Joe Beckett dodged the next blow, came close in and sent in a hot
right-hander with a bent and vigorous arm to the body. Wells doubled up
and went down. On his rising Beckett went for him again, put another
right on the body and followed it quickly with a severe punch rather
high on the jaw which knocked Wells down again for a count of nine.
Beckett ought to have beaten him then, but Wells boxed with great pluck
and covered himself with care. During the rest of that round he never
took another blow, and, after a rest, came up for the second fully
recovered. Beckett rushed at him clumsily, trying to get close, and
Wells used his long reach with much skill and promptitude, propping him
off, hitting him with his clean and sure straight left, moving quickly
on his feet, so that, try as he would, Beckett failed to come to close
quarters. Just at the end of the round Wells gave his man a really
hard blow on the chin which made Beckett exceedingly glad to hear the
bell which announced time. And in the third round, too, Wells kept his
opponent at a distance, boxing brilliantly, and adding up points in his
own favour. In the fourth Wells was really happy. He had suppressed
Beckett, he thought; and sent a hard right-hander to the jaw which
would have staggered less hard a man. But Beckett is very strong,
and replied with a couple of body-blows, without, however, doing any
damage to speak of. Again it was Wells’s round. He had quite forgotten
the beginning of the fight and how nearly he had been beaten then.
He was acutely conscious of being the better boxer, and consequently
underrated Beckett’s strength and persistence. At the start of the
fifth round he was not prepared for the rush with which his antagonist
came for him, so that Beckett got quite close to him before he could
think about propping him away. Right and left came Beckett’s gloves
with a will into Wells’s slim body, and then a short jolting blow went
upwards to his jaw, and Wells went down. He was up again very quickly,
not seriously hurt, and Beckett darted in again. This time Wells was
ready and did his utmost to use his long reach. But Beckett’s greater
strength and his willingness to run a little risk told in his favour.
He was fighting hard, but not wildly or foolishly; he ducked under the
long arm and began to punish Wells severely about the body. Another
blow on the head sent Wells to the ground for nine seconds. Wells rose
feeling dazed and helpless, he tried to cover his jaw, but Beckett
darted in and sent in a hard right over his shoulder to the point, and
Wells was knocked out. And the Championship of England again changed
hands.
[Illustration: _Photo: “Sport and General.”_
Bombardier Wells.]
A return match was arranged a year later, and on May 20th, 1920, this
pair fought again for the Championship at Olympia. Beckett in the
meantime had been summarily knocked out by Carpentier, but had himself
knocked out Frank Goddard in two rounds, Eddie McGoorty in seventeen,
and Dick Smith in five. He had become more confident, more adept. He
was not a great boxer, is not now, and is never likely to be. But he
had improved. Nor had Wells been idle. He had knocked out Jack Curphey
in two rounds, Harry Reeves in four, Paul Journee, the Frenchman, in
thirteen, and Eddie McGoorty in sixteen. This last was a terrific
fight, but McGoorty was quite out of training. Wells had also beaten
Arthur Townley, who retired at the end of the ninth round.
What I might call the cochranisation of boxing has now for some time
past enabled vast crowds of people to watch, in comfort, altogether too
great a number of championship fights. The popular excitement about
these contests, or the majority of them, is largely artificial--almost
as artificial as the reputations of the “champions” themselves, the
result, that is to say, of purely commercial advertisement. Of course,
the case of Bombardier Wells is singular. Long ago, before the war, he
had his hold upon the popular imagination (if such a thing exists),
because he was tall, and good-looking, and “temperamental.”
As for his methods, a friend of mine who used to judge Army
Competitions in India, and who saw the All India Championship of 1909,
used to say that he never knew a boxer who so persistently stuck to the
plan of campaign that he had previously thought out as did Bombardier
Wells. Perhaps that is the secret of his mercurial career: perhaps he
always has a plan of campaign and sticks to it--successfully or not,
according to the plan of his antagonist. Wells’s antagonists have a
disconcerting way of doing something fresh and unexpected, and the plan
is liable to be a hindrance. The most crafty boxer may have a plan
which he prefers, but he is able at an instant’s notice to substitute
an alternative scheme suited especially to the caprice of the man he
desires to beat. Carpentier does that. Wells, as already said, likes
scientific boxing just as other people like golf, and he is apt to be
disconcerted by fierce sloggers just as a golfer would be disconcerted
(I imagine) by some one who invented and employed some explosive device
for driving little white balls much farther away than can be done
with the implements at present in use. Circumstances or the advice
of friends pushed Wells--in the first instance possibly without any
special desire of his own--into the professional ring. And people still
flock to see him there, or at all events they did so in 1920, chiefly
because the ring was, for him, so strikingly inappropriate a setting.
Beckett, on the other hand, takes naturally to fighting. He is not
nearly such a “good boxer,” his style is not so finished as Wells’s,
his footwork, though variable, is not so adept. But he knows how to
smash people, and I should say (intending no libel upon a gallant as
well as a successful bruiser) likes doing it.
The majority of people who came to Olympia to watch the second fight
between those men probably wanted Wells to win, for the inadequate
reason that he looked so much less like a boxer than his adversary.
They were disappointed. Wells began better than usual, for he seemed
ready to fight: but his own science was at fault in that he accepted
Beckett’s invitation to bouts of in-fighting, when he ought to have
done his utmost to keep his man at long range. Beckett accepted the
situation comfortably, and sent in some hard punches to the body and a
left swing to the head. During the last minute of the round Wells did
succeed in keeping him away and landed a succession of fine straight
lefts; but these were not hard blows, nor did Wells attempt to follow
them up. Joe Beckett was imperturbable and dogged, but very cautious
too. He kept his left shoulder well up to protect his jaw from Wells’s
right, and when he did hit he hit hard. There was no sting, no spring,
no potency in Wells’s hitting. And he was careless. He gave Beckett
an excellent opening in the second round, which the new champion used
admirably with a hooked left, sending Wells down for seven seconds.
And he kept on pushing his way in for the rest of that round, once
leaving himself unguarded in his turn and inviting the blow with which
Wells, if he had put his weight into it, might well have knocked him
out. But the blow was too high and not hard enough. The third round was
the last. Beckett gave his man a hard left, and Wells broke ground,
somewhat staggered. They came together and for half a minute or more
there was a really fine rally, Beckett hit the harder all the time, and
presently with a swinging left to the body and a beautifully clean and
true right hook to the jaw he knocked Wells out.
CHAPTER X
GEORGES CARPENTIER AND JEFF SMITH
If an unnecessary fuss has been made about those affairs of other
boxers which have nothing whatever to do with boxing, there is some
excuse in Carpentier’s case, if only because he is the first Frenchman
to achieve real distinction in the sport.
Georges Carpentier was born at Lens, in the Pas de Calais, in January
of 1894. His father was a collier, and the boy, directly he was old
enough (which probably meant long before he was old enough), followed
his father underground and worked as a pit-boy, earning his five francs
a week. At about this time a jovial little man whose face is now as
familiar as Carpentier’s, François Descamps by name, was managing a
gymnasium in the town. It was at this time that a wave of athleticism
was passing over Northern France, and the boys of Lens, Carpentier
amongst them, used to regard this gymnasium as their chief amusement
after work hours. Amongst other exercises, Descamps encouraged a
certain amount of boxing--“English” boxing. _La Savate_ had practically
died out, and the days when “Charlemagne” the Frenchman, “kicked out”
Jerry Driscoll, the ex-sailor (amongst whose pupils have been some
of the best of the English amateurs) were unlikely to return. Still,
though boxing was at this time a popular enough show in Paris, few
Frenchmen themselves actually boxed, and Descamps was, in providing
gloves at his gymnasium, rather in advance of his time.
Descamps forbade the use of these gloves by boys whom he had not yet
taught, and when one evening he caught young Carpentier thrashing a
much bigger boy with them and by the light of nature, he rated him
soundly: but he kept an eye on him. He was a natural fighter. It soon
became apparent that he _must_ fight; the inward urging was there,
insistent and never for long to be denied. And the boy, all untaught,
could defend himself.
[Illustration: _Photo: “Sport and General.”_
Joe Beckett.]
Before very long Descamps, who interviewed the child’s parents,
overcame their natural scepticism by paying them the weekly five francs
the lad had been earning at the mine, and undertook his training as an
athlete, sending him out into the fresh air instead of into the pit,
teaching him all he himself knew about the science of fisticuffs. Mr.
F. H. Lucas, the author of _From Pit-Boy to Champion Boxer_, makes it
plain that if ever there was an authentic instance of a fairy godfather
stepping into a boy’s life and changing it in a day from gloom to
unalloyed delight, it is the instance of Descamps and Carpentier. The
young Frenchman had an unique opportunity of succeeding well, for he
was by Descamps’s interference enabled to follow the pursuit he liked
best from his boyhood onwards; and underwent, owing to that fact, a
unique training, adapted as it was to that end and to that end alone.
It is unnecessary to trace Carpentier’s career from the time he won
his first success against an American boxer in a travelling booth
and became “Champion” of France at 7 stone 2 lb., and at the age of
fourteen, until he beat the Heavy-weight Champion of England, when he
was but nineteen and no more than a middle-weight.
Carpentier’s success was by no means uniform. He got some severe
thrashings both from English boxers and Frenchmen--generally owing
to the fact that he gave away weight and especially years at an age
when youth is on the windward side of achievement. It is a wonder that
the boy was not discouraged, but his pluck was unconquerable, and
Descamps a sympathetic and astute manager. Again and again when it
became apparent in a contest that nothing could save Carpentier from a
knock-out, Descamps would give in for him, directing one of the seconds
to throw a towel into the ring. His avoidance of the actual fact of a
knock-out no doubt saved the boy much discouragement, and it looked
better, and still looks better, in a formal printed record of what he
has done. Of course, Descamps was not always able to gauge the right
moment for surrender, and it happened at least once in those early days
that Carpentier was knocked out just like any other boxer with no fairy
godfather to supervise his defeats.
In 1912 he had a very hard fight with Frank Klaus the American, who
at that time claimed the World’s Middle-weight Championship. This
encounter took place at Dieppe, and the American was nearly beaten
early in the fight, falling from a terrific blow on the jaw. But he
recovered, and his much longer experience came to his aid. In the end
he gave Carpentier a severe drubbing for several rounds until, to save
him, Descamps entered the ring: whereupon the referee gave Klaus the
verdict. But throughout this contest the Frenchman was working hard,
fighting all the time, never discouraged by punishment, showing what he
had always shown, a perfectly unalterable, irreducible courage.
The same sort of thing happened in his fight with another American,
Papke. This time Carpentier had to reduce his weight, which is the
worst possible thing a boy, still growing and with no superfluous
flesh, can do. He began the fight weak, was severely hammered and
finally had an eye closed. Again Descamps intervened, this time in the
eighteenth round, to save him the technical knock-out.
Regarded dispassionately, this sort of thing is excellent “business,”
and does not, as far as one can see, do much harm to sport. If Tommy
Burns was the first man who made boxing a matter of sound commerce,
one may call Carpentier, or more strictly his manager and mentor,
Descamps, the first Boxing Business Magnate. Between them they had made
a literally large fortune before Carpentier was twenty.
One of his hardest, longest, and best fights was with Jeff Smith, a
hardy American who was a shade lighter, shorter, and with less reach
than Carpentier. This combat took place at the end of 1913, not a month
after the Frenchman had beaten Wells, for the second time, at the
National Sporting Club.
On this occasion Carpentier boxed indifferently in the early rounds,
and seemed not to take the occasion seriously. His was the first blow,
and it was a good one, which drew blood from the American’s nose. Smith
grunted and shook his head, and put in a left in reply. It was clear
that he wanted the Frenchman at close quarters, and he kept coming in
close and hammering away at the body. Carpentier made a perfunctory
effort to keep him at arm’s length, but seemed after a while to be
willing to fight Smith on his own terms. He caught the American a very
hard smack on the eye, which swelled up so that he was thenceforward
half-blinded. Smith even in the third round was a good deal marked, and
not one of the spectators imagined for a moment that he could possibly
last out the full twenty rounds. In the next round Carpentier boxed
very much as he pleased. They exchanged body-blow and upper-cut on the
head, but the latter was the more severe, and it was the Frenchman’s.
Smith kept on trying to “bring the right across” at close quarters, but
Carpentier always protected himself. He seemed to be waiting for a safe
opportunity for knocking his opponent out, and did little in the fourth
round. Smith kept on leading, though without much effect, but scored
more points nevertheless.
After a while Smith began to get into serious trouble, and he held
to avoid punishment. This is against the strict rules, and should be
regarded as such; but, humanly speaking, when you are getting a very
bad time, the instinct to hold your man’s arms to prevent him from
hitting you is very strong. If you have the strength it is, of course,
much more efficacious to hit him and stop the punishment in that way:
but when your strength is going, as Smith’s was, you are prone to
follow blind instinct, rules or no rules. Just after this he managed
to put in a good upper-cut, but got a hard “one-two” in return--a left
instantly followed by right, straight, taking him in the middle of the
face. And then Smith woke up, having got what is called his second
wind. Throughout the seventh round he gave Carpentier a really bad
time. Two fierce blows, left and right, made the Frenchman rock where
he stood, and his counters were well guarded or avoided altogether.
Carpentier boxed better in the eighth round, but there was no power in
his blows, and the French onlookers began to look very glum. For his
part, Carpentier wished that he had trained better. He was not himself:
the fire seemed to be dead in him. He was feeling desperate: there was
no pleasure in this fight. Smith kept on getting under his long arms
and hitting him hard at close quarters, hammering away at his stomach.
And Carpentier grew weaker and more wild, and wasted his remaining
strength on futile swings which clove the empty air. Another hard blow
on the jaw and Carpentier staggered. It was all he could do to hold
up. He replied with one of his vain and foolish swings, sent with all
his remaining power whizzing through the air and missing Jeff Smith by
feet. This effort sent Carpentier hard to the floor by the momentum of
its own wasted force. It is true that Smith failed to follow up his
advantage when the Frenchman rose, but even so the round was decisively
in his favour.
The tenth round found Smith strong and hearty, boxing with sturdy
vigour if not remarkable skill. Carpentier had recovered a little by
now, and, exasperated by Smith’s coolness, rallied vigorously and
rained left-handers on his opponent, so that the American was forced to
“cover up” with his gloves on either side of his face and his elbows
tucked in. Carpentier’s round, but no serious damage done. And the next
was much the same, and Smith clinched a good deal, though Carpentier’s
hitting was far from strong. Smith’s defence was admirable when he
was not holding, but his vigour of attack had been in abeyance for a
little while. In the twelfth round he woke up, and drove his right to
the Frenchman’s mouth, drawing much blood, and went on attacking. In
the fourteenth round Carpentier seemed quite done. He tried once or
twice to swing in the hope of knocking his man out, but his blows were
weak and Smith was cautious. The American was still the more marked and
obviously damaged of the two; but Carpentier looked woebegone and ill.
He, too, had a split lip which bled profusely. Just at the end of the
round Carpentier did at last manage to put in a right cross-counter
which had some strength in it, but before he could follow it up time
was called, and Smith had his minute in which to recover.
It was about this time that Descamps declared that Carpentier had
smashed his hand at the very beginning of the fight. It may be taken
as a fairly safe rule that when a man’s backers make this type of
observation during the progress of a contest, they think he is going
to lose it. When he has actually lost, they invariably say something
of the kind. A smashed hand--a family trouble--an acute attack of
indigestion--these excuses and all their manifold variations serve
their dear old turn, and are promptly disbelieved at large as soon as
they are uttered. It is possible that Carpentier may have sprained a
thumb slightly, but it could not have been more than that. The vigour
that his hitting lacked was, on that occasion, constitutional. He was
not in first-rate condition.
Both men were sorry for themselves. Smith’s eye was quite closed, his
opponent was bleeding severely from his cut lip. For a time their
efforts were about equal. Carpentier kept trying to knock his man
out, Smith defended himself. The spectators could not understand the
Frenchman. All the time or almost all the time, he had fought like a
man both weak and desperate. And then, quite suddenly, in the sixteenth
round there was a change.
I have said that Carpentier is a real fighter: he has the spirit and
instinct for bashing, for going on against odds. He was weak, and for a
long time he had plainly shown it. And yet somewhere in him there was a
reserve of power and an unconquerable will.
To the utter astonishment of the onlookers and of Jeff Smith himself,
Carpentier sprang out of his corner for the sixteenth round as though
he were beginning a fresh contest. He positively hurled himself across
the ring at his antagonist. He landed at once, with a half-arm blow
on the head, and blow after blow, mainly with the left, pounded the
unfortunate American. Smith was completely taken aback and could only
clinch to save himself. It was all that he could do to withstand this
slaughtering attack and remain upright.
There was a great uproar amongst the crowd. Yells of delight greeted
this great awakening of the Frenchman: and when the next round began
every one thought that Smith must soon fall. Carpentier went for him
again with animal ferocity. He leapt about the ring after him, sending
in blow after murderous blow. Smith reeled and gasped and staggered and
backed away after each shattering, smashing right had landed, but he
still stood up and fought him like a man. It was a fine show of pluck.
The man was badly hurt. Plenty of boxers would have dropped for a rest
and even would have allowed themselves to be counted out, but not Jeff
Smith. He was, as they say, “for it,” and he knew that he was “for it.”
But he would go through with it.
The uproar increased. The spectators wanted to have the fight stopped,
but without avail. The fight went on. Smith staggered in, and more by
good luck than any sort of management, contrived to land two pitiful
blows. His legs were hopelessly weak--he could hardly see, and yet he
managed to cover his jaw, and, try as he would, with all his renewal
of vigour, Carpentier could do everything he liked with his man save
knock him out. It is necessary to make this quite plain. Smith looked
as though he must at any moment drop down and stay down from sheer
exhaustion.
A minute’s rest. The last round.
Men are oddly and wonderfully made. Smith leapt from his chair just
as his opponent had done a quarter of an hour before, strong, eager,
ferocious. He tore across the ring at Carpentier, flung amazing blows
at him, made desperate and frantic efforts to knock him out at the last
minute. Carpentier was completely flabbergasted. He had never known
anything like this to be possible. Smith’s recovery was marvellous, not
less wonderful than that. And indeed Jeff Smith was within sight of
victory throughout that desperate last round. He landed a right-hander
with all his diminished strength, and the Frenchman crumpled up and
fell forward to the boards. A little more might behind the blow, a
shade more elasticity in the arm that sent the blow, and Carpentier
must have been counted out. But that was the end. Carpentier rose just
as the bell rang for time. And the referee gave the fight to him. The
decision was not popular even among Frenchmen--which is surprising, but
strengthening to one’s faith in human nature.
CHAPTER XI
JACK DEMPSEY AND GEORGES CARPENTIER
Carpentier served in the French Flying Corps during the war, but though
four years or more were taken from the best of his boxing life, he
did not forget how to box. During the “gap” he engaged in no recorded
contests, but no doubt did a certain amount of sparring. He had gained
weight and lost no ground when the war ended. During 1919 and 1920,
he fought five times, knocking out five men, including Dick Smith,
Joe Beckett, and Battling Levinsky. Meanwhile, in July, 1919, Jack
Dempsey had knocked out Jess Willard in three rounds for the World’s
Championship, and Carpentier challenged him.
“Jack Dempsey” is a _nom de guerre_, presumably taken (since there is
as yet no copyright in names) from that older Jack Dempsey who began
boxing in the early eighties, and lost the World’s Middle-weight title
to Bob Fitzsimmons, who knocked him out in fifteen rounds in 1891.
The new Jack Dempsey was born in 1895, and his record shows that until
the end of 1920 he had fought upwards of sixty contests, fifty-eight
of which he won, mainly by knocking his opponents out in the first
or second rounds. He weighs 13½ stone, and stands just a shade under
6 feet. That is to say, he was a stone and a half heavier than
Carpentier; much longer in reach. Dempsey is a very miracle of strength
and hardness.
It seemed an absurd match. If an animal analogy may be allowed, it
was like a young leopard against a gorilla. There are, of course,
innumerable accidents in boxing, chance blows and slight injuries which
turn the tide of battle, an “off” day, a fault in training; but it may
be laid down as a general rule that when character and strength are
equal the man with the more skill wins, when skill and strength are
equal, character wins, when character and skill are equal, strength
wins. So it was now. Both Carpentier and Dempsey were natural fighters,
both were scientific boxers, though Carpentier was more skilled than
his opponent, both wanted to win, but Dempsey was immensely stronger
than the Frenchman.
The contest took place at New Jersey, U.S.A., on July 2, 1921. A very
small ring was used, no more than eighteen feet square. The number
of rounds was limited to twelve, but it was recognised beyond the
possibility of doubt that so many as twelve would not be required to
settle the matter.
The moving pictures of the event show Carpentier sitting in his
corner, nodding and smiling while his gloves are being put on. His
grin is wide. Then with the suddenness of the camera’s own shutter,
it ceases. For an instant the whole face is still, the mouth closes
in thin-lipped anxiety, the eyes are set, and when you see the smile
break out again you know that it is deliberate, not spontaneous. In
fact Georges Carpentier was acutely nervous. Who, of his size and in
his shoes, would not have been? You have but to glance at the man in
the opposite corner, and you shake at the very thought of being in
Carpentier’s shoes at that moment. Thirteen and a half stone may mean
very little; it may mean a hulking fellow who can’t hit, let alone
take punishment: it may mean a hulking fellow who can hit hard, but
who can do nothing else. But the thirteen and a half stone of Dempsey
meant a man in perfect condition, who could hit as few men can, who was
extraordinarily hard and strong and almost impossible to hurt. Thirteen
and a half stone of bone and muscle, not bone and muscle and fat. No
fat at all. All hard stuff; not easy rippling muscle like Carpentier’s,
but very solid and tough and extremely serviceable.
Dempsey had left himself unshaven for several days, so that the skin
of his face should not be tender, thereby gaining, besides, a horribly
malign appearance. And he scowled, and when the two of them stood up he
made Carpentier look a little man. Dempsey was not popular in America
owing to his avoidance of military service during the war. Seeing him
in the ring, unless the photographic films have lied, he looked the
very incarnation of sullen rage and brute force. In private life he is
an amiable man, fresh-faced and modest. He had much more than brute
force: he was a skilled and terrific basher. Strength for strength,
Dempsey could, as you might say, “eat” Carpentier.
And they gave rather the appearance of the child and the ogre in the
ring. Carpentier seemed unable to defend himself against the shattering
onslaught of the American, and there was much clinching in the first
round. The smaller man greatly surprised the spectators by going in and
fighting at once, instead of trying to keep away and let Dempsey tire
himself, which seemed to be the obvious course to pursue. He had not
the strength to stop the majority of Dempsey’s blows, especially the
upper-cuts which came crashing through his guard. He tried the trick
of boxing with his chin on the big man’s chest, but even so his body
suffered the more. It was, as a matter of irrelevant fact, Carpentier
who scored the first hits, a left on the face and an upper-cut with
the right, neither of which had any effect at all. During a clinch
the champion gave his opponent a dig in the stomach which reduced his
strength immediately. This he followed by a hard, very short blow on
the back of the head, given whilst Carpentier was holding close. From
the position in which two men stand in a clinch, such a blow cannot be
given with the whole weight of the body. The glove can travel only five
or six inches, and the body’s weight cannot in that attitude be swung
behind the arm. I have seen in clumsy boxing a man knocked clean out
by a blow on the back of the head or neck by an ordinary full swing,
aimed for the jaw, which the victim has protected by bringing his head
forward, but not far enough forward. But a man of Dempsey’s strength
can make the short blow a very serious one when frequently repeated:
and he repeated it many times on Carpentier.
Next he landed on the Frenchman’s body with both hands. Emerging from a
clinch Carpentier was seen to be bleeding from the nose. Then he swung
hard at Dempsey’s jaw and missed it. He had done no damage at all yet.
The second round was the most interesting in a very short fight.
Carpentier crouched and jumped in with a left and right which landed
on the head, but did not hurt the American. Carpentier hit again and
missed. They clinched, and Dempsey sent in some more body-blows,
pulling his man about the ring as he pleased, so long as he held. Then
Carpentier backed away, and for an instant Dempsey’s guard was down.
The Frenchman halted in his retreat and shot a left hook in at the
jaw. It was beautifully timed, a fine seizing of a small opportunity,
a test of courage. And for Carpentier it was a great moment, a triumph
of presence of mind: thought and action were wellnigh simultaneous. The
blow seemed to shake Dempsey, and the huge crowd yelled with delight
for the Frenchman, who immediately followed up his advantage. He had
been hurt: he was weak, but he had taken his opportunity. That left
was a hard blow, almost as hard as any he had ever struck. It was a
wonderful chance: he had never thought he would be able to get in a
blow like that, not after that first round. And now he would hit again,
and he swung his right hand to Dempsey’s jaw with all his might. But
there was just a shade of flurry about that blow, and Carpentier did
a thing he had not done for years: he swung his hand in its natural
position, instead of twisting it over a little in its passage so that
the finger knuckles struck the jaw: and the natural position made the
impact fall upon the thumb. It was a beginner’s mistake, but a frequent
one when hot haste makes a man a little wild. Carpentier felt a sharp
and agonising pain, but he struck again with his right, and this time
he missed. Dempsey came forward and this time it was he who clinched,
before attacking the French man’s body again with his half-arm blows.
And so the round ended.
What had happened was this: the full weight of Carpentier’s blow
falling on his thumb broke it and sprained his wrist. Dempsey shook
his head and retired a step or two, and declared afterwards that he
could not remember the blow. This is unlikely. He added that he might
possibly have been caught when he was off his balance and so appeared
to stagger. We may say for certain that the two blows, left and right
combined, would have knocked any other man out. Certainly their effect
upon the champion was trivial; though it is said that some one in his
corner stretched out his hand for the smelling-salts, so as to be ready
in case Dempsey came to his corner dazed.
The third round began, and Carpentier retreated as his opponent
advanced on him. He knew too much now to attempt to “mix it,” he would
keep away. His only chance lay in Dempsey’s tiring himself. He said
afterwards that those two blows in the second were the best he could
strike, and when he saw that they had failed he lost heart. “Dempsey
gave me a blow, just afterwards, on the neck which seemed to daze me,”
he said.
Well, there are various degrees of losing heart. Carpentier may have
realised that his task was hopeless, but he meant to go on. He landed
a right at very long range with no power behind it to speak of, and
Dempsey clinched, before sending home several of his rib-shattering
half-arm blows. Carpentier’s strength was going. These body-blows
had hurt him severely, and their effect was sickening and lasting.
Then Dempsey hit him a little higher, just under the heart, and the
Frenchman’s knees gave. He was nearly down, but managed to keep on his
legs until the end of the round. But he was looking ill as he went to
his corner.
Directly the fourth round began the sullen giant crouched and attacked
Carpentier with all his strength, driving him fast before him round
the ring until he had him in a corner. Dempsey swung his right and
Carpentier ducked inside it. They were close together, and he had
to submit to a bout of in-fighting, trying to force his way out of
the corner. But Dempsey got him close up against the ropes and sent
in a very hot right to the jaw. Carpentier collapsed upon hands and
knees. The ring, his antagonist, the faces peering at him from the
level of the stage, were misty and vague. There was only one idea in
his mind, only one thing that he could hear. He must get up somehow
before the referee counted ten.... Four--five--(he was not done
yet)--six--seven--(he must stay down as long as possible)--eight--nine.
And at that Carpentier jumped up quickly and flung up his arms to guard
against the inevitable rush. It was no good. He did not know his own
weakness. Dempsey just pushed his arms aside, feinted with his left,
and sent his right crashing to the heart. Again Carpentier fell, and
this time he was counted out.
CHAPTER XII
GEORGES CARPENTIER AND GEORGE COOK
After his defeat by Dempsey, Carpentier did not fight again until he
met George Cook, the Australian, at the Albert Hall, on January 12th,
1922. In the World’s Championship contest he had been badly hurt:
and a beating such as he had then might well have produced a lasting
effect. It was, then, interesting to watch him to see if his previous
downfall would manifestly alter his demeanour in the ring. But though
it is not to be doubted that some of his behaviour arose from motives
of policy, there was, genuinely, no sign of worry upon his boyish and
almost preposterously unpugilistic face. Coming into the ring there was
an elaborate nonchalance in the Frenchman’s mien which was intended
to impress his opponent. With genial gravity Carpentier himself wound
his bandages about his hands before drawing on his black gloves: and
instead of remaining in his corner he moved his stool to a position in
the ring more generally commanded by the spectators.
Cook is a man without any particular record in this country, though
he was Heavy-weight Champion of Australia. By beating Carpentier he
would have become Champion of Europe, and would, of course, have
bounded into considerable fame. Wise after the event, large numbers of
a critical public have observed that the result was for ever certain.
But that is unfair to Cook, who showed himself to be a boxer by no
means despicable, and who most emphatically had the better of one round
out of the four. He was a stone heavier than his man, though this
considerable difference was not plainly observable when they stripped.
Cook was just a shade “beefy,” but he was strong and well. He looked
across the ring with astonishment at the form of his antagonist: for
Carpentier is--a Greek bronze, dark-skinned, beautifully proportioned,
covered with easy, flowing muscle, a sight to stir the hearts of older
athletes with vain regret.
The huge hall was full. Large numbers of women were present, both
English and French, and these called to mind the amusing discussions
in and out of newspapers, before the war, as to the propriety of
admitting female spectators to “Gladiatorial displays.” Indeed in one
Correspondence Column under the title, “Should Ladies Watch Boxing
Contests?” an irascible old sportsman declared that the question did
not arise, as no lady would do such a thing. Without entering at length
into a question which is not widely interesting, I would ask what hope
there was for a gentility which depends upon obedience to a perfectly
trivial convention, involving no question of right or wrong, manners,
or even what we usually mean by “decorum”? In those days of 1914,
before war broke out, and when the “boxing boom” was at its height,
a woman whom it is unnecessary to call a “lady,” old enough also to
have recognised for what they were and to despise many transient
correctitudes of fashion, observed: “If my daughter _likes_ to go and
see two nasty men with hairy chests knocking each other about, why
shouldn’t she?” And, really, that is all there is to be said on the
subject.
To return to what the ladies watched, rather than exploring the “quite
niceness” of their watching it--a very desperate encounter was not
expected: but, provided that he doesn’t knock his man out in the first
fifty or sixty seconds, Carpentier is always worth seeing.
The first round was level. Cook boxed well, particularly at close
quarters, and the Frenchman appeared hesitating and tentative in all
his movements. Early in the next round Cook sent out a quick and
tremendous swing which, with greater quickness, Carpentier avoided,
dancing right away from it. Then, a little later, the same thing
happened on Carpentier’s side. Throughout this round Cook succeeded for
the most part in keeping close to his man and in dealing him out short
but powerful punches on the back of the neck and head, in imitation of
Dempsey, but without his power. From Cook these blows seemed to trouble
his antagonist not at all. That was certainly Cook’s round. Whether
the considerable margin of points in his favour was entirely due to
Carpentier’s ringcraft is not certain. He was anxious to sum up the
situation and thoroughly to take the measure of Cook before committing
himself. It is quite possible that he deliberately gave something away
in that round, being confident that his gift could do him no serious
harm: but if he did so, I am inclined to suppose that he got more than
he reckoned upon.
The third round was Carpentier’s in about the same degree as the second
had been Cook’s. His hesitation had completely gone, and he did nothing
without meaning to, and no intention of his was frustrated by his
opponent. He knew all about Cook now. He was a powerful hitter at short
range, a good in-fighter, and he was strong. But he was much the slower
of the two.
When he has really settled to his work Carpentier crouches lightly
and elegantly, with no rigid and inflexible guard, but both hands
ready, both arms loose and lithe, to supply whatever need the next
moment may demand. At the beginning of the fourth round Cook went
for him with plenty of pluck and determination, and did his utmost
to keep close. But Carpentier hit and got away, side-stepped, danced
lightly on his toes, refusing to fight at close quarters. Every now
and again a clinch seemed imminent, and the Frenchman darted away out
of reach, leaving, as it were, a lightning blow behind him. Suddenly,
as the Australian tried to force him into his own corner, he sent in
a right to Cook’s jaw, through his guard, at very long range and with
extraordinary dexterity. It was the kind of blow that could only be
landed effectively by a boxer of the utmost possible skill. For one
thing it was exquisitely timed, coming in not straight, but without the
elbow being markedly bent, striking the right place, the glove turning
over as it struck, and avoiding Cook’s guardian left with the most
delicate precision. For another, few boxers could land any blow save a
wide swing from the position Carpentier was in with sufficient weight
behind it to do much damage. It was, on his part, a triumph of speed,
of real boxing, not according to confining rules, but according to
science applied to occasion with the utmost ingenuity and agility. It
is worth going a long way to see a blow like that struck. No one should
need the fantastic explanation of Carpentier’s or Descamps’s hypnotic
powers if he will but watch the boxer with a quick and vigilant eye.
There have been, perhaps, better men of a less weight from the strictly
scientific point of view, but as a skilled heavy-weight Carpentier
is peerless. Unfortunately, as we know, science is not all that is
needed in the ring, and Carpentier was utterly routed by Dempsey--a
good boxer, but not nearly so good a boxer--because he was a positive
phenomenon of size and strength.
That beautiful right was probably enough to beat Cook, who immediately
fell forward. But Carpentier hit him again, bending to do so, just
before he reached the floor. By the rules it was a fair blow, because
the man was not technically “down”--neither glove nor knee quite
touched the floor. It was, however, a very near thing. There was a
good deal of excitement and uproar at the moment, and at least one
highly competent judge fully believed the blow to have been a foul, and
that the Frenchman should have been disqualified. But he was sitting
immediately behind Carpentier and could not get a perfectly clear view.
Instantaneous photographs, displayed afterwards, show that Carpentier,
by the narrowest possible margin, was on the right side. But it
was an unfortunate ending to a most instructive encounter. For the
question remains--did he strike deliberately, or was he overcome by
the excitement of the moment, as so many other boxers, even of his
experience, have been overcome before? Neither alternative leaves us
with complete ease in retrospect: for to lose your head is bad boxing,
while to take the uttermost advantage of the exact letter of the rule
is, in such a case, questionable sportsmanship.
[Illustration:
_Photo: “Sport and General.”_
Georges Carpentier and Jack Dempsey.]
CHAPTER XIII
LITTLE MEN
From the spectator’s point of view much of the interest of boxing
(and almost all of it in amateur boxing), is purely dramatic. You can
thoroughly enjoy--at least I can, and there are others--a really good
fight apart from any science that may be displayed. For enjoyment of
skill alone is in another dimension. Of course, there must always be
enough science to enable the boxers to fight cleanly and tidily and
without the appearance of two angry windmills. But greatly as science
improves the complete interest and enjoyment of a fight, that kind
of interest remains separate. For the admiration of skill appeals to
your head, the drama, largely to your heart. And the drama in boxing
arises from the fact that the encounter is a personal one, that two men
are trying to hurt each other, at least physically to overcome each
other (which amounts to the same thing) and to prevent the other from
hurting, from dominating. There is no other sport in which the sense of
personal combat is so manifest.
And it is partly because of this dramatic interest that
heavy-weights--big men--have, as a rule, throughout two hundred years,
attracted greater attention than the little men, except, of course,
when little men have fought with big ones. Roughly, it is like this: if
you want to see scientific boxing you choose a fight between feather
or bantam-weights, if you want to see a good slogging match (but
tempered with science, always) you choose a fight between middle or
heavy-weights, preferably the latter. Of course, bantam-weights often
do slog--much oftener indeed than do heavy-weights box twenty rounds
of unexceptionable excellence. But I suppose there is magnificence in
sheer bigness, and we like to see the big men fight. And that is why,
for the most part, I have chosen heavy-weight encounters to represent
the various periods in the history of the Ring.
It is impossible, or at any rate quite impracticable, to mention every
boxer; it is not even practicable to mention more than a few. I should
like to have described the fights of many of the lesser men in point
of size--far better boxers, most of them, than almost any heavy-weight
that ever lived. Names topple out of recent memory at random--Billy
Plimmer, Pedlar Palmer, Joe Bowker, Charles Ledoux, Johnny Summers,
Taney Lee, Johnny Basham, hosts of them. But there is one name that
simply cannot be avoided in any book about any sort of boxing, the name
of one of the best feather-weights and one of the fairest fighters that
ever lived--Jem Driscoll.
Driscoll, who was formerly Feather-weight Champion of England, having
won the Lonsdale Belt outright by three successful contests, had all
the natural gifts of the boxer. His weight was 9 stone, or, at all
events, generally within easy reach of it; his height 5 feet 6 inches.
He was beautifully proportioned, slim, muscular, with the appearance of
an all-round athlete. His science was unrivalled, and he was a perfect
exponent of what one may still call the English style of boxing; that
is, the style based upon the upright position and the conspicuous use
of the straight left lead. Driscoll is Irish by extraction and Welsh
by birth, and he loved fighting for fighting’s sake from his earliest
childhood. He went in for and won various boys’ competitions at
Cardiff, and, later, travelled with a booth; his only instructor being
experience.
His two contests at the National Sporting Club with Spike Robson, of
Newcastle, for the English Feather-weight Belt, are worth a brief
note in order to show Driscoll at the height of his power. Robson was
three or four years older, but a very tough customer, with any amount
of pluck. The first match, which took place on April 18th, 1910, had
been keenly anticipated for a long time beforehand, if only because
everything in which Driscoll had a hand was worth seeing. You always
knew where you were with Driscoll. He always hit clean, and for choice,
straight. There was never any clinching to avoid punishment, never any
getting on the “blind side” of the referee.
The first three rounds were level. Robson was a good boxer, a keen
fighter, but he was neither so quick with his hands or feet as
Driscoll. However, it was he who landed the first considerable blow
in the fourth round, striking heavily on his opponent’s eye. In the
fifth round he did a very foolish thing. There was something about his
gay, elegant, upright and good-looking antagonist which irritated him.
Driscoll was so indifferent, so imperturbable. He would smash him,
he would spoil his face for him. The instant the bell rang for time
he would catch Driscoll before he was clear of his corner, before,
in fact, he was ready. That was the way to smash him--to give him no
time to take up his position in the middle of the ring, with his left
foot and arm out, nicely balanced on his toes. He’d show him. And he
charged furiously head down across the ring like a terrier after his
best enemy. And Jem Driscoll merely waited, until Robson was almost on
him and then coolly stepped aside. It was beautifully done--no haste,
no exertion, only the exactly right judgment of time. And Spike Robson
couldn’t recover himself--he was going much too fast for that--and was
brought up by crashing into the stool which the seconds had not yet
been able to remove from Driscoll’s corner.
The edge of the stool cut his scalp severely as, from the fact that
Robson was prematurely bald, was immediately obvious. He was half
dazed, and had only sense for the rest of that round to clinch and lean
on his opponent. The referee had to caution him severely for doing
so. He had somewhat recovered in the next round, and in the seventh
he was boxing well, though he had suffered a considerable shock. And
Driscoll was boxing better, and would have been, I would venture to
say, in any case and without the accident to handicap his antagonist.
In the eleventh round Robson showed an inclination again to take a
rest by leaning on his man in a clinch, and the referee observed with
noticeable firmness. “Robson, I shall not tell you again.” And when
they were once more at long range Driscoll sent in six blows, one
after another with lightning speed and almost without a return. Such
blows as these may not have been each very hard, but their cumulative
effect was fatiguing and depressing. Robson got a very warm time in
the next two rounds; but he was thoroughly game, and kept on returning
to the fight every time that Driscoll drove him away at the end of his
long left. To the spectator who does not watch a fight of this kind,
between two small men, with a very vigilant eye, the end often comes
with surprising abruptness. In this case, Robson had been getting a
much worse time than it seemed to any but the most careful observer.
Driscoll had done as he liked with him latterly, and instead of his
blows gradually losing power, in spite of the fact that he had a cold
and was not in the best possible condition, they were all the harder
because weariness in the other man had made them safer, the openings
more patent. At the beginning of the fifteenth round, Driscoll sent
in a sharp left hook, followed immediately with a right, and Robson
tumbled forward to the floor. He rose very slowly, needing all his
determination to do so, and as Driscoll sent him down again, the
referee stopped the fight. Robson was much more hurt than, until
the last minute, he seemed: and it was some minutes before he fully
recovered his senses.
The second encounter between these men, on January 30th, 1911, was
a much shorter affair. Driscoll on this occasion was in perfect
condition, and he knew the worst of Robson. To begin with, he boxed
with extraordinary speed, and though his blows were light, they were
many. There was an admirable example of his powers in the second round,
for he sent over a right hook with great power, which Robson dodged,
and which, had it been struck by a clumsier boxer, would certainly have
left him clean open to a counter; but when Robson’s counter came in, as
it did with commendable speed, Driscoll’s right was back in its place
to guard it. Beyond that failure, Driscoll made no effort to knock
his man out until the fifth round. He contented himself with left,
left, left, not very hard but very wearing. Then in the fifth round he
became a fighter again: and before Robson knew he was there he fell
before a right-hander on the point of the jaw. Through the sixth round
Driscoll, who never took a situation for granted and ever remained
careful until he had been proclaimed the winner, boxed hard, but gave
no chances. Left, right--left, right: his blows nearly all landed, and
Robson’s blows were growing feeble and wild. In the seventh round he
was palpably done, and Driscoll hit him as he liked, finally sending
him down for six seconds. In the next round the referee decided that
Robson had been hit enough. Towards the end Driscoll had been holding
back and trying not to hurt his opponent. And that was Driscoll “all
over.”
In writing of Driscoll, it is fitting that an international contest
of his should be described in which he was matched against the
Feather-weight Champion of France, Jean Poésy. This fight took place
towards the end of Driscoll’s career, on June 3rd, 1912, at the
National Sporting Club.
In his quiet way, Driscoll was confident of beating Poésy. They had
seen each other, though not in the ring, but the English fancied his
own chances merely from the “cut of his jib.” They were equal in height
and weight, but Driscoll had the advantage of long experience. True, he
was over thirty, but before the fight he declared that he could hit as
hard and stay as well as ever he could.
So they entered the ring--the young Frenchman and the veteran. As ever,
Driscoll showed that he was the master of scientific fisticuffs: he was
wonderfully quick, and he could still take hard knocks without showing
a sign. Poésy was no novice: he could box well and was not so foolish
as to underestimate his opponent, as many a young ’un would have done.
He began on the defensive, so that Jem Driscoll had to carry the war
into the enemy’s country, and once more he showed he could outfight
as well as outgeneral a good youth. There was never a question as to
who would win, and in the end Driscoll left the ring without a mark,
without having received a single damaging blow. All the same, it was an
interesting fight, because of Poésy’s pluck and the English champion’s
really amazing skill, which showed no falling off from his old high
standard. He kept Poésy at long range, never leaving an opening for
a knock-out blow, which the Frenchman soon saw was his only chance;
never clinching or hugging. It is a pity that more men did not profit
by his example. Poésy tried to get at Driscoll’s body. He had beaten
Digger Stanley like that. But Driscoll understood in-fighting too,
though for choice he boxed at long range. In the tenth and eleventh
rounds Poésy woke up and fought like a little fiend. Some one called
out from the crowd, “When Poésy does take it into his head to get
a move on, you’ll see something.” But all the spectators saw was a
ferocious, game, and persevering attack coolly frustrated; and the more
the Frenchman attacked, the more he left himself open, so that Driscoll
was now hitting harder and oftener than before. Poésy was in beautiful
condition, and began the twelfth round with unabated ardour. He dashed
at Driscoll and landed a really hard straight left on his jaw. That
made Driscoll think for a moment, and he decided that it would not be
well to risk too many of that sort. Almost immediately afterwards Poésy
coming in, left himself open, and Driscoll knocked him clean off his
feet with a right on the chin. The Frenchman gallantly struggled up in
five seconds, obviously dazed. Driscoll feinted and dodged about this
way and that, so that it was impossible to tell whence the next blow
would come, and presently sent over another right which knocked Poésy
out of time ... eight, nine, ten! Then Driscoll bent down and picked
him up and carried him to his corner.
Not at any weight nor at any time was the Championship of England held
by a better boxer or a straighter man.
One other little man--the littlest of all--must be mentioned, because,
in the whole history of boxing there has never been any one quite like
him--Jimmy Wilde, called in his younger days “The Tylorstown Terror.”
This minute Welshman was born in 1892, and stands just over 5 feet 3
inches, and his weight is, at the age of thirty, recorded as 7 stone 6
lb. The photograph of him reproduced as an illustration to this book,
suggests many things, but certainly not a bruiser who has knocked out
alone (not to mention the more laborious method of beating opponents)
over a hundred men, and who has fought several hundred battles. To see
him, in or out of the ring, to observe his pallor and square-shouldered
fragility, makes his record seem like a rather foolish fairy-story.
He used to give stones away in weight where you would think he could
hardly spare ounces. It is all very well for men like Tom Sayers, or
Carpentier, to give away a little: they were fine strong men. But you
don’t expect a chaffinch to attack an albatross.
Wilde is beautifully made in little and his strength is sheerly
amazing, his hitting power, not only in relation to his size, terrific.
He is a highly skilled boxer, but the might of his blows is almost
magical. It is only the body’s weight behind the striking hand which
makes a blow really hard--and what is seven stone?
Of course, Jimmy Wilde is a fighter by instinct, he enjoys a good mill,
he has an abundant virility. His style is a little reminiscent of
Driscoll’s, from whom he learned something in his youth. His ways are
mainly his own, and he adapts his methods with wonderful cleverness to
the needs of his size. To guard blows of a heavier man would soon wear
him out. So he guards very little. He avoids. When an opponent tries to
hit him, he is out of reach, just an inch beyond the extended arm of
his antagonist.
Titles in the ring mean very little, but in Wilde’s case “Flyweight
Champion of the World” is not to be despised. His contest with Alf
Mansfield in May, 1919, at the Holborn Stadium, is worth a word, as
showing the sort of task that this midget has repeatedly undertaken
for the last ten or twelve years. Mansfield weighed 8 stone 4 lb., and
stood half a head taller--sturdy, strong, a good boxer. In the second
round Wilde went for him like a little fiend, and knocked him down for
nine seconds. On rising, Mansfield could only hug his man to avoid the
punishment which Wilde seemed literally to pour upon him. Mr. Corri,
the referee, stopped the holding, and Mansfield, somewhat recovered,
stood up and boxed pluckily. But the midget’s pace was amazing. He
hit and hit again, one hand following the other at such a rate that
the eye could scarcely follow, while it was quite impossible to count
his blows. Mansfield was bewildered but brave, a good boxer and fast
by ordinary standards, but dead slow with Wilde. And yet his hitting
_as_ hitting was worth more if only he could plant the blows. In the
third round he put in a right which astonished his man and hurt him:
and Wilde was much more careful after that. But it was Wilde who wore
him out by oft-repeated blows, so that in the eleventh round he was
unsteady on his feet, in the twelfth fell from sheer weakness, whilst
in the thirteenth, after two severe rights, each of which knocked him
down, Mr. Corri very properly decided that he had been hurt enough.
CHAPTER XIV
AN AFTERTHOUGHT
The Prize-Ring served its turn and passed; and modern boxing, roughly,
fills the gap. At present we do not see why modern boxing should not go
on indefinitely. For all that people say human nature has changed, does
change, will persist in changing, and--we dare hope--for the better.
By modern standards the Prize-Ring was brutal, just as the execution
of young lads for sheep-stealing was brutal. The same issue of the
_Times_ in June, 1833, which reported the acquittal at the Hertford
Assizes of Deaf Burke for the manslaughter of Simon Byrne (See Chapter
XIV, Part I.), informed its readers that a man found guilty of stealing
spoons to the value of 27s. had been sentenced to transportation for
life. Human nature has rebelled against the greater brutality as it did
against the less. And war is the ultimate expression of brutality in
man, and as we have seen only too lately, a brutality which carried to
its logical conclusion (or very nearly) surpasses anything in that sort
that mankind has been guilty of throughout the ages. A case, you say,
against the truth or hope or possibility of change in human nature? Not
quite; for human consciousness did, even before the German war, begin
to realise what war would mean, and since then has made, is making,
genuine efforts to withstand the tide of what pessimists regard as an
inevitable tendency.
But apart from war in which we now know that “fair play” is
ridiculously impossible, a little friendly hurting of each other in
a roped ring and cold blood will do no harm to any two men. Not as a
preparation for the hardships of warfare, not necessarily as a means
of self-defence, but in view of a fine ideal of physical fitness, the
strain and pain of violent athletics should be perpetuated. And this,
apart from the fun of the thing (which after all matters most) is the
excuse and reason for amateur boxing. So let boxing be regarded as a
sport, and let us leave it at that.
* * * * *
Old prejudices live with extraordinary vigour: and boxing--the very
fact of it--the peaceful and positively harmless encounter of two men
with well-padded gloves stirs the deepest rancour still. We are not
surprised at this rancour in people who are not English, French, or
American: most of us have to take their point of view for granted,
because we find it so difficult to capture. We think that bull-fights
are barbarous, and a friend of mine who organised an amateur boxing
competition in Monte Video and tried to hire the bull-ring for the
purpose was prohibited by the Uruguayan authorities because boxing
was--barbarous. You come up against a brick wall sometimes, and you
can’t see through it, so it’s not the slightest good trying to explain
the plants which grow on the other side.
But in England, and in America too, the prejudices of the “righteous
overmuch,” in fact, the prejudices of the Puritan tradition against
the Prize-Ring have lived on to regard modern boxing in a similar
light. My personal prejudice against overmuch righteousness and the
Puritan tradition make the gist of my researches into the history
of the Prize-Ring and of professional boxing a very nasty pill to
swallow, very painful to digest. I don’t know that I ever hoped to
disprove calumnies, for I had always supposed that there was no
reason, but a mere love of softness and Pleasant-Sunday-Afternoon
respectability behind these objections to boxing. But, as a matter of
fact, I have found, to my disgust, that there is much to be said for
the “respectable” view--not, of course, on Puritan grounds, but both
on humane grounds and in the cause of good sportsmanship. I believe
that sport to-day (I don’t say “amateur sport” because I am unable
to recognise as sport any pastime that is not, in its true sense,
“amateur”) is better and finer and more chivalrous than it has ever
been. It is, as a rule, fair--quixotically fair very often, and the
more quixotic it is the better. Where a good sportsman could win a
fight within the rules, but risks the chance of losing because, on a
particular occasion, he is not satisfied that the letter of the rules
is adequate, he is behaving quixotically, and as no one suffers but
himself, his quixoticism doesn’t matter. A game is only a game.
We might almost define sportsmanship as quixotry, the giving of
something for nothing. The word amateur in other relations has become
derisive, and has lost its genuine meaning. But an amateur in sport is
still recognised as one who loves an occupation for its own sake. He
loves it so much that he will deny himself softer pleasures in order
to be proficient, and is prepared to undergo serious hardship in its
pursuit.
In an affair of life and death, sportsmanship is not involved. We try
very hard indeed to make out that it is or that it ought to be, but a
man who obeys the rules of--say--the Amateur Boxing Association when he
is attacked in a dark lane by a ruffian with half a brick, will have no
tribute to his wisdom in any obituary notice written by me.
Sport to-day is beautifully fair. Not so, invariably, are professional
athletics.
The Prize-Ring, by its rules, the application of its rules, and the
disregard of its rules was what ordinarily intelligent and humane
people nowadays call brutal. The professional boxing contest is seldom
that, though, as we have seen, individual cases of deliberate cruelty
have been known. The object amongst the majority of professional
pugilists nowadays is not the enjoyment of a good contest and the money
for a contest fairly won, but the money alone for a contest won anyhow.
The average pro. is quite happy so long as the referee leaves him
alone. He will do anything the referee lets him. What, he asks, is that
official for? He is there to see fair play, and to stop the boxer if he
does wrong.
But apart from the actual boxing, much connected with its “promotion”
and management is so nauseously vulgar, false, unfair, and dishonest,
that remaining prejudices based on that foundation are not
unintelligible.
APPENDIX
RULES OF THE RING
AS REVISED BY THE
PUGILISTIC BENEVOLENT ASSOCIATION
1. That the ring shall be made on turf, and shall be four and twenty
feet square, formed of eight stakes and ropes, the latter extending
in double lines, the uppermost line being four feet from the ground,
and the lower two feet from the ground. That in the centre of the ring
a mark be formed, to be termed a scratch; and that at two opposite
corners, as may be selected, spaces be enclosed by other marks
sufficiently large for the reception of the seconds and bottle-holders,
to be entitled “the corners.”
2. That each man shall be attended to the ring by a second and a
bottle-holder, the former provided with a sponge, and the latter with
a bottle of water. That the combatants, on shaking hands, shall retire
until the seconds of each have tossed for choice of position; which
adjusted, the winner shall choose his corner according to the state
of the wind or sun, and conduct his man thereto, the loser taking the
opposite corner.
3. That each man shall be provided with a handkerchief of a colour
suitable to his own fancy, and that the seconds proceed to entwine
these handkerchiefs at the upper end of one of the centre stakes. That
these handkerchiefs shall be called “the colours”; and that the winner
of the battle at its conclusion shall be entitled to their possession,
as the trophy of victory.
4. That two umpires shall be chosen by the seconds or backers to watch
the progress of the battle, and take exception to any breach of the
rules hereafter stated. That a referee shall be chosen by the umpires,
unless otherwise agreed on, to whom all disputes shall be referred;
and that the decision of this referee, whatever it may be, shall be
final and strictly binding on all parties, whether as to the matter in
dispute or the issue of the battle. That the umpires shall be provided
with a watch, for the purpose of calling time; and that they mutually
agree upon which this duty shall devolve, the call of that umpire only
to be attended to, and no person whatever to interfere in calling time.
That the referee shall withhold all opinion till appealed to by the
umpires, and that the umpires strictly abide by his decision without
dispute.
5. That on the men being stripped, it shall be the duty of the seconds
to examine their drawers, and if any objection arise as to the
insertion of improper substances therein, they shall appeal to their
umpires, who, with the concurrence of the referee, shall direct what
alterations shall be made.
6. That in future no spikes be used in fighting boots except those
authorised by the Pugilistic Benevolent Association, which shall not
exceed three-eighths of an inch from the sole of the boot, and shall
not be less than one-eighth of an inch broad at the point; and it shall
be in the power of the referee to alter, or file in any way he pleases,
spikes which shall not accord with the above dimensions, even to filing
them away altogether.
7. That both men being ready, each man shall be conducted to that side
of the scratch next his corner previously chosen; and the seconds on
the one side and the men on the other, having shaken hands, the former
shall immediately return to their corners, and there remain within the
prescribed marks till the round be finished, on no pretence whatever
approaching their principals during the round, under a penalty of 5s.
for each offence, at the option of the referee. The penalty, which
shall be strictly enforced, to go to the funds of the Association. The
principal to be responsible for every fine inflicted on his second.
8. That at the conclusion of the round, when one or both of the men
shall be down, the seconds and bottle-holders shall step forward and
carry or conduct their principal to his corner, there affording
him the necessary assistance; and that no person whatever shall be
permitted to interfere in this duty.
9. That, at the expiration of thirty seconds (unless otherwise agreed
upon) the umpire appointed shall cry “Time,” upon which each man shall
rise from the knee of his bottle-holder, and walk to his own side of
the scratch unaided, the seconds and bottle-holders remaining at their
corner; and that either man failing so to be at the scratch within
eight seconds, shall be deemed to have lost the battle.
10. That on no consideration whatever shall any person be permitted
to enter the ring during the battle, nor till it shall have been
concluded; and that in the event of such unfair practice, or the ropes
and stakes being disturbed or removed, it shall be in the power of the
referee to award the victory to that man who in his honest opinion
shall have the best of the contest.
11. That the seconds and bottle-holders shall not interfere, advise,
or direct the adversary of their principal, and shall refrain from
all offensive and irritating expressions; in all respects conducting
themselves with order and decorum, and confine themselves to the
diligent and careful discharge of their duties to their principals.
12. That in picking up their man should the seconds or bottle-holders
wilfully injure the antagonist of their principal, the latter shall be
deemed to have forfeited the battle on the decision of the referee.
13. That it shall be a “fair stand-up fight,” and if either man shall
wilfully throw himself down without receiving a blow, whether blows
shall have previously been exchanged or not, he shall be deemed to have
lost the battle; but that this rule shall not apply to a man who in a
close slips down from the grasp of his opponent to avoid punishment, or
from obvious accident or weakness.
14. That butting with the head shall be deemed foul, and the party
resorting to this practice shall be deemed to have lost the battle.
15. That a blow struck when a man is thrown or down, shall be deemed
foul. That a man with one knee and one hand on the ground, or with both
knees on the ground shall be deemed down; and a blow given in either of
those positions shall be considered foul, providing always, that when
in such position, the man so down shall not himself strike or attempt
to strike.
16. That a blow struck below the waistband shall be deemed foul, and
that in a close, seizing an antagonist below the waist, by the thigh,
or otherwise, shall be deemed foul.
17. That all attempts to inflict injury by gouging, or tearing the
flesh with the fingers or nails, and biting, shall be deemed foul.
18. That kicking, or deliberately falling on an antagonist, with the
knees or otherwise, when down, shall be deemed foul.
19. That all bets shall be paid as the battle-money, after a fight, is
awarded.
20. That no person on any pretence whatever shall be permitted to
approach nearer the ring than ten feet, with the exception of the
umpires and referee, and the persons appointed to take charge of the
water or other refreshments for the combatants, who shall take their
seats close to the corners selected by the seconds.
21. That due notice shall be given by the stake-holder of the day
and place where the battle money is to be given up, and that he be
exonerated from all responsibility upon obeying the direction of the
referee; and that all parties be strictly bound by these rules; and
that in future all articles of agreement for a contest be entered into
with a strict and willing adherence to the letter and spirit of these
rules.
22. That in the event of magisterial or other interference, or in case
of darkness coming on, the referee shall have the power to name the
time and place for the next meeting, if possible on the same day, or as
soon after as may be.
23. That should the fight not be decided on the day, all bets, instead
of being drawn, shall be put together and divided, unless the fight
shall be resumed the same week, between Sunday and Sunday, in which
case the bets shall stand and be decided by the event. That where
the day named in the articles for a fight to come off is altered to
another day in the same week, bets shall stand. The battle-money shall
remain in the hands of the stake-holder until fairly won or lost by a
fight, unless a draw be mutually agreed upon.
24. That any pugilist voluntarily quitting the ring previous to the
deliberate judgment of the referee being obtained, shall be deemed to
have lost the fight.
25. That an objection being made by the seconds or umpire, the men
shall retire to their corners, and there remain till the decision of
the appointed authorities shall be obtained; that if pronounced “Foul”
the battle shall be at an end, but if “Fair,” “Time” shall be called
by the party appointed, and the man absent from the scratch in eight
seconds after shall be deemed to have lost the fight. The decision in
all cases to be given promptly and irrevocably, for which purpose the
umpires and referee should be invariably close together.
26. That if in a rally at the ropes a man steps outside the ring, to
avoid his antagonist, or to escape punishment, he shall forfeit the
battle.
27. That the use of hard substances, such as stones, or sticks, or of
resin, in the hand during the battle, shall be deemed foul, and that on
the requisition of the seconds of either man, the accused shall open
his hands for the examination of the referee.
28. That where a man shall have his antagonist across the ropes in such
a position as to be helpless, and to endanger his life by strangulation
or apoplexy, it shall be in the power of the referee to direct the
seconds to take their man away, and thus conclude the round, and that
the man or his seconds refusing to obey the direction of the referee,
shall be deemed the loser.
29. That in any case where men on meeting in the P.-R., or at any
subsequent period during the fight, shall retire from the scratch,
or refrain from all attempts to fight for the space of five minutes,
the referee shall give them an additional five minutes, and if at the
expiration of that time no blow has been struck, or no attempt has been
made to strike, he shall have the power of awarding the battle-money,
or one moiety thereof, to the funds of the Association.[5]
30. That all stage fights be as nearly as possible in conformity with
the foregoing rules.
INDEX
Advertisement, a typical, of a hundred years ago, 59.
Albert Hall contests--
Burns _v._ Beckett, 155;
Carpentier _v._ Cook, 189-92.
All India Championship, 1909, 174.
Amateur Boxing Association rules, 203.
American Union rules, 146.
Amphitheatre, Broughton’s, 3, 4, 6.
Andover, 68.
Angle, Mr., decision in the Jackson-Slavin fight, 126.
Appleby in Warwickshire, 86.
Apreece, Sir Thomas, umpire to Mendoza, 16-17;
timekeeper in Cribb _v._ Molineux, 46.
Aston, Mr. Harvey, 17.
Attitudes, 86.
Banbury, 7.
Barclay, Captain, referee, 37;
Tom Cribb trained by, 41-42, 52-54.
Bare-knuckle fighting, nature of, 60-61.
Bartholomew, Jack, Jem Belcher and, 24.
Basham, Johnny, 194.
Beckett, Joe, Broughton compared with, 3;
and Tommy Burns, 154-57;
and Bombardier Wells,
170-76;
and Pat O’Keefe, 172;
and Carpentier, 173, 183;
and Frank Goddard, 173;
and Eddie McGoorty, 173;
and Dick Smith, 173.
Belcher, Jem, Broughton compared with, 4;
early fights, 23-25;
Joe Berks and, 25;
accident to, 25-26;
and Hen Pearce, 26-29;
and Tom Cribb, 30-33, 41-43, 74, 92;
reputation of, 85-86;
and Tom Sayers, 108;
character, 171.
---- Tom, 52;
seconds Neate, 64, 68-69;
seconds Langan, 76-77.
_Bell’s Life in London_, articles _quoted_, 80, 82;
presentation to the editor, 84-85;
report of Bendigo _v._ Burke, 86;
Bendigo _v._ Caunt, 96;
Langham _v._ Sayers, 99.
Bendigo and Deaf Burke, 85-87;
the Champion belt, 93;
and Ben Caunt, 93-97;
character, 97-98.
Berkeley, Colonel, referee, 73.
Berks, Joe, and Jem Belcher, 25, 27;
and Hen Pearce, 26.
Birdham Bridge, the Langan _v._ Spring contest, 75-76.
Bittoon, Isaac, Tom Jones and, 24-25.
Blyth, near Doncaster, 26.
Boots, 59.
Borrow, George, on Jack Randall, _cited_, 60;
on Tom Spring, 68.
Bowker, Joe, 194.
_Boxers and Their Battles_, “Thormanby,” _quoted_, 49.
Boxing, English style, 194;
the science of, 171;
necessity for “character” in the boxer, 171;
thoughts on modern, 201-4.
“Boy Jim,” 25.
Bradyl, Mr., 14.
Brain, Big Ben, 8.
Britton, Jem Belcher and, 24.
Brompton cemetery, John Jackson buried, 22.
Broughton, John, and Slack, 3-6.
Broughton’s Rules, 13.
Burke, Deaf, and Simon Byrne, 80-84, 201;
Bendigo and, 85-87;
and Nick Ward, 93.
Burns, Tommy, and Jack Johnson, 147-53;
style, 150-51;
and Joe Beckett, 154-57;
his commercialism, 178.
Byrne, Simon, and Deaf Burke, 80-84, 201.
Byron, sparring with Jackson, 21-22.
California Athletic Club, 121.
Cannon, Tom, and Deaf Burke, 83.
Carpentier, Georges, and George Cook, 38, 189-92;
a genuine champion, 148;
and Bombardier Wells, 163-69;
appearance, 170;
“character,” 171;
and Beckett, 173, 183;
methods, 174;
account of, 176;
and Jeff Smith, 176, 178-82;
and Frank Klaus, 178;
and Papke, 178;
and Battling Levinsky, 183;
and Dick Smith, 183;
and Jack Dempsey, 183-88, 192;
war service, 183.
Carson City, Nevada, Fitzsimmons _v._ Corbett contest, 135.
Castle Tavern, Holborn, taken by Tom Spring, 78.
Caunt, Ben, and Bendigo, 85-86, 93-97;
Nat Langham trained by, 99.
“Charlemagne” and Jerry Driscoll, 176.
Choynski, Joe, Corbett and, 128;
Fitzsimmons and, 133;
Jefferies and, 139.
Church, 59.
Clarence, Duke of (afterwards William IV.), 30.
Clinches, the English tradition regarding, 139-40.
Clohessey, Private, and Bombardier Wells, 164.
Cock, the, Epping, 12.
“Colour line,” Sullivan and the, 128.
Combe, Mr., umpire to Humphries, 16.
“Commercialism,” 154-55.
Coney Island Athletic Club, Jefferies _v._ Fitzsimmons contest, 139-43.
Cook, George, and Carpentier, 38, 189-92.
Cooper, Gipsy, Tom Hickman and, 64.
Copthall Common, 46, 53.
Corbett, James J., and Peter Jackson, 121-22;
and John L. Sullivan, 127-32;
and Robert Fitzsimmons, 133-38.
_Cornhill Magazine_, article by Thackeray on the Sayers _v._ Heenan
contest, 114.
Corri, Mr. Eugene, _Thirty Years a Boxing Referee_, _quoted_, on Peter
Jackson, 122-25;
referee in Wilde _v._ Mansfield, 199-200.
Crawley Downs, Jack Randall _v._ Ned Turner contest, 60.
Crawley, Peter, Tom Hickman and, 64.
Creedon, Dan, and Fitzsimmons, 133.
Cribb, Tom, and Jem Belcher, 30-33, 41-43, 74, 92;
supports John Gulley, 35;
Gregson’s lines in honour of, 40;
and Molineux, 44, 46-54, 68, 75;
a remark of, 61;
seconds Spring, 68, 73, 75-77.
Crookham Common, Yankee Sullivan _v._ Hammer Lane contest, 87.
Crosby, near Liverpool, 94.
Crouch, Abe, and Tom Sayers, 99.
Cumberland, Duke of, patron of Broughton, 5-6.
Curphey, Jack, and Bombardier Wells, 173.
Curtis, Dick, seconds Deaf Burke, 81, 83.
Customs of the Ring, 95.
_Daily Oracle and Advertiser_, 21.
Davis, Tom, and Hammer Lane, 92.
Deaths, accidental, 80-84.
Deerhurst, Lord, 73.
Dempsey, Jack, and Fitzsimmons, 133, 183;
---- (The new), and Jess Willard, 162, 183;
and Georges Carpentier, 183-88, 192.
Descamps, M., manager to Georges Carpentier, 168;
gymnasium of, 176-78;
intervention in the Carpentier _v._ Jeff Smith contest, 181;
power of, 192.
Dieppe, Carpentier _v._ Klaus, contest at, 178.
Dixson, W. Wilmott, _see_ “Thormanby.”
Don river, 17.
Doncaster, 17.
Doyle, Sir A. Conan, _Rodney Stone_, 25.
Driscoll, Jem, style, 154, 157, 199;
winner of the Lonsdale belt, 194;
and Spike Robson, 194-97;
and Jean Poésy, 197-98.
---- Jerry, and Charlemagne, 176.
Dunstable volunteers called out, 36.
Eales, 59.
_Edinburgh Star, The_, 54.
Egan, Pierce, _quoted_, on Perrins and Johnson, 8-9;
on the Humphries-Mendoza contest, 14;
on the rules of 1795, 20;
on the “Lancashire” method, 38;
on Gregson, 39;
on Cribb _v._ Molineux, 46-50.
“English attitude,” the, 69.
English Heavy-Weight Championship held by Bombardier Wells, 164.
Epsom racecourse, the, 41.
Farnborough, Heenan _v._ Sayers contest, 108.
Fearby and Belcher, 25, 27.
Fewterel of Birmingham, 19.
Figg, 3.
_Fight, The_, Hazlitt, 64.
“Fight,” use of the term condemned, 126, _note_.
Film, the, and Boxing, 149.
Finchley Common, 24.
Fisher, 59.
_Fistiania, or the Oracle of the Ring_, _cited_, 3.
Fitzsimmons, Mrs., 136.
---- Robert, and James J. Corbett, 133-38;
and James J. Jefferies, 139-46, 160;
character, 171.
Fives Court, St. Martin’s Street, 59.
“Fly-Weight Champion of the World,” Jimmy Wilde’s title, 199-200.
Foley, Larry, 121.
Fouls, 91, 113;
Bendigo and Caunt, 85-86.
French Flying Corps, 183.
French, the, as boxers, 109.
_From Pit Boy to Champion Boxer_, Lucas, 177.
Gamble, Andrew, and Jem Belcher, 24.
Gaynor, Tom, 81.
Ghent Exhibition, Carpentier _v._ Wells match, 165-66.
Gibbons, Bill, second to Gulley, 37;
to Molineux, 53.
Goddard, Frank, and Joe Beckett, 172-73.
Goodricke, Sir H., 73.
Grain, Isle of, 103.
Grant, Jack, and Tom Sayers, 99.
Gregson, Bob, and John Gulley, 35-39;
personality, 39-40.
Gulley, John, and Hen Pearce, 26, 34-35;
and Bob Gregson, 35-39;
seconds Cribb, 46, 53.
Hague, Iron, 164.
Hailsham, 34.
Hall, Jem, and Fitzsimmons, 133.
Hamilton, Colonel, 17.
Hampton Court, 30.
Hannan, seconds Bendigo, 97.
Harmer, Harry, 59;
seconds Neate, 64, 68.
Hart, Marvin, and Tommy Burns, 148.
Hatfield, Caunt trained at, 94.
Hayes, Bill, 103.
Hazlitt, William, _The Fight_, 64;
description of Neate _v._ Hickman, 65.
“Heavy-Weight,” _Times_ article on the Heenan-Sayers match, 116-17.
Heenan, John, Tom Sayers and, 107-17.
Hertford Assizes, trial on death of Simon Byrne, 84.
---- Police, warrant to apprehend Tom Sayers, 107.
Hickman, Tom, 59;
Bill Neate and, 64-67.
Hinkley Downs, 68.
Holborn Stadium, Joe Beckett _v._ Wells match, 172;
Jimmy Wilde _v._ Alf Mansfield, 199-200.
Hole in the Wall, Chancery Lane, 63.
Holt, 59.
Home Office, intervention in the proposed Wells _v._ Johnson match, 164.
Hornchurch, 19.
Hounslow Races, 4.
Hudson, Josh, 59;
seconds Langham, 73.
Humphries, Richard, 57;
and Daniel Mendoza, 1787, 12-14;
1789, 15-16;
1790, 17-19.
Hungerford, 64.
Hurley Bottom, near Maidenhead, 25.
India, Championship held by Wells, 164.
Ingleston, George, 19.
Jackson, John, second to Humphries, 17;
and Mendoza, 19-20;
a letter to Mendoza, 21;
rooms at Old Bond Street, 21-22, 52;
keeps time in Belcher _v._ Cribb, 30;
superintending the ring, 46, 53, 70, 76.
---- Peter, reputation, 45, 149, 151, 158;
and Frank Slavin, 121-26;
and James Corbett, 121-22.
Jefferies, James J., methods, 134;
and Robert Fitzsimmons, 139-46;
and Jack Johnson, 158-62.
Jews among the boxers of England, 12.
Johnson, Jack, reputation, 44, 85;
and Tommy Burns, 147-53;
and James J. Jefferies, 158-62.
---- Tom, and Isaac Perrins, 7-11;
second to Humphries, 13, 16, 17;
to Mendoza, 17;
his figure, 26;
and Tom Sayers, 108;
character, 171.
“Jolly Butchers,” Wardour St., 26.
Jones, Paddington, and Jem Belcher, 24;
seconds Molineux, 46.
---- Tom, and Isaac Bittoon, 24-25.
Journee, Paul, and Wells, 173.
Keene, Alec, seconds Tom Sayers, 99, 101.
Kilrain, Jake, and Sullivan, 128-30.
Klaus, Frank, and Carpentier, 178.
Lane, Hammer, and Yankee Sullivan, 87-92;
and Tom Davis, 92.
Langan, Jack and Tom Spring, 72-78;
generosity of, 78-79.
Langham, Nat, and Tom Sayers, 99-103.
Ledoux, Charles, 194.
Lee, Harry, and Mendoza, 20.
---- Tancy, 194.
Lens, colliers of, and Carpentier, 165-66, 176.
Levinsky, Battling, and Carpentier, 183.
Longford, Lord, backer of Bendigo, 98.
Lonsdale Belt, Pat O’Keefe the winner, 167;
won by Jem Driscoll, 194.
Lonsdale, Lord, on the use of the word “Fight,” 126, _note_.
Lucas, F. H., _From Pit Boy to Champion Boxer_, 177.
“Lying on,” art of, 155.
Macdonald, Jack, seconds Perry 103.
Mace, Jem, 121;
competition organised by, 133.
McGoorty, Eddie, and Beckett, 173;
and Bombardier Wells, 173.
McKay, death of, 80.
Maher, Peter, 133.
Mahoney, Packey, 166.
Mansfield, Alf, and Jimmy Wilde, 199-200.
Martin, Jack, and Jack Randall, 62-63.
Mendoza, Daniel, 57;
and Richard Humphries, 12-19;
and John Jackson, 19-20;
and Harry Lee, 20;
and Tom Owen, 21.
Miles, Henry Downs, _Pugilistica_, by, 49.
Mitchell, Charley, seconds Kilrain, 130.
Moir, Gunner, and Tommy Burns, 148-49;
and Bombardier Wells, 167.
Molineux and Tom Cribb, 40, 44, 46-54, 68, 75;
history of, 45-46.
Molyneux, and Hammer Lane, 88.
Monte Video, boxing in, 202.
Moulsey Hurst, 30.
“Mouth fighting,” 145-46, 151-54.
“Mufflers,” 34.
National Sporting Club contests:
Frank Slavin _v._ Peter Jackson, 121-26;
a private meeting with Fitzsimmons, 134;
Wells _v._ Iron Hague, 164;
Wells _v._ Packey Mahoney, 166;
Carpentier _v._ Wells, 167;
Jem Driscoll contests, 194, 197-98.
Neate, Bill, and Tom Hickman, 64-67;
and Tom Spring, 68-71;
manner of, 95.
New Jersey, U.S.A., Jack Dempsey _v._ Carpentier, 184.
New Orleans, Sullivan _v._ Corbett, 128-29.
Newbury in Berkshire, Neate _v._ Hickman, 64.
Nichols, George, and Tom Cribb, 30.
Nigger, the, in Boxing, 44-45.
No Man’s Land, Hertfordshire, Deaf Burke _v._ Simon Byrne, 80.
No-Decision contests, 146.
Northumberland, Duke of, and Bill Richmond, 46.
Nosworthy, 59.
“Nottingham Lambs” support Bendigo, 96-97.
Nottingham Steeplechases, 1840, 93.
Odiham in Hampshire, 12.
O’Keefe, Pat, and Bombardier Wells, 167;
and Joe Beckett, 172.
Old Bond Street, Jackson’s rooms, 21-22.
“Old K Legs,” nickname of the Tipton Slasher, 103.
Old Swan Stairs, 7.
Oliver, Tom, seconds Jack Randall, 59-60;
and Tom Hickman, 64.
Olympia, Joe Beckett _v._ Bombardier Wells, 173-75.
O’Neill, Colonel, Langan’s backer, 76-77.
Osbaldiston, Squire, referee in Bendigo _v._ Caunt, 95, 97.
Owen, Tom, 59;
and Mendoza, 21;
seconds Ned Turner, 60.
Painter, Ned, seconds Spring, 68, 73, 76;
referee in Sullivan _v._ Lane, 91.
Palmer, Pedlar, 194.
Papke, and Carpentier, 178.
Parish, 59.
Parker, Tass, Bendigo’s challenge, 93;
and the Tipton Slasher, 102;
seconds William Perry, 103.
Pearce, Henry, and Jem Belcher, 26-29;
and John Gulley, 34, 36.
Perrins, Isaac, 103;
and Tom Johnson, 7-11.
Perry, William, _see_ Slasher, the Tipton.
Pinckney, Mr., 45.
Plimmer, Billy, 194.
Plough Inn, Carey Street, 34.
Poésy, Jean, and Jem Driscoll, 192-98;
and Digger Stanley, 198.
Pontefract, 34.
Prize money, amount in 1789, 7-8.
Prize-Ring, the, and modern Boxing, 201-4.
_Punch_, lines by Thackeray on the Sayers-Heenan contest, 114-16;
on the boxer’s appearance, 171.
Pugilistic Benevolent Association, revised Rules of the Ring, 204-8.
_Pugilistica_, Miles, _quoted_, 49.
Randall, Jack, 59;
and Ned Turner, 60-62;
and Jack Martin, 62-63.
Reeves, Harry, and Bombardier Wells, 173.
Referee, action regarding “breaking,” 139-40;
duty of the, 156.
Reno in Nevada, Jefferies _v._ Johnson, 158-62.
Reynolds, Tom, seconds Langan, 73-75;
complaint of, 75.
Richmond, Bill, and Tom Cribb, 30;
supports Bob Gregson, 35;
seconds Molineux, 44-46, 49-50, 52-53;
seconds Ned Turner, 59-60.
Ring, broken in the Langan _v._ Spring contest, 73.
Robertson, Colonel Archibald, 107-8.
Robson, Spike, and Jem Driscoll, 194-97.
_Rodney Stone_, Conan Doyle, 25.
Ruhlin, Gus, 139.
Rules of the American Union, 146.
Rules of the Ring, 96, 204-8;
English, regarding hitting in holds, 139-40.
Rushcutter’s Bay, Sydney, Tommy Burns _v._ Jack Johnson, 150.
St. Martin’s Street, the racquets court, 25.
Sampson, 59.
San Francisco, Jefferies _v._ Fitzsimmons, 143.
_Savate, La_, decay of, 176.
Sawbridgeworth, 56.
Say and Sele, Lord, backs Jem Belcher, 30.
Sayers, Tom, 53;
and Nat Langham, 99-101;
and the Tipton Slasher, 102;
warrant for his arrest, 107-8;
and the Benicia Boy, 107-17;
character, 171.
Scholfield, J., 51.
Scroggins, Jack, and Ned Turner, 55-59.
Seabright, Sir John, 37.
Sellinger Cup Week, 1790, 17.
Shelton, Tom, 59;
seconds Hickman, 64.
Shepperton, Turner _v._ Sayers, 58.
Six Mile Bottom, near Newmarket, 35.
Slack, Jack, and Broughton, 3-6;
Jem Belcher his grandson, 23.
Slasher, the Tipton (William Perry), and Tom Sayers, 102.
Slavin, Frank, and Peter Jackson, 121-26.
Smith, Dick, and Joe Beckett, 172-73;
and Carpentier, 183.
---- Jeff, and Georges Carpentier, 176, 178-82.
Spring, Tom, 59;
Broughton compared with, 4;
seconds Hickman, 64, 66;
and Bill Neate, 68-71;
and Jack Langan, 72-78;
death of, 79;
seconds Simon Byrne, 81-84;
attitude, 86;
interest in Caunt, 94, 96;
character, 171.
Stanley, Digger, and Jean Poésy, 198.
Stewart, Mr., 25.
Stilton in Huntingdon, 15.
Stock Exchange, gift to Molineux, 50.
Sullivan, John L., 135;
James J. Corbett and, 127-32.
---- Yankee, and Hammer Lane, 88-92.
Summers, Johnny, 194.
Sutfield Green, Oxford, Bendigo _v._ Caunt, 94.
Swift, Owen, and Hammer Lane, 87;
action of, 106.
Thackeray, W. M., articles in the _Cornhill Magazine_ and _Punch_ on
the Sayers-Heenan match, 114-16.
_Thirty Years a Boxing Referee_, Eugene Corri, 122.
Thistleton Gap, 51.
Thompson, John, 85, 93.
---- William, _see_ Bendigo.
---- Mrs., 94.
“Thormanby,” pen-name of W. Wilmott Dixson, 52;
on Molineux, 45;
_Boxers and their Battles_, _quoted_, 49, 52;
generosity of, 78-79;
on Bendigo’s arrest, 85, 93, 98.
Thornton, Mr., 15.
Thurtell, 64.
_Times, The_, letter from Molineux to Cribb, 51;
notice regarding Tom Sayers’s fight, 107;
on the Heenan-Sayers contest, 111;
article by “Heavy-Weight,” 116-17;
report of Deaf Burke’s trial, 201.
Townley, Arthur, and Bombardier Wells, 173.
Turner, Ned, and Jack Scroggins, 55-59;
and Jack Randall, 60-62.
Turners, the three, 59.
Union Arms, Panton Street, 54.
Ward, Jem, the Championship held by, 68, 80;
seconds Simon Byrne, 81, 82, 84;
seconds Bendigo, 87, 97;
gives the Champion’s belt to Bendigo, 93.
---- Joe, seconds Gulley, 37;
seconds Cribb, 46, 49-50, 53.
---- Nick, and Ben Caunt, 93.
Warr, Bill, 24.
Weare, Mr., backs Bill Neate, 64.
Wells, Bombardier, and Georges Carpentier, 163-69;
character, 163-64;
appearance, 170;
and Joe Beckett, 170-76;
and Arthur Townley, 173;
and Eddie McGoorty, 173;
and Harry Reeves, 173;
and Jack Curphey, 173;
and Paul Journee, 173.
Whitaker, 59.
White, seconds Jack Randall, 60.
“White hope,” a search for, 158-59, 164.
Wilde, Jimmy, Fly-Weight Champion of the World, 198-200;
and Alf Mansfield, 199-200.
Willard, Jess, and Jack Johnson, 162;
and Jack Dempsey, 183.
Winnings, amount in 1750, 6.
Winter, _see_ Spring, Tom.
Women at the Albert Hall, 190.
Worcester Racecourse, Spring _v_. Langan, 72-73.
“World’s Championship,” the phrase, 121;
holders in 1915 and after, 162;
Sullivan’s title, 128;
World’s Middle-Weight Championship held by Robert Fitzsimmons, 133;
the Heavy-Weight Championship won by Tommy Burns, 148.
GLASGOW: W. COLLINS SONS AND CO. LTD.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] “In Praise of the Fist,” from _Life and Flowers_, translated by the
late Alexander Teixeira de Mattos.
[2] _Pugilistica_, by Henry Downs Miles; _Boxers and Their Battles_, by
“Thormanby.”
[3] See Rule 28, Appendix.
[4] Just before this encounter, Lord Lonsdale, President of the Club,
had especially urged his hearers not to use the word “Fight” in
connection with these proceedings--in view of the fact, no doubt, that
a “Prize-Fight” was illegal. Mr. Angle may have forgotten this, or he
may have been misreported. The club’s sensitiveness to the use of words
is very delicate, and by one of its officials I was once reprimanded at
a supper following the Oxford and Cambridge matches for proposing the
toast of “The Ring.”
[5] This rule is only binding on members of the P.B.A. or persons
signing articles to fight under their rules, and was made to meet
cases where men finding themselves equally matched should attempt, by
standing and looking at one another, as has been sometimes the case,
for half an hour at a time, to protract the battle till dark, and thus
have an opportunity of making a draw.
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
Obvious printer errors corrected silently.
Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.
One unpaired double quotation mark could not be corrected with
confidence.