-red neckerchief, and a sealskin cap, the ears of which completely

covered his ears and cheeks. He was anxiously inquiring of the group

around for his “friend the enemy,” as the time for starting was near.

We entered the station. Could it be true? We had the word of the

traffic station-master for it. After a brief conversation on the

platform, in which some “d――d kind friend” inopportunely alluded to

the lamentable result of “ould Mike’s” last battle――that with Jack

Jones, of Portsmouth――Jem, with a nod of the head and a cheerful

expression, left his friends, and seating himself in an Ipswich

carriage just about to steam out of the station, coolly waved a

“good-bye” to the astonished group! Another account states, that after

Madden and Co. had gone down by the appointed train, Mace was found in

a neighbouring coffee-house, whither he had taken refuge from an

impending arrest by the police! It is not of much consequence which is

the correct version, as the claim of Madden to forfeit from the

absence of his opponent was made and fully admitted.

That the pugilistic qualifications and cleverness of Mace were still

believed in by some of the best judges of boxing is shown by the fact

that “George Brown’s novice,” as Jem was now called, was thought good

enough to back against Bob Brettle of Birmingham, whose conquests of

Roger Coyne, Sam Simmonds, and Bob Travers were then fresh in the

memory of Ring-goers. George Brown, Billy Richardson, and Jack

Macdonald were sponsors, and these knowing ones declared that the 21st

September, 1858, would show “the coming champion.” Nevertheless,

serious misgivings haunted the public mind, not only when the last

deposit of the £200 stakes was “tabled,” but even on the short railway

journey which preceded the voyage per steamer to Shell Haven, odds

being taken that there would be “no fight that day.” Great, therefore,

was the satisfaction when it was found that Mace was on board the

boat, not only well but cheerful, and apparently confident. After a

pleasant run down the river, a fitting spot was selected on the banks

of the Medway, where Tom Oliver and his assistants pitched an

excellent ring on a lovely piece of greensward.

The Champion of the Midlands was first to cast his beaver into the

ropes, amidst hearty cheering, Alec. Keene and Jem Hodgkiss attending

as his esquires. Mace soon after showed, advised by Jack Macdonald and

Jemmy Massey. It wanted ten minutes to twelve when the men shook

hands, the seconds retired to their corners, and the men threw

themselves into position for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――There was very little time lost in

manœuvring, both men surprising their friends by an

almost nervous eagerness to get at it. Mace at once

made play, and let go both hands in the style that had

so disconcerted Thorpe; Brettle, however, making a good

stop or two, and returning wildly, getting two or three

severe cracks, one on the ear so specially heavy that

the blood appeared from his auricular organ, and the

first event was scored to Mace. After a short rally

Brettle closed; Mace hit up sharply, but Bob got the

crook and fell over him. The friends of Mace thought

their man meant fighting, and the odds which had been

offered――5 and 6 to 4 on Brettle――subsided to evens.

2.――The men threw themselves into good form; Brettle

tried to lead off with the left, but was stopped

neatly, and after another offer and a shift, Jem landed

his right smartly on Brettle’s left ear. Again there

was a stop or two, and Mace got home slightly; Brettle

retreated, and measuring his man as he came in, let go

his right on the left side of Mace’s head, on the

temple; down went the Norwich man, and the round was

over. Alec Keene claimed “first knock-down” for

Brettle, and the referee awarded it. Mace was picked up

by his attentive seconds, when a strange commotion was

seen in his corner; he glared round for a few seconds,

then suddenly swooned in Jack Macdonald’s arms. Mac and

Massey shook him, and the latter bringing a stool into

the ring, tried to seat him thereon. In vain: his legs

fell about like Mr. Punch’s, or the nether limbs of a

_fantocchino_, and his toes determinedly found their

way under the ropes. The syncope was so determined that

the Brums began to roar and jeer, and the Eastenders to

swear; when the enraged Mac administered such a

vice-like pinch to his man’s ear, that he roared

lustily, but the next moment was as insensible as ever

to all outward things. “Time” was now called, and

“Time!” was repeated by the referee. Jem was set up in

a perpendicular position, but those recalcitrant legs

sent up their heels, and Jem would have assumed a

devotional attitude, but that the “stunted

lifeguardsman” held him up by main strength, while his

head fell sideways on Macdonald’s shoulder. “Time!” the

eight seconds’ “grace” were counted. “There are none so

deaf as those that won’t hear,” was once more verified,

and Bob Brettle was declared the conqueror, the actual

fight having lasted _three minutes_. On the boat it was

observed that Brettle’s last hit had raised a very blue

mouse on Jem’s cheek-bone, but that it had knocked him

out of time――_credat Judæus Apella_――indeed we are sure

no Sheeny from Houndsditch would believe it.

The elation of Brettle’s friends at this victory led them into a

mistake. They matched their man against Tom Sayers, and on September

20th, 1859, in a short quarter of an hour, seven rounds disposed of

the Brum’s pretensions, as may be fully read in our last chapter.

Mace’s next match remains a yet-unexplained riddle. He was backed on

this occasion by Bob Brettle――the man who had defeated him with such

apparent ease――against one of his own townsmen, Posh Price, at 10st.

10lbs., for £50 a side. Price was a boxer of proved game and no mean

capabilities. The deposits were posted by Brettle in the name and on

the behalf of a man called in the articles “Brettle’s Novice,” and it

was not until the last deposit that it was declared that Jem Mace was

the “Novice” thus described.

On the 25th of January, 1859, after the gallant battle between Dan

Thomas (the Welshman) and Charles Lynch (the American), in which the

former was victorious, a special train having conveyed the spectators

and combatants from London Bridge to Aldershot Common, the ring was

cleared and re-formed by Fred Oliver and his assistants. No sooner,

however, had the ropes been tightened, and the stakes driven firm,

than, to the chagrin of the expectant assemblage, a detachment of the

rural constabulary made their appearance, and a move into the adjacent

county of Surrey became imperative. The transit was quickly and safely

effected, and no sooner was the ring adjusted, than “Brettle’s

Novice,” attended by his backers, tossed his cap into the ropes in

token of defiance, and stood revealed to all as Jem Mace of Norwich.

His condition and bearing not even the most prejudiced could find

fault with. The men went to scale on the previous day at George

Brown’s, “The Bell,” Red Lion Market, both being well within the 10st.

10lbs. Posh Price, who was born in 1832, and won his first victory in

the Ring at eighteen years of age, was as yet unbeaten. He had

successively defeated Mush, Boucher, Leighton, Benson, Holland, Liddy,

and lastly the once renowned Ben Terry, who fought a draw with Harry

Broome. In all these battles he had borne himself bravely, and showed

no mean amount of skill. It was not, therefore, to be wondered at that

Price was favourite in the betting at 5 and 6 to 4. The Birmingham man

was seconded by Sam Simmonds and Joe Wareham, while Mace had behind

him Jem Hodgkiss and Brettle. Price, whose age was twenty-seven――Mace

being one year older――was all his friends could desire in point of

condition, and his hardy, good-natured mug wore a smile of confidence

in the result of

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――On the retirement of their seconds the

belligerents at once threw themselves into attitude,

the superior freedom of Mace’s style being quite

evident to the initiated. He played round his man,

watching him keenly; Price looking somewhat puzzled how

to begin. Presently Posh broke ground, and retreated,

keeping a good guard; Mace followed his man closely,

and, getting well within distance, popped in his left

on Price’s mazzard, but was countered by Price’s left

on the forehead. Mace stuck to his work, and caught

Price right and left in the head. Posh fought

determinedly in the exchanges, but Mace drove him back,

planting the left on Price’s right eye with such

severity that the ruby streamed down his cheek. (First

blood for Mace.) After a break and a little wincing

they again got within striking distance, when some

heavy exchanges ended in Price being on the grass.

2.――The men went at once to work, and some slashing

exchanges followed, in which Mace, partly from a hit,

and partly from a slip, was down. In an instant he was

on his feet again, and as the Brum, somewhat surprised,

retreated before him, followed him close. Near the

ropes Posh made a stand, and hit out with both hands.

After some fine two-handed fighting in favour of Mace,

Price was on the ground, Mace walking smilingly to his

corner.

3.――Mace forced the fighting. He led off with

astonishing rapidity, doing terrible damage to the

Brum’s dial and cranium. Posh stood to his guns like a

man, but Mace’s metal was too heavy for him.

Nevertheless, in the exchanges, Price got in a hot ’un

on Mace’s jaw, and another on his neck, that made

Master Jem look serious, and although the odds had

changed, the Brums took heart from the general opinion

of Mace’s deficiency of game. In the close both were

down at the ropes.

4.――Mace led off rather short, and as he got nearer

Price planted his left in the middle of his opponent’s

nob. (Tremendous cheering from the Brums). Mace drew

himself together, and fighting rapidly, got heavily on

Posh’s eye and mouth. The gallant Brum paused a moment,

then dashed in, and after a magnificent rally, in which

Mace astonished the spectators by the straightness and

rapidity of his hitting, Price went down against his

will.

5.――Jem lunged out his left, delivering an enlivener on

his adversary’s brain pan, and getting cleverly away

from the Brum’s returns. After a little sparring, Mace

got again within distance, and in some clipping

left-handed exchanges got with tell-tale force on the

Brum’s dial. Posh, scorning to retreat, stood his

ground, and fought up. In the fall both were down,

Price undermost.

6.――Mace opened the ball with a shot from the left,

when the Brum retreated. Jem followed, and again got in

the left with telling effect. They closed at the ropes,

when Posh, who was catching pepper, got down.

7.――Heavy counters, each doing execution on the head.

As Price retreated, Mace followed, and as the Brum

turned on nearing the ropes, Mace caught him a terrific

right-hander on the head, just behind the ear, opening

a cut from which the carmine ran copiously; Posh, who

appeared dazed by the effect of this rasper, went down

on his knees in the middle of the ring.

8.――Price came up slowly but steadily; in an instant

Mace dashed in with electric rapidity, right and left,

in his opponent’s damaged frontispiece; Price was,

however, by no means idle, and stuck to Mace in the

counter-hitting. In a rally Posh was down.

9.――Mace came with alacrity from his corner; he was

almost unmarked, while poor Posh’s countenance was out

of shape in every feature. Still he kept his form――such

as it was――and tried to stop his man, too often

ineffectually. Mace drove him to the ropes, and would

have screwed him up for fibbing, but Posh slipped down

through his hands.

10.――Posh made a desperate attempt to lead off, but

Mace stopped him artistically, and caught him a smasher

on the proboscis for his temerity; Posh in turn

retreated, when Mace followed him. Price, to avoid a

heavy right-hander, ducked his head, and in doing so

caught his foot in the grass and fell.

11th and last.――The combatants came up readily. The

Brum seemed determined upon a last effort to stem the

tide, and the Norwich man at once accepted the attack.

The exchanges were effective and sharp, and while the

men were thus fighting, Mace hit his man a terrific

blow on the left arm, which caused Price to drop his

hand, and stagger to his corner. A swelling on the fore

arm was instantly visible, and it was stated that the

small bone of the limb was fractured. Sam Simmonds

stepped forward and declared that his man was disabled,

and he would not permit the game fellow (who had risen

to his feet to renew the contest) to fight any longer.

The sponge was accordingly thrown up, and Mace hailed

the winner, the battle having lasted exactly 17

minutes.

REMARKS.――We do not remember to have seen such severe

and cutting punishment administered in so short a time

in any battle of modern times. Mace, in this contest,

not only justified the high opinion of his scientific

quality which we always entertained, but displayed a

steady resolution for which none had given him credit.

True, he was never in danger of losing the fight, and

as round succeeded round his superiority became more

manifest. He fought throughout with wonderful

quickness; and that his hitting was as hard as it was

precise poor Posh’s battered mug and bruised carcase

fully testified. Of the gallant Brum, we can only say

he was out-classed, out-generalled, stopped, foiled,

and punished at all points; and, as he did all that

became a man, he deserves the respect of all who admire

pluck and resolution; and it should not be forgotten

that at last his defeat was due to an unfortunate and

disabling accident, not to a surrender. The £100 was

given over to Mace on the Tuesday following, at Bob

Brettle’s “White Lion,” Digbeth.

Mace was now a publican, hanging out his sign at the Swan Inn, Swan

Lane, Norwich, and exhibiting his talents almost nightly at the

“Baronial Hall,” West End, Norwich. In the early months of 1859 we

read, “Jem Mace, wishing to try his hand once again in the London

P.R., will fight any man at 10st. 7lbs., in four months from the first

deposit, for £100.” This was answered by Job Cobley; but for a time

the friends of the “Elastic Potboy” hung back, and George Crockett

offered himself at 10st. This weight was simply preposterous as a

limit for Mace. Dan Collins, too, Sayers’s first opponent, proposed;

but, doubtless fortunately for himself and friends, the match went off

upon a question of amount of stakes.

At length in November, 1859, Bob Travers (then known as “Langham’s

Black”) responded to Mace’s cartel, and articles were drawn to fight

on the 21st of February, 1860, for £100 a side.

The character and antecedents of Travers left no doubt in the minds of

the patrons of pugilism that Massa Bob would fully test the stuff of

which Jem Mace was really composed. With the exception of a solitary

defeat by Job Cobley, Travers’s reputation had been well won. In his

first battle, October 29th, 1855, he beat Geo. Baker, in two rings

(after an adjournment from October 19th) in twenty-three minutes, for

£25 a side, at Tilbury. In February, 1856, he conquered Jesse Hatton,

at Combe Bottom, in 76 minutes, during which 39 hard rounds were

fought. George Crockett succumbed to his arm at Egham, in 37 rounds,

occupying 114 minutes, on May 13 in the same year, in which also (he

was fighting too often) he suffered his first defeat by Job Cobley,

after a tremendous battle of 3 hours and 27 minutes, in which 110

rounds were fought. In January, 1857, he beat Cleghorn for £100 a

side, on the Medway, in 36 rounds, 87 minutes, and in May 13th of the

same year defeated the accomplished Bill Hayes, in 3¾ hours (!), the

stakes being £100 a side. Beaten by Bob Brettle (Travers fell without

a blow), January 27, 1858, he received a forfeit of £90 from Johnny

Walker, who did not show, on the 25th May, 1858; and in April, 1859,

beat the game and unflinching Mike Madden in 45 rounds, 97 minutes, at

Ashford, Kent; and this brings us to his present engagement.

With such a deed-roll Travers’s chance was booked as a certainty by

the circle at the “Cambrian,” where Massa Ebony was a “bright,

particular star,” especially as many persisted in asserting the

visible “white feather” in Mace’s plumage.

The men injudiciously delayed their departure from town until nine

o’clock, and after a long journey by rail much time was lost before

the excursionists got on board the “City of Rochester” steamer. John

Heenan, the Benicia Boy, was among the voyagers, attended by Jack

Macdonald, and was, as may be imagined, “the observed of all

observers.” After a long water trip a debarkation was attempted in

Essex, on an oft-visited spot, and there the ring was pitched, and all

in readiness, when the police came in sight, and all were compelled to

go on board again. After another steam trip of five miles a landing

was effected in Kent. Travers, who won the toss for choice of corners,

had for seconds Jerry Noon, and, to the mystification of many, Jem’s

whilom patron Bob Brettle, with whom a feud had arisen. Bos Tyler and

Jack Hicks attended upon Mace. Travers at the opening was an immense

favourite, 2 to 1 being offered on him. It was five minutes to five

o’clock when the men’s toilettes were completed and they stood up for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――As they faced each other there could be no

doubt that the condition of the combatants was

faultless. Travers’s skin shone with an unmistakable

lustre, resembling a dark piece of fine old Spanish

mahogany. His massive and deep chest and broad lines

displayed a grand development of muscularity, denoting

the possession of exceptional strength. The only

circumstance that detracted from his general appearance

was his legs, and the looseness with which, like most

niggers, he was put together. He looked all over smiles

and grins, and as if perfectly confident he must be the

winner. Mace, possessing the superiority in height and

reach, with his keen eye, symmetrical frame, and

graceful freedom of attitude, looked from head to foot

an athlete to whom, if the heart were there, anything

might be possible. His friends declared that he had

“screwed his courage to the sticking place, and could

not fail,” and the event proved their trust to be well

grounded. Travers, after a little manœuvring round the

ring, tried to lead off with the left, but was short.

Mace was awake, and as Bob jumped back, Mace followed

him, and Bob again hitting out, Mace nailed him with

the left on the cheek, and then with the right on the

left peeper. In the close, after a smart dose of

fibbing, they struggled for the fall, when Mace threw

Bob, but not cleverly. There was an attempt to claim

first blood for Mace, but it was not admitted.

2.――The ice being fairly broken, the men were no sooner

up than at it. Bob again led off, out of distance, with

the left, then retreated with rapidity; Mace followed

him up, and some sharp exchanges followed; the Black

getting home on Jem’s mouth, while Mace was home with

both hands on the Woolly-one’s nob. In shifting

position, Travers got with his back on the ropes and

rolled down.

3.――Both men came eagerly from their corners, and at

once sparred for an opening. The Black, who was as

lively as a young kangaroo, hopped about the ring; Mace

kept to him, so at last, after hitting out without

effect, Travers got down. (Disapprobation.)

4.――The combatants came up smiling. As yet there had

been little harm done Travers, as usual, opened the

ball, planting the right on the body; in return, Mace

timed his man with fine precision, landing both left

and right effectively, the latter on the point of the

chin, when the Black went down on his hands and knees.

5.――After manœuvring and breaking ground, the men got

to the ropes in Travers’s corner; the Black, after

slight exchanges, getting down cunning. (There was an

appeal of “foul,” which the referee disallowed, saying

“Go on.”)

6.――As the Darkey, in somewhat ungainly fashion, was

dancing about the ring, Mace went to him, and at the

ropes planted both mauleys on the head with rattling

precision. In the close Travers had his back on the

ropes, when Mace tried to put on the hug; Travers got

down.

There was here a general cry of “Police!” and a posse of these

unwelcome intruders came to the ropes, when Bob, in his anxiety to

“make tracks,” nearly ran into the arms of the Philistines. Jerry Noon

had also a narrow squeak for it, and had he not jumped into the river

and swum to a boat, he would certainly have been nailed, as the Bobby

who had singled him out did not give up the chase until up to his

middle in water. The escape so pleased several of the lookers-on who

had reached the steamer in boats safely, that a subscription was made

to “dry Jerry’s clothes,” and liberally presented to him when on

board. The battle thus interrupted had lasted 21 minutes, and as

darkness would soon come on, the steamer’s prow was directed

homewards, and the referee ordered a meeting for the next day.

At an early hour on Wednesday morning, the men and their backers were

on board, and at a few minutes after nine Fred Oliver announced all to

be in readiness. Mace was first to throw his castor in the ring, which

action was immediately followed by Travers, who entered with the same

grin of nonchalance as on the preceding day. Mace had scarcely a

visible mark, while the black’s ebony complexion concealed all but a

cut over the left eyebrow. A rumour was spread that Mace’s left arm

was partially disabled; but this proved a _canard_, no doubt flown to

influence the betting, the Black still being backed at 2 to 1. The

seconds were the same as on the first day.

THE RENEWED FIGHT.

Round 1.――Just before the commencement of hostilities,

Travers proposed to back himself to any amount at

evens, and produced a roll of notes about as thick as

the steamer’s shore-rope for that purpose; but Mace

politely declined, regretting that his exchequer was

not so flourishing as to permit him to indulge in such

speculation. Travers, in taking the initiative, broke

ground with more haste than judgment. Jem again

followed him, got home with both hands, and, after a

close at the ropes, the Black slipped down anyhow.

2.――After a little sparring Mace got home beautifully

on Bob’s black-letter title-page, when Travers

retreated, hitting out wildly. Mace counter-manœuvred

and followed, when Bob paused a moment, then rushed in

hand-over-hand, but did not get home. Mace planted his

left with fine judgment, following it with a job from

the right; there was a little fibbing in the close, and

both down by the ropes.

3.――Travers again led with the left, the blow alighting

on Mace’s breast, when Mace caught him on the side of

the head. Bob retreated, and went down to avoid. (Bos

Tyler here appealed to the referee, who declined to

notice the get down. “Go on.”)

4.――The Black, all activity, was all over the ring,

Mace watching his gyrations keenly and following him

close up. After a little fiddling, Mace got near

enough, and planted his left sharply, but Travers,

ducking his head at the instant, caught the blow on the

top of his impenetrable skull. The Black tried to take

a lead, but did not get home; Mace, getting to

distance, planted a sharp left-hander in Bob’s face,

who fell immediately in the middle of the ring. (Loud

cries from Mace’s partisans of “Stand up! remember the

13th rule!”)

5.――Both men went eagerly to work, Mace got on a

stinger over the left eyebrow; after some wild

exchanges, in which Jem peppered the nigger handsomely,

both were down, Travers first to earth.

6.――Travers dashed to in-fighting, when Mace again

propped him beautifully, and after a scramble in the

close, Bob got down anyhow.

7.――Travers, leading with the left, again reached

Mace’s breast, when Mace stepped back and recovered

guard. As Bob now broke in turn Mace followed as usual,

and taking exact measure, popped in his left on the

Darkey’s thick lips; Bob again sidled and skipped about

the ring and as Jem was letting go a straight one the

Black fell, as a bystander observed, “with the wind of

the blow.”

8 to 14.――Similar in character, and an appeal by Hicks

to the referee followed by a “caution” to Travers from

that functionary. From the 15th to the 30th round

Travers pursued the same dropping tactics, getting home

with little effect at the opening of each round, but

unable to prevent Mace’s stinging deliveries, from

which his left eye was now fast closing, besides other

serious disfigurements. Loud disapprobation was

expressed at the Black’s shifty tactics, and in the

32nd round the referee got into the ring and went to

Travers’s corner to warn him of the danger he was

incurring. Bob assured him his fall was accidental,

from the state of his shoes and the ground.

33.――Travers fought his man foot to foot in a fine

rally, the hitting all in favour of Mace, and both

down.

34.――Bob tried to lead once more, but Jem countered him

beautifully, and the Black in getting away fell.

35 to 40.――Travers at the old game again, leading off,

getting home slightly, and then scrambling or slipping

down to avoid the consequences of standing up to his

man. That Mace was winning as fast as his opponent’s

shiftiness would allow was manifest. In the 57th and

last round, after hitting out, the Black shifted his

position, and as Mace was delivering his blow

deliberately threw himself down. The referee now

decided the battle against him, and Mace was hailed the

victor at the end of one hour and thirty-one minutes. A

scene of disgraceful confusion followed; Travers’s

friends assailing the referee with the foulest abuse,

and refusing to accept his decision. Travers shed

tears, and declared he was ready to fight on, refusing

to shake hands with his opponent. Travers was severely

punished; Mace’s bruises were unimportant.

After some acrimonious disputation and letter-writing, the referee’s

decision was properly upheld by the stakeholder, and the money handed

over to Mace at Mr. Smithers, “Golden Cross,” Charing Cross, Norwich,

on the ensuing Friday week.

We have already noted the fact of the disruption of friendly relations

between Mace and his quondam conqueror and subsequent friend and

patron Bob Brettle. In the early months of 1859 this ill-feeling took

the form of a challenge from Mace to Brettle, and some haggling

between the disputants on minor details and conditions. Mace’s last

two exhibitions had so far restored the much-shaken confidence of his

admirers as to satisfy them, however otherwise inexplicable his “in

and out running” might be, that, at his weight, none could “live with

him,” when he really meant “to stay.” So they listened to his

solicitation to give him a second trial “with the only man who had

ever beaten him, and that by a fluke”(?). In reply to Jem’s challenge

for £100 Brettle replied that being now a “bung” in a good way of

business it would not pay him to train under £200. Holywell Lane and

Club Row, and a “voice from Norwich” preferred a bigger stake, so the

prelims. were soon settled. The 19th September, 1860, was named as the

day, and Oxfordshire, as (half-way between London and Birmingham) the

_locus in quo_. Accordingly, the London division took their departure

from Euston Square, meeting Brettle and Co. at Wallingford Road; there

all alighted, and, under the pilotage of a local amateur, a charming

spot was selected. Many of the older Ring-goers, however, expressed

doubts as to the judiciousness of the selection, and foreboded an

interruption, which came all too soon. No time, therefore, was lost,

and at a few minutes before noon the men shook hands, and began.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――As the men toed the scratch it was clear to

all that they were both all that could be wished in

point of condition. Mace had three or four pounds’

advantage in weight, and also a trifle in height and

length. Brettle, who looked rounder, bore a smile of

self-satisfaction on his good-natured mug, and as he

swung his arms in careless fashion, and raised his

hands, he nodded to a friend or two, as if quite

assured of the result. Brettle tried to lead off, but

Mace stopped him coolly, and tried a return, which was

prettily warded off by Brettle, who shifted ground. Bob

offered again, but was stopped, and Jem popped in a

nose-ender in return which drew Bob’s cork, and

established a claim of “first blood for Mace.” Bob

shook his head as if annoyed, and in he went ding-dong;

the exchanges all in favour of Mace, who hit

straightest, hardest, and oftenest. Brettle closed, and

Mace was under in the fall.

2.――Brettle exhibited some red marks indicative of

Mace’s handiwork, while Mace showed a mouse under the

left eye. Bob again opened the ball, but he was

baffled, and as he persevered Jem popped him prettily

on the nose, and then on the mouth, Brettle,

nevertheless, giving him a rib-bender with the right,

and on Mace retorting on his kissing organ Bob got

down.

3.――Brettle’s countenance bore increasing marks of

Mace’s skill as a face-painter, but he lost no time in

going to work; Mace stood to him, and sharp

counter-hits were exchanged; Mace on Brettle’s left

eye, Brettle on Mace’s jaw. Exchanges and a close; the

men separated, and Mace, in getting away, fell.

4.――Brettle was more cautious. He waited, and tried to

draw his man. After a little manœuvring Brettle, amidst

the cheers of the Brums, dropped on Mace’s conk a

rattler, producing the ruby. Jem looked rather serious,

and the Brums were uproariously cheerful. Bob tried it

again, but failed, for Mace was first with him with a

smasher on the mouth. Brettle bored in, but Mace threw

him cleverly, and fell on him.

5.――Brettle slow, being shaken by the blows and fall in

the last round. Mace waited for him, delivering right

and left straight as an arrow, and getting away

cleverly from the return. Bob followed him wildly,

getting more pepper; and in the end Brettle was down in

the hitting.

6.――Brettle’s left daylight was nearly obscured, and

the right showed a distinct mouse. His mouth too, was

out of symmetry, and his nose, naturally of the Roman

order, resembled a “flat-fish.” Notwithstanding, he

went in, and got it on the nose and mouth, returning in

a wild and ineffective fashion, until a hot left-hander

brought him to his knees in anything but a cheerful

condition. At this point a cry of “Police,” was

followed by the appearance of a posse of “blues,”

headed by a magistrate from Didcot. Hostilities were

immediately suspended, and all returned to the train.

On a council being held, the “manager” who had

deprecated this landing, declared that there was now no

hope of pulling up at any part of the line; so there

was nothing for it but to order the men to meet the

referee on the following morning. “Book agen” was the

_mot d’ordre_, which was doubly vexatious for the

Birmingham division, who _nolens volens_ had to journey

to London, with very doubtful prospects of getting back

their money at the next meeting.

After some discussion, all parties agreed to a renewal of the combat

on the 20th of the month. The day proving exceptionally fine, the men

and their friends started at an early hour from Fenchurch Street,

concluding the rail part of the journey at Southend, where a couple of

steam-tugs were in waiting, and a voyage to ground on the sea-coast of

Essex, never before visited by the Fancy, was chosen. The odds on Mace

were not taken, Brettle’s friends being few, and lacking confidence.

At five minutes to one, all being in order, the men stood up.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――Brettle had not entirely got rid of the marks

of the previous week’s encounter; besides a cut under

the left eye, the right optic was “deeply, darkly,” but

not “beautifully blue,” and his face looked somewhat

puffy. Mace had no more than a skin-deep scratch or

two. No sooner had Brettle toed the scratch, than

instead of forcing the fighting he stepped back, as if

to try whether an alteration in tactics might change

the fortune of war. Mace appeared fora few seconds

doubtful, then drawing himself together, he slowly

followed his man. Getting closer, Brettle let fly his

right, and got home on Mace’s head, too round to be

effective, while Jem’s counterhit caught him flush on

the dial. Brettle broke ground, Mace after him; Bob got

home on Mace’s body, but fell at the ropes in

retreating.

2.――Mace came up smiling, and was met cheerfully by the

Brum. Mace was no sooner within distance than he made

his one two on the nose and eye, Brettle’s returns

being short and ineffective. As Bob shifted position he

slipped down on one knee, but instantly rising renewed

the battle. In the struggle at the ropes, Mace was

under, and a “foul” was claimed, on the allegation that

Brettle had tried to “gouge” his man. The referee said

“Go on.”

3.――Mace came up with a slight trickle of claret from

his proboscis. Brettle’s face looked as if Mace “had

been all over it.” Brettle fought on the retreat, but

Mace was too clever at long shots for him to take

anything by that manœuvre. As Bob broke ground, Mace

nobbed him so severely that his head nodded like a

mandarin, and on a second visit down went Bob,

staggering from something very like a knock-down.

4.――The Brum came up bothered; yet he faced his man

boldly――it was observed that he hit with the right hand

open. Mace timed him with a straight prop and

retreated. The Brum bored in; the men got across the

ropes, when Brettle, lest Mace should fib him, slipped

down, as quickly as he could.

5th and last.――Brettle came up quickly, but Jem,

perceiving he had got his man, stood to him, and

delivered both hands with marvellous rapidity. Bob hit

away desperately, fighting his opponent to the ropes,

where Jem delivered two more punishers, and Bob was

down “all of a heap.” His seconds carried him to his

corner. “Time” was called, when Mace sprang rapidly

from Johnny Walker’s knee. Brettle’s seconds were still

busy at their man, until, the given eight seconds

having expired, Jem Hodgkiss threw up the sponge, and

Mace was hailed the conqueror; the second fight having

lasted seven minutes, the first twelve――nineteen

minutes in all.

REMARKS.――These shall be as brief as the battles. From

first to last Brettle was out-classed, over-matched,

and out-fought, Mace fully proving that once on a

winning track, at a winning pace, he was not to be

beaten.

In the summer of 1860, a gigantic Lancashire wrestler, 6ft. 2½in. in

stature, and balancing 15 stone, put forth a claim to the Championship,

and to do battle with this Goliath no better man was found than the

once-hardy Tom Paddock, now on his last legs. They met on November

5th, 1860, when poor Tom was knocked out of time by the clumsy

Colossus in the 5th round (see _ante_ p. 307). With Sam Hurst――having

formed a very low opinion of his boxing capabilities――Jem was most

anxious to try conclusions, rightly estimating that a triumph over

such a “man mountain” would dissipate any lingering doubts in the

public mind of his personal pluck and prowess.

Accordingly, articles were drawn for a fight for £200 a side, Waterloo

Day, the 18th of June, 1861, appointed for this interesting combat,

and a trip down the river agreed to by both parties. It was determined

that, to avoid interruption, an early start should be effected, and so

well was this arrangement carried out that at a quarter before nine

o’clock the queerly-matched pair stood facing each other in a marshy

field on the river-shore, in the centre of a well-surrounded ring; Bos

Tyler and Woody being entrusted with the care of Mace, Jem Hodgkiss

and Jerry Noon nursing the North Country “Infant.”

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――The old comparison of “a horse to a hen,” was

not so fully verified as might be supposed, there being

five stone difference in their relative weights, though

the discrepancy in size was certainly remarkable. There

was another point of contrast which, to the eye of the

initiated, was fully worth consideration in any

calculation of the chances of victory, and that was,

the condition of the men. The Norwich champion’s

compact symmetrical figure, well set-on head, bright

keen eye, and finely-developed biceps, with tendons

showing like knotted whipcord, muscle-clothed

shoulders, square bust, flat loins and rounded hips,

the whole supported by a pair of well-turned

springy-looking pedestals, looked a model gladiator.

Hurst, on the other hand, loomed big, heavy, clumsy,

while a slight lop-sided lameness, the result of a

broken leg, which accident had befallen him since his

battle with Tom Paddock, did not improve the naturally

ponderous slowness of his movements. His skin, though

clear, seemed loose in parts, and the flesh looked

flabby on his back and sides. There was an ungainliness

in every movement, too, which suggested a second

edition of the Tipton Slasher, considerably enlarged.

His face, however, was tolerably hard, and he had a

look of determination which augured well for his own

opinion of success. His friends depended much upon the

effect of any single blow he might get in in the course

of the mill, feeling a kind of confidence that any

damage he might incur from Mace he would put up with

without a murmur, and that he certainly possessed an

amount of game which, had it been backed by an ordinary

share of the other attributes of a pugilist, must have

rendered him invincible. On taking position Hurst at

first stood well, with his left rather low, and, if

anything, his elbow a little too close to his side; his

general attitude, however, was good, and all fancied he

had improved since his appearance with Paddock. This,

however, lasted for a very brief period. Mace appeared

steady, serious, and cautious, and fully aware of the

difficulties he would have to face. He sparred round

his man, in and out, feinting with all the skill of a

perfect master of the art, but for some time did not

venture near the gigantic arms of Hurst which swung

like the sails of a windmill. At last he crept up, and

after a quick feint led off on Sam’s left eye, but not

heavily. Hurst made a chop in return, but out of

distance. Jem again crept near, feinted then hit Sam

heavily, left and right, on the cheek and nose, without

a return. Hurst, not liking this, lumbered after his

man, and a sharp exchange followed, Mace on the cheek

and Hurst on the ribs. Mace retreated, looking serious,

walked round his man, jobbed him swiftly on the nose,

and got away laughing. Hurst tried another rush, and

made one or two chopping hits which Mace easily avoided

and then planted a straight right-hander on the nose,

gaining “first blood,” amidst the uproarious cheers of

his friends. Hurst still bored in, but only to receive

another smack on the left eye; he just succeeded in

reaching Jem’s lips, and the latter fell, laughing.

2.――Sam came up with the claret trickling from his

nose, and his left eye swollen and discoloured; he

commenced business at once by rushing at his man,

slinging out his arms with no sort of precision. He

caught Mace on the ribs and back, close to the

shoulder, rather heavily with his right, which made the

latter look very solemn, and caused him to retreat

awhile, stopping right and left, and avoiding close

quarters. At length he shook himself together, and

again playing round, put in a heavy hit on the left

cheek, and then got home with great force on the nose,

drawing more blood; this he followed with a straight

job in the mouth, drawing the ruby from the giant’s

lips. The spectators were astonished at Sam’s

inertness. Hurst let go both hands, when Mace with ease

stepped between his arms, and delivered both hands with

the quickness of lightning, and with tremendous force,

upon the nose and eye. Again and again did he do this,

and then step away, inflicting fearful punishment, and

laughing defiance at Hurst’s ungainly attempts at

retaliation. Hunt, who was clearly a mere chopping

block to Mace, seemed bewildered by the severity of the

hitting, but still persevered, only, however, to be

jobbed heavily on the mouth, nose, and left eye, which

latter was quickly shut completely up. Still the game

fellow persevered, until it seemed perfectly cruel to

let him go on. Mace did exactly as he liked without a

return, and at length in a close both were down. It was

a dog fall (side by side), but it proved that Hurst’s

supposed superiority of power was destroyed, probably

by the weakness of his leg. Mace was almost scatheless

at the end of the round, while Hurst, as may be

imagined, was fearfully punished.

3.――Hurst, notwithstanding his injuries, was first to

the scratch, his left eye closed, and the whole of the

left side of his cheek bruised and cut; his nose too

was swollen and bleeding. Mace, with the exception of a

slight scratch on his mouth, was little the worse for

wear. Hurst, in desperation, immediately rushed at his

man, but Jem met him with a stinger from his right on

the nose, drawing a fresh stream, and jumped back,

covering his head completely. Sam, furious, persevered,

but the more he swung out his arms the more did he lay

himself open to an attack. He hit round, he sawed the

air, he chopped, and, in fact, did everything that a

perfect novice would do, but it was only to expose him

to more attacks from his artistic foe. At length he

succeeded in planting a heavy blow on the jaw, which

almost knocked Mace down, but Jem steadied himself, and

returned desperately on Goliath’s mouth. Mace got away,

stepped quickly in again, and hit Hurst severely in the

face, left and right, without a return. Hurst,

thoroughly confused, tried another rush, but Mace

retreated all round the ring, repeatedly jobbing him

with impunity as he lumbered after him. At length Jem

caught his foot against a stake, and fell, but was up

in an instant, and after a feint or two got home on

Sam’s good eye twice in succession. Hurst’s returns

were ridiculously short; in fact they were not like

blows at all, and never seemed to come from the

shoulder. At length he got a little right-hander on the

body, but received two heavy left-handed hits in quick

succession on the cheek. Sam, in rushing in, here

stepped on to Mace’s toe, the spike in his boot

entering the flesh, and inflicting a severe wound. Jem

drew back his foot in pain, and pointed to it, but

Hurst shook his head, as if to say it was

unintentional. After Mace had inflicted a little more

punishment he slipped down; poor Hurst, who was

completely blown by his exertions, panting like an

overdriven dray-horse, stood in the middle of the ring.

Some influential friends of Hurst’s wished him here to

give in, but his principal backer would not bear of it.

4.――Jem merely showed a slight bruise under the left

arm, while Hurst was awfully punished about the face,

but was still strong. He rushed at his man at once, who

laughed, got away, and then, after leading him a dance,

turned, and delivered another tremendous hit on the

blind eye. Again and again did Hurst follow him, and as

repeatedly did Mace hit him with stinging effect in

every direction. Mace at last seemed tired of his

exertions, and stood for a short time with his arms

down. Hurst also rested a little from sheer exhaustion;

at length he made another rush, and Jem, in getting

away, slipped down. Hunt pointed at him, as much as to

say it was deliberate, but Jem was up at once, and

offered to resume the round, but Hurst’s seconds took

him away. Thirty minutes had now elapsed.

5.――Sam, whose face was coloured all over, made another

rush and got slightly home on the body, when Jem again

slipped down. Once more he jumped up to renew the

round, but Sam walked away to his corner at the call of

his seconds.

6.――Jem made the fighting, and planted heavily on the

cheek and nose, getting quickly and easily away. Again

did he do this, and then again, hitting Hurst with

stunning force in the middle of the head with both

hands, until the poor fellow turned away completely

bewildered. Nevertheless, he quickly rallied, and again

tried his rush, but only to get into more difficulties,

until everybody round the ring cried “Take him away!”

(Hodgkiss here appealed to his backers to be allowed to

throw up the sponge; they refused, indeed, it was

evident that Sam himself would not yet consent to own

that he was licked.) Sam made another rush, and after

slight exchanges, closed; a brief struggle took place,

when both fell, Hurst undermost. It was claimed by

Mace’s friends as a cross-buttock, but it scarcely

amounted to that, although Jem certainly had the

advantage in the fall.

7.――Bob Brettle now appealed to Sam’s backers to give

in, but in vain. Bob tried to get into the ring, and

did throw up his hat, but was forced away by Sam’s

backers. Mace offered to shake hands, and seemed

unwilling to inflict more punishment, feeling that it

was useless cruelty. Sam would not hear of surrender,

but made his rush, and succeeded in getting home his

right on the body, when Jem fell.

8th and last.――Hurst came up staggering, his face much

disfigured; Mace also seemed rather tired. Sam made a

final effort, letting go both hands, but was short, and

received two more very straight hits on the cheek and

nose, drawing claret in fresh profusion. Sam blundered

in almost blind, and Mace pushed, rather than hit him,

several times in the head, looking at him steadily and

stepping back after each delivery. The “big ’un” was

evidently powerless, and Jem was commendably

forbearing. Another attempt was made by Brettle to

throw up the sponge, and the referee stepped into the

ring to remonstrate with Sam’s principal backer, but

neither he nor Hurst would listen to reason. The

consequence was that Jem was reluctantly compelled to

hit him again, which he did with perfect impunity; and

finally Jem Hodgkiss, finding it useless to reason with

either Sam or his backer, took the responsibility upon

himself, and threw up the sponge, forcing the unwilling

giant to his corner, where Mace went up to him, and

shook hands, although sorely against Hurst’s will, who

could not even now reconcile to himself his defeat by

one upon whom he looked with contempt. Mace was then

proclaimed the victor, after fighting for _fifty

minutes_. He bore his honours modestly, and as soon as

possible went round with the hat, and collected the sum

of £35 for his unsuccessful antagonist.

Scarcely was this done, when the police made their

appearance, fortunately too late to prevent a

satisfactory conclusion.

REMARKS.――Volumes could not prove more demonstratively

the value of skill in the art of boxing as turning the

scale against mere weight and strength, than this

one-sided contest of Mace and Hurst. Poor Hurst, who

had been trained by Turkish Baths, instead of hard

work, ought not to have fought this battle. Apart from

his want of condition, however, it was quite manifest

he was not cut out for a fighting man. He had little

knowledge of the art of self-defence, could not hit

straight from the shoulder, and it was obvious that a

man of his build and gait――even when endowed with the

uncommon powers he displayed as a receiver――cannot hope

to contend with success against extraordinary

cleverness and activity, even though possessed by a man

of far lighter calibre than himself. The unfortunate

Sam was, however, a remarkably straightforward fellow,

and from the first it was clear he had the interests of

his friends more at heart than his own, and the

greatest credit is due to him for his manly

perseverance. No credit, however, is due to those who

allowed him to go up after every possible chance of

success had vanished.

As to Mace, his fighting was faultless; he was not

called upon to display any great amount of gameness,

though the mere facing such a giant and exchanging

shots at close quarters involves a confidence and

coolness that shows no small amount of personal

courage. As to Mace’s attack and defence, they were in

every respect indicative of the master. It redounds to

his praise that he abstained from making a more rapid

finish, as he certainly might have done, unless

restrained by a desire to spare his almost helpless

antagonist. This battle elevated to the Championship of

England one of the most finished boxers who had ever

gained the title.

Jem Mace was now on the pinnacle of success, and as――

“Envy doth merit as its shade pursue,

And by the shadow prove the substance true,”

so the newly fledged Champion was carped at, criticised, challenged,

and unfavourably compared with all sorts and sizes of preceding and

even contemporary heroes of the Ring. As to the unconquered little

Champion, who had, after his great battle with John Heenan, in April,

1860, finally bid farewell to the fistic stage, he had left no

immediate successor; so “the world seemed left” for Jem Mace “to

bustle in,” and the question of the cynical Cassius was for a time

unanswered――

“When went there by an age since the great flood,

But we were famed with more than with one man?

When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome,

That her wide walks encompassed but one man?”

“Time and the hour,” however, never fail to bring “the man,” and in

these latter days of the Ring he came, in the person of Tom King,

whose first appearance in November, 1860, and subsequent career, will

form the subject of the concluding chapter of our history.

The form displayed by King in his first two battles, although neither

of his opponents stood high in the pugilistic roll, was thought to

give promise that the belt might again revert to a Champion of the

traditional 12-stone calibre and stature.

There can be no dispute that after the retirement of Tom Sayers, the

public sympathy with the Ring and favour with its professors had

completely faded away, just as, in the preceding century (in 1760),

after the defeat of Slack by Stevens “the Nailer,” the title of

Champion was dragged through the dirt by a set of unworthy “knights of

the _dirty_ cross,” until its restoration by the brave Tom Johnson. At

a later period came its reestablishment in more than its former renown

by John Jackson,[34] George Humphries, Mendoza, John Gully, the

Belchers, Tom Cribb, and Tom Spring, and their successors, who live

only in these pages which record its “decline and fall.”

To return from digression, we may state that the challenge of Tom

King, and the signing of articles for £200 a side, for a meeting on

the 28th of January, 1862, excited but faint interest even in those

circles where a struggle for the Championship was wont to set all upon

the _qui vive_. Indeed, those who were anxious that a change for the

better should take place, and a removal of the disgraceful disorder

which had driven from the ring-side those on whom both pugilism and

pugilists depended for their existence, were fain to confess that

pugilism was dead――dead by the hands of its own pretended friends, and

the misconduct of prizefighters themselves. Still a few of “the old

guard” rallied round the colours; and the good character of Tom King,

with the now well-earned reputation of Mace, gave them hopes of a

revival of honesty, manliness, skill, and “a fair field and no favour”

for both men.

The morning of the 28th of January, 1862, dawned――if such dim light as

struggled through the dense masses of dark clouds deserved the name of

dawn――wet, cold, cheerless and miserable, and to add to this

unpromising look-out, there were added unpleasant rumours that the

“authorities” of half a dozen home counties had taken sweet counsel

together how to frustrate the fight; that the magnates of the railway

boards had been notified and communicated with on the subject of

sinful “specials,” and the complicity of conveying company to the

field of blood; that every police inspector and superintendent had

been put on his mettle by the solemn warnings of “My Grandmother,” the

_Record_, _Watchman_, and a host of “unco guid” newspapers and

puritanical preachers, of “the awful responsibility to God and man”

they incurred in not “stamping out” this “national sin.” We quote from

a Sheffield print and preacher, who thus charitably described a fair

and manly contest for the belt――the symbol of skill and courage in the

exercise of the most humane mode of often unavoidable encounter

between man and man, especially among the lower orders. We name

Sheffield, because it was not long after infamous for the “organised

assassination” council of Messrs. Broadhead and Co.; whilst its

“public instructors” were denouncing and suppressing an art which

certainly does not include ginger-beer bottles charged with

blasting-powder placed under the beds of the wives and children of

obnoxious parents; cylinders of dynamite thrown through the fanlights

or windows of humble dwellings; the use of loaded bludgeons and

fire-arms from street corners or behind dead walls; the splitting of

grindstones; or the cutting of driving-bands, as modes of settling

personal or popular disputes. Yet from all these murderous and

treacherous cruelties the anti-fistic teachings of the Reverend Mr.

Lilyliver failed to wean and guard his “lambs.” We return from this

digression to our own “muttons,” whom, we opine, even in their last

and worst days, were as unlike “lost sheep,” and perhaps less like

“goats,” than their saintly slanderers.

Thus pleasantly forewarned by the croaker pessimists, the “managers”

prudently declined to give any hint of the “whereabouts” until the

Monday night previous to the encounter (January 28th), when tickets

were purchasable at Jem Mace’s house (Jem was now landlord of the “Old

King John,” Holywell Lane, Shoreditch), and at Nat Langham’s new

house, the “Mitre,” St. Martin’s Lane, merely conveying the facts that

the rendezvous was at London Bridge, and at the unusually early hour

of six o’clock. The difficult point of choosing a referee was also

judiciously arranged for. Arrived at the terminus of the South

Eastern, we found a more numerous gathering of the “right sort” than

we had anticipated; a proof that “still in their ashes lurked their

former fires,” and that a well-conducted mill had yet attractions for

the legitimate patrons of the sport. The last two championship battles

(those between Tom Paddock and the Staleybridge Infant, Hurst, and Jem

Mace and the same clumsy giant) were not, viewed as battles, anything

but exposures of the lamentable lack of good men; while the

disgraceful confusion, and double interruption of the police, of the

yet more recent fight between Bob Brettle and Rooke, almost

extinguished the last hope of the survival of the Provincial Ring.

It was nearly seven when the bell rang for departure, and the train

steamed away on its journey. Owing to the excellent arrangements of

Nat Langham, who acted for King, and Mr. Moss Phillips, who attended

to the interests of Mace, all parties were duly deposited at their

destination at a little after eight o’clock, Mace attended by Jack

Hicks and Bob Travers the Black, his late opponent, and King by Bos

Tyler and Jerry Noon. King, who had trained at Mr. Packwood’s, at

Hammersmith, was in first-rate fettle; nor was Mace, who had taken his

breathings near Norwich, and latterly near Newmarket, one whit behind

him in respect of condition; each was “fit to fight for a man’s life.”

“It is a long lane that has no turning,” and as we looked at the

orderly array of the inner and outer ring, and the attentiveness of

the ring-constables, armed with their brass-bound whips and their

badges, we flattered ourselves for a time that the turning-point had

been reached, and that “a fair fight and no favour, and may the best

man win,” might once again be a phrase with a meaning. Thus dreaming,

as “hope told a flattering tale,” we addressed ourselves to the duty

of observing the fight we here chronicle.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――Having gone through the customary friendly

salutation at the scratch, each man drew back and threw

himself into position. There was at this moment a

silence that might be felt, and the eager glances

directed by all toward the combatants evinced the

interest with which every movement was being watched by

those surrounding the ring. There was undoubtedly much

to rivet the attention of the patrons of the art; for

though both were unquestionably fine fellows, yet there

was that disparity between them which could not fail to

impress itself even on the uninitiated. Mark the

towering height of King, standing a clear 6 feet 2

inches in his stockings, and, as he faces his opponent

with attentive watchfulness, but without a sign of

nervousness or anxiety, how immense and preponderating

appear the advantages in his favour. Tom, we were

informed by Langham, when he last scaled, pulled down

12st. 8lbs., and taken for all in all must be declared

a model man, although some judges of athletes declared

his loins too slender for a man of his height Tom, like

Mace, has a bright, keen eye, but he lacks the

square-out jaw bone and hard angular contour which some

judges of “points” declare to be always found in the

“thoroughbred” boxer. Be that as it may, King’s length

of reach, firm, round muscle, skin ruddy with the glow

of health, and cheerful, courageous aspect gave promise

of a formidable opponent, even to the scientific

Champion, Jem Mace. As to the Champion, who pulled down

11st. 4lbs. on the preceding Monday, he was “all

there,” and as he himself said, felt “fit as a fiddle.”

After keeping on guard a few seconds, during which Mace

was keenly scrutinising him, Tom dropped his hands,

resting his left upon his left thigh; Jem, being out of

range, and seeing that Tom had lowered his daddles,

followed suit, and the position of the pair at this

moment caused some astonishment. Tom rubbed his left

forearm with his right hand, and Jem, who also felt the

chilly effects of the morning air on coming out of his

flannels, rubbed his breast with his right palm. Tom,

in shifting, had got nearer his own corner, when Jem

advanced, and, from the manner he gathered himself

together, evidently intended mischief; his left was

admirably poised, while his right played with firm

elasticity, ready as a guard, or, if occasion presented

itself, a shoot. Tom, however, was on the alert, and

Mace, after putting out a feeler or two, sprung back to

tempt Tom to follow. King, who at first seemed a little

puzzled, smiled and retreated, cool as a cucumber in an

ice-well. There was more than one repetition of the

movement we have here described, the men shifting,

changing position, and manœuvring all over the ring

without coming to business. King had heard so much of

the ability of Mace that he felt he was standing before

the best tactician of the day, and would not lead off.

Mace, on the other hand, with the perception of a

practised general, found that he had before him a

dangerous and determined antagonist; one whom it would

not do to treat in the style he had made an example of

big Sam Hurst. At length, after a display of almost

every sort of drawing and defensive tactic, Mace got

well in, delivering a neat nobber with the left,

stopping the return, and getting away. King dashed at

him, his height enabling him to hit over Jem’s guard,

and Tom got one in on Mace’s head with the right; the

men closed and fibbed, then getting on to the ropes,

both went down. The seconds were instant in their

attendance, Bos Tylor claiming “first blood” for King,

which was admitted, as the cochineal was trickling from

a cut on the Champion’s shin. King’s partizans were in

ecstasies, and “Who’ll lay 2 to 1 now?” met no

response.

2.――The cold rain now came down in earnest, and did not

much abate throughout the rest of the mill. With ready

alacrity each man came from his corner and scratched

simultaneously with his opponent. Mace, who was still

bleeding, looked flushed. After a little sparring, Mace

popped in his left. His second hit was prettily

countered, but notwithstanding King’s length, Jem’s

blow seemed hardest, reaching home a “thought” before

his adversary’s poke. Another exchange, Tom getting on

the side of Mace’s head, but not severely, and Jem’s

smack in return sounding all round the ring. In the

close both were down.

3.――The ball had now been fairly opened, and each bout

improved the spirit of the performance, on which even

the pitiless rain could not throw a damper. Jem, on

coming from his corner, was still distilling the

_elixir vitæ_ from the old spot, which as yet seemed

the only mark made. King went dashing in to force the

fighting, and the hot haste of the onslaught marred the

pretty position of Jem. Tom, who seemed to hit from the

forearm rather than the shoulder, got home his left on

the jaw, and then, with the right, reached Jem’s head;

his superiority of length of reach being fully

demonstrated. Jem, however, quite balanced accounts by

two severe props in the nob; King closed, and Mace got

down easy.

4.――The rapidity of King’s fighting seemed somewhat to

surprise Mace, and he moved right and left in front of

his man, his point well covered. Tom dashed in left and

right, and went to work, his counsel advising the

forcing principle; King, in hitting out, had his left

hand partially open; Mace cross-countered with the left

a smasher, but a second attempt passed over King’s

shoulder. Jem broke away, and in retreating got to the

centre stake. Tom, following, dashed out his right,

when Mace ducked his head and slipped down, thereby

escaping a rasper.

5.――Mace first to scratch, King promptly facing him. As

Tom tried to lead off with the left, Mace showed how

well he was fortified by his left-hand guard, and then

retaliating with the right. King, in turn, retreated.

Tom, in shifting, got to the ropes, when Jem weaved in,

getting both hands on head and body. Tom lashed out

both hands defensively, but could not keep Jem off

until he chose to retire to his own corner, where he

got cleverly out of difficulty and was down.

6.――King had evidently got home at the close of the

last round, for Jem came up with his proboscis tinted

with the carmine. Tom dashed at his man with more

determination than judgment, hit from the forearm

without doing execution; Jem, hitting up as he made the

backward break, gave Master Tom a straightener, who,

persevering, got his man down at the ropes; no harm

done.

7.――Jem advanced to the scratch with a firm step and

determined bearing, as if the difficulties of his

position had only produced a concentration of the

resolute “I will.” The men stood eyeing each other in

the pelting rain; Jem rubbed his chest, which had a

large red mark as though a warm plaster had recently

been removed. After manœuvring round the ring, Mace got

to range, delivering a well-aimed shot on King’s

cranium. As Jem broke ground he nearly lost his

equilibrium from the slipperiness of the grass, but

quickly steadied himself. After a feint or two, they

got well together and countered splendidly, Mace

sending home his left on Tom’s right cheek, King

getting his right on the Champion’s left peeper,

raising a small bump, and causing him to blink like an

owl in sunshine. The men, with mutual action, broke

away, and manœuvred all over the ring. At last Jem,

measuring his man accurately, gave him such a

left-hander on the snuff-box that claret _du premier

crû_ was copiously uncorked. As Mace retreated after

this smack Tom went in rather wildly, and closing, got

his left leg between Mace’s and threw him. (Cheers for

King.)

8.――Tom no sooner faced his man than he made play, and

got his right arm round Mace; he then tried to lift him

by main strength for a throw, but the Champion put on

the head-stop, with his hand on Tom’s face, and King

had to let him go down an easy fall.

9.――King, by the advice of his seconds, again forced

the fighting, slung out both hands, and closed, when

Mace cleverly put on the back heel, and down went Tom

undermost.

10 to 14.――The ropes had now got slack, and Puggy White

busied himself in driving the stakes deeper, and

tightening them. In this and the following four rounds,

King still led off, and though his hits did not seem

severe, he had got as often on Jem’s eye and nose, that

his friends were confident of his pulling through.

15.――The odds seemed melting away like butter in the

sun, and the backers of the Champion were just becoming

“knights of the rueful countenance;” while Tom’s

partisans were as merry and chirpy as crickets; Jerry

Noon, especially, dispensing an unusual and unseemly

store of chaff among the despondent patrons of Mace.

King once again went at his man, and both were down at

the ropes. King’s seconds claimed the battle for a

“foul,” alleging that Mace had tried to force his

fingers into King’s eye in the struggle at the ropes;

the referee crossed the ring to caution Mace, who

indignantly denied any intention of so unmanly an

action.

16.――King seemed determined to lose no time. He rattled

in, and Mace, nothing loth, stood up and hit with him,

certainly straightest and swiftest. In the close both

were down at the ropes.

17.――In sparring, the combatants changed positions, and

paused in the centre of the ring. King had been

fighting very fast, and wanted a breathing time. On

resuming, he went in, and after some exchanges Mace got

down easy at the ropes.

18.――Sharp exchanges, left and right, on the cheek,

mouth, and jaw, when Jem, in shifting, dipped down. His

seconds ran to him, but he motioned them away, resumed

his perpendicular, and beckoned Tom with a smile to

renew the bout. The challenge was cheerfully accepted,

and fighting into a close both were down.

19.――The men were admirably seconded in both corners,

and both came up clean and smiling, though each had the

contour of his countenance seriously altered by his

opponent’s handiwork. In a close both fibbed away

merrily and both were down.

20.――There was an objection by Jerry Noon that Mace had

some “foreign substance” in his left hand, King opened

his hands before the referee, and Mace, following his

example, merely showed a small piece of paper in his

palm, which, however, he threw away. Mace’s left hand

seemed somewhat puffed, and Tom’s leading counsel,

observing this, told King that his adversary’s “left

was gone,” which it was not, for Mace, this time, took

the initiative, and landed the left sharply on Tom’s

cheek. As Mace broke ground Tom followed, and when near

the stake he landed a round hit from the right on Jem’s

left jaw that sent him to grass――a clean knock-down

blow.

21.――Tom, eager to be at work, went in, but he did not

take much by his motion; after several exchanges, Jem

retreated. Mace slipped and got between King’s legs in

a defenceless position, holding himself up by the

handkerchief round Tom’s waist. King gallantly withheld

his hand, threw up his arms and smiled, walking to his

corner amidst general cheering.

22.――King was now the favourite, odds being offered on

him of 6 to 4, but no takers. King, as before, began

the business, and Mace was down to close the round.

23.――This was a harmless bout. King bored in; Mace

missed as he retreated, backed on to the ropes, and got

down.

24.――Both men came up with alacrity, despite the

pelting rain which streamed down their faces and limbs.

King was evidently slower, and Mace tried a lead. He

did not, however, get quite near enough, and Tom

pursued him round the ring until both were down, Mace

undermost.

25.――A curious round. Tom dashed at Mace, who stopped

him, then twisted round and got away. Tom followed, and

Mace propped him; at the ropes, when down, both men

patted each other in a good tempered manner.

26.――Mace came up determinedly, but exhibited ugly

punishment off the left eye and mouth. Still he was

steady, and met Tom’s onslaught cleverly. King closed

and tried to hold up Mace, but he slipped through his

hands.

27.――Tom administered a right hander on the jaw, and

down went Mace against his will for the second time.

28.――Mace recovered from the effects of his floorer in

an amazing manner. Tom had now a serious bump on his

right eye the size of a walnut, and had otherwise lost

his facial symmetry. His friends were, however, more

than sanguine, and urged him to keep his man at it. Tom

tried to do so, but got nothing at it, and in the fall

hit the stake.

29.――King got a round right-hander on Mace’s back of

his head, and both were down――a side fall.

30.――Mace seemed wonderfully steady, and in good form.

King, as before, made play; the ground was so soddened,

cut up, and pasty, that a good foothold was impossible.

Tom sent in his right, and Jem, with well-judged

precision, returned with both mauleys, when King

embraced him, but Mace put on the back-heel, and threw

Tom cleverly on his back; as Mace rose first from the

ground he patted King in a good-tempered manner, amidst

cries of “Bravo, Mace!”

31.――King, as he sat on his second’s knee, seemed much

distressed. His sides heaved like a forge-bellows; his

seconds were most assiduous, and sent him up clean and

fresh. Tom came slowly from his corner; not so Jem, who

advanced quickly to the scratch, and then tried to

entice his man to lead off. At last he did so, and gave

King as good as he sent, when Tom forced Mace to the

ropes. The latter turned himself round, reversing their

positions, and, after a short wrestle, threw Tom with

the back-heel a fair fall.

32.――Exchanges; King on the body, Mace on the head, and

both down.

33.――King still forcing the fighting; Mace as lively as

a grasshopper. After some pretty exchanges, Mace got

home the left on his opponent’s right cheek――a

cutter――a close, some fibbing, and both down, King over

the lower rope, and partly out of the ring.

34.――Mace first from his corner, but had not long to

wait for his opponent. Tom hit out with better

intention than judgment, and failed to do execution. A

close, Mace again got King with the back-heel, and

threw him heavily.

35.――The sun of success was brightening in the East,

though the clouds were pouring heavily. King was

suffering from his protracted exertions, and “bellows

to mend” was the case in his corner. His heart was

good, and he fought gallantly into a close, catching

pepper; Mace, after delivering a flush hit, falling in

the middle of the ring.

36.――After a little manœuvring, the men got on the

ropes, when King slipped down by a pure accident. As

King’s friends had objected to Mace’s style of getting

down, there were derisive counter-cheers and cries of

“foul!” followed by enthusiastic cheers for both men.

37.――Tom’s seconds found that their plan of forcing the

fighting had miscarried, and now gave opposite advice.

King waited for Mace, who manœuvred and feinted, until

Tom let go his left, and was countered artistically.

Mace then stepped in and delivered his left full in

King’s dial and in an exchange both were down in the

middle of the ring.

38-40.――King, finding Mace his master at out-fighting,

resumed his plan of going to work just as he was

getting second wind. The rounds again were of the old

pattern; King got the larger and heavier share of the

hitting, and both were down, Mace choosing his own time

to end the round. In the 40th round, King complained of

Mace using him unfairly, but the referee saw nothing

calling for his notice.

41, 42, 43 and last.――King was visibly distressed in

the first two of these three final rounds. In the last

of these bouts the combatants closed in the middle of

the ring, when Mace, who had delivered a heavy thwack

on King’s neck, struggled with him for the fall. In

going down, King, who was undermost, struck the front

of his head with great force on the ground. Tom’s

seconds had him in his corner in an instant, as the

position was critical. The die was however, cast.

“Time!” was called in vain. Mace, who was eagerly

watching his opponent’s corner, advanced to the

scratch. The referee entered the ring, watch in hand.

The eight seconds were counted; but King was still deaf

to the call of “Time!” and Mace was hailed the winner,

after one hour and eight minutes of rapid fighting on

both sides. Scarcely had the fiat gone forth when a

posse of police made their appearance, who, to do them

justice, seemed glad that the affair was over before

their arrival.

REMARKS.――The principal point to be noted is the

admirable manner in which both the loser and winner

fought out this gallant contest. The superiority of

Mace as a scientific pugilist alone enabled him to

contend with and finally defeat his brave, powerful,

and in size and physique formidable antagonist; while

to Tom King, the loser, the credit must be awarded of

doing all that man could do towards victory, and

yielding only to absolute physical incapability to

continue the contest. Although, however, the majority

were satisfied that the best man won, there was one who

entertained the opposite opinion, and that was Tom King

himself, as we shall presently see.

In April, 1862, some curiosity was awakened in fistic circles by the

return of John Heenan to England, preceded by an _annonce_ in the

American newspapers that he had “gone over to fetch the old belt, and

to fight Mace, the so-called Champion.” Hereupon Messrs. Moss Phillips

and John Gideon waited upon Heenan, on Mace’s behalf, offering to find

£500 or £1,000, if needful, to make a match. Heenan repudiated the

newspaper buncombe, saying that he had come over with the sole object

of fulfilling an engagement with Messrs. Howe and Cushing’s Circus

Troupe, and that he had “cut pugilism,” at least for the present. Jem,

who was now a London “pub.,” and host of the “King John,” in Holywell

Lane, was also on tour with Ginnett’s Circus, while in _Bell’s Life_

he declared his readiness to “meet any man for £1,000, barring neither

country, colour, nor weight.” In reply to this, Bob Brettle, still

sore from defeat, and, as he declared, “the ungrateful conduct of

Mace,” undertook to back “an Unknown” for £200 and the belt against

the Champion, and this Mace accepted. Hereupon King came out with a

statement that Mace had requested him not to challenge him “at

present,” for reasons which he gave, but now, as he had accepted a

challenge, he (King) claimed first turn. It may be proper here to

remark that King had joined Mace, at his request, in a sparring tour

early in 1862, which lends strength to King’s statement. Mace’s backer

having offered Brettle’s “Unknown” £25 to indemnify him for his

forfeit and expenses, articles were signed at Nat Langham’s, on June

18th, for a fight for £200 a side and the belt, to come off within six

months, the precise day not to be divulged until the night before the

battle, which was to take place in November or December. How Tom King

reversed the former verdict in 21 rounds, occupying 38 minutes, on the

26th November, 1862, may be read in the Memoir of King in the ensuing

Chapter.

King having publicly declared his retirement from the Ring, Mace

resumed the style of “Champion,” with whatever honours might still

attach to that tarnished title.

In December, 1862, Joe Goss, of Wolverhampton, an unbeaten pugilist,

weighing 10st. 10lbs., boldly offered himself to the notice of Mace

for “any sum from £200 to £500 a side;” and although the Wolverhampton

man waived any claim to the belt as the result of the battle, it was

said by his friends that they did not see why, if Mace alone barred

the way, their man should not claim the trophy. The match, though made

in December, 1862, had a most unbusiness-like aspect in some of its

details. The time of meeting being named as “nine months after

date”――a most suspicious period of gestation for such an

affair――September 1st, 1863, was the day. Nor was the amount of stakes

less calculated to tax belief, £1,000 being set down in the book; Mace

to post £600 to Goss’s £400, of which the Norwich’s man’s backers were

to table £330 to Goss’s £220 at the final deposit.

Match-making, at this time, appears to have got “considerably mixed.”

In May and June, Bill Ryall, of Birmingham, a twelve-stone man,

“seeing that Goss, though articled to fight Mace, did not pretend to

the Championship,” offered himself for “the belt and £200 a side, to

the notice of the Norwich hero,” after he had disposed of Goss. Mace

assented, and articles were signed, but before the decision of the

affair now under notice. Ryall’s friends appear to have repented of

their rash engagement, and forfeited the £25 or £30 down, as the

penalty of their indiscretion. The Brettle party’s choice of Ryall as

the man to lower the pretensions of Mace will seem the more surprising

when we state that Goss had beaten Ryall on September 24th, 1860, and

had fought him to a stand-still in a drawn battle for £100, February

11th, 1862. We will now return from this brief digression to the first

encounter of Mace and Gross.[35]

On the making good of the last deposit of £330 to £220, and the

announcement that it was duly “banked” in the hands of the Editor of

_Bell’s Life_, the almost dormant interest of many of the incredulous

was awakened, and crowds of anxious West End inquirers thronged to the

“Mitre” (Nat had shifted from the “Cambrian”), the “Three Tuns,” the

“Horseshoe,” the “Rising Sun,” the “Queen’s Head,” and the “Blue

Boar’s Head;” while the East Enders were as eager in their endeavours

to obtain the “straight tip” by looking in at Harry Orme’s, Joe

Rowe’s, Jemmy Welsh’s, Jem Cross’s, Jem Ward’s, Billy Richardson’s,

and the Champion’s own crib in Holywell Lane, Whitechapel.

Mr. Tupper having won the toss for Goss, the men went to scale at his

house, the “Greyhound,” Waterloo Road, when both were found within the

stipulated 10 stone 10 lbs., and, as we can safely affirm, from ocular

demonstration, in the perfection of condition.

In the face of a vigilant and hostile magistracy and police, the

managers necessarily adopted unusual precautions to confine the

knowledge of the time and place to none but “safe men.” Accordingly,

not only was the day kept secret, but it was not until the overnight

that even the line of rail and amount of fare were disclosed to

intending “excursionists.” When the “office” was given to those who

were prepared to invest £2 2s. in cardboard, the rendezvous was stated

to be the Paddington terminus of the Great Western, and the time _two

o’clock_ a.m., on the morning of St. Partridge, September 1st, 1863;

and thither, at that unreasonable and unseasonable hour, did the

“sheep destined for the shearing” eagerly repair.

Unhappily for the fortunes, nay, the very existence of the P.R., it

had become the practice of the floating fraternity of thieves,

mobsmen, and “roughs”――the latter too often combining the two former

in the same ruffianly individual――to stream to the railway station

whenever they got scent of a Ring “excursion,” instinctively knowing

that there plunder might be perpetrated. As where the carcase is,

there will the birds of prey be gathered, so on this 1st of September

in the darkness and gloom of a cloudy morning, a riot was got up

outside the entrances to the noble building, and many persons hustled,

robbed, and occasionally personally ill-treated, by a disorderly crowd

which, we can of our own avouch declare, did not comprise in its whole

body one single known pugilist. Yet more than one of our “best

possible public instructors” informed the public that “a mob of

prize-fighters and other ruffians robbed and maltreated the intending

travellers with lawless impunity.” Passing the baseless imputation

that “prize-fighters and other ruffians” were personally engaged in

this nocturnal _mêlée_, we must declare that of all the scenes of riot

and disorder we have witnessed, that at Paddington was the most

disgraceful, and marked the lowest stage in the downward journey of

the Ring, unless we accept the wrangles and rows of the partisans of

the men at some minor fights as exemplifying the Miltonic paradox――

“Beneath the lowest deep a lower still.”

At the hour of four the train steamed out of the station, and it was

currently stated that Wootton Bassett, in Wiltshire, about five miles

below the great engine-works at Swindon, was our destination. On

arriving at Didcot Junction it was perceived that the Oxfordshire

constabulary were awake, like Johnny Cope, “Sae airly in the mornin’;”

but their only exercise of their function on this occasion seemed to

be to wave us a courteous farewell as we steamed off, with the

addition of a few “’Varsity men” (in masquerade) who had become

possessed of “the secret,” and joined our party. At Swindon we

“watered” our iron horse, and about five miles farther the brakes were

on, and all soon alighted. After some little refreshment of the inward

man from the stores of a well-plenished hamper, the “meynie” getting

what they could at a neighbouring public, we tramped a mile of a dirty

lane, until it opened on a spot where the Commissary (Fred Oliver) and

assistants had laid out an excellent ring. And now began the customary

squabble between the “clever ones” on each side about the choice of a

referee. The Editor of the chief sporting journal, for nearly forty

years the consistent and able advocate and supporter of the Ring, had

finally refused the now dangerous position, and had recently, in

consequence of disorderly defiance of the representative of the paper,

forbidden his reporter to officiate, unless in circumstances he might

consider exceptional. Thus much valuable time was cut to waste.

Finally, the reporter of a new sporting paper consented to act, was

enthroned on the judge’s straw truss, and the men quickly made

themselves ready. As they stood up Joe looked “as hard as nails,”

while Mace’s elegant position, as he stood awaiting the anticipated

onslaught of his opponent, was pronounced by more than one judge to be

“beautiful.” To the surprise of all, however, after some not very

graceful squaring of elbows and half-steps left and right, never

venturing beyond the scratch, Joe retreated, and shaking his head with

a grim smile invited his adversary to approach. Jem did not seem to

perceive the advisability of this, so he smiled and nodded in return.

Presently, after a shift or two right and left, Mace advanced,

resolved to open the ball. Joe retreated, covering his points well,

when from the outer ring rose a warning cry, and ere its cause could

be asked, half a dozen “prime North Wiltshires”――not cheeses, but

policemen――rolled into the ring. Mace darted under the ropes and

skedaddled into a thicket, his retreat covered by his seconds, bearing

his outward habiliments; while Joe had nearly rushed into the arms of

one of the “rurals,” but luckily gave him the go-by, and “made tracks”

in another direction. Meantime the “bobbies,” with the utmost

good-humour, surveyed the flight, and, without interfering with the

Commissary, left him to reload his light cart with the _impedimenta_

of the ring, then, slowly following the discomfited company, saw them

safely down the road on their return to the train, which soon returned

at the appointed signal from a “siding” where it had been temporarily

located. Once on board, though the day was yet young, the victims were

politely informed that no more could be done that day, and that the

“Company’s” obligation to the “train charterers” would be discharged

by the delivery of the “excursionists” at their starting-point at

Paddington. “But,” added the referee, in an immediate conference, “I

shall order, as I am empowered by the Rules, the men to meet again

this day, at Fenchurch Street Station, and go down to Purfleet. When

there, we must be guided by circumstances; but we will have the fight

off to-day if possible.” That this was “gall and wormwood” to sundry

persons who looked to another “special” rather than a “result” might

easily be seen. They did not, however, dare to do more than prophesy

disaster and obstruction, and propose “a meeting at the stakeholder’s,”

or anywhere else, to procure postponement, which was properly and

peremptorily negatived.

Arrived at Paddington, the neighbouring cab-stands were quickly

cleared of their yawning waiters, whose glee at this unexpected and

profitable “call” was certainly heightened when they “twigged,” as one

of the cabbies told us, that they were “a-helping some of the right

sort out of a fix.” At Fenchurch Street conveyance to Purfleet was

quickly arranged for, and at 3h. 30m. the men, _materiel_, and company

were duly delivered at the riverside. Here it was resolved, and

prudently, that a transit to Plumstead Marshes should be made, as

suspicious movements of an “Essex calf” were observed. Long Reach cost

many no less a sum than ten shillings for the ferry; but this did not

stop those who could command the best and least crowded boats, and at

five o’clock, in a well-formed and certainly select ring,

THE FIGHT

Began with Round 2; for we suppose we most pay the

compliment to the _four and a half minutes_ of

“fiddling” at Wootton Bassett, as counting for Round 1.

As before it was expected that the “terrific Joe” would

force the fighting, and show that game and hard hitting

must tell against mere skill, with a slight and

apparently ineradicable suspicion among the provincials

from the North Midlands that Mace had a “soft place”

which Joe was the very man to find out. Nevertheless,

the Londoners offered 6 and even 7 to 4 on Mace. Again

Joe retreated, and as Jem followed got away again and

again, though in anything but a graceful style. His

intention to fight a crafty battle was apparent, and

did not seem to please his country friends. At last the

men came to a stand, Joe having his back to the ropes.

Jem let go his left sharply, but was prettily parried.

Mace drew back, when Joe, plunging at him, got home his

left straight on the body, getting, as might be

expected, a rattling smack on the mouth in return. Goss

licked his lips, and dodged about; Mace got closer,

and, swift as thought, planted a cutting left-hander on

the left eyebrow. It was a caution, and the crimson

instantly following, “first blood” was awarded to Mace.

Joe in jumping away from Mace’s advance slipped and

fell.

3.――Long and tedious sparring and manœuvring prefaced

this round. Goss, to the dissatisfaction of many, being

determined to avoid close quarters, and Mace equally

resolved not to give a chance away at long shots. When

they got closer, Mace sent in his left, and then his

right slap in the middle of Joe’s head, when a couple

of slashing counter-hits followed, Mace again

delivering with precision on the head, and Goss on

Mace’s forehead and chest. More sparring, Joe looking

quite vicious, and twice missing his shifty adversary,

until the latter accepted a rally, and some

extraordinary counter-hitting took place to the

advantage of Mace, he reaching Joe’s head, while the

latter got home on the chest or shoulder. Joe was

driven back, and as Mace pressed on to him slipped

down.

4.――The men seemed warming to their work, and lost no

time in the useless dodging which marked the previous

rounds. Mace led off and jobbed his man severely

through his guard, following his first smack with

another, and then getting away. Goss, though quick in

his returns, was hurried, and twice missed his right by

Maces’s quickness in shifting. Mace worked round into

the centre of the ring, when Joe bored in, in what his

friends called his “own old style.” In the exchanges

Joe dealt Mace a tremendous hit on the right eye, which

instantly left its mark. Mace broke ground and

retreated with his hands up in good form. (Vociferous

shouting from the Gossites, “The Young’un wins! The

Young’un wins!” and the excitement was immense at the

Wolverhampton corner.) Mace steadied himself, and,

after a short pause, Goss tried to get on to him again,

when, after some two-handed fighting not remarkable for

effectiveness, Mace caught his adversary such a

well-distanced left-hander on the head that Joe went

clean down against his will. (First knock-down for

Mace, being the second event scored.)

5.――On appearing at the scratch the swollen state of

Mace’s right eye told how heavily he had been hit in

the preceding round. Goss, urged by his seconds, dashed

in left and right, but was beautifully stopped. Joe

tried to play round his man, but Mace stepped in, gave

him a heavy hit in the mouth, then, after a few quick

exchanges, closed and threw him.

6.――Both men were now much marked, showing how heavy

the hitting had been. Goss moved all over the ring as

before, leading off, but ineffectively, being either

out of distance or easily stopped. Eventually they got

close, and exchanged heavy left-handed hits. More

chasséeing about the ring by Goss, till Jem got close,

and brought on more counters, Jem planting swift and

hard in the face with both hands. Goss returned left

and right on the head, and went down on his knees at

the ropes. Jem was about to deliver a stinger, but

checked himself, laughed, and walked away.

7.――Goss led off, but out of distance, as was often the

case when he attempted out-fighting. A long series of

movements with no great merit in them followed, till

Mace got in with his left, and then fine counter-hits

came, Goss certainly hitting straighter than he had

done in some preceding rallies. A little more

manœuvring, and then Joe went at his man, and brought

on some stunning exchanges――very heavy left-handed

counters, Mace on the right cheek, Goss on the

forehead. Goss, in getting away, fell.

8.――Joe appeared at last to be tired of the scientific

and waiting business, and went pluckily at Mace. He was

certainly first in the hitting, planting heavily left

and right on the head. Jem returned a couple of

smashers on the front of the head, and in some severe

exchanges his length and straightness of delivery gave

him the pull. The men closed, and after a good wrestle,

in which Goss displayed great muscular power, he got

the best of the fall, Mace being under him. (Great

applause for Goss, who was evidently fighting up hill.)

9.――Once more Joe tried to lead off, but he was out of

distance, and Mace could evidently make the fighting as

he chose. At last they closed near the ropes, when they

got a mutual hold, and some severe fibbing took place,

both men getting it hot until they fell together.

10.――Goss, instigated by his seconds, tried a rush. He

was neatly stopped, and seemed perplexed as to his next

move. Jem drew back and Joe followed, got home his

right on the body slightly, and was away. Mace stepped

on to him, dealt him a left-hander on the head, and Joe

slipped down.

11.――Mace now tried to make the fighting. He stepped in

upon Goss, who retired and shifted round in the clear

corner of the ring; at last Jem pinned him a stinger in

the mouth, and then as he jumped sideways caught him a

second crack with the same hand on the head; Goss

rushed in, delivering both hands, and Mace slipped down

amidst some hisses from Goss’s partisans.

12.――Some tedious sparring. Mace, who now evidently

meant fighting, tried to induce Goss to lead off, but

he would not. At length, Joe being, as Mace thought,

pushed in a corner, in he went, and a spirited rally

ensued. Mace got home on Joe’s damaged left eyebrow,

but Goss gave him a couple of rib-benders, and,

closing, proved his strength by bringing down the

Champion a sounder on the turf, and falling on him.

(Deafening cheers――“Joe’s waking him up!”)

13.――It was fully expected that Goss would now go to

work in the “finishing” style that had earned his fame;

but no! He again resorted to that clumsy yokel

craftiness which could never beat a man of Mace’s skill

and resource. He dodged about until Mace, seeing he had

got him, dealt him a sounding spank on the head with

the left, and then as he shifted about gave him a

straight punch in the mouth with the same hand. Joe,

stung with these visitations, went in too late, for

though he got in a round hit on the side of Mace’s

head, the latter clinched him and threw him.

14.――Goss, in performing his usual dancing steps around

the ring, caught his heel against a stake and stumbled;

Mace dashed at him, when Joe got down somehow. (A claim

of “foul” was preferred by Mace’s seconds, but

overruled)

15.――Goss was urged to “rattle in,” but he declined the

experiment, and moved round his man, then, lunging out

heavily with both hands got the left well home on the

side of the head. Mace got quickly close, hit Joe

severely in the mouth, and Goss fell in hurriedly

getting back.

16.――Mace measured his man carefully as they stood

sparring in the centre of the ring, and then swiftly

sent in a stinging left-hander. Joe shifted again, and

Mace, pressing him too closely, received a couple of

good hits on the head. Goss away as before; Mace worked

close to him, dealt him a crack on the head, and as he

stepped in again Goss slipped down. (Disapprobation.)

17.――Goss all over the ring, but Mace pressed after him

more sharply than hitherto. He fixed him at last, and

delivered both hands like lightning on the head. A

slashing rally, the best in the fight; Mace planting

with amazing quickness and force, left and right, going

home with severity. Joe stuck to his work, and lashed

out desperately in return; but though he certainly hit

his man heavily, Mace must have felt he had the

superiority for good and all in this rally. The men

closed, exhausted by severe exertion, and after a short

struggle fell together.

18.――Goss came up bleeding freely from the left brow,

nose, and mouth. His punishment was certainly severe;

Mace was also marked. After some sparring Joe lashed

out viciously with both hands, Mace slipped back, and

Joe, overreaching himself, fell. No mischief done, but

the Gossites looked blue.

Pugilistica: The History of British Boxing, Volume 3 (of 3) 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 · 第 15 / 17 章

Round 1.――As Mace threw himself into attitude there was