19th and last.――Both slow to time. Mace, cool as a

cucumber, seemed to be taking stock of his adversary,

as if beginning a fight. Goss worked about, stepping

first to one side, then the other, as if nervously

anxious to begin “business.” Mace worked him slowly

backwards, till close on the ropes, then, as Joe was

about to break away, he delivered a tremendous

right-handed lunge, straight from the shoulder; the

blow landed on the left side of Goss’s left jaw, and at

once hit him clean out of time. Poor Goss fell forward

insensible, and all efforts of his seconds to rouse him

proving vain, Mace was proclaimed the victor. Time, 1

hour, 55 minutes, 30 seconds.

REMARKS.――Notwithstanding the heavy hitting which came

at intervals, we must pronounce this a bad fight;

indeed, it could hardly be otherwise. Goss was entirely

over-matched in science, length, and weight, and

evidently felt it early in the fight. His dodging and

clumsy wiles to steal a march on so perfect a

practitioner as Mace were often almost ludicrous. His

game, indeed his only chance, was to have forced his

man to desperate rallies, and have trusted to his own

hardihood, courage and endurance――though this, we do

not believe, could have altered the final result. Mace,

on the other hand, was, considering his manifold

advantages, over-cautious. He not only would not risk a

chance, but he continually gave a chance away by being

too guarded. At the same time, we must admit that

Mace’s mode of winning the battle on the line he had

marked out exhibited consummate skill.

As a “side-light” may often elucidate a “dark corner,” we may remark,

that within a few weeks of this £1,000 victory we learned in a

disputation, that a neighbouring publican, and backer of Mace,

declared that Jem’s was a “bogus” proprietorship, and that the Norwich

“Champion” was heavily indebted to him.

At this period a wave of cant was passing over the country. The

_Morning Star_, a London daily long since defunct, in which John

Bright, the pugnacious Quaker, was largely interested, was furious in

its denunciations of the authorities for what it called “their

connivance in the brutalities of prize-fighters.” Contemporary with

the scripturally named _Morning Star_, was a yet more straightlaced

and puritan print, rejoicing in the title of the _Dial_, whose

mission, as we learned from its prospectus, was to “purify the daily

Press” by excluding from its columns not only racing reports and

“so-called sporting news,” but even cases from the police-courts,

divorce-courts, actions for slander or _crim. con._, and we know not

what else of the doings of this naughty world. The _Dial_, after

threatening to supersede the _Times_ (and all other dailies), spent

nearly all its capital in a very weakly issue, and finally threw the

balance of some thousands of pounds into the coffers of the _Morning

Star_, which therefore contracted a marriage, and added the words “and

_Dial_” to its title. We need not observe that marriage in the

newspaper world invariably means the death of the weaker vessel; and

so the _Morning Star_ and _Dial_, positively treated its readers,

after a few flourishes of condemnation, with a full, true, and

particular account of “this horrid prize-fight.” Surely hypocrisy and

the eagerness of saints to “turn a penny” could not further go? On the

other hand, the _Saturday Review_, a journal of manly independence,

and a sworn enemy of cant, published in its impression of the

succeeding week a life-like sketch from the pen of a scholar and a

gentleman, of his adventures in going to and coming from the fight,

with his impressions of what he saw thereat. Those who can refer to

the number will thank us for the reminder: here we can only find room

for the closing reflections.

“Looking dispassionately at this fight, and without admitting or

denying the truthfulness of the descriptions of other fights that we

have read, our conclusion is, that the epithets ‘brutal,’ ‘barbarous,’

‘disgusting,’ and so forth, are quite uncalled for. There are people

who don’t like fights, and there are people who view them as displays

of skill and fortitude. Yet much that is objectionable in the acts of

the supporters of the Ring and the practitioners of the art would

disappear if respectable society, so called, dared to look less

unkindly upon it and them. At any rate, we see no sufficient reason

why magistrates and police should display such excessive zeal in

hunting down a fight in such an out-of-the-way place as Plumstead

Marshes, and are glad they did not finally succeed on Tuesday,

September 1st, in disappointing the hundreds of people who had

travelled 200 miles to see the battle between Mace and Goss.”

So far as the history of the Prize Ring is concerned we would here

gladly close our record, leaving only the second combat of Tom King

and John Heenan for its finale; but a page or two of the suicidal

doings of its professors and destroying patrons must be added to

complete its story.

In the first month of 1864 a challenge, as in 1860, came across the

Atlantic. This time the cartel was in the name of one Joe Coburn, an

Irish American, and was responded to by Mace, whose backers proposed a

stake of £500 a side; and on May 27th, the challenger, accompanied by

Cusick, known aforetime as the companion and trainer of John Heenan,

and a Mr. Edwin James,[36] who described himself as Editor of the _New

York Clipper_, arrived in London to settle the preliminaries.

The articles as finally drawn were to the effect that Mace’s party

were to post £600, to £400 on the part of Coburn, and that at the last

deposit £100 was to be handed to the latter as expenses; that a

referee should be agreed on the day previous to the fight, which

should take place in Ireland, over 20 and under 100 miles from Dublin;

the money to be made good in ten fortnightly deposits.

On the occasions of these diplomatic protocollings, which were

conducted with a Yankee ‘cuteness and cavilling that were suspiciously

suggestive of knavery rather than straightforward honesty of purpose,

we saw a good deal of Mr. Joe Coburn, and the more we saw of him the

more assured were we that the astute “managers” of the affair must

have had some other design in view than a fair fight for a thousand

with such a man as Jem Mace. Joe Coburn, who stood about 5 ft. 8½ in.,

was a well-built fellow, something under 11 stone, and tolerably

good-looking; his countenance was the reverse of pugilistic in

formation or outline, his nose being decidedly of the Roman arch, and

the bony contour of his face and nob rather of the “hatchet” than

either the “snake” or the “bullet-headed” type. He told us that he was

a native of Middletown, County Armagh; that he was in his 26th year,

having been born July 20th, 1838; and that his parents took him to

America at an early age. At first his “business matters” were

entrusted to the care of the experienced Nat Langham, but “Ould Nat”

was soon thrust aside by the loquacious Hiberno-American “agents,”

“secretaries,” “friends and advisers” of Mr. Coburn, who, of himself,

appeared quiescent, modest, and taciturn. And here a word on the

wretched hands into which, in these latest days, the interests of the

Ring and pugilists had fallen. In times of old, but yet within his

memory, the writer has witnessed or been cognizant of conferences at

Tom Spring’s “Castle,” at Jem Burn’s, at Limmer’s Hotel, at

Tattersall’s, and especially in the editorial sanctum, the front

parlour of No. 5, Norfolk Street, Strand, whereat Honourables, M.P.’s,

and gallant Guardsmen――such patrons of pugilism as the Marquises of

Drumlanrig and Waterford, Lord Ongley, Lord Longford, Sir Edward Kent,

Sir St. Vincent Cotton, Harvey Combe――with squires, country gentlemen,

and sportsmen, have taken part in discussing the interests of fair and

honest pugilism and pugilists, and aiding them by purse and patronage.

He may add that in those times Lord Althorp (afterwards Earl

Spencer),[37] the present courtly diplomatist and Foreign Minister,

Earl Granville (Lord Leveson-Gower), the greatest of the Sir Robert

Peels, the Honourable Robert Grimston (brother to the Earl of

Verulam), Lord Wenlock, Lord Palmerston, and the now venerable

philanthropist, the Earl of Shaftesbury (then Lord Ashley),[38] with

other “brave peers of England, pillars of the State,” did not disdain

to sanction and approve, by example, speech, and pen, the practice and

principles of boxing, and the peculiarly English and manly Art of

Self-defence.

All these had already disappeared, or withdrawn in disgust, and left

no successors. Their places were usurped by a clamorous crew of sharp

practitioners, loud-mouthed disputants, and tricky match-makers――the

sweepings of society in the Old and New Worlds. Those on this side of

the water were backed by the ill-gotten gains of the keepers of low

gambling hells and night-houses, those on the other side by the

proprietors of bar-rooms, drinking-saloons, and the large crowd of

loungers, loafers, and rowdies who hang on the skirts of the Sporting

World of the Great Republic and are its disgrace and bane. The

cardinal principle of these worthies, like that of the “welshers” of

our own race-courses, being “heads I win, tails you lose,” it was

certainly a trial for an Englishman’s patience and gravity to hear and

read it urged, as a reason for choosing Ireland as a battle-ground,

that our Hiberno-American cousins (or cozens) were afraid their man

“would not get fair play” in England. But we must proceed.

No sooner had the conditions been duly published to the world in the

sporting papers than the “high contracting parties” set off upon their

provincial tours, with the summer all before them. With Coburn’s

progress his “secretary” kept the newspaper press _au courant_; we

were told, from week to week, how he put on the mittens with Joe Goss,

Bill Ryall, Jack Rooke, Reardon, and others, at Birmingham,

Manchester, Liverpool, Glasgow, and Dublin, and of course “bested”

them. Those who knew how these things were arranged, took them with

the needful “grain of salt,” and we coupled them with the significant

fact that three of the pugilists named each separately expressed to us

his envy at Mace’s good luck, and his regret that _he_ was not in his

place to “try conclusions” with the newly imported “champion.” Mace,

too, was not behind in travelling the “circuits,” having for his

“agent in advance” and “secretary,” Harry Montague, well known, even

up to 1881, as secretary to “Myers’s Great American Hippodrome and

Circus.”

We skip over the months until we come to September 24th, at which

time, strange to say, not a single detail seemed to have been arranged

by either party, and when, at the last deposit at Harry Brunton’s,

Barbican, the £1,000 was declared to be made good, and the £100 cheque

of the stakeholder thereafter handed over to Coburn and Co., we must

confess we were much exercised in mind to know what would be the next

move in the _kriegspiel_. We were soon enlightened. Coburn’s

representatives having won the toss, communicated that the rendezvous

would be Mr. Woodroffe’s, “Cambridge Arms,” Island Bridge, near

Dublin, on Monday, October 4th. Accordingly, to “mak’ siccar,” we

booked ourselves, on the previous Saturday, by the “Wild Irishman” for

Holyhead, and thence by the swift mail-packet, the “Scotia,” landed

early on Sunday morning at Kingstown, suffering some delay from a

tremendous south-wester in the Channel. Here we found our Irish

friends all alive, and as full of questions and eager inquiries for

news as if they had been ancient instead of modern Greeks. _More

Hibernico_, too, we soon found that they could tell us more than we

knew about the matter; for by way of a secret we were informed in the

street, before we had landed six hours, that “Joe” (Coburn) “shure was

in Limerick, and that the foight ’ud come off nigh hand there, at

Goold’s Crass,” which, if thus publicly known, made us sure that it

would not. We stood on the pier watching the arrivals. By the

Liverpool packet came a large accession to the English division; among

them Jerry Noon, Bos Tyler, Welsh, Hicks, with Fred Oliver, the

Commissary, and his henchman, Puggy White, and not a few familiar

faces from London, Birmingham, Manchester, and the North.

In Dublin we found not a few “London particulars” of the Press: the

editor of _Bell’s Life_ (Frank Dowling), with young Holt as his

aide-de-camp, the editor of the _Era_, ditto of two new penny

_Sportsmen_, with half a dozen penmen of the London dailies and

weeklies, all seeking pabulum for their “special correspondence” from

the Irish capital. At “the Imperial” we met an American party, which

included John Heenan, his “secretary (!)” Mr. Hamilton, Cusick, and

the literary and artistic representatives of a New York “illustrated”

journal. Here, too, we met our friend Shirley Brooks (the editor of

_Punch_, _in posse_), looking fair, fresh, and pleasant, and more

resembling a smart Meltonian fresh from “the shires” and following the

brush across a grass country than a London Press-man just escaped from

the consumption of the midnight gas. To him, as one of the

“uninitiated,” we imparted our confidence, that he had better enjoy

himself in the pleasant circles of Dublin society, than set out on any

such “pig-shearing” expedition as the contemplated journey must in all

probability prove.

Monday morning came, and we strolled down Dame Street. We were quickly

hailed by a car-driver, “Would we like jist a dhrive to Monkstown?

Shure an’ Mishter Mace is up there, at the Salt Hill hot-el, he is;

an’ there’s lots o’ gintry as he’s a shtrippin’ an’ showin’ hisself

to――shure I seen him mysilf through an open windy, yesterday marnin’;

an’ by the same token he a-runnin’ a quarter race like a shtag, an’

batin’ his man, a rig’lar paydesthrian too. Will I dhrive yer hanner?”

Yes; but not to Monkstown. At this moment we were accosted by an old,

very old acquaintance, none other than the erewhile host of the “Blue

Boar’s Head,” Long Acre, a renowned English “paydesthrian,”

Drinkwater, better known in sporting circles by his alias of

“Temperance.”[39] This worthy relic of a better period and better men,

had been for some years located in the Irish capital, in a

confidential employment in an extensive commercial institution, and,

as he was among the curious, we mounted the jolting jaunting-car, and

away we went for Island Bridge.

The scene here was curious, and quite novel to an English eye. Groups

of people, consisting of men with a large sprinkling of slatternly

women and barefoot children, were thickly scattered on the roads and

river-banks, while vehicles of every description, and some of no

possible description, rattled through the crowds amid cheers, shouts,

and now and then objurgations and cries from the assemblage. Hard by,

to complete the oddity of the picture, stood a squad of active,

good-looking, and apparently good-humoured constabulary, each carrying

his handy rifle-carbine and sword-bayonet, and all seemingly on the

best of terms with Paddy and Shelah, and the “gossoons” who formed the

holiday gathering. Making our way into the house we there found, that

though the much-talked-of Goold’s Cross was the appointed _champ

clos_, that not only was there, up to this time, no train or other

mode of conveyance thither even suggested, but that the “assembled

chiefs” were only about to discuss the nomination of a referee, as

provided by the articles. Had this matter been left to Harry Brunton

on behalf of Mace, and “Ould Nat” as the representative of Coburn, no

doubt that matter would have been quickly and amicably settled. That

this did not suit the “managers” was quickly apparent. We found a

meeting much resembling, on a smaller scale, a Yankee “caucus,” or an

assembly of French communards at Belleville, gesticulating, shouting,

swearing, and all talking at once, while in the midst our deaf friend,

Harry Brunton, Old Nat, Mr. Edwin James, and half a dozen Hibernian

amateur counsellors in vain tried to obtain a hearing. Finally, as

nothing could be done here, an adjournment took place to a more

private apartment. Here the squabble was renewed. For referee, after

various names had been assented to by Brunton and rejected by the

Coburn party, the latter declared, that they would fight under the

refereeship of no man but a certain Mr. Bowler, of Limerick, a person

utterly unknown to any one present, and of whom no one could certify

that he had the slightest acquaintance with the rules of the Ring, or

the duties of the office thus proposed to be thrust upon him. At this

time, too, it was truly reported that a body of 100 constabulary were

posted near Thurles, and that a man had been just arrested at Goold’s

Cross on suspicion that he was Coburn, who, however, was stated to be

safe at a place called Ballangella, twelve miles from Limerick.

Brunton now put his foot down in refusing the mysterious Mr. Bowler,

and as Messrs. James and Co. were equally obdurate, the dispute as to

whether _either_ party meant fighting went on until the clock struck

three, when the match, according to the articles, was actually _off_.

Hereupon Harry Brunton declared his intention of not trusting his man

to the forbearance of the Irish police, and, unless a fair referee

were agreed on, he would wash his hands of the whole affair and return

to England. Harry then left the house, and embarked on board the

Holyhead packet, Mace also leaving at nine o’clock. And now came the

concluding scenes of this Irish comedy. The Coburn clique loudly

proclaimed their intention of claiming the £900 in the hands of the

stakeholder. They would go down to Goold’s Cross――and they did so――and

then and there summon the “runaway” to meet their man. Resolved to see

out the farce, we took tickets. On the platform were a hundred

greencoats armed with carbines; and a ruddy-faced young rustic, whose

name proved to be Ryan, as unlike Mace as could be, having been

pointed out by some practical joker as Mace, was forthwith arrested as

the redoubted English champion, but soon set at liberty. The ring,

consisting of four posts and a rope, having been pitched at a place

called Pierstown, Kilmana, and the police being assured that there

being but _one_ man there could be no fight, stood laughing by, while

proclamation for the appearance of the English champion was made and

the stakes duly claimed, and so the curtain fell.

The scene shifts to England, where the stakeholder, after innumerable

criminations and recriminations, declared “a draw” of the battle-money

by each party as the only possible verdict. Of course the Mace party,

and Harry Brunton especially, were seriously out of pocket by the

_fiasco_, in travelling, training, and other expenses, beyond the £100

disbursed to Coburn and Co. The editor of _Bell’s Life_ thus sums up

the case:――

“Looking at the matter calmly and dispassionately, we are

led to think that Mace has been treated harshly. Of Coburn

we have formed this opinion, that he never had the slightest

intention of fighting; that he had not even trained; that he

was a mere instrument in the hands of others, and believed

the match would be turned to account by some trick of Yankee

juggling, without the peril of exposing his cutwater

countenance to the active props of Mace’s handy digits.

Taking the affair as a whole, it has been one of the

greatest and most fatal blows to pugilism within our memory,

and will tend more to estrange and disgust true patrons of

the Ring than any event of our time. We have not heard any

more appropriate name bestowed upon any great disappointment

than that invented by the sporting editor of the _Morning

Advertiser_, when he described the no-result as ‘the

collapse of a gigantic wind-bag.’”

While on the subject of the Press, we cannot refrain from a pleasant

episode in relief of so much chicanery and knavery.

No one can deny the native humour of our Irish fellow-countrymen, and

their keen sense of the ridiculous, hence some Irish wag turned this

affair of Mace and Coburn to laughable account. A certain portion of

the “unco’ guid” Puritan and eminently pious Catholic press of Dublin

was loud in its outcries of horror, and its denunciations of the

unhallowed incursion of “fighting men” into the peace-loving “island

of saints.” It called loudly for the strong arm of the law to preserve

intact the holy soil, miraculously cleared by St. Patrick, from a

renewed invasion of foreign “vermin.” Some sly wag (the hoax was

worthy of Theodore Hook himself) accordingly indited the following

“pastoral” from the Cardinal Archbishop of Dublin, which, being

forwarded to the leading Irish papers, found ready insertion and

approving editorial comment:――

“_Dublin, Feast of the Angel Guardians, 1864._

“VERY REVEREND BRETHREN,――My attention has been called by

some respectable gentlemen to a report now widely

circulated, that this city, or its vicinity, is to be made

the theatre of a signal combat between two foreign

pugilists, who are about to expose their lives to imminent

danger for a certain sum of money. This report must be the

subject of great regret to every one who is imbued with the

spirit of Christian charity, and who recognises in his

fellow-man the image of his Creator. It is not necessary for

me to call on you to use all your influence to preserve this

Christian country from an exhibition so disgraceful, and so

well calculated to degrade human nature. I shall merely

request of you to publish, as soon as possible, from your

altars, that such combats, in which human life is exposed to

danger, are prohibited under the severest penalties by the

Holy Catholic Church. Passing over the decrees of the

Council of Trent, it will be sufficient to state that the

learned Pontiff Benedict XIV. excommunicates the principal

actors in such fights, their seconds, and all who encourage

them, and all who designedly become spectators of such

unworthy scenes. If you denounce these penalties from the

altar I am confident that the faithful of this diocese, who

are so devotedly attached to Holy Catholic Church, and so

obedient to its laws, will listen with contempt to the

invitation of those who would implicate them in the misdeeds

of foreign gladiators, and will abstain from countenancing

or encouraging anything condemned by our holy religion, and

contrary to the dictates of the Gospel.

“PAUL CULLEN.”

The absurdity of the date of this “pastoral,” and the satirical retort

on Lord Lyndhurst’s celebrated speech, in which he characterised the

Irish as “aliens in blood, in language, and religion,” by describing

Mace and Coburn as “foreign gladiators,” might have aroused suspicion.

But no; with the godly, when they attack the wicked, _on fait flêche

de tout bois_; so the Puritan and Methodist prints actually praised

the anti-combatant zeal of the Cardinal, and the “pastoral” was

reproduced with approbation in a paper containing two savage

assaults――in one of which a man’s nose was bitten off――and four other

outrages of the “foinest pisanthry” with weapons, in two of which the

victims were left senseless and apparently dead!

That the English newspapers took the hoax _au sérieux_ is hardly to be

wondered at, but the two following specimens, one ridiculing, the

other approving, the ingeniously fabricated “pastoral,” are really

worth preserving as curiosities of newspaper literature.

(From the _Manchester Guardian_, October 5, 1864.)

“THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE PUGILISTS.

“_To the Editor of the_ ‘EXAMINER’ AND ‘TIMES.’

“SIR,――I perceive from your journal of to-day that

Archbishop Paul Cullen has issued a pastoral to his clergy

against the great fight that was to have come off in

Ireland, in which country it is well known that fighting is

the very last thing the inhabitants ever resort to for the

settlement of differences. As the men are not going to

fight, there will be little difficulty in obeying the

injunction of Cardinal Paul. Had it been otherwise, I am

afraid a few of ‘the faithful’ would have been congregated

in the outer ring, and perhaps some few (who of course could

not read or had not read the Pastoral) might have got up

some little independent shindies of their own, even as young

buds surrounding the inner red roses, or noses. But are we

quite sure the Archbishop really alludes to the same thing

as we do? He describes the projected fight as between ‘two

foreign pugilists.’ Now I understand Mr. Coburn is not an

American, but an Irishman. Mr. Mace is undoubtedly from

Norwich; and although, in a certain sense, that Quaker,

crape-weaving city may be described as _in partibus

infidelium_, yet letters from Limerick to Norwich are not

yet forwarded _viâ_ Ostend. I fancy what the Archbishop

means is this, that in the case of real native

Irishmen――take the Belfast Catholics and Protestants, for

example――fighting could not possibly occur, and that he

wishes to show that only individuals ‘not to the manner

born’ could import so dangerous a custom or practice into

that peaceful land. A ‘foreigner’ from London or from Oldham

might possibly come to fisticuffs in the county of Wicklow,

but they would receive no countenance or encouragement from

the peace-loving natives, who, refusing to hold their hats

or coats, or to mop off any casual claret, would avert their

eyes, and, like the soldier in the song, ‘wipe away a tear.’

I have no interest in the two persons called ‘foreigners’ by

the Archbishop, but I think in so designating them his

Eminence has administered a severer punishment than the

occasion required. I should not like to retort upon the

Archbishop or call my Irish fellow-citizens

‘foreigners’――writing a paragraph for your journal, for

instance, to the following effect――‘Two foreigners, named

Dennis Blake and Patrick O’Rafferty, were brought before Mr.

Fowler for fighting in Deansgate. O’Rafferty, who spoke with

a strong foreign accent, said “Blake tould me, plaze yer

hannar, he’d jist bate the soul out o’ me in a brace of

shakes, an’ Oi――――” Mr. Fowler, “I’ve evidence enough. You

are ’aliens in blood, in language, and in religion”――I am

quoting an eminent jurist――and you must pay a fine of ――, or

go to prison.’

“It must, however, be a great consolation and relief to the

minds of Mr. Mace and Mr. Bos Tyler that the Archbishop

‘passes over the decrees of the Council of Trent,’ and

merely throws the ‘learned Pope Benedict XIV.’ at their

heretic heads. It seems to me that one of the Pope

‘Bonifaces’ would be more appropriate in a case of ‘pubs,’

and prize-fighters, for a ‘stinger over the left.’

Faithfully yours,

“J. F. T.

“_Manchester, October 5, 1864._”

An extract from that immaculate journal _The English Churchman_,

culminates the joke:――

“THE ARCHBISHOP AND THE BOXERS.

“‘No good thing is without its attendant evil,’ is a

platitude as old, at least, as the time of Lucretius. Old,

however, as it is, and platitude as it has become, it is a

truth, notwithstanding. The intercourse and intercommunion

of nations is an undoubted good. It has, however, we are

reminded, its repulsive as well as its attractive aspect. An

international Congress may be useful. International

Exhibitions, apart from the boastful self-sufficiency which

attends them, may be good. International Copyright is what

all authors sigh for, and we can even enjoy the noise and

bustle of an International Dog Show. We have, however,

advanced beyond this, and have within the last week only

barely escaped the disgrace of another International Prize

Fight. Amidst the dearth of political news; the stagnation

of home scandals; and the absence of our chief notabilities

from London, if not from England, Mr. Edwin James――the same

person, we presume, who so recently ‘left his country for

his country’s good,’ has sought to manufacture telling

paragraphs for newspaper editors by getting up an

International Prize Fight in the sister island.[40] Happily

for the character of Ireland, its police, jealous of all

fighting save amongst the native element, and with the

lawful and national weapon――the shillelagh――have prevented a

repetition of these scandalous scenes and gatherings; and

the English Champion has had to return to London _re

infecta_. With the squabbles of the would-be combatants and

their friends――with the recriminations of Yankee sharpers

and English blackguards, we have nothing to do. We leave the

patrons of the Ring to settle the important question of the

stakes among themselves. Nor are we about to try the

patience of our readers with either a defence or an attack

upon the immunities of the Prize Ring. What we desire to

chronicle is the worthy attitude assumed by the Roman

Catholic Archbishop of Dublin, who addressed the following

letter to the clergy within his jurisdiction. [The letter

will be found elsewhere.] This letter we gladly publish as

worthy of the position of the writer. If successful, as but

for an accident it might have been, it would have afforded

an encouragement to the author, as it will be a valuable

precedent to himself and to the rest of his brethren, and

will, we have no doubt, lead them to ‘announce’ the same

‘penalties’ of excommunication against the midnight

assassin, watching to take the life of his landlord; so that

the pugilist and the hired murderer alike will before long

both be sought for in vain in the peaceful ‘Isle of the

Saints.’ With the fact of the publication of such a document

we are too gratified to attempt to cavil at its language.

The emphasis laid on the circumstance that Mace and Coburn

were two ‘_foreign_ pugilists,’ and that they were two

‘_foreign_ gladiators,’ seams at first sight a covert way of

claiming the monopoly of fighting for the faithful and

non-alien portion of the community, and is hardly consistent

with the fact that one of the would-be combatants was born

in the county of Armagh, which is usually considered a part

of Ireland. We have, however, no doubt that these words,

though not literally correct, were judiciously thrown in by

the Archbishop, in order to enlist the patriotism and

national feeling of those to whom this letter was addressed,

and with the hope that those Irishmen who might be

indifferent to the wishes and orders of ‘Paul Cullen,’ would

readily follow the directions of the writer when they were

fortified by the belief that the two invaders of the

peace――the two gladiators――were, after all, only

‘foreigners,’ and hence undeserving of the honour of an

Irish audience.”

At the “settlement” of accounts――Messrs. James and Co., receiving a

cheque of £400――a funny little incident of modern practice oozed out.

Harry Brunton, among other liabilities, had made himself responsible

to a silk-mercer for Mace’s “colours,” and now asked to be reimbursed.

In olden times, when a pugilist distributed his colours, it was with

the honourable understanding, on the part of the recipient, that in

the event of victory the man should receive a guinea (subsequently a

“sov.”), and _nothing_ if he lost. This was the understanding; not as

a sale, but, as the newspapers say of correspondence, “as a guarantee

of good faith.” In modern times, however, as Molière’s _Quack Doctor_

assures _Géronte_, “_Nous avons changé tout cela_,” and the gallant

and generous dispenser insists on the prepayment of a guinea――we

suppose “as a guarantee of good faith”――on the part of his patron.

Indeed, we do not see how he could safely do otherwise, as the looms

of Spitalfields and Coventry would hardly suffice to supply the

demands of silk kerchiefs on “a promise to pay,” while the deposit of

a sovereign each (not returnable), for a few dozen of handkerchiefs,

invoice price 5s. 6d., most have a certain consolation in case of a

draw or a lose.

Accounts being squared, Mace, as he said “to clear his character,”

offered to fight Coburn anywhere in England for £100 or “on his own

terms.” Bill Ryall, Joe Goss, Jack Rooke, also, were all “ready to

meet Coburn.” The latter responded that he was ready to fight Mace, in

“any part of Her Majesty’s dominions in America, for £1,000, but not

in England _with a mob at his back_.” Brunton published a list of

Mace’s backers, “to whom their money had been returned;” a similar

document of the deposits made on behalf of Coburn might have proved a

curiosity. Our sole apology for treating at such length these later

doings is, that we look upon them as the concluding chapter in the

downfall of the Ring, and as the elucidation of a question often put

to us, “Do we consider its revival possible?” to which our reply has

uniformly been, “Not only not possible, but not even desirable; ‘other

times, other manners:’ its revival would be an anachronism.” Yet did

the old bull-dog spirit die hard, and several good battles were

contested in the years 1863-70. In November, 1864, a new big one, Joe

Wormald, claimed the Championship, when he was answered by another big

’un, hight Andrew Marsden. Mace sent forth a challenge to meet the

winner, who proved to be Wormald, who received the belt. The day of

battle was named for November 1, 1865, for £200 and the Championship;

but a severe accident disabling Wormald, Mace received the sum of £120

forfeit.

The year 1866, opened with another “train-swindle.” A second match

“for £200 and the belt” had been got up with Joe Goss, and Tuesday,

May 24th, appointed for its decision. About four hundred tickets

having been disposed of by industrious touting, at two guineas first

class, and £1 10s. 6d. second, the company started at half-past five

on the appointed morning, on “an excursion there and back,” as the

card-board expressed it. At 6h. 13m. we passed Farningham Road, and at

6h. 35m. slackened speed and disembarked at Longfield Court, near

Meopham, Kent, where a ring was formed, and after the customary

ceremonies, Jem Mace and Joe Goss――after much waiting for the police,

who came not――stood up face to face, at a respectful distance, for the

first and only round of the

NO FIGHT.

Round 1.――Mace would not lead off, but nodded and

beckoned to Joe, who, however, declined his invitation

and nodded and grinned in return, squaring his elbows

and stepping first to right and then to left, in an

ungainly manner, but never trusting himself within what

Mr. Gladstone calls “a measurable distance” of a knock;

Mace, also, politely preserving an interspace in all

his manœuvres. As minute after minute dragged on, and

it was clear neither man meant to fight, the referee

stepped into the ring, and warned the men, unless blows

were struck he would declare “a draw.” The announcement

was received with the utmost indifference by both the

principal performers, who walked about during the

discussion, chafing their arms and breasts with their

hands, and exchanging recognitions with acquaintances

and friends. Again the men faced each other, and again

alternately advanced and retreated; fifty minutes, one

hour elapsed, and not a blow was struck. Again and

again did the referee remonstrate. He might as well

have “whistled jigs to a milestone.” At the end of 74

minutes he leaped into the ring for the last time, and

amidst the laughter and hisses of the spectators,

declared it “a drawn battle;” whereupon the unscathed

gladiators shook hands, grinned, and put on their

clothes, Mace coolly informing us, that he had

“sprained his ankle severely a few days before,” and

that “he was not fit to fight;” though how that ensured

Goss’s forbearance was left unexplained. So all

returned to town――the sheep and their shearers.

“Hope springs eternal in the human breast,”

and so, in the hope of witnessing a fight at last, Mace signed

articles once again for £200, and to ensure that the men should get

closer together this time, a ring of 16 feet was agreed upon. In this,

on August 6th, 1866, Jem Mace displayed indisputable superiority by

giving Master Joe an exemplary beating in 21 rounds, occupying one

minute over the half-hour.

The bubble of 1866-7 was the appearance of a new “Irish giant,”

standing 6 ft. 4½ in., first dubbed O’Baldwin, and afterwards Ned

Baldwin――a name familiar to Ring history. Having beaten one George

Iles, O’Baldwin claimed the belt, and Mace (who had retired) backed

“an Unknown” against him. This “Unknown” Mace afterwards declared to

be Joe Goss; but Mace having got into trouble over a battle between

Holden and Peter Moore, at Derby, and Joe injuring his shoulder in his

Bristol fight with Allen, Mace was allowed (for a consideration) to

name Joe Wormald in his stead, and to postpone the fight for a

fortnight, and yet farther to Saturday, 23rd April, 1867, so as not to

clash with the Two Thousand Guineas Stakes. Will it be believed that

300 persons travelled that morning by the South Eastern Railway to

find that “the Giant” had somehow mistaken the terminus, and by a

misdirection was sitting in a four-wheeler, doubled up like a

pocket-knife, under a dry arch in Tooley Street, while the special

steamed off without him, and so Joe Wormald received the £200 forfeit?

To console the confiding public, Mace now offered himself to the

notice of O’Baldwin on the usual terms, to meet on October 15th, 1867.

The £400 was made good, and Jem was ordered from Newmarket, where he

was training, to Woodford, Essex, when it was communicated that the

officers were after him, and he crossed over into Surrey. Here, at

Herne Hill, he was arrested by Sergeant Silverton, of the Metropolitan

Police, together with Pooley Mace, his cousin, brought before Sir

Thomas Henry, at Bow Street, and duly bound over to keep the peace in

sureties of £300. At the examination, Inspector Hannan stated that the

tickets were, to his knowledge, sold at two, three, and four guineas.

So each man, as we were told next week, “drew his stake,” on the

ground of “magisterial interference.” Again Mace had retired, and Joe

Wormald being disabled by illness, O’Baldwin was left, like the Giant

Blunderbore, “King of the Castle.” The reader has already, in this

Memoir, had the opportunity of forming an opinion of the pugilistic

pretensions of Sam Hurst, “the Stalybridge Infant.” Yet Sam Hurst was

dragged from his obscurity, and it was thought a good thing might be

made of the _gobemouches_ by a Championship fight between the giants!

This was, however, too utterly preposterous, and it broke down. In

December, 1867, Joe Goss and Wormald were matched, which ended in a

forfeit, and Wormald, O’Baldwin, and Co. were announced as departing

for America!

Here, in 1868, as we learn from the Transatlantic journals, Joe

Wormald and the prodigious O’Baldwin were matched “for 2,500 dollars

and the Championship of the World.” They met at Lynnfield,

Massachusetts, when, after a scramble of ten minutes in a single

round, the “sheriff and his merrie men” interfered and stopped further

proceedings. Thereafter, we are told, the “stakeholder having ordered

Wormald to renew the fight,” and he not complying, that functionary

handed the money to “the Irish champion,” a proceeding which, in the

words of Lord Dundreary, “no fellah can understand.” After returning

for awhile to England, Mace sailed for the Antipodes, and by the

latest accounts was a prosperous publican in Melbourne.

Our tale is well-nigh told. In 1870, Jem Mace, being in America, met

Tom Allen for 2,500 dollars a side. They fought near New Orleans, on

May 10th, when Jem polished off the Birmingham bruiser in style in 10

rounds, 44 minutes.

As the design of “PUGILISTICA” is to supply a reliable and honest

history of the British Prize Ring and the deeds of its worthies, we

shall here drop the story of New World rowdyism. The Ring had finished

its career――had died in the country of its birth; its last expiring

flicker had sputtered out, and _exit in fumo_, exiled for its misdeeds

to a land where its true merits and principles never had an existence.

Having thus traced it to its ignominious end, we return, for a single

chapter, to the doings of Tom King, whom we have already styled

“_Ultimus Romanorum_.”

[34] See PUGILISTICA, vol. i., p. 33, _et seq._

[35] The career of Joe Goss shows that even in the last days

of its degeneracy the P.R. had brave men who would have gone

straight, had they not been warped from the direct course of

honesty by knaves who sought only to make the pugilist the

instrument of their own nefarious ends. Goss’s birthplace

was the file-making town of Wolverhampton, on the 16th of

August, 1838; and he made his _début_ at the age of

twenty-one, in a battle with Jack Rooke, of Birmingham, for

£25 a side, on the 20th September, 1859. His defeat of Rooke

in 1 hour and 40 minutes, after 64 sharp rounds, was a

promising first appearance, seeing that that boxer had

recently beaten Tom Lane――brother to the renowned “Hammer”

of that ilk. His next match was with Price, of Bilston, a 12

stone man, who has been often confounded with Posh Price, of

Birmingham――also, at a subsequent period (1862) beaten by

Goss. This battle ended in a forfeit by Goss, he being

arrested at the instance of his father when going to scale,

November 9th, 1859. Joe was determined not to be baulked,

and at a meeting between himself and Price, the latter

offering to fight him for £10, as a solace for his

disappointment, the money was posted, and the men met on the

10th of February, 1860, near Wolverhampton. Joe’s activity,

power of hitting, and fearless style soon brought his

opponent down to his own weight; and in the short space of

25 minutes, in which 15 rounds were fought, Price was

consummately thrashed. Bodger Crutchley, who was in high

esteem for his victories over George Lane, Sam Millard, Bos

Tyler, Smith (of Manchester), and who had last fought Posh

Price a drawn battle (interrupted by the police), was Joe’s

next opponent. They met near Oxford, July 17th, 1860, for

£100 a side, when, after a gallant struggle of 120 rounds,

lasting 3 hours and 20 minutes, Goss was hailed the victor.

On September 24th, 1861, Joe met and defeated Bill Ryall,

for £50 a side, in 2 hours 50 minutes, during which 37

tedious and shifty rounds were fought; and on the 11th of

February, 1862, Joe a second time faced Bill Ryall for £100

a side (on the Home Circuit), for _three hours and eighteen

minutes_, when, as neither man could or would finish, the

referee declared “a draw.” This brings us to his battle with

Mace for £1,000, detailed above. On December 16th, 1863,

Goss entered the ring with Ike Baker for £100, whose

pretensions Joe disposed of in 27 rounds, lasting 80

minutes, the punishment being all on one side. Joe’s next

two matches were defeats by Mace. On March 6th, 1867, Goss

was matched for £100 a side with Bill Allen, of Birmingham.

This was a remarkable muddle; after fighting 34 rounds in

three different rings, time inclusive 1 hour and 54 minutes,

darkness came on, and “a draw” was declared. Soon after

Allen sailed for America, landing at New York, July 21st.

Joe, who considered he had been treated unfairly, and robbed

of the fair reward of his milling superiority, followed him,

and, notwithstanding his voyage, issued his challenge to

Allen on the 8th of April, six days after his arrival. This

was promptly accepted, and the match made for 5,000 dollars

(£1,000), to be fought for on the 7th of September. We need

hardly remind the reader that the Irish newspaper Press of

the United States is in the hands of expatriated Irishmen,

whose buncombe and bombast is only exceeded by their

prejudice and ignorance. These worthies magnified the

contest into a battle for “the Championship,” but as Goss

had been two and a half times beaten by Mace, and Allen had

done nothing in England beyond drawing the stakes in a

forfeit with Posh Price, and failed to do the same in his

draw with Joe Goss, it would puzzle “a Philadelphia lawyer”

to know how this could be a “fight for the Championship of

the World,” except of Irish America, to which title they are

both welcome. The “Cincinnati Fight” ended by a “foul” blow,

Tom Allen hitting Goss when on the ground! _Sic transit_,

&c.

[36] We need not say that this gentleman was not the

ex-recorder of Brighton, ex-member for Marylebone, and

ex-Q.C., who about this period had left this country for the

New World.――ED.

[37] See Vol. I., Preface, pp. viii. and ix.

[38] No doubt many of the weak-kneed brethren, the disciples

of a flabby, invertebrate pseudo-humanitarianism, will feel

surprised, if not scandalised, at this claim of Lord

Shaftesbury as a patron of pugilistic practice. His

lordship’s Christianity, however, has always been practical,

and of the order called “muscular.” Witness his gallant

successful efforts to emancipate the poor little white

slaves in our factories by his glorious Ten Hours Bill, and

other humane legislation――legislation, let it never be

forgotten, opposed by John Bright and the Gradgrind social

reformers of the doctrinaire and politico-economical kidney.

The friend and benefactor of the Street Arab, the Shoe

Black, and the founder of Ragged Schools bore outspoken

testimony of his admiration of boxing only a few weeks since

in a speech at Exeter Hall, at the Young Men’s Christian

Association, wherein he recommended sparring with the gloves

as a gymnastic exercise of high value, and recalled, at

eighty years, the days when he was himself accounted no mean

antagonist, and “reckoned a good boxer among those who were

judges of the art.” His style was worthy of a Homeric

hero――a Nestor of the Ring.

[39] Some who remember “old times” and “the Kentish Town

match,” may like to hear that on his annual visit to

England, in December last, we smoked a pipe and recalled

faded scenes and memories over a cheerful glass with

“Temperance” Drinkwater; his activity, mental and bodily,

being phenomenal for a man in his 77th year.――ED.

[40] The clerical Editor’s “presumption” is equal to his

gullability. We have already pointed out that these

gentlemen are “two Dromios.”――ED.

CHAPTER III.

TOM KING (CHAMPION).

1860-1862.

The brief history of the last legitimate champion of the British P.R.

is, in many respects, a consoling contrast and relief to the

chicanery, trickery, and moral or physical cowardice which marked the

“latter-day” professors of pugilism, and their yet more disreputable

and despicable patrons. If Tom King fell short in scientific

attainments and the intuitive fighting gifts which were so conspicuous

in Tom Sayers, Tom Spring, Jem Belcher, Dan Mendoza, John Jackson, and

Tom Johnson, he nevertheless exemplified through his brief but bright

pugilistic career the boldness, honesty, and fairness which are the

accompaniments of true courage; and, whether winner or loser, won or

lost upon his merits.

[Illustration: TOM KING (CHAMPION), 1863.

_From a Photograph._]

Tom King first saw the light on the 14th of August, 1835, in Silver

Street, in the “maritime district” of Stebonheath, or Stepney; an East

London parish in which, by an ancient popular tradition, all children

born on the high seas have their “settlement.” Among the amphibious

population of this region of docks, wharfs, stairs, and jetties, Tom’s

earlier days were passed, and here, with “a brother Tham,” he grew in

due time to the stature of six feet two inches in his stockings, and

the weight of twelve stone and some odd pounds; as active and straight

and “pretty a piece of man’s flesh” as a recruiting sergeant ever cast

eyes on, and tempted with the “Queen’s shilling” to become a bold

dragoon or a stately grenadier. But Tom’s inclination by birth,

parentage and education, was all towards “the sister service,” and at

an early age he was a “sailor bold” on board of one of Her Majesty’s

ships. In this capacity he made a voyage to the coast of Africa, and

subsequently another in a trading vessel. On his return his good

conduct and character obtained him a position as foreman of labourers

at the Victoria Docks, and here, among a very rough class of fellows,

Tom, though a giant in stature, and of the mild behaviour which so

often accompanies size and strength, could not escape insult. In fact,

our hero, instinctively brave, exemplified the wise precept of

Laertes’ father:――

“――――Beware

Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,

Bear it that th’opposed may beware of thee,”

and so soon found some of the long-shore men who presumed on Tom’s

easy temper and mildness of manner. The mode in which, on one

particular occasion, he disposed of a half-drunken bully, known in

Wapping by the odd nickname of “Brighton Bill,” whose pugnacious

propensities and violence had made him a sort of standing terror to

his fellow-labourers, got quickly noised abroad, and coming to the

ears of Jem Ward, who at this time kept the “George,” in his old

quarter of Ratcliffe Highway, the ex-champion sought him out. The pair

were quickly on friendly terms, and the scientific Jem, after a few

trials of the youngster’s quality with the gloves, in which he quickly

perceived the excellent material, in pluck and good temper, he had to

work upon, introduced King to some staunch patrons of boxing. Hereupon

a notification was published early in 1860, that “’Jem Ward’s big

’un,’ who had never fought in the P.R.,” could be matched for £50 a

side against any comer “catch weight.” Of course this modest price was

utterly beneath the notice of modern P.R. professors, who condescended

to nothing less than five hundreds and thousands, or――save the

mark――five thousands and ten thousands when they came to reckon in

dollars. So nobody nibbled at the chance, save one Clamp, of Newgate

Market, who had fought and won a battle in the London Ring, in

October, 1857. A friend of Clamp’s, calling on Jem, posted a “fiver”

on his man’s behalf; but, being of an inquisitive turn, Mr. Clamp

presented himself at Ward’s sparring saloon, being personally unknown,

and put on the gloves, as a casual customer, with the “young sailor.”

The result being a “receipt in full” in a single round, the “fiver”

was quickly forfeited, Mr. Clamp retired from the public gaze, and Tom

was again adrift without an engagement.

As our hero’s fame was principally spread among long-shore men and

“the Salts,” Tommy Truckle, of Portsmouth, found friends to back him

for a trial with “Jem Ward’s big ’un.” Truckle’s local fame in

disposing of dockyarders and fighting “blues” at the great naval port

and arsenal was good, and the £50 a side was duly tabled, November

27th, 1860, being the day of battle. King on this occasion was placed

by Mr. Richardson, who became his money-finder in the later deposits,

under George Woody, the trainer, at Mr. Lyon’s, the “White Hart,”

Romford. The “Young ’un” had certainly an alacrity in making flesh,

for we were assured by Woody, that when he took him in hand, he drew

all 14 stone; but that such was his docility and steady determination

in training that he had him down in four weeks to 12st. 10lbs. with

great improvement in stamina and activity. Tommy Truckle, a hardy

fellow, seemed always in condition at about 12st. but fought at 11st.

6lbs., and his 5ft. lOin. of stature seemed long enough for anything.

He trained at Portsmouth, under the watchful eye of George Baker. On

this occasion Truckle started from Mr. Tupper’s “Greyhound,” Waterloo

Road, and his colours, a black kerchief with puce and gold border,

seemed to be pretty liberally taken by his friends. An early morning

trip per rail conveyed the travellers to the water-side, below bridge,

where a steam tug was in waiting, by which the principals and their

friends were conveyed to the Kentish marshes, where a good ring was

quickly formed by Fred Oliver and Co., a large accession of spectators

arriving by another tug and numerous row boats.

On the men entering the ring, King being first to show, they were

warmly greeted; King being attended by Jem Mace (then called the

“coming Champion”) and William Richardson; while Truckle was waited on

by Bob Travers (the Black) and Walker, of Stony Stratford. King, who

had completed his toilette long before his opponent, whose boots

seemed to give great trouble, loomed large as he walked about

enveloped in a rug, until, the word being given, Truckle stood up, and

King, throwing away his blanket and stripping off his under shirt,

displayed a bust and general figure which surprised and delighted his

partisans. Truckle, when stripped, looked small and somewhat stale,

though hardy and resolute, as he confronted the youthful and

symmetrical giant.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――As the men stood face to face King looked the pink of

condition, and not only did he stand over Truckle, but his

attitude was decidedly the more artistic and unconstrained.

Truckle stood firmly, his left well out, and his right fore arm

covering the mark, so that there was little of the novice in his

position. Both men seemed anxious to begin work, and manœuvred in

and out when after a few offers on each side, they mutually

stepped back, looked earnestly at each other and rubbed their

arms. King threw up his hands and advanced, when Truckle cleverly

propped him with the left flush in the nose, and drew the

carmine. (Cheers, and “first blood for Truckle.”) King again

stepped in, and this time got home us right a sounder on

Truckle’s ribs, when Truckle got away and down.

2.――Each sparred for an opening. Truckle feinted and tried to

draw the Young’un, but it was no go. King smiled and shook his

head. Exchanges: Truckle on King’s neck, while, on getting near,

King again visited Truckle’s ribs a sounder. Truckle, in trying

to get back, slipped, but recovering himself, closed, when King,

weaving away, fought Truckle clean through the ropes in his own

corner.

3.――As yet little mischief was done on either side, and on coming

up each man eyed his opponent confidently. After sparring and

manœuvring a bit, each trying to find a weak point in his

adversary’s defence, Truckle broke ground and retreated, King

boldly following him step by step, when Truckle sent in his left

at King’s drinking fountain, which at once answered with a

crimson spurt; King, without a check, delivered his right sharply

on Truckle’s head, and down went the Portsmouth hero; a sort of

staggering fall.

4.――On coming to the call of “Time,” Truckle’s left daylight

seemed to have a half shutter up. After some rather pretty

sparring, Truckle tried his left, which was neatly stopped by

King, amidst some applause; the next moment the Young’un let go

both hands straight as a dart, visiting Truckle’s kissing and

olfactory organs with a one, two, which tapped the homebrewed

copiously. Again he invested on Truckle’s left ear with the right

in a heavy exchange, and bored Truckle down in the hitting at the

ropes.

5.――Truckle came up bleeding from nose and mouth, and some

sparring took place for position, the sun shining brightly in

King’s face. They, however, soon got together, Truckle leading

off, and getting his left on to King’s mouth, inflicting a cut on

his lower lip, which compliment the Young’un returned by another

crack on the left listener, which was also cut, and the

Portsmouth man found his way to grass in a hurry. (7 to 4 on

King.)

6.――Truckle, first to the scratch, led off, but was short; King

went in with both hands, and Truckle fell on both hands and one

knee, looking up at King, laughingly; it was a bid for a “foul,”

but “no go,” as King withheld his hand, nodded, and walked away

to his corner, amidst applause.

7.――A very short round. King, as soon as his man faced him, let

go both hands, which alighted heavily on Tommy’s cheekbone and

kissing-trap, and Truckle went down to escape a repetition of the

dose. (2 to 1 on King.)

8.――After a short spar the men rushed to a close, embraced, and

Truckle tried to bring his man over. He did not succeed, for King

shifted his hold and threw him.

9.――Both up together, when King cleverly ducked his head aside,

and avoided Truckle’s left, then rushed to a close, during which

he administered some rib-roasters to his adversary’s corpus, and

ended by throwing him cleverly, not, however, without getting

some sharp half-arm punches about the head and body from the

Portsmouth man’s busy right.

10.――The fighting had up to this time been unusually fast for big

ones, yet both were active and spry as ever. King went to his man

resolutely, and after two or three exchanges with little attempt

at stopping, Truckle went down, King standing over him.

11.――King seemed determined to give his opponent scant

breathing-time. No sooner was he at the scratch than he went

across the ring, and let go both mauleys on his man’s _os

frontis_, who slipped down at the ropes.

12.――Truckle popped his left sharply on King’s peeper as he came

on; King immediately closed, and tried to get on the lock, but

Tommy slipped through his hands, and was on the grass. (18

minutes only to these 12 rounds.)

13.――King’s left came in contact with the left side of Truckle’s

knowledge-box. Tommy retorted on King’s mouth, but next moment

went down with a flush hit on the forehead, falling partly by his

own consent.

14.――Tommy short with his left, when King measured him and

dropped his right, a wax melter on his man’s left auricular,

which was already badly swollen. In the close both were down side

by side. This was the first time, as yet, that King had measured

his six foot length on the ground.

15.――King, who had certainly been making all the fighting, seemed

a little blown, as they sparred for a few seconds, and Truckle

feinted with the left; King once again got on a rattler on

Tommy’s nob, and Truckle got down. (An appeal was made to the

referee, that the Portsmouth man had fallen without a blow, but

the fiat was “Fight on.”)

16.――Good counter-hits. King on the side of the brain-pan with

his right; Truckle on King’s forehead, raising a visible bump.

The men closed, when King forced Truckle down. (Some confusion,

and a cry of “Police.” It was a false alarm.)

17.――King got home his left on Truckle’s mazzard. Truckle rushed

to an embrace and seized King round the waist, but he could not

throw him, and got down without harm on either side.

18.――King first at the mark. Truckle sparring, tried his left,

but, as usual, was short. King avoided Truckle’s second delivery

by throwing his head aside, caught Tommy on the ribs, and the

Portsmouth man got down somehow.

19.――King with the left on the mark, and the right on the jaw,

received two ineffective returns. Truckle slipped on his knees

and hand, and looked up as if expecting a “foul,” but the blow

was not delivered.

20-28.――Similar in character, except that King twice threw

Truckle.

29.――King got twice on to Truckle’s head, whose returns were wild

and ineffective. (Another appeal on Truckle’s style of getting

down. “Fight on,” was the renewed order.)

30-40.――Of similar character. More than one appeal from King’s

umpire, but disallowed. Truckle receiver-general, and apparently

getting more and more “abroad” in each succeeding round.

41.――Truckle game as a pebble, but without a chance of turning

the tide of battle; King hit Truckle so sharply on the ivories

that he drew a fresh supply of Chateau Margaux, and Tommy fell as

if shot.

42-47.――King strong and fresh; Truckle sinking under repeated

doses of punishment; in the last-named round King hit poor Tommy

clean off his feet with the right hand. “Take him away;” but

Tommy refused to strike his colours, and came up for Round

48.――When the Young’un sent him to grass with a right-hander on

the jaw. Still he would come again for Round

49, and last.――As Tommy stood at the scratch, in a somewhat

puzzled condition, King dropped into him left and right, which

brought Truckle forward. His head came against King’s cranium

with some force, and Truckle immediately saluted his mother

earth. George Matthison, who was one of Truckle’s backers, here

stepped into the ring and, by consent of Tommy’s seconds, threw

up the sponge, as his man had not the remotest chance of winning.

King was accordingly hailed the winner of this hard-fought battle

after a bustling contest of one hour and two minutes.

REMARKS.――There was but one opinion on both sides, that, for

novices, both men had acquitted themselves in a first-rate

manner. King is undoubtedly the finest made young fellow it has

been our lot to behold for many a long day. He is, in our

opinion, far finer and more symmetrical in frame than Heenan, not

being so clumsily legged as the Yankee Champion, and his weight

(ordinarily 12st. 12lbs.) more proportionately distributed; and

we cannot help thinking, if ever they should come together (and

it is reported that Heenan challenges the belt) that our “novice”

is just the sort of man to give a good account in a passage of

arms with that redoubtable and over-boasted gentleman. King does

not use his left in leading off, as more practised pugilists do,

but that is a fault he has full time to amend, and as his pluck,

endurance and presence of mind, seconded by undebauched wind and

a fine constitution, were fully demonstrated in this trial, we do

not know where to look for his master. Throughout the battle the

Young’un behaved in the most manly manner, refusing to fall on

his antagonist on several occasions, when he had clearly the

right to do so, and resisting the temptation to deliver a blow,

though sorely provoked by his opponent’s shifty getting down.

Truckle has little pretensions to science; but is a rough and

ready fighter. It must be admitted that, from the first round to

the last, he tried his utmost to get a turn in his favour, but

was overmatched and outfought at all points. His friends must

have been satisfied that he only succumbed to a superior man in

all respects, and then only when nature could do no more. A

subscription for the beaten man was collected on the spot by the

winner, which was added to at the giving up of the stakes. King

exhibited on the following Monday night, at the Rotunda,

Blackfriars Road, at Tom Paddock’s benefit (after the latter’s

defeat by Sam Hurst), showing but trifling marks of his recent

encounter.

Early in 1861, there was much tall talk of a match with Heenan, whose

intention of returning to England and claiming the championship from

Sam Hurst, the holder of the new belt, was loudly boasted, but all

ended, as it had begun, in mere talk.

The tough and gallant Harry Poulson, of Nottingham, was proposed as a

competitor, and articles were signed in February, to fight for £100 a

side, May 23rd being fixed for the encounter, and £12 a side posted;

but the backers of the veteran Harry took second thoughts, and at the

second deposit (of £20) failed to put in an appearance, and King

pocketed the forfeit.

After the defeat of Sam Hurst by Jem Mace, King lost no time in

challenging the new champion, for the “regulation stake” of £200 and

the belt, which trophy had been duly handed over by Hurst to the

stakeholder. A match with Young Broome, however, intervened, and came

off in October, the championship battle being fixed so far forward as

January 31, 1862.

Of the way in which the Ring, even when the Championship itself was

involved, was made subservient to the quackery of benefit gaggery, the

puffery of the Circus, and the gobemoucherie of the gaping rustics and

sightseekers, the following from a leading contemporary sporting paper

will show:――

“The deposit this week of £15 a side, making £130 a side

down, was duly posted yesterday, and another of like amount

must be staked on Friday next. The big event for the belt

does not excite much interest, from the fact of the Young

Big’un (King) having a previous engagement with Wm. Broome

(Young Evans), on the issue of which, we need hardly say,

must rest his claim as a competitor for the belt and its

contingent honours. Young King, we can say, is taking every

care of himself for the approaching encounter. Jem Mace is

still starring it in the provinces with Pablo Fanque’s

circus, but on Monday week he will re-appear in one of his

superior qualifications at Birmingham, he having matched

himself to run ten miles within the hour for a bet of £100

to £50, on Monday week, Oct. 21st. The ex-champion, Tom

Sayers, we are informed, has also entered into business on

his own account as a circus proprietor, having bought (?)

the three well-known circuses, including Messrs. Howe and

Cushings’, and Jem Myers’s Great American Circus (!). Tom

intends commencing his tour this day, &c., &c., &c.” [We

omit the rest of the “gag.”] “Mr. Edwin James (not the

Q.C.), a New York gentleman, called at our office on

Wednesday last, immediately after his landing, and informed

us that, owing to the war, business is almost at a dead

standstill in the United States; nevertheless, J. C. Heenan,

the gallant competitor of Sayers, is driving a lucrative

trade in his profession (?). Heenan repudiates the fulsome

praises of himself and the absurd tirades against Sayers

inserted in several of our Transatlantic contemporaries.”

To return to the “trial fight” between Young King and William Evans

(known as Young Broome), which came off on Monday, October 21st, 1861,

on a spot not far from where the International Contest was left

undecided in 1860, we may say, in partial contradiction of our

quotation, that there was a lively interest in pugilistic circles,

whether “a line” could not be drawn from the event as to the

capabilities of the “Novice” to wrest the laurel from the brow of the

scientific Jem Mace. Immediately after the match was made King was

placed under the fostering wing of Nat Langham, who took him out of

town, and placed him at Tom Salter’s, “The Feathers,” at Wandsworth,

where he had the combined advantages of the river and the road, and

from time to time the preceptorship of “Ould Nat” in imparting

“wrinkles” from his own practical experience. His walking and rowing

exercises were carefully superintended by John Driver, and the

condition of King was a credit alike to himself and his trainer.

We must here devote a paragraph to the boxer who was thought good

enough to risk 50 sovs. and expenses upon, as a “trial horse” for

Young King.

William Evans (whose Ring alias was “Young Broome”) was born in

August, 1836, stood 5 feet 10 inches, and, on this occasion, weighed

11st. 2lb. He had fought twice before in the P.R.――viz., with a

gentleman of colour, called Kangaroo, whom he defeated, for £15 a

side, 18 rounds, 30 minutes, down the river, on March 13, 1858. He

next fought and beat Tom Roberts, for £25 a side, in 30 rounds, 50

minutes, down the river. He afterwards received £10 forfeit from

Tyson, who could not get to weight; and £10 forfeit from Joe M’Gee;

but, on the other hand, forfeited £10 to Joe Goss. Young Broome,

having expressed a depreciatory opinion of King’s pugilistic

capabilities, and finding some friends who shared his views,

challenged the Young One to fight at catch-weight for £50, which was

accepted, and Broome, after getting his patrons to rally round him,

went to train at Mr. Packwood’s, the “Boileau Arms,” Hammersmith

Bridge, at that time weighing about 13st., which bulk was reduced by

hard work to 11st. 2lb. Dando, the well-known trainer of Tom Paddock,

looked after Broome, and most certainly did his duty to his man. Alec

Keene had the management of Broome, who showed the night previous to

the fight at the “Three Tuns,” Moor Street, Soho, from which he took

his departure in the morning.

There was but little betting on the event, only a few speculations

being made at 2 to 1 on King. A very early hour was arranged for the

departure, which was made from London Bridge with unusual quietness

and absence of bustle; and, after a pleasant trip by rail over about

sixty miles of ground, by no means in a direct line, a spot was found

in the county of Surrey fit for the amusement. No time was lost in the

ring being formed, by Fred Oliver and assistants, when Broome was the

first to throw in his cap, attended by a well-known retired pugilist,

and Bob Travers. King quickly followed suit, with Joe Phelps and Bos

Tyler as his attendants. As both parties meant business, the referee

was quickly chosen, and the colours tied to the stake, Broome sporting

a salmon-coloured handkerchief, with a narrow magenta stripe and

border, for his flag. King had for his standard a chocolate

handkerchief, with white, blue, and yellow lozenge, and blue border.

During the progress of the toilets of the men, a large number of the

neighbouring farmers and gentry assembled on horseback, and,

altogether, the gathering was of a superior order. The ring was well

kept by Billy Duncan, the P.B.A. Inspector, assisted by Young Shaw,

Tom Paddock, and Dan Collins. At length, all the preliminaries having

been arranged, the men stood up at 9h. 44min. for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.――King was, of course, the first to attract the

eye of the _cognoscenti_, and his condition was

immediately a moot point, many, who are by no means bad

judges, stating that he was some pounds too heavy;

while others thought that he was in very good trim, but

no doubt without the polish which could have been shown

had his finishing touch been given by a first-rate

proficient. As King placed himself in attitude, his

commanding height showed to great advantage, while the

free play of his shoulders and arms indicated that,

whatever artistic skill he might be deficient in, still

there was propelling power sufficient to compete with a

greater amount of _talent_ than was generally credited

to his opponent. The Young’un certainly exhibited a

wide spread of shoulder, combined with great

development of the muscles on the back; his chest well

arched, showing that there is plenty of room for the

play of his lungs when in work; his loins are rather

narrow, while his legs are worthy the proportions of

the upper part of his frame. His attitude was very

erect, his right hand well across his chest, and the

left well advanced, but low. Young Broome looked, in

comparison, small, but, on scanning his proportions, a

great amount of power could be discovered in the

muscles, which stood out fairly developed, each as

sharply defined as in an anatomical study. His attitude

was rather stiff, with the left well in front, but with

no forcible action, the position of the right rather

showing a determination for mischief with that weapon.

The way in which Broome stood as he sparred, prepared

the spectators for an exhibition of “trotting,” of

which they were most pleasingly disappointed. No time

was lost in sparring, for, both being in the mind for

serious business, hostilities were commenced at once,

by King getting close to Broome and feinting with his

left, but Broome was “wide oh,” and got out of danger.

Broome, who was more than eager, dashed his left at the

head, but, in consequence of his great hurry, he was

short. King, who would be busy, got his left fairly on

the front of Broome’s head, receiving on the chest.

This led to good exchanges, in which both fought very

last, until Broome went down.

2.――On time being called Broome came up first, amidst

the cheers of his friends, who were taken by surprise

at his cleverness in avoiding punishment. King, who

appeared determined to finish the affair off-hand, went

straight to his opponent, who, nothing loth, met him,

and they fought right and left with both hands, King

getting well on the nose and forehead, Broome landing

on the chest and neck, the “pepper-box” being freely

handed from one to the other. This bout was finished by

Broome getting to close quarters, when King picked him

up in his arms, and by sheer strength threw him, after

a good struggle, and fell upon him.

3.――Both came up piping when time was called;

nevertheless, they commenced as soon as they were

within distance by right and left deliveries, Broome

getting fairly on to King’s neck and forehead; King

delivering his left on the nose and jaw; Broome getting

his left on the neck heavily, grazing the skin and

drawing the blood. King at the same time landing his

left on Broome’s forehead, made the first event (first

blood) equal. They then closed, and exchanges took

place until Broome went to grass.

4.――As Broome came up, the effects of the blow

delivered by King upon his forehead were very apparent,

there being a lump with a cut, while King had his right

cheek and chest flushed. Broome, who evidently thought

he had only to go in and win, fought very fast, which

tactics met the ideas of the candidate for the

championship, for they fought furiously with both

hands, until Broome was knocked down by a right-hander

on the jaw. The quick fighting that had taken place,

and the eagerness of the combatants, can be well

explained by stating that the time occupied in the four

rounds was only four minutes.

5.――Broome, who appeared to have had the worst of the

previous round, came up smiling, and, in point of fact,

forced the fighting by leading off with his left at the

head, which was rendered ineffective by King getting

home with his left on the nose. This brought on some

heavy exchanges with both hands, King getting well on

the forehead and nose, receiving on the chest and cheek

until they got to the ropes, where the same tactics

were pursued until they closed, when King proved

himself much the stronger man, as he picked up Broome,

and, after a short struggle, threw him, landing his

right on the chest as Broome fell.

6.――When time was called, both came up with a

determination to settle the matter “off-hand,” which

was evident from the manner in which rapid exchanges

were delivered on both sides. King landed his mauleys

on the nose, forehead, and right ear; Broome getting

well on the cheek and chest twice, and falling from the

force of his own blow at the finish.

7.――Both were blowing as they left their seconds’

knees; nevertheless, the game was kept alive by their

simultaneously delivering their left on the face and

chest, King having the best of the exchanges. Broome

missed a couple of well-intended right-handers, for

which mistakes he was fought down, after a good rally.

8.――The same tactics were pursued as in the previous

rounds, the right and left exchanges being of the same

character. Broome, after breaking away, got his right

on King’s jaw twice, steadying the rush of the “big

’un,” who reached Broome’s forehead with his right.

This forced a rather wild rally, in which King missed

one or two well-intended shots with the left. Broome,

who got on a right-hander on the forehead, fell from

the force of his own blow.

9.――Broome, who was first up, was blowing very freely,

and had a cut on the left eyebrow. King had no

prominent mark, with the exception of his right cheek

being slightly swelled. No time was lost in sparring,

for they commenced proceedings as soon as they met.

Both being eager for work, they closed, and some fast

and wild exchanges took place, Broome getting on the

cheek and forehead, King on the nose and cheek; they

then closed, and after a short struggle, were down side

by side.

10.――The equal fighting of the previous round had

decidedly roused the energies of both, as they missed

their first deliveries, being too eager to get on. On

steadying themselves they countered neatly with the

left, Broome getting upon the cheek, but King more

effectively on the nose. Broome, who was determined to

make the pace good, tried to land his right twice, but

without avail, getting at the third attempt on King’s

neck, who retaliated by sending his left on Broome’s

nose; the latter hit out at a venture with his right,

which reached the side of King’s head, and Broome went

down rather suspiciously from the “wind” of King’s

right hand.

11.――No sooner were the opponents at the scratch than

they commenced proceedings by countering with the left

flush on the front of the head, after which King got

his left on the cheek; Broome, in retaliation, sent his

left on the jaw, and popped his right under the left

eye. Exchanges followed, in which King proved himself

the stronger by forcing Broome down in his own corner.

12.――Broome was first up, and as King faced him, took

the initiative by leading off with his left, which was

rather short, landing on the chest. King, who was

equally eager to try conclusions, rushed in, delivered

a couple of heavy blows on the nose and shoulder,

receiving a right-hander on the forehead, a left ditto

on the cheek, which was followed by Broome delivering a

fair smack with the right on the eye, which forced King

backward against the ropes. (Offers to take 7 to 4 that

Broome would prove the winner.)

13.――Broome, when time was called, came up bleeding

from the cut under the eye, administered in the

previous bout, but, nothing loth, met King with great

determination, and, both being equally bent upon

mischief, the exchanges which took place were wildly

delivered, until they closed, when Broome twisted King

off his legs, who, nevertheless, was uppermost when

they reached the ground.

14.――Both again eager, were up on time being called;

King showing with a lump on his cheek, which was open

under the left eye; Broome had his nose sadly out of

shape and his forehead swelled. No time was lost in

sparring, each commencing by sending out his left, and

each missing from over impetuosity. Broome, who tried

his left and missed, got down cleverly.

15.――This round was remarkable for the quickness of the

exchanges, both getting it on the head and chest. When

they closed, King held Broome by sheer strength, and

got on his right three times, twice on the nose and

forehead, and the third time on the shoulder. King

stumbled against the stakes, and Broome went down.

16.――This round was commenced by each sparring for

wind, King putting his hands down and walking round the

ring. Broome, who was advised by his seconds to force

the fighting, went to work resolutely, got his left

well on the mouth, catching it in return on the nose.

He, nothing daunted, rushed in, and got his right on

the cheek, then fell, apparently from the force of his

own blow.

17.――A cry that the police were coming was raised, and

both men being confident and eager to settle the

business, they commenced by delivering counters on the

eye and nose, which led to exchanges at close quarters,

Broome receiving on the nose, King having one on the

same spot――“a hot ’un.” This stirred the Young One up,

and he sent his right straight on the mark, Broome

planting in return on the cheek. They then closed, and

some very heavy exchanges took place, Broome twice

visiting King’s head, but not heavily, while King, who

was very busy, planted his left between the eyes,

cutting to the bone, then taking hold of Broome, he

delivered three straight right-handers nearly on the

same spot, and Broome was eventually fought down.

Twenty minutes.

The alarm of the arrival of the police was now realised. Several of

the county blues appeared at the ring side, but were waiting orders

from their superiors, who had not kept pace with them. The men and

seconds skedaddled from the ring, and the spectators moved off. They

passed across the border of the county, and there the attentive escort

left them. In twenty minutes after, as this invasion was unexpected, a

ring was formed in a retired spot, and at half-past ten the men were

in position for

THE RENEWED FIGHT.

ROUND 18.――On the men again appearing, Broome had his

nose strapped with a bit of adhesive plaster, his mouth

was swelled, and his left eye discoloured. King had his

jaw swelled, and a cut beneath his left eye; but seemed

as strong as at the commencement. Broome, who still

looked confident, commenced the proceedings by leading

off with his left at the head, getting it on the nose

in return. This led to exchanges, both delivering

heavily on the head and chest, until Broome was fought

down in his own corner.

19.――King came up with alacrity, and commenced

proceedings by planting his left on the sore spot,

receiving on the forehead. Broome succeeded in planting

his left on the cheek and neck, receiving some heavy

returns on the nose and right ear, and was finally

fought down at the ropes.

20.――The battle from this time took a decided turn in

favour of King, who, notwithstanding the pace at which

they had been fighting, was as fresh as at the

beginning of the battle. Broome, who was suffering from

repeated visitations on the nose, tried all he could to

turn the tables, but without avail, as, on his forcing

the fighting, King hit him away; and notwithstanding

all the left-hand visitations of Broome, succeeded in

delivering severe right and left blows; the round was

concluded by King knocking down Broome with a

right-hander on the jaw.

21-30.――The fighting in these rounds was of precisely

the same character; notwithstanding all the game and

determined efforts of Broome, who never at any time

flinched, and in several instances surprised his

backers and the spectators by the manner in which he

struggled against the fate, which, though slowly, was

surely declaring against him. In the last of these

rounds Broome tried to get away from the repeated

visitations of King, and cleverly slipped him; but King

followed him closely, and finally knocked him down with

the right. Time in the second ring, fourteen minutes.

31.――Broome, as game as man could be, came up bleeding

from the cut on the nose, and with his ears much

swelled from the blows administered by King, who had

few marks except some red patches on the ribs and

shoulders, and the left eye nearly closed.

Notwithstanding the punishment Broome had received, he

persevered to turn the tables, and met the determined

onslaught of King as well as he was able. It was

evident at this time that his (Broome’s) left hand was

going or gone, as he several times gave his head in an

attempt to bring the battle off in his favour by a

cross-counter with the right. King forced the fighting,

and some good exchanges took place in favour of King,

who, after a spirited rally, fought Broome down.

32-34.――The same tactics were displayed by both

opponents, King, now by far the stronger man, forcing

the fighting as fast as he could, and the seconds of

Broome sending him up to fight, knowing that it was

only a matter of time, unless their man could land the

victory by an accident This he most strenuously

endeavoured to do by getting his right on the jaw; but

King bored Broome down in each round until the 34th,

when Broome landed his right on the temple, which

staggered King, who fell on his knees.

35.――Broome, who came up resolutely, but weak, met the

rush of King with great determination, but was, as

before, the chief recipient of the punishment. His left

hand could not be administered with effect;

nevertheless, he closed, and, after a good rally at the

ropes, threw King, but not heavily.

36.――The cheers and encouragement given to Broome, as

he came up, had decidedly nettled King, for, the

instant he had left his second’s knee, he rushed to

close quarters, and, despite all the efforts of Broome,

fought him down at the ropes.

37.――Broome, who came up slowly, was bleeding from the

cut between the eyes, which were fast closing, and,

with his mouth, much swelled. Despite his weakness he

was resolute, and did not flinch from the onslaught of

his opponent, who sent his left on to the old spot.

Broome sent in his right well upon the ribs, but King,

not to be stalled off, bored in, and fought Broome down

in the latter’s corner. Time in second ring, twenty

minutes.

38.――Broome came up this round apparently better than

heretofore; he was quicker on his legs than in the last

eight rounds. King rubbed his ribs as he came up, and,

getting within reach, rushed to close quarters, when

some very heavy hitting took place; King fighting at

the head, and Broome at the body. On breaking away,

Broome landed his left on King’s nose, for which he was

fought down at the ropes, despite all his endeavours to

“hold his own.”

39.――Broome, in this round, slightly revived the

failing hopes of his friends, as, on King missing his

left, he planted his left neatly on Tom’s nose, and his

right immediately afterwards on the jaw, King dropping

on his knees.

40.――It was but a transient gleam of hope. Despite the

turn in his favour in the last round, it was apparent

that Broome was fast falling weak from exertion and

loss of blood. The seconds of King, seeing the state of

the case, cried out to him “to go in and win,” and he

fought Broome down in his own corner.

41-43, and last.――In each of these rounds Broome only

came up to be hit down. In the last but one he was

knocked down as he came game, but staggering, to meet

his opponent. In the last, King walked straight to

Broome’s corner, as the latter retreated before him,

and, delivering a spank on the head, Broome fell

forward on his face. His seconds, finding it was

useless to prolong the contest, threw up the sponge in

token of his defeat, Young King being hailed the

conqueror, after fighting forty-two minutes in the two

rings.

REMARKS.――The resolute and unflinching manner in which

this splendid contest was carried out from start to

finish, invested the forthcoming encounter for the

Championship with greater interest. The manner in which

King put up with the right-handed deliveries of Broome

(which were by no means light), raised him in the

estimation of all who witnessed the fight, and already

speculation on that event has commenced. King has

improved in his fighting greatly since his encounter

last autumn with Truckle, of Portsmouth, and no doubt

he has learned a lesson or two in this encounter with

Broome. He is too impetuous in his rushes, in one of

which he got the cut under the left eye, as well as

several right-hand props, which at all times are

dangerous, a chance blow having, in many instances,

brought off a battle when all chance was apparently

gone. That he is thoroughly game there can now be no

question, and his steadiness in training, &c., is a

certain proof that he will in the eventful contest for

the Championship be as fit as man can be possibly

trained. Young Broome, although defeated, is by no

means disgraced, and his friends, to a man, are

satisfied with his performance, which has taken even

his warmest admirers by surprise. Rumours had been

flying about respecting Broome’s gameness, and he

having heard of the same, stated his determination to

be game on this occasion; that he most faithfully kept

his word, a perusal of the above account must prove.

After the sponge had been thrown up, Broome was

carefully attended to by his seconds, but,

notwithstanding all their attention, he soon became

blind. On reaching the first convenient domicile, he

was put to bed, when, despite the usual remedies, he

was attacked with a severe fit of cold shivers, which

could not be subdued for some time. At a late hour of

the afternoon he was recovered sufficiently to take his

departure for town, where, on his arrival, he met with

a hearty reception. His friends expressed their

intention to pay him for his colours the same as if

they were winning ones, and a benefit was arranged for

as a solace for his defeat. King left for town at an

earlier period than his opponent, and passed the

evening amidst his friends at the east end, but little

the worse for the encounter.

Both Broome and King rapidly recovered from the effects of their

battle, Broome being able to visit Aldershot, on the Thursday, with

Alec Keene. He was also present at the deposit for the Championship,

which took place on Thursday, when he received some substantial

recompense for his gamely contested fight.

The stakes were given up to King on the ensuing Tuesday, at Joe

Phelps’s, the “Blakeney’s Head,” High Street, Islington, when a few

admirers of Tom King ventured to lay evens on their pet for the great

event in perspective; though 5 and even 6 to 4 was the price in the

east as in the west.

King trained for the great encounter at Hastings, Mace near Norwich;

the latter coming to town to be present at the fight between Bob

Brettle and Jack Rooke, on the 31st December, 1861, for £200 a side

and a bet of £300 even,[41] the moderate sum of £1,000 being dependent

on the issue.

“Time and tide speed on their course, and wait for no man,” and the

month of January, 1862, had reached its 28th day, when, on as

cheerless and miserable a winter’s morning as combined damp, drizzle,

mizzle, snow, sleet, and marrow searching cold could mix up, our bold

aspiring young sailor met the practised and scientific Norwich boxer.

How his “greenness,” despite his gameness, fell before superior skill,

tact, and experience, may be found fully set forth in the preceding

chapter.

As we have already said, there was one person, and that one a most

important factor in the question, who thought he was beaten by an

accident――his name was Tom King. Tom maintained, without any intention

of disparaging for one moment the credit due to Mace for his skill and

also his courage, that he felt convinced, if his friends would stand

to him, he should be able to reverse the first verdict, or, at any

rate, he would then acknowledge that Mace was the better man.

After the long and undecided battle between Joe Goss and Ryall, Goss

was brought forward by his Wolverhampton backers, as a competitor with

Mace for the belt. In April also, “the Benicia Boy” arrived from

America, bringing with him a brother “Jem,” who was said by some

Yankee paragraphists to have come “to pick up the belt.” We have

already noted, in our life of Mace, that Heenan repudiated this

newspaper bounce; and here, to avoid repetition, the reader is

referred to the memoir of Mace for the circumstances under which the

second match between King and Mace was brought about and carried to a

conclusion.

Mace, at the time the articles were signed, was making hay after the

manner of Tom Sayers, in travelling with an equestrian circus――that

being the only ring in which he appeared to have a chance of a job.

This employment he kept up for some time after the match was made.

King, too, for a few weeks was tempted to “do the mountebank” with a

travelling company; but Tom did not take kindly to the business of

“busking,” and threw it up, returning to his London patrons.

As the time drew on, each man found it expedient to mingle more

decidedly in sporting circles, and thus create a greater interest than

had heretofore been exhibited, and this wise discrimination gradually

had the desired effect. The match began to be talked about in all

quarters, flocks of admirers followed the rival champions on every

race course, or at any place of public resort, and soon the discussion

of their respective merits led to a comparison of their deeds and

their appearances with those of the heroes of the old ring.

The nearer the time approached the mystery observed as to the actual

“where” tended not a little to foster anxiety, many of the intending

spectators being kept in a ferment of funk lest they should be thrown

over at the last. It was known it must be either at the end of

November or the beginning of December, and as the fights between Hicks

and Gollagher and Dillon and Reardon, both for high stakes, were fixed

for about the same time, the chance of being put on a wrong scent, and

arriving at the wrong ring side, redoubled the fears of the fidgety.

The men themselves even were not made acquainted with the actual day

until within a week of the time, and so well was the secret kept,

that, until the previous Monday, we believe the number of persons

“fly” to the arrangements might be numbered upon the fingers of the

two hands.

Both Mace and King being sober, steady fellows in their habits, and

both being pretty well in their prime, and accustomed to hard work,

there was no inconvenience felt by either in their training in

consequence of the uncertainty as to the day of milling――both being

well up to the mark, and, indeed, almost fit to fight before they went

into training, which they did some seven weeks before the eventful

Wednesday; Mace at Newmarket, at the old training quarters of Tom

Sayers, under the care of Howard, the Bradford jumper; and King at the

“Baldfaced Stag,” near Woodford, Essex, under Harry Harris. It is

creditable to the respective mentors of the men, that nothing was left

undone which could ensure the respective champions being in a meet

state for the arduous task they had set themselves.

Although there was so much excitement, and so much pleasurable

anticipation of the mill, it cannot be concealed that mixed up with it

was a taint of suspicion that all was not quite serene and square,

arising from the fact that the respective backers of the men had

changed sides since January, and that King, formerly an Eastern sage,

and then an enlightened West Ender, had relapsed into his original

form; while Mace had, after a fall from West to East, once more

started Westward, and was backed from the Haymarket, with at any rate

a side wind help from his former patrons. Some people imagined that

nothing could be square under such circumstances as these. They shut

their eyes to ascertained facts, and then, by a series of winks and

knowing grins, strove to create a prejudice which spread, no one knows

how, and finally gained for the Ring and its _protégés_ that pleasing

character they labour under among those who at all seasons, and on all

possible occasions, do all they can to decry the old manly sports of

their country.

The acting representatives of the men on this occasion were Mr.

Richardson, of the “Blue Anchor,” Church Street, for King, and Mr.

Coney, of Panton Street, for Jem Mace, who was partly backed by some

old fanciers. To these diplomatic managers the stakeholder in due

course communicated the actual day he had determined for the fray, but

he declined to fix a scene for the performance, as he considered an

arena could be better settled by the agents themselves, who could

consult other parties likely to have a finger in the pie, and without

whose aid there would certainly be no getting to the rendezvous, and

without whose judgment that rendezvous could not be determined on

without great risk. The plan turned out a wise one, and thanks to the

energy and discrimination of those concerned, all was satisfactorily

arranged without let or hindrance.

We have alluded already to the difficulties which beset the managers

of Ring affairs at this period, and on the Monday morning Messrs.

Richardson and Coney received the unwelcome information, that the

officials of a certain railway company, with which they had made all

pleasant for the “excursion,” had decided to cancel the arrangements,

and that no special train would be provided. Here was a pretty fix for

the executive. An alternative line was immediately decided on. All

ticketholders would be conveyed by ordinary train to Thames Haven,

where two commodious steamboats would be ready for the conveyance of

the voyagers to a _terra incognita_. While these arrangements were

perfecting on the Monday and Tuesday, the uncertainty added to the

excitement, and telegrams flew over the wires from every point of the

compass from “country cousins” seeking the “straight tip,” and town

friends anxious to communicate the same. The sporting houses, East and

West, were thronged, reminding some of the olden days when “Le Boxe,”

as Alphonse calls it, was an “institution.”

As we have given an instance of “clerical” interest in Ring sports, on

another occasion, in the sister island, we may here note that a high

Anglican Church authority entered itself among the “tipsters” on this;

the _Record_ giving a prominent place to the following paragraph:――

“The fight between James Mace and Thomas King is to take

place on Tuesday next in the neighbourhood of Aldershot.”

We hope the “tipster” who so egregiously sold the reverend editor, as

to day and place, did not add dishonesty to his pious fraud. At any

rate we fear, as we did not see him in his accustomed position, that

our right reverend friend, “the Bishop of Bond Street,” may have been

misled by ecclesiastical authority; we believe the police were――of

course we were not.

By four o’clock on Wednesday morning the approaches to Fenchurch

Street were alive with intending excursionists, who on arriving at the

station found the entrance crowded by a strong posse of roughs and

thieves, always to be found at their posts on such occasions. These

gentry had a good time of it, and so strong and daring were their

forces, that the few ring keepers engaged to protect the public were

completely overpowered, and, in many instances, eased of their own

property. Bob Travers, among others, was attacked and forcibly

deprived of all he had about him. Many lost their tickets, and many

gentlemen were so intimidated that they declined facing the ordeal,

and returned home. The scene was, on the whole, disgraceful. The

managers of the undertaking were great sufferers, and were loud in

their complaints that the conduct of these roughs prevented their

reaping the harvest they had anticipated. Although the company

commenced assembling at four o’clock, it was fully seven before there

were any signs of a start, and the impatience of the early birds,

although extreme, was fully justifiable. There was no help for it,

however, as all was in the hands of the railway officials.

Fortunately the ring forces when concentrated were strong enough to

exclude most of the undesirables from the platform; still some few

managed to penetrate the ranks of the officials, and by their presence

caused considerable annoyance, although the force of ring keepers was

sufficiently strong to prevent their attempting any combined mischief.

At length at seven o’clock the whistle sounded, and we were off for

the appointed spot, where two vessels were found in waiting, and on

board these the travellers, nearly 300 in number, at once repaired. It

was now suggested that it would be well to try and get the fight off

on the spot, instead of going further afield, where the Bobbies might

be in force. This recommendation was accepted with promptitude, and

while the Corinthians were luxuriating in a hot and comfortable

breakfast on board, provided in admirable style by their old caterer,

Dan Pinxton, the ring was pitched, and soon after eight all was in

readiness. Through the exertions of Billy Duncan and his pals such

admirable arrangements were made for the comfort of the inner ring

ticket-holders that all were seated without difficulty, and, so far as

we could perceive, the whole thing was carried out in a manner to

reflect the highest credit on all concerned. As soon as the office was

given by Fred Oliver the men approached the magic circle; Mace being

the first to drop his castor within the ropes. He was attended by his

old opponents Bob Brettle and Bob Travers, while King, who was

somewhat behindhand, was waited on by Bos Tyler and Macdonald. Both

men were welcomed with loud cheers from their partisans, which each

acknowledged in a suitable manner. There was a good deal of lively

betting at 6 and 7 to 4 on Mace, and his backers, we believe, would

have gone on to any extent at that figure. A brisk business was done

by the sale of inner ring tickets, but by no means to the extent we

have known on former occasions. The sum received was nearly £37. Among

the spectators were Tom Sayers, Heenan, and many other fistic

celebrities, who eyed the tourney throughout with curiosity. And now

the men stand up, approach each other and grasp hands, then separate;

the seconds retire to their corners, and all eyes are fixed upon them

as they upraise their daddles, and square their elbows for

THE FIGHT.

ROUND 1.――The moment so fraught with interest and

excitement to the partisans of the belligerents had now

arrived; the busy and careful work of the seconds was

at last completed to their entire satisfaction, and the

men were delivered at the scratch. While their

toilettes were being arranged, the “making ready” had

been eagerly watched by all with almost breathless

silence. As Jem turned to face his opponent, he gave a

momentary glance at the sky, whose dull, cheerless

aspect was anything but calculated to enliven the

combatants. Both advanced to the scratch with that

firm, confident step which denotes the action of

well-drilled practitioners. Perhaps the first thing

that riveted the attention of the spectators, as the

men stood front to front, was the striking difference

in height that existed between them. It had been

confidently stated Mace had never been in better

condition; certainly as he stood thus confronting his

antagonist there was nothing in his appearance that

even the most fastidious could for a moment find fault

with, and in all things he looked a far superior man to

what he did at their former meeting. In weight Jem,

when he last poised the beam, pulled down 11st. 4lb.,

and with inward confidence beaming in his every look,

he stated it was impossible for a man to feel better,

and this assurance there can be no doubt had great

weight with his admirers, many of whom from

over-caution had waited for this “opinion” from Mace

himself before they had ventured to “put it on.” If

condition of itself could alone endow a man with the

requisite “resin” to tune the first fiddle in such a

grand pugilistic overture, Tom might well put the thing

down as a “certainty,” for it must be admitted he was

all the most critical could desire, and spoke of the

result with a confidence devoid of anything in the

shape of braggadocia. The moment the men had been “set”

by their seconds, there was perceptible that twitch and

shrug of the shoulders which denote a disapproval of

the morning air. Jem having put up the prop in proper

order drew from range, and of his position it may be

said the skill of the master was at a glance displayed,

for he was well covered at all points. Tom also stood

remarkably well, and although by some good judges he is

stated to be a little too fine about the loins, and by

no means deep set enough in the jaw and neck, yet we

think it was conceded by all impartial persons that he

looked a most formidable opponent. Mace, as he

manœuvred, looked at his man with a sharp, penetrating

glance, as though he was mentally summing up “the

King’s affairs.” The result seemed satisfactory, for

Jem gave one of his well-known jerks of his nob, as

much as to say, “Tom, I intend to give you another

dressing.” King smiled at his man, as to intimate, if

he really imagined he was capable of dressing him again

he would oblige by being quick about it, as there

needed something in the shape of excitement to warm up

the system. After a little sparring, Mace drew from

range and dropped his mauleys, and then with his right

rubbed his breast and arms. King imitated his action,

as he felt numbed about the arms, and thought it

necessary to do the burnishing to promote the

circulation. Jem, with a cautions step, drew into

range, and then by way of a feeler slightly let go the

left, but Tom, who was decidedly quicker on his pins

than we had found him in any of his preceding battles,

got well away with the back step, thus showing that

these efforts on the part of his opponent to draw out

his guard were not likely to be successful. As Mace

broke for the purpose of getting from distance, King

dashed at him in a most impetuous manner, and missed

administering a fine right-handed shot from the

fore-arm. Mace, as Tom came on for the purpose of

forcing the fighting, retreated, but just opposite the

referee and umpire the men closed, when Jem, finding he

was likely to get in an awkward position, ducked his

head and went down, King looking at him. Both men were

loudly cheered, and as there was just a shade of

commotion among those who formed the uprights of the

outer circle, Professor Duncan, attended by the

“faculty,” promptly administered a mild dose of his

efficacious remedy for disorder――the “syrup of

whips”――and the cure was instantaneous.

2.――At the call of “Time,” both men, with the eagerness

of swimmers for the first plunge, rushed simultaneously

from the knees of their seconds, and threw up their

hands at the scratch. After toeing the mark each again

drew back from range, and began rubbing himself,

looking meanwhile at each other like two game-cocks.

Mace then led with the left, but did not get it home,

as King got well from range. Tom now dashed at his man,

and delivered the left on the top of the head, and put

in another from the fore-arm on the mouth, which had

the effect of producing a slight show of the crimson.

(“First blood,” as on the former occasion, for Tom.)

Jem, after getting home slightly with the left and

right on the face, closed with his man, when, finding

he was likely to get into an awkward position, he

slipped from him and got down, there being so far not

much harm done on either side, King fighting with

remarkable fairness; his opponent decidedly more crafty

and shifty, though, as Jack Macdonald said, “We’ll give

him all that in.”

3.――Jem was the first from his corner, but no sooner

did the busy seconds of King see that his antagonist

was on the move than they gave the office, and with

that impetuosity of action so characteristic of him, he

at once advanced to the scratch. After shifting,

changing position, and taking fresh ground, King went

dashing at his man for the purpose of forcing the

fighting, and, getting partly over Jem’s right

cross-guard, planted the left on the right cheek, and

with a wild, slinging round hit from the right also got

home on the side of the knowledge box. Mace, in the

counter-hitting, administered one with his stinging

left on the jaw, when, as Tom was not to be kept out,

they closed. In the struggle for the fall King got his

right arm round his man, and they went down near the

referee in a curious, awkward fall, Mace, who had his

head bent down, hitting the top part of it against the

ground. It was imagined by many at the moment that Jem

might have received some severe harm, but they were

soon convinced to the contrary, for when the men had

become disentangled and Jem with his usual agility had

righted, he looked up with a broad grin, as much as to

say, “Don’t be uneasy, I’m all right.” There was in the

excitement again a slight manifestation of pressure in

“Court,” the “special jury” being the least bit

inconvenienced, but Duncan, as head usher, brought up

his efficient corps to point, and the weight of this

legal element was on the instant sufficient to restore

matters to their proper balance, and the business of

this admirably kept ring went on as smoothly as ever.

4.――While the combatants were in their corners every

movement of their seconds was watched with the utmost

minuteness, and it was a treat to observe in what fine

order they sent them up to the mark. Tom was the first

to present his towering height at the scratch, but was

almost on the instant met by his opponent. Bos Tyler

pointed at Mace, in a good-humoured manner, as much as

to intimate Jem had had some of the burnishing powder.

Mace feinted with the left, but, finding he could not

get in with artistic effect, he did not let it go

freely from the shoulder. Tom, for the purpose of

taking better range, followed up and with the left got

home on the right cheek, and also put in one from the

right. As Mace broke to get away, Tom hit out with both

mauleys, but did no execution, as Mace threw the left

off well with the right guard. After slight sparring

and manœuvring Tom led the left, but it was not sent

sufficiently well in to be effective, nor did he meet

with any better success in following up with a wild hit

from the right, for Jem drew well out of range. On

again coming to distance, King worked with his right

arm backwards and forwards, as though he intended to

let it go, but did not. As Jem shifted Tom followed,

when Mace got home a fine left-handed hit on the jaw.

The combatants in the most spirited manner fought

across the ring, Mace administering some of the cayenne

with both mauleys. In the close both struggled for the

fall, when Tom got from his man and went to grass in

his own corner.

5.――Mace was the first to come from his corner, but he

had not long to wait before Tom faced him. Both men

were considerably pinked, and their physiognomies now

possessed more touches of beauty than are to be found

in their photographs in George Newbold’s collection of

celebrities. Jem, as he came from his corner, bent his

head forward, as though he was mentally debating in

what new manner he should try to get well at his man,

who by the rapid style in which he had been fighting,

had given proof that he was a dangerous antagonist.

King, the instant he had put up his hands, went dashing

to force the fighting. With the left he administered a

stinger on the right cheek, and followed up with a half

round hit from the right. Mace, as his opponent rushed

at him to close, drew out, but Tom, not to be denied,

followed up, when, in a rally, Jem pegged away with

both mauleys, left and right, with astonishing

rapidity, doing a great deal of heavy execution. In the

close they struggled for the fall, when Mace threw his

man in clever style, near the ropes. (The friends of

Mace were in ecstasies, and long odds were offered on

their pet.)

6.――Tom in the first two or three rounds had

unquestionably had a shade the best of it, from the

style in which he had gone dashing at his man, and the

quickness he had displayed. Mace did not exhibit that

steadiness in his practice he afterwards did. Now,

however, that Jem had got the true measure of his man

there was a total change in his tactics, and the manner

in which he now fought proved that he was in all

respects superior to the “big-’un” in science. Both, on

presenting themselves at the mark, bore evidence of

having been by no means idle, for Jem was swelled about

the ivories in a very conspicuous manner, while King,

from the appearance of his left peeper, gave

unmistakable proof of having been warmed up; he was

likewise slightly bleeding from the nose. Still there

had been no serious damage done on the part of either.

After some little manœuvring, the combatants changing

and shifting position, King dashed at his antagonist in

his usual style, getting home left and right on the

head. Mace met his man as he came with the rush on the

milling suit, and, in one of the finest rallies that

could be witnessed, the combatants fought right across

the ring; there was something delightful to the

admirers of boxing in Jem’s style of fighting his man

with both hands, left and right, at the nob. These

blows were delivered with a rapidity that was quite

electrifying, being sent ding dong, straight home, so

that Jem was all over his man in an instant, the blows

making an impression as though Tom had been stamped

with a couple of dies. Tom was by no means idle, but

also pegged away at his man with the left on the head

and the right on the body in merry fashion. In the

close they got on the ropes, when Jem for the moment

touched the top cord with his right hand, but Tom

having shifted his position, the men struggled for the

fall, when Tom, as a termination to this well-fought

round, was under.

7.――As the battle progressed, so did it increase in

interest, for there was a marked speciality about the

manner in which it was being fought that could not

possibly fail to enhance its importance among the

admirers of bold and genuine boxing. There can be no

disputing, both men had been from the commencement

fighting remarkably well, and the battle, as will be

seen, had already presented two striking and prominent

features; for though, until Jem had thoroughly got the

measure of his man, King had in the opening bout been

considered to have a slight lead, yet the style in

which Mace was now performing was sufficient to

convince all that there had not been the slightest

mistake made in his merits as regards milling

excellence. The combatants came simultaneously from

their corners. Tom, as he stood at the scratch, opened

his mouth and rubbed his hands, and then, on again

putting himself into position, drew out and retreated

to his own corner, Mace following. Both, as they again

drew to range, steadied themselves, and in a fine

counter with the left got well home, Jem doing

execution on the snout, Tom on the top part of the

cranium. Mace, on breaking, got to the ropes, when, as

Tom came boring in to close, he slipped from the

embrace of the young giant and got down.

8.――From the manner in which the tints had been rubbed

in it was apparent the colours had been well worked up,

though this was much more conspicuous on Tom’s dial

than his opponent’s, for King’s left peeper had a small

lump on the side of it, while the nose and mouth looked

a good deal puffed. Tom, as usual, taking the

initiative, lunged out the left, but did no execution,

as he was not well to distance. Mace, after King had

opened with this wild hit, took up fresh position, and

in doing so, as he was followed by his antagonist, he

hit the back part of his head against the stake. As Tom

pressed in, Jem pulled himself together, and after some

fine left-handed counter-hitting, in which Mace

delivered very heavily on the middle of the head, they

closed and went down, Mace through the ropes. The

battle had now lasted 22 minutes, and it had been

nothing but downright hard fighting and no mistake.

9.――King made another dash at Jem, “on hostile thoughts

intent,” and got home apparently a hot-’un on the right

eye, but there was no sign of injury, evidently owing

to Jem’s excellent condition. Jem instantly returned a

severe prop on the dial with the left, and then

countered a second effort on the part of King, who

essayed his right. Tom, desperate, now dashed in with

headstrong determination, and bored his man through the

ropes, to the delight of the Kingites, who, however,

declined to take 6 to 4, freely offered by the backers

of Mace.

10.――Mace, the instant the signal was given, came forth

with the utmost alacrity to renew the struggle. King,

as an opening to the attack, lunged out the left, and

administered a telling spank on Jem’s right jaw; and

then, as Tom came dashing on, the men fought in a fine

two-handed rally right across the ring, when King got

his man’s nob for an instant in the right arm lock, and

pegged away in the fibbing beautifully. Jem, like a

good tactician, extricated himself; and after some

severe milling, in which Mace got in the most telling

manner on his man’s mouth, cheek, and nose――going, in

fact, all over the dial with his clenched digits in a

rapid and surprising manner――the men closed at the

ropes right opposite to the umpire and referee, when

Jem got his man in position, and gave him a fair

back-heel fall. Immense cheering for Mace.