PUGILISTICA
THE HISTORY
OF
BRITISH BOXING
[Illustration:
FIRST FIGHT OF SPRING AND LANGAN, ON WORCESTER RACE-COURSE, January
24th, 1824. _See_ page 25.
]
PUGILISTICA
THE HISTORY
OF
BRITISH BOXING
CONTAINING
LIVES OF THE MOST CELEBRATED PUGILISTS; FULL REPORTS OF THEIR BATTLES
FROM CONTEMPORARY NEWSPAPERS, WITH AUTHENTIC PORTRAITS, PERSONAL
ANECDOTES, AND SKETCHES OF THE PRINCIPAL PATRONS OF THE PRIZE RING,
FORMING A COMPLETE HISTORY OF THE RING FROM FIG AND BROUGHTON, 1719–40,
TO THE LAST CHAMPIONSHIP BATTLE BETWEEN KING AND HEENAN, IN DECEMBER
1863
BY HENRY DOWNES MILES
EDITOR OF “THE SPORTSMAN’S MAGAZINE.” AUTHOR OF “THE BOOK OF FIELD
SPORTS,” “ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE,” ETC., ETC.
VOLUME TWO
Edinburgh
JOHN GRANT
1906
TO
THE HONOURABLE ROBERT GRIMSTON,
THE CONSTANT AND LIBERAL PATRON AND UPHOLDER
OF
THE ATHLETIC SPORTS AND MANLY EXERCISES OF THE PEOPLE,
THESE RECORDS OF THE
COURAGE, SKILL, FORBEARANCE AND FORTITUDE
OF
BRITISH BOXERS
ARE APPROPRIATELY DEDICATED BY
THE AUTHOR.
_Wood Green, August, 1880._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE TO VOLUME II.
The favour with which the first volume of PUGILISTICA has been received
gives the author encouraging hope that the present instalment of his
history will prove yet more interesting and acceptable.
The two periods comprised in these pages embrace the lives of several of
the most skilful and courageous boxers who have illustrated the art of
attack and defence. In the first, we have the battles of Spring (Thos.
Winter), John Langan, Ned Painter, Oliver, Neat of Bristol, Thomas
Hickman, Dan Donnelly, and Carter, with minor stars in an Appendix. In
the second, Jem Ward, Peter Crawley, Tom Cannon, Josh. Hudson, Ned
Neale, Ned Baldwin, Young Dutch Sam, Alec Reid, Tom Gaynor, Bishop
Sharpe, Brown of Bridgnorth, and Sampson of Birmingham. Dick Curtis,
Barney Aaron, Harry Jones, and light-weights forming the Appendix.
The third and concluding volume, commencing with Bendigo (William
Thompson), will include the Decline and Fall of the P.R., with
occasional flickerings of its olden fire, till its final expiry in the
doings of Tom Sayers, John Camel Heenan, and Tom King.
_Wood Green, August, 1880._
[Illustration:
THOMAS WINTER (SPRING), CHAMPION.
_From a Drawing by_ GEORGE SHARPLES _in 1822_.
]
PUGILISTICA:
THE HISTORY OF BRITISH BOXING.
PERIOD V.—1814 TO 1824.
FROM THE CHAMPIONSHIP OF TOM SPRING TO THAT OF JEM WARD.
CHAPTER I.
TOM SPRING (CHAMPION)—1814–1824.
A new era in boxing arose about the period of Spring’s appearance and
Tom Cribb’s later battles, of which Thomas Winter (Spring) was the
exponent, and of which school Jem Ward (in the next Period), Peter
Crawley, Ned Neale, Jem Burn, Baldwin, Young Dutch Sam, and others, with
numerous light weights, carried out the exemplification and practice.
This we shall have ample occasion to notice in the coming chapters; for
the present we will address ourselves to the milling career of Thomas
Spring.
Thomas Winter, who adopted the name of Spring on his appearance in the
ring as a professor, was born at Fownhope, Herefordshire, February 22nd,
1795. His fighting-weight thirteen stone two pounds; later, thirteen
stone four pounds; height, five feet eleven and a-half inches.
The relations and connexions of Thomas Winter, at Hereford and in the
neighbourhood, were respectable; and when he tried his “’prentice han’,”
at the age of seventeen, in battle with Hollands, a big countryman of
some provincial repute, he won by science and steadiness. He thus gained
a name is the immediate neighbourhood of Mordeford, where he was in
service with a butcher, who was in after life a firm friend and an
admirer of Tom’s prowess.
Two years afterwards (in 1814), one Henley, a local celebrity,
challenged Tom for three sovereigns a-side. This also came off at
Mordeford, when in eleven rounds Henley was satisfied that he had found
his master in the youth whom he had challenged to the fray.
Spring two years afterwards made his way to the metropolis. Here he met
one Stringer, a Yorkshireman, from Rawcliffe, renowned for its
“paddocks.” Stringer was under the wing of Richmond, and was proposed as
a “trial horse” for the young aspirant Spring. The battle took place at
Moulsey, September, 9, 1817. We take the contemporary report as giving
the first impressions produced on those who did not foresee the
brilliant career of the youthful débutant.
The appearance of Stringer was athletic and big, but by no means fresh,
and his cut of countenance was rough and weatherbeaten. He was an ugly
looking customer in more than one sense. Spring looked boyish, not more
than 21 years of age, and in some points he was thought to resemble the
late Jem Belcher, but on a larger scale. The men, it appears, were about
equal in weight—Stringer thirteen stone seven pounds, Spring thirteen
stone two pounds. Both men were about six feet in height, and formidable
fellows. The stakes were forty guineas and a purse given by the P. C.
(Pugilistic Club). Stringer was waited upon by Richmond and Shelton;
Spring was seconded by Tom Owen and Parish, the Waterman. Two to one was
asked upon Spring; but seven to four was the current betting against
Stringer.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Stringer, on setting-to, placed himself in a better
attitude than was expected. He also made two feints. Some blows were
exchanged; in closing, both down.
2.—In this round the superiority of science was evident on the part
of Spring. In closing he fibbed his opponent severely, and in
struggling for the throw, both went down, Stringer uppermost.
3.—This round was courageously fought. It was curious to observe the
left hand of Stringer pushing, as it were, against his opponent,
with his right close upon it. Yorky did not appear wholly without
judgment, though many of his blows were made at random. Both were
down. The odds had now risen rapidly upon Spring.
4.—Stringer rushed in with all the impetuosity of a bull, seized
hold of his adversary improperly, and sent him down. Loud cries of
“foul,” “fair,” etc. occurred. But the fight was suffered to
proceed, it being attributed more to want of knowledge than to
absolute design.
5.—Strength, activity, and science were now pre-eminent on the part
of Spring, and, at this early stage of the fight, it was almost
certain how it must end. Spring kept hitting his opponent completely
away, but still he returned desperately, till he was at length hit
down.
6.—This was also a desperate round. The men stood up to each other,
and hammered away like a couple of blacksmiths, but Spring had the
best of it. The latter nobly disdained taking an advantage when
Stringer was on the ropes, and let him go down without extra
punishment. Great applause from all parts of the ring.
7.—The determination of Stringer was truly astonishing; he bored in
regardless of the consequences. In passing Spring he got a
tremendous nobber, and was ultimately sent down.
8.—Nothing but milling, till they closed, and both down.
9.—On setting-to Yorky received a facer, which nearly turned him
round, but he recovered himself, and planted a good hit. In closing,
Stringer got his arms round his opponent’s body, but he could not
prevent Spring from administering some heavy punishment. The
Yorkshireman, however, obtained the throw, and fell with all his
weight upon Spring.
10.—Stringer fought with so much desperation that he almost laid
himself down, he appeared so exhausted.
11.—The Yorkshireman could not protect his head from the repeated
shots of his opponent. In closing, both down, but Spring uppermost.
12.—Both men exhibited severe marks of the other’s handy-work. The
claret was flowing copiously. Both down. A quarter of an hour had
elapsed.
13.—A short but sharp round, till both on the ground.
14.—Stringer was rather conspicuous in this round. He bored Spring
to the ropes, where much struggling took place before they went
down.
15.—Stringer was hit down at the ropes. Great applause.
16.—This was as terrible a round as any in the fight. One minute
passed in hard milling, without intermission, till Spring got the
best of it, when Stringer went down and fell upon his hands.
17.—The conduct of Spring was again truly brave. He had Stringer in
a situation that he might have punished him till he was tired, but
he let him down amidst the loudest shouts of approbation. Bravo,
Spring!
18.—Stringer kept fighting till he fell.
19.—The game displayed by the Yorkshireman was equal to anything
ever seen; notwithstanding the severe milling he received, he came
laughing up to the scratch. But his head was never out of chancery
in this round. Both down.
20.—The men upon setting-to went as eagerly to work as if the fight
had just commenced. Hit for hit were reciprocally given, till, in
closing, both had enough of it, and went down.
21.—Equally desperate with any of the preceding rounds. Richmond now
loudly observed to Stringer “to fight his own way.” The Yorkshireman
went down covered with claret.
22.—Spring took the lead in this round in an eminent degree. He
fibbed Stringer terribly, till he slipped through his hands.
23.—The courage of the Yorkshireman was truly fine, and had he
possessed science equal to his opponent the termination of the
battle would have been doubtful. The men fought like lions, till
they both fell out of the ropes. Loud shouting.
24.—Spring again behaved handsomely to Stringer. Many of the
spectators called out to “take the Yorkshireman away.” (Three to one
on Spring.)
25.—A more determined round was never fought. In a rally, both men
were hit to a stand still; they at length got away from each other,
when Stringer rushed in and got his arms round his opponent’s body,
but, ultimately, he was so severely fibbed that he went down
exhausted.
26.—On setting-to, Stringer merely exchanged a blow and went down.
27.—Stringer in endeavouring to bore in upon his adversary ran
himself down.
28.—Stringer now made a last and desperate effort. His seconds kept
as it were urging him forward, telling him “to hold up his head.” He
continued to fight till he was sent down.
29th and last.—This round was, in point of execution, the severest
ever seen. Stringer received so tremendous a hit in his body, from
the right hand of his opponent, that he was only prevented in the
act of falling on his face by a quick repetition of it, which caught
Yorky’s nob, and instantly floored him on his back! He was carried
out of the ring by his seconds in a state of stupor. The battle
lasted thirty-nine minutes.
REMARKS.—A more determined man was never witnessed than Stringer
proved himself. He put in some desperate blows, and his confidence
never forsook him; indeed he laughed several times. On being asked
how he felt himself within the last two rounds, he observed, “he was
as hearty as a buck!” As a “Receiver-General” he stands almost
without an equal. It was a truly desperate fight, and might stand
comparison with the battle between Symonds and George Maddox.
Stringer was most ably seconded by Richmond and Shelton. His nob was
completely metamorphosed. Stringer looks like a man of forty, and,
it would seem, he has commenced pugilist too late in the day to
attain any celebrity. He is able to beat any rough commoner. From
the exhibition of Spring in this battle, he bids fair to put all the
“big ones” upon the alert. It is true, he wants improvement in his
mode of fighting; nevertheless, he displayed those sound requisites,
which, when united with experience, must ultimately constitute him a
first-rate boxer. His strength is unquestionable; his game by no
means doubtful; and he possesses a tolerably good knowledge of the
science. Spring was not once distressed throughout the above battle.
He never bobbed his head aside to avoid the coming blow, but stood
firm as a rock, and stopped or parried. His generous behaviour also
to Stringer, in four or five instances, when he might have
administered additional punishment, was so manly and humane that it
cannot be passed over, nor ought it to be forgotten. Spring has a
prepossessing appearance, is well made, and weighs more than
fourteen stone.[1] Both of the above boxers have stood at the Royal
Academy, as “studies” for the artists. The frame of Stringer is
considered to possess great anatomical beauty.
Spring, anxious to obtain a high situation on the milling list, and to
lose his time no longer with rough commoners, without hesitation
challenged Ned Painter for 100 guineas a-side, which was as
unhesitatingly accepted. It was thought a bold attempt on the part of
Spring, and to show more of ambition than sound judgment. This match
occasioned much conversation in the milling circles; but Painter was
decidedly the favourite. Some difficulty occurred in making the stakes
good on the part of Spring, many of his promised backers being found
absent at the appointed time. A gentleman, however, stepped forward and
made up the deficiency, to prevent disappointment.
The sun had scarcely shed his beams over the metropolis, on Wednesday
morning, the 1st of April, 1818, when the roads leading to Mickleham
Downs, near Leatherhead, in Surrey, were thronged with vehicles of every
description, full of amateurs hastening to the appointed spot to enjoy
scientific pugilism, it being the first “big fight” in the season. The
Bonifaces along the road were rather taken by surprise, it being April
Fool-day, but as soon as they got hold of the right scent, the “dashing
system” was put into requisition, and the “cooling article” was most
liberally added, in order to prevent the amateurs from getting the
fever, or over-heating their frames from too copious draughts of ardent
spirits. The “knowing ones” were perfectly satisfied that Painter must
win, and seven to four were the odds sported; but the admirers of youth,
supported by science, strength, and pluck, added to the chance of long
odds, proved eager takers.
The situation of the ring was truly picturesque and delightful,
commanding an uninterrupted view of diversified scenery for sixty miles.
Some fir trees contiguous to it had an animated appearance from the
numerous spectators mounted upon their boughs. At a little after one,
Painter and Spring appeared in the outer ring, and, upon meeting, shook
hands in a cordial and true Englishman-like manner. Spring threw his hat
first in the ring; Painter immediately followed the same line of
conduct. At half-past one the men set-to; Painter was seconded by Tom
Belcher and Harry Harmer; Spring by Cribb and Byrne. Seven to four
current, and two to one against Spring. Gully kept the time.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—The attitude of Spring was firm—his body far back, and his
length of arm rendered him difficult to be got at. They sparred for
three minutes without a hit being exchanged; Spring appeared tired
and put down his hands. He then, in planting a blow, hit short; more
long sparring occurred, when some hits were exchanged, and Painter
received a blow on the side of his throat that sent him staggering,
and, in falling, the back of his head and part of his shoulder came
in violent contact with one of the stakes. The shock was heard by
all the spectators. This round occupied six minutes—Spring received
great applause.
2.—The time-keeper, it appears, from this circumstance, thought his
occupation was at an end; and Mr. Jackson also deemed it next to an
impossibility for the fight to proceed. Painter seemed completely
stupefied from the effects of this accident, and Belcher lifted him
up with the heaviness of a log of wood; nevertheless he came to his
time. In fact it appeared more from instinct than meeting his man
under the influence of intellect. A swelling, the bigness of an egg,
had now risen on his head, and the skin on his shoulder was cut.
Spring again hit short, when Painter planted a sharp facer with his
left hand. More long sparring occurred—some blows were
exchanged—when Painter received a hit and slipped down. Shouting and
applause. The long odds at this early stage of the fight were on the
totter.
3.—The idea of a smashing fight was now at an end, and the Randall
and Belasco system seemed to be the order of the day. It was more a
display of science than of milling. Spring planted a blow and got
away. Painter made a hit, but Spring followed him over the ring. Two
sharp counter hits occurred in the body. Spring laughed, and gave
Painter a nobber, and got away dexterously. Painter made play and
put in a severe facer; some blows were exchanged—and in closing, the
latter endeavoured to “weave” his antagonist, but, in struggling,
the strength of Spring prevailed. He not only held Painter’s hands,
but extricated himself in gallant style, and planted a hit on him as
he was going down. Great applause, and the long odds completely
floored; in many parts of the ring it was now even betting.
Twenty-one minutes had elapsed. Painter, while sitting upon his
second’s knee, confusedly inquired, “what is it?” just coming to his
recollection; having fought the last two rounds in total ignorance.
Harmer then informed him of the accident he had experienced, when
Painter complained of his shoulder.
4.—Long sparring again occurred. Some hits were exchanged. In
closing, Spring held his opponent’s hand (called Tom Owen’s stop,
and first introduced by that boxer). Both down, but Spring
uppermost.
5.—The forte of Painter seemed to have materially changed. There was
more of science exhibited than work performed. The claret scorned to
make its appearance. In closing, Spring threw Painter.
6.—For “Big Ones,” there was nothing like going to work, and a long
fight was contemplated by all the spectators. Two severe
counter-hits occurred. Painter hit short, when Spring returned a
sharp blow on his mouth. In closing Spring got Painter down.
Applause. (The first six rounds occupied half an hour.)
7.—Painter commenced this round by planting a blow on the head, and
one on the body of his opponent. But in closing Spring fell heavily
upon him.
8.—This was also a good round. Painter put in three facers, and got
away. In closing, both hung on the ropes, and went down.
9.—This round was the best display by Painter throughout the fight.
He planted several facers with success, and one was so severe, that,
had it not been for the ropes, Spring must have gone down. In
closing, both down.
10.—Spring hit short several times, and Painter planted a good
nobber, but, in return, he received some sharp hits, so that he
turned round and went down. Great applause for Spring.
11.—The manliness of conduct exhibited in this round by Spring
received thunders of applause. Painter endeavoured to punish Spring
in the act of closing; but the latter, instead of holding him up, as
he might have done, let his man down, and put up both his hands.
“Bravo, Spring!” and he now became, in a great measure, the
favourite. The knowing ones began to look queer.
12.—The same manly conduct again exhibited on the part of Spring.
13.—Painter hit down.
14.—Blow for blow, but Painter down.
15.—Spring slipped, but hit Painter again to grass.
16.—Spring hit down by a complete body blow. “Well done, Painter,”
from his friends.
17.—Painter got a blow on the mouth, when he went down, but appeared
to slip.
18.—The left hand of Spring was used with success; and his science
and length gave him great advantages. Painter down.
19 to 24.—Painter was evidently much distressed, and went down in
all these rounds. He frequently hit himself down.
25.—Spring, although he occasionally hit short, planted some heavy
chopping blows on the arms and shoulders of Painter, which, added to
the accident, tended, in a great measure, to disable his efforts.
The latter, on going in, was hit down, Caleb Baldwin now loudly
offered five guineas to one on Spring.
26.—Painter was so weak that he hit himself down.
27.—Spring’s left hand caught Painter as he was coming in, and the
latter fell on his face.
28 to 31, and last.—Description is not necessary for these rounds.
Painter was completely exhausted, and he resigned the contest in one
hour and twenty-nine minutes; nothing but the highest state of
condition could have enabled him to last such a length of time.
REMARKS.—Spring turned out a much better man than he was previously
rated; though it was still urged that he was not a hard hitter.
Painter did not complain of the punishment he received, but of the
excruciating pain of his head, and the impracticability he
experienced of using his shoulder to any advantage. The gameness of
Painter was too well known to need comment. Spring used his left
hand well, and got away with ease and dexterity; he also displayed
coolness and command of temper. Spring’s body was rather marked; his
peepers somewhat damaged; he was also distressed a little at one
period of the fight, but soon recovered, and kept the lead. On being
declared the victor, Cribb took him up in his arms and carried him
round the ring, amidst loud huzzas.
So anxious were the friends of Painter for a second trial of skill with
Spring, that they put down a deposit the same week, and on the 14th of
April increased it to £40, to fight on August 7th, 1818, for 100 guineas
a-side, it being specially named in the articles that the ring should
have only _eight_ stakes.
Spring was now doomed to receive a slight check to his ambition in his
second contest with Painter, on the 7th of August, 1818, at Russia Farm,
when our hero lost the battle. This unexpected defeat weighed severely
on Spring’s mind. (See the life of NED PAINTER, _post_.)
In consequence of the friends of Shelton forfeiting to Spring, a match
was proposed between Oliver and Spring; but the bad state of Oliver’s
hand prevented it. The backers of Spring, it appears, were determined to
give him an opportunity of reinstating himself, and he was matched
against Carter, who had, for two years, challenged all England as
champion. The stakes were £50 a-side, and a £50 purse to be given by the
Pugilistic Club. The odds were high in favour of Carter, and the backers
of Spring asked two to one. The above battle was decided on the 4th of
May, 1819, at Crawley Down, immediately after Randall and Martin had
left the ring. Carter was seconded by Oliver and Donnelly; and Spring
was attended by Cribb and Shelton. Generally speaking, it was thought a
hollow thing; and Carter was estimated so extravagantly that three to
one was betted upon the combatants setting-to.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Carter entered the ring with great self-importance, smiling
contemptuously upon his opponent, and indicating by his gestures
that he had a mere nothing to contend with. Both the combatants
appeared in good condition, particularly Spring. Upon shaking hands,
Carter did not, as heretofore, let fly with his left hand, and both
men sparred for an opening. Spring, at length, planted a hit on
Carter’s right shoulder. All eyes were fixed upon the _soi-disant_
Champion, to see him go to work, almost expecting him to annihilate
his opponent. A long pause occurred, and the men appeared more like
statues than living pugilists in actual combat. Spring broke from
his position, and planted another hit upon Carter’s shoulder. The
latter endeavoured to make a blow with his left, which was well
stopped by Spring, who also fought his way into a close; Carter got
him on the ropes, where a terrible struggle occurred for the throw,
and, amidst much hissing and hooting, Carter got Spring down.
2.—Long sparring, when Spring put in a facer. The intent of Carter
seemed upon hugging more than hitting, and at the ropes, he
endeavoured to throw Spring. The latter, however, proved the
stronger, and Carter was undermost. Loud shouting, and “Well done,
Spring!”
3.—Spring made a hit, when Carter got away. The former followed to
the ropes, and felt for his nob, till the hugging system commenced,
and both went down. (Hissing.)
4.—The amateurs were astonished at the bad fighting of Carter, who
seemed to have no relish for anything but hugging his opponent on
the ropes till both were down.
5.—Spring put in several hits; in struggling Carter was undermost.
6.—Both down; but Spring decidedly the better man; he gave the
Lancashire hero some sharp hits.
7.—Spring took the lead in good style, when Carter in a manner
turned away from the blows, and fell down. Spring pointed at him
with contempt; the “Champion” was loudly hissed.
8.—Disgust and murmuring were expressed all round the ring at the
conduct of Carter. Manliness and courage were displayed by Spring,
and he hit Carter out of the ring, but fell on one knee.
9 to 11.—The finish of all these rounds consisted in struggling at
the ropes, and the backs of the men were scored.
12.—Spring put in a good nobber without any return, and also threw
Carter.
13 to 15.—These rounds were principally hugging; Spring made several
hits, yet went down weak.
16.—This was rather a sharp round, and Carter made some return.
Spring hit his opponent to the ropes, and also broke away from a
close. He renewed the attack sharply, till both went down.
17.—Carter made a good hit with the left, and threw Spring.
18.—It was evident to all the spectators that Spring had rapidly
improved; he stopped the left hand of Carter with the greatest ease.
This being the peculiar forte of the Carlisle Champion he could do
nothing with his right hand, and was foiled. Spring fought manfully,
planted three good hits, and sent Carter down.
19 and 20.—Spring took the lead; but in struggling, both down.
21.—Spring put in a heavy hit on Carter’s nose, with his left hand,
and also threw him. “Well done, Spring!” and ten to eight offered
upon the latter.
22.—Spring hit Carter on the side of the nob, punished him at the
ropes, and broke away from a close. Spring hit Carter down, who
instantly got up, but Spring fell from caution or weakness.
23.—Spring slipped in making a blow.
24.—The conduct of Carter in this round created great
disapprobation. It seemed as if he was fighting a bear instead of a
man. He ran sharply in with his head lowered into Spring’s body,
when the latter paid him well over the nob for it. But in closing
the hissing was very loud, and a distinguished amateur called out to
several persons, that Carter was “going.”
25.—Spring planted some hits and got away. In struggling at the
ropes, when Carter was receiving punishment, he exclaimed, “What are
you at?”
26.—It was plain that Carter meant to tire his opponent, or win the
contest by hugging. A terrible struggle occurred, when the ropes
were broken, and both went down.[2]
27 and 28—Both down. Spring hit Carter down at the ropes.
29.—This was a good round on the part of Spring. He planted two
facers sharply. The claret was now seen issuing from Carter’s mouth,
and his mug damaged.
30.—Spring hit Carter on the nob, but in struggling both went over
the ropes. (Thirteen to five on Spring.)
31.—The right eye of Carter was rather damaged. Spring hit and broke
away. He, however, punished Carter down, and fell.
32.—Carter sat cross-legged upon his second’s knee. Spring hit, and
followed him over the ring. In struggling at the ropes, Carter
exclaimed, “Let go.” Both down.
33 to 35.—Spring worked hard in all these rounds; took the lead from
his hitting; but went down from his exertions.
36.—This was a severe round, and Carter was hit out of the ropes.
Loud shouting; and “Bravo, Spring! Where’s the Champion now?”
37.—Spring made a good hit, but went down from weakness.
38.—Carter hit down at the ropes.
39.—Spring shewed good science; he hit and broke away, and planted a
blow on Carter’s nose. Both down.
40.—After some exchanges, Spring was hit sharply, and fell upon his
head. He was extremely weak, and his friends felt alarmed that he
was falling-off; the odds got down upon him.
41.—Spring, in a struggle, fell upon Carter, which appeared to shake
him to pieces.
42.—Spring made a hit upon Carter’s nose, but was too weak to follow
up this advantage. In closing, on the ropes, both down.
43.—Both down.
44.—The right eye of Carter was nearly closed; but Spring was still
weak, and went down from a slight hit.
45 to 49.—Both down in all these rounds. Hugging was the leading
feature; but whenever Spring could extricate himself he did, and
administered punishment to his opponent.
50.—Spring hit Carter out of the ropes but, to the astonishment of
the spectators, he got up with the utmost sang froid.
51.—Carter tried to make a hit with his right hand, but it was
stopped. After a few exchanges, Spring went down very weak. One hour
and twenty-five minutes had passed, and severity of punishment was
not visible, to any extent, on either side.
52.—Spring now went in, hitting and following Carter closely, till
he punished him down. (“Bravo, Spring! the Champion’s not in
Carlisle now.”)
53.—Hugging again till both down. (Murmuring in all parts of the
ring; and three and four to one betters lamenting their want of
discrimination in backing a man who seemed to have no fight left in
him.)
54.—Carter nearly received his quietus in this round. Spring hit him
on the head so strongly that he went down like a shot. [Thunders of
applause; and a guinea to a shilling offered.]
55.—Carter came in a tottering state to the scratch, but was hit
down. Ten to one.
56.—This was the most interesting part of the combat; Carter, to the
astonishment of the ring, commenced fighting with his left hand, and
made two hits, but was sent down. (“Go it, Spring, you have not a
minute to lose. Give such a Champion a finisher!”)
57.—Carter again floored.
58.—Carter struggling at the ropes, where he positively hung by both
his hands, Spring punishing him on the ribs till he went down.
Carter never returned a blow in this round.
59.—Spring went in, and planted a nobber that sent Carter down like
a log. His seconds pulled him up, and held his head. A hundred to
five. The burst of applause beggars description.
60.—It astonished the ring to see Carter come again, and, from his
recovery, fears were still entertained for Spring.—Carter seemed
anxious to win, and commenced hitting. He also made a desperate
struggle at the ropes till he went down.
61.—Prejudice was aroused against Carter from all parts of the ring,
owing to the overbearing consequence which he had assumed since his
“hugging” victory at Carlisle.—Carter commenced fighting, but went
down from a slight hit; in fact, he almost laid himself down.
62.—In this round Spring was quite the hero. He nobbed and bodied
Carter so severely, that the latter could not lift his arms. (Any
odds.)
63.—Carter was sent down, with striking marks of punishment about
his head and body.
64.—Carter appeared to get round, made a hit, but was sent down.
65.—Carter put in two left-handed hits, but Spring went in manfully,
and got him down.
66.—In closing, both down.
67.—Carter now tried his left hand; but in closing he received a
heavy fall. Spring fell on him. “It is all up;” was the cry.
68.—Carter hit first with his left hand. Both down.
69.—Spring was now very weak, but he went in and punished Carter in
all directions, till both went down.
70.—The fight was now drawing fast to an end. Carter was so confused
and weak that he was hit to the ropes, where he stood still to
receive, till he made a trifling struggle, when both went down.
71.—This was a strange and severe round; Carter endeavoured to make
some hits; but, in closing, he received such a fall, with Spring
upon him, that when time was called, he could not come again. One
hour and fifty-five minutes had elapsed.
REMARKS.—If Spring had been a _punishing_ hitter, he _must_ have won
it in half the time. He, however, displayed not only consummate
tactics in the offensive, but his defensive movements elicited
general applause. Although never rash, he never shrunk from his
work, and this triumphant defeat of the braggadocio north-countryman
placed him on a pinnacle of fame.
Spring, in company with Cribb, now set out on a sparring tour in the
west, in which a friendship was cemented which lasted for life, to the
credit of both parties. Bill Neat (who had beaten the game Tom Oliver in
the previous year, July 10, 1818) was picked out by the Bristolians for
a match with “Young Spring” for 100 guineas a-side, and half-way between
Bristol and London was named as the ground, articles signed, and £50
made good on September 6th, for a fight on the 6th of October following.
But a certificate from Bristol, dated September 19th, 1819, states that
“Neat, from a fall, having broken his right arm, twelve months must
elapse before he will be well.” Spring complained, and justly, of not
receiving forfeit in this case, as he had been put to considerable
expenses, and Neat’s accident (generally supposed not to be a fracture
at all) was occasioned by his imprudently running, for a wager, down a
steep hill, known as King’s Weston.
The friends of Oliver now made a deposit of five sovereigns, but in the
same month of October Spring received that as a forfeit.
On the 20th December, 1819, Spring being at Belcher’s, and Ben Burn in a
depreciatory humour, “my uncle” offered to post £20 and meet Spring at
Wimbledon Common next morning at one o’clock. Both men were there to
time. Eales and an amateur seconded Spring; Richmond and Scroggins Uncle
Ben. The affair was a burlesque, though Ben fought in a most manly
style. Spring was certainly out of condition, and remarkably cautious.
He hit heavily, but seldom, and never gave away a chance. Poor Ben, with
the exception of one slight success in a scramble, when he caught Spring
over the right eye (the same optic that suffered in his fight with
Painter), never got on to his man. On the contrary, Spring hit him when
and where he pleased for eighteen minutes, when, at the end of the
eleventh round, the second big Yorkshireman whom Tom had manipulated,
was thoroughly finished off. Not more than 200 persons were present; but
the Commissary and the stakes, with many of the P. C., were there, and
formed the ring.
A third match with Painter ended in a forfeit on the part of Painter’s
friends, who preferred a match with Oliver for the same amount as a
safer investment.
In consequence of this forfeit “Uncle Ben,” who didn’t at all stomach
his thrashing by a man who, according to some of the connoisseurs of the
old ding-dong school, “couldn’t hit a dent in a pound of butter,” now
determined, for the greater glory of the house of Burn, to match Bob
Burn against his conqueror for £100 a-side. This ended for a time
curiously. Spring was out of health, and, not to give a chance away, his
backers forfeited the £100 rather than risk a contest. A second match
was soon made, and on the 16th of May, 1820, the men met on Epsom Downs.
The morning was stormy, yet the string of vehicles emulated a Derby Day.
The ring was delightfully situated, having the hill on the northern side
of it, from which hundreds viewed the battle without the inconvenience
of a crowd.
Burn had risen in the esteem of the amateurs from a slashing set-to with
Larkin, and some Fives Court displays. Spring also was notoriously
unwell, and a strong prejudice existed against his “finishing” or
“punishing” abilities. These circumstances induced most of the sporting
men to hedge their bets, and take the odds upon Burn. Indeed, in a few
instances, the odds were now laid upon the latter; five to four on the
ground was thinly sported on Spring, the takers snapping at it
instantly.
Burn appeared first, and threw his hat into the ring, attended by his
seconds, Larkin and Randall, and kept walking up and down for some
minutes before his adversary entered the ropes. Spring at length showed,
followed by Cribb and Shelton; when the latter observed to Spring,
“Mind, Tom, that you throw your hat into the ring so that it does not
blow out,” the incident having an evil augury, as several pugilists had
been defeated when their hats had taken flight. Spring took the hint,
and his castor remained firm in the ring. Randall (for Burn) then tied
his colours (green) to the stakes, and the blue kerchief of Spring was
immediately added to them. Upon the Commander-in-Chief ordering the
sports to commence, the two umpires and the referee (an honourable
baronet) wished to impress upon the minds of the seconds and
bottle-holders, “That the watch would be held by them only on the
following consideration:—That upon the men setting-to, the seconds were
to retire to the corners of the ring, and if any one of them spoke to
the combatants, that moment the watch would be thrown down. Much
irritation had been occasioned by such conduct on both sides at previous
fights. It was highly improper, unfair and unmanly; and also in direct
opposition to the rules of Broughton, who was looked up to as the father
of the Prize Ring.” These remarks were emphatically repeated, and
throughout the fight were strictly attended to.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—On stripping, we were told that Burn was a stone less in
weight than when he fought Shelton; his condition was nevertheless
as fine as art and nature could exhibit. In fact, his proper pitch
had been ascertained, and Burn flattered himself that he was man
enough for anything on the fighting list. Spring did not appear on
the ground till the last minute; and it was thought by many that he
would forfeit a second time, owing to his not being well. On
stripping, though he appeared better than was expected from the
rumours which had gone forth, it was evident that he was not in
fighting trim. After some little sparring Burn endeavoured to put in
two hits, right and left, somewhat confidently, which Spring
scientifically stopped. A pause. Spring very neatly put in a facer,
and got away. Burn gave two blows without effect. More sparring.
Spring again gave a nobber, and got away. Some little fighting now
occurred, and several good hits were exchanged, from one of which, a
right-handed blow, Burn went off his balance, and fell on his hands.
(A roar of approbation. “Burn can’t win it!” Seven to four; several
were bold enough to offer two to one.)
2.—This round was short, but decisive, and the takers of the odds
looked blue. Burn thrust out his left hand, pawing, as it were, when
he was returned upon by Spring right and left. The latter, however,
got a small taste over his left ogle, and a bump soon rose. In an
exchange of blows, Burn again went down from a hit on the side of
his head. (Tumultuous applause, and “The big one can’t fight,” was
the cry. Two to one nearly current.)
3.—This round quite satisfied the judges that if Spring had been
well he must have won the battle in a canter. He hit Burn staggering
all over the ring, followed him up, and gave the big one pepper at
the ropes, till he went down. (Another Babel shout, and four to one
was offered.)
4.—The claret was plain enough now on the mug of Burn. Spring put in
a heavy claim on his opponent’s victualling office, and got away
cleverly. Some sharp exchanges occurred, in which Spring received a
nobber or two, and not light ones; but Burn was sent staggering and
staggering, till he ultimately went down. (More betters than
takers.)
5.—Spring showed great weakness; but he also showed that he knew the
advantages of science, and from science alone he could win, and
reduce the strength of his opponent. Burn planted a most desperate
hit on the side of Spring’s head; and so keenly did it operate, as a
sort of scalping touch, that the hair instantly flew off, and the
place was bare. Spring, however, conked his opponent, when they
closed, and, in a severe struggle for the throw, Spring broke away
and hit Burn down. (“Bravo! well done, Spring; it’s all your own.”)
6.—Burn had been hit or went down in all the preceding rounds; and
in this Spring fell upon his adversary heavily; after an exchange of
several blows it was here again asserted that, notwithstanding the
punishment Spring had administered to his opponent, it might be seen
he was not a hard hitter, from the little effects visible. Perhaps
this may be more of a theoretical than a practical prejudice against
Spring.
7.—The latter put in a sharp bodier with his left hand, and got
away; but in an exchange of blows afterwards, Burn gave Spring a
heavy one on his ear. In struggling for the throw, Burn appeared
much distressed, but both men fell out of the ropes.
8.—This was rather a dangerous round to Spring, and he might have
lost the battle from it, although it was in his favour. Some severe
blows passed on both sides, when the combatants fought their way to
the ropes, and got entangled in so curious a manner that it appeared
so difficult to the spectators that “Go down, Spring,” was the cry.
The struggle to get the best of the throw was severe indeed; they
grappled at each other’s hand, and if Shelton had not held up the
rope, they were so entangled that the men must have been parted;
however, by a strong effort they got away from this dilemma into the
middle of the ring, when Spring hit Burn well as he was falling, but
Spring also fell upon his head. (Loud shouting for Spring.)
9.—The preceding struggle had distressed Spring so much, that in
setting-to he put down his hands quite exhausted; nevertheless, it
turned out a severe round, and Spring jobbed his opponent so
severely that, in closing, Burn was so confused that he caught hold
of Spring’s nose. (Great disapprobation.) In going down Burn was
undermost.
10.—The left eye of Burn was rather damaged, and Spring made play in
good style. Burn scarcely ever went to work till he was nobbed into
it; and then he made some good counter-hits. This was rather a sharp
round; but in going down Spring was undermost.
11.—After some exchanges, Spring’s left ear showed marks of
punishment. Sparring for wind, when Spring got a facer. The latter
again showed bad condition, and stood still for a short period; but
Burn did not turn it to account. However, after a hit or two, Spring
fell down, his head upon his arm. Some slight fears were here
entertained that the strength of Burn might tire out Spring.
12 to 14.—In all these rounds the fighting was on the part of
Spring. Most certainly the latter never fought so well in any of his
battles as in the present. He put in several hits, and got away with
great agility.
15.—In this round Spring did as he pleased with his opponent; Burn’s
body and head were quite at his service, and it was evident the
battle must soon end. In going down Burn was also undermost. Any
odds; but it was all up. Here Burn informed his second that Spring
was too strong for him.
16.—In this round Burn was hit sharply; and in going down his left
leg fell under him, and great fears were entertained it was broken.
(“Spring for ever,” and twenty to one; indeed it was thought Burn
would not come again.)
17.—Burn endeavoured to show fight, but he was again sent down at
the ropes, and £10 to a crown was offered.
18 and last.—Burn was soon down, and Spring proclaimed the
conqueror. Tom walked out of the ring with apparent ease, and with
very few marks.
REMARKS.—Although this was pronounced a bad fight, Spring is justly
entitled to much praise, from his good style of fighting, and the
skill he displayed in not going “to work” too rashly, from his bad
condition. Had Spring been as well as he ought, the battle must have
been over in half the time. It, however, was the general opinion of
the fancy, that Burn, previous to the contest, could not be disposed
of in half an hour, and numerous bets were made to that effect. The
judges too insisted that Spring was not a hard hitter, and they did
so at the conclusion of this battle; but he repeated his blows so
often on the nob of his opponent that they ultimately proved
effectual. Burn, after the first round, appeared to have lost
confidence. Gameness alone will not reach the top of the tree.
Spring behaved bravely to his opponent, and was much applauded. He
had Burn at the ropes in a defenceless state, but he saw the battle
was his own, and he lifted up his hands and walked away. If it be
admitted that Spring was not a hard hitter, it cannot be denied that
he possessed a superior knowledge of fighting, and was too difficult
a man for Burn to get at.
A match was on the _tapis_ between Spring and Sutton, the Black, but it
went off.
In consequence of some dispute about impropriety of conduct, between
Spring and Josh. Hudson, after the battle of Cooper and Shelton, at
Moulsey Hurst, on Tuesday, June 27, 1820, a purse of £20 was immediately
subscribed by the amateurs for Spring and Hudson to fight. Both men
accepted the offer without the least hesitation; more especially as an
amateur offered £5 to Hudson, if he would only fight one round with
Spring. Five or six rounds, however, were sharply contested, in which
Joshua drew the cork of his antagonist, but on his getting the worst of
it, Hudson pocketed the £5, and Turner judiciously took him out of the
ring. This was the fourth battle on that day. Spring looked upon this
£20 as a sweetener for his recent losses on Shelton, whom he had backed.
The dispute in question, it seems, was owing to Spring refusing to admit
Hudson into the room where Shelton had been put to bed.
During the time Spring was at Norwich, when Painter fought with Oliver,
five guineas a-side were deposited for a match between the Gas-Light Man
and our hero. The backers of Hickman, however, did not come forward at
the appointed time, in London, to make the stakes good, when the £5 was
forfeited to Spring.
The friends of Oliver, anxious to keep the game alive, made a match for
£100 a-side with Spring.
Thus the game Tom Oliver was pitched upon to try to check the upward
career of Spring, and the stakes, 200 sovereigns, were made good over a
jolly dinner at Belcher’s, and the day fixed for February 20, 1821.
Accordingly, as this was the first spring meeting of gymnastic sports
for the year, at daybreak on the following morn the Western Road was all
bustle. It was a prime turn-out of the swells; upwards of nine noblemen
were present; but it was a “big fight,” and that is sure to bring them
to the ring. Salt Hill was the place first named; but a hint from the
beaks removed it early in the morning, and the ring was again formed at
about two miles from Arlington Corner. Here the magistrates again
interfered, it is said, at the request of a lady of rank, whose sons
were great supporters of this British sport, and the “beaks” were not to
be gammoned into good humour, although Oliver had made his appearance in
the ring. The bustle and confusion created to be off instanter was truly
laughable, and the “devil take the hindmost” was the order of the day.
But in a few minutes the scene was truly delightful. It was a perfect
steeple chase. The string of carriages for miles winding round the road,
the horsemen galloping and leaping over the hedges, the pedestrians all
on the trot, and the anxiety displayed on every countenance to arrive in
time, all following the Commander-in-Chief and Bill Gibbons with the
stakes. The surprise occasioned in the villages through which his motley
group passed, the children out of doors at the farm houses shouting, the
“Johnny Raws” staring, the country girls grinning, the ould folks
wondering what was the matter, and asking if the French were coming, the
swells laughing and bowing to the females, and all the fancy, from the
pink on his “bit of blood,” down to the toddler, full of life and
spirits, formed a most interesting picture. At length Hayes was reached,
and the ring formed without delay. Oliver threw his hat into the ring
about six minutes to three, followed by Tom Owen, in his white topper,
and Richmond. Spring appeared shortly afterwards, repeating the token of
defiance, attended by the Champion of England and Painter. The colours,
yellow for Oliver, and blue for Spring, were tied to the stakes. On
meeting in the ring, the combatants shook hands together in true British
style, and Spring asked Oliver how he did? “Pretty bobbish,” said
Oliver, smiling; “very well.”
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—On stripping, both men appeared in excellent condition, and
each asserted he was never better, if so well, in his life. Oliver
looked rather pale, and Spring had a small flush on his cheeks.
Oliver made an offer to hit, when Spring got away. Oliver made a
hit, which Spring stopped neatly. Spring endeavoured to put in a
blow, which Oliver parried. A pause, and great caution on both
sides. They smiled at each other’s attempts, as much as to say, “I
am prepared.” Some little time occurred in sparring, when the long
reach of Spring enabled him to make a hit. Oliver returned, when
some exchange of blows at the corner of the ropes produced a
struggle, and they both went down in a sort of scramble, Oliver on
his back, and Spring nearly by his side. (“Bravo!” from the
Westminster boys; “Oliver must win it.” Indeed, Oliver appeared to
have the good wishes of the old fanciers.)
2.—Spring missed a hit. A pause. Spring got away from a heavy blow;
in fact, the latter showed excellent science, and Oliver found his
opponent a most difficult man to get at. In a close, Oliver was
completely hit down, from a severe blow on the side of his head.
(Loud shouting for Spring, and “That’s the way to win.”)
3.—The mouth of Oliver was cut. Spring got away with great
dexterity; indeed, it was thought by the real judges of pugilism, at
this early stage of the battle, that it was likely to be a long
fight, but that Spring would win it. Oliver again down.
4.—In closing, a struggle took place, and Spring was undermost.
(Loud shouting from Oliver’s backers, and the Westminster lads in an
uproar.)
5.—Spring got away from every blow in the first part of the round.
Oliver planted a left-handed body hit. In a severe struggle for the
throw at the ropes, Oliver caught hold of the rope, but Spring got
him down heavily, and they rolled over each other.
6.—This round the fight had nearly been at an end. Spring not only
took the lead in first-rate style, but put in two heavy body blows,
and fell heavily upon Oliver. His head lolled upon his shoulder, and
when time was called, he could scarcely hear the vociferation of his
seconds, “Tom, Tom! be awake, my boy!” the spectators crying out,
“It’s all up.” Indeed it appeared so, and many of the anxious
betters, who had their money upon Spring, and not wishing to give
half a chance away, thought it a very long half-minute before “time”
was called.
7.—The sudden start of Oliver, on recovering his recollection, the
animated expression of his eyes, and putting himself in an attitude
to meet his opponent, was one of the finest specimens of true
courage ever witnessed; he, however, was soon sent down. (“He’s a
brave creature;” “he’s an extraordinary man;” “he’s the gamest
creature in the world;” were the general expressions all over the
ring.)
8.—Oliver very queer. Spring punished him about the head till he was
again undermost, and received another fall. (“It’s all over
now—Oliver cannot recover these falls,” was the general opinion; and
two to one, or, in fact, any odds.)
9.—Oliver floored from a severe nobber. Great shouting for Spring.
The game displayed by Oliver astonished all the ring.
10.—Oliver again thrown, and Spring fell heavily on him.
11 to 17.—Oliver recovered, it is true, in some degree, from the
severity of the fall which he received in the sixth round; but he
could make no change; in fact, the chance was decidedly against him.
In this round, Spring punished Oliver till he went down. The truth
was, Oliver could not get at Spring.
18.—This was a sharp round, and Oliver exerted himself to win, but
without effect. It was thought Spring had hit Oliver foul, but it
was a blow he put in as Oliver was going down. Spring, in finishing
this round, put in some tremendous body blows, after the quick
manner of Randall.
19.—Clark, the friend of Oliver, now thinking that Oliver could not
win, went into the ring and threw up his hat; but Oliver would
continue the fight till he was hit down. Oliver might be said to be
dragged up by his second, Tom Owen, who exerted himself to the
utmost degree to bring the old Westminster hero through the piece.
Richmond also paid every attention, but the fight was completely out
of him, and the persons at the outer ring left their places.
20.—Oliver went up resolutely to Spring, determined to make a change
in his favour; but it was only to receive punishment; he was again
down.
21.—When time was called, Oliver not coming up directly, Spring was
told that it was all over, and had got hold of his coat to put it
on, when Oliver again showed fight, and was terribly hit about the
head and body, till he measured his length. (“Take him away; he
can’t win it.”)
22 and 23.—These rounds were fought in the greatest confusion. The
ring being flogged out, the time-keeper taking refuge in the rope
ring, with two or three other swells, till the rounds were finished.
Oliver was now quite exhausted, but positively refused to give in.
24, 25, and last.—All these rounds were fought in the greatest
confusion, and when Spring had got Oliver at the ropes, and might
have fibbed him severely so as to put an end to the battle, some
person cut the ropes, which let Oliver down easy. Oliver contended
every inch of ground, although so much distressed: at length he was
so much punished that he could not leave the knee of his second when
time was called. It was over in fifty-five minutes.
REMARKS.—It is but common justice to Spring to assert, that he won
this battle three times before it was over. It is true that he had
no right to give a chance away, either against himself or his
backers; but he plainly saw that the battle was his own; he fought
without grumbling, and in acting so honourably, nay, generously, to
a fine, high-couraged, game opponent, that Oliver should not have to
say, “that he had not every opportunity to win, if he could.” What
was more important, however, it prevented any thing like a wrangle
being attempted. Spring, by his superior mode of fighting this day,
raised himself highly in the estimation of the Fancy in general; in
fact, the ring was much surprised that Oliver could do nothing with
him. The prejudice which so long remained against Spring in respect
to his not being a hard hitter, was removed in this battle. Oliver
was most terribly punished; while Spring, on the contrary, had not
the slightest mark on his face. The bravery of Oliver, and his
exertions to win, were above all praise. Spring, in the style of a
true Briton, “when the battle is ended, the heart of a lamb,” called
to see Oliver, on the Friday after the fight, when they shook hands
with each other in the same style of friendship as heretofore.
Oliver then told Spring that he had entertained an opinion, before
the fight, he was the stronger man; but that Spring was too long for
him.
On Tom Cribb’s retirement from the arena, Spring considered himself
champion; and soon after his conquest over Oliver, in order that it
might not afterwards be brought against him that he had left the prize
ring silently, he offered, by public advertisement, March 25, 1821, a
challenge to all England for three months. This challenge not having
been accepted, although he offered to fight Neat for £500 a-side, on
August 19, nearly five months after the period stated, he entered into
articles of agreement of a more tender kind, and made a match “for
better or for worse.” We wish that our personal reminiscences did not
unpleasantly remind us that, as regards the lady she was all “worse,”
and never showed signs of “better.” He then commenced proprietor of the
Weymouth Arms Tavern, in Weymouth Street, Portman Square. Spring’s
opening dinner took place on Thursday, the 6th of December, 1821. The
swells mustered numerously round Mr. Jackson, who presided upon this
occasion; and 140 persons sat down to a prime dinner, served up, in
excellent style, by Spring in person. The evening was dedicated to
harmony and good-fellowship.
After the sport at Moulsey, on Wednesday, June 12th, 1822, the great
match was made between Spring and Neat, subject to the following
articles:
“_Red Lion, Hampton, June 12, 1822._
“Mr. Elliott, on the part of Thomas Spring, and Thomas Belcher, on
the part of William Neat, have deposited £50 a-side, to make a match
on the following terms:—W. Neat agrees to fight T. Spring on
Tuesday, the 26th of November next, for a stake of £600 (£300
a-side), in a twenty-four feet ring, half-minute time. The place to
be named by Mr. Jackson, within forty miles of London, on the
Bristol road, and the umpires to be chosen on the ground. The second
deposit, upon the above conditions, £100 a-side, to be made at T.
Spring’s, Weymouth Arms, Weymouth Street, on the 12th of July,
between the hours of four and eight o’clock. The deposit to be
forfeited by the defaulter. The remainder of the stakes to be made
good at T. Belcher’s, the Castle Tavern, Holborn, on the 12th of
November. Mr. W. S. has received, and is answerable for, the deposit
of £100.”
On the 12th of November a sporting dinner took place at Belcher’s, to
make the stakes good between Neat and Spring. Belcher, on the part of
Neat, completed the stakes of £200; but Mr. Elliott, the backer of
Spring, did not appear, when the chairman reluctantly declared the
deposit down, £150, to be forfeited to Neat.
At a sporting dinner at the One Tun, on the Friday following, November
16th, Spring informed the company that he would have attended at the
Castle Tavern, on the day appointed, but his backer wished him not to
leave the country on any account, as he might take cold—Mr. Elliott
asserting he would make it all right. He (Spring) was now ready to make
a new match for £200 a-side, for the 10th of December.
At Harry Holt’s opening dinner, at the Golden Cross, Cross Lane, Long
Acre, on Friday, November 22nd, 1822, the president informed Mr.
Belcher, that if the stakeholder of the £150 was indemnified, the
forfeiture of that sum by the backer of Spring (Mr. Elliott) would be
given up to Neat. Mr. Belcher replied, he should receive a guarantee.
The president then observed that the sporting world in general were
anxious to have it decided which was the best man between Spring and
Neat; and that the former could be backed for £200 a-side, to fight in
the course of a fortnight. Mr. Belcher, in reply, stated, that Neat,
since the match had been broken off, had conducted himself more like a
bird out of cage than anything else; the “gaily circling glass” had been
continually up to his mouth; the result was, he could not answer for his
condition, and he would not make the match so soon as a fortnight: it
ought to be, at least, a month. Neat had left London for Bristol, and he
had no doubt, from his gay disposition, was playing the same sort of
game there; but he would write to him immediately, and whatever answer
Neat returned as to time, he would then make a fight.
Spring addressed the meeting and said he was certain that Neat was in as
good condition as himself. He had fretted considerably about the match
being off: and this, added to his participation of “Life in London,”
since his training had been so abruptly brought to an end, it might be
fairly stated that he was on a par with his opponent. But, to show how
anxious he was for a fight, and that the sporting world should decide
which was the best man, he would extend the time to next Tuesday three
weeks: that was meeting Mr. Belcher half-way. (Loud cheers, and “Well
said,” “Manly,” etc., from all parts of the room.) Not a day after that
time would he agree to fight Neat; he should then quit the prize ring
for ever, to attend to his family and business, in order to make up for
his loss of time, and great expenses in which he had been involved,
owing (unfortunately for himself) to the desertion of his backer, when
so many gentlemen who were present at that meeting, had they been
acquainted with the circumstances, would have stepped forward to make
the match.
The Fives Court was well attended on Thursday, November 28, 1823, in
order to give the game Bob Purcell a turn. Carter and Spring ascended
the stage together. The latter pugilist addressed the spectators,
previously to his setting-to, nearly in the following words:—“Gentlemen,
I feel much disappointment in the match being off between myself and
Neat. I hope he will get the forfeit of £150. He is most certainly
entitled to it. It was no fault of mine the match did not take place;
and to show that I meant fighting, I gave a week, then a fortnight,
longer to Mr. Neat than I first intended, and am now ready to make the
match for £200 a-side.” (Applause.) Mr. Belcher observed, “Gentlemen, I
am here for Neat; and all I can say, is this—if any gentleman will
indemnify me for the £150, I will make a match immediately; but on no
other account.” Spring, in reply, stated, “that it could not be expected
he should indemnify Mr. Belcher, but he was ready to put down any sum
required immediately. (“Bravo!—that looks like fighting.”) He, however,
would not make a match after that day—he had lost too much time already,
and he was determined to follow his business in future, and to take his
leave of the prize ring; therefore, the match must now be made, or
never.” “Very fair,” from all parts of the Court. The set-to between
Spring and Carter proved attractive and good.
Three months elapsed in idle reports respecting another match between
Spring and Neat, when the following articles were drawn, which set the
fancy on the _qui vive_:—
“_Castle Tavern, Holborn, Wednesday, March 12, 1823._
“William Neat agrees to fight Thomas Spring for £200 a-side, in a
twenty-four feet ring, half-minute time. To be a fair stand-up
fight; to take place on Tuesday, the 20th day of May. The money to
be placed in the hands of Mr. Jackson. The place and distance from
London to be left entirely to Mr. Jackson. An umpire to be chosen by
each party, and a referee to be named on the ground. £50 a-side is
now deposited in the hands of Mr. Jackson. £50 a-side more to be
deposited on Monday, the 31st of March, at Mr. Belcher’s, Castle
Tavern; and the remainder of the stakes of £100 a-side to be
completed on Monday, the 5th of May, also at Mr. Belcher’s. The
above stakes to be put down between the hours of eight and eleven
o’clock on each evening. The above deposit, or deposits, to be
forfeited, in case of either party not appearing on the specified
evenings to make the money good.”
T. Belcher signed on the part of W. Neat, and a well known gentleman
amateur for T. Spring. Witness, P. E.
We preserve a little bit of justice’s justice which we think here was
indisputably, impartially, and rightfully administered. Spring went into
training at Brighton; he was accompanied by Tom Shelton, the latter
being under articles to fight Josh. Hudson.
On Friday, April 4, 1823, a fight took place on the Downs, beyond the
race-hill, between Daniel Watts and James Smith, the one a bricklayer’s
labourer, the other a sawyer, and both residing in the place. An immense
concourse of spectators assembled on the ground, which was just without
the boundaries of the parish of Brighton, and in that of Ovingdean.
One of the men engaged in this contest, Smith, having died from
congestion of the brain, Sir David Scott, a local magistrate, issued
warrants for the apprehension of many parties present; and on the
following morning, in consequence of information that Spring and
Shelton, the celebrated pugilists, had borne an active part in the
fight, they were also taken up, and brought before Sir David Scott, at a
special sitting held at the New Inn. Considerable difficulty was
experienced in procuring evidence, every one being anxious to conceal
that he had been present; but at length several persons were found,
whose testimony was in substance as follows:—That there was a person on
horseback keeping the ring, and that Spring and Shelton, on foot,
assisted, with whips in their hands, to keep the people back; and it was
further proved that Spring had also a watch in his hand during the
fight. On the strength of this evidence, Sir David Scott considered them
to be accessories, having both acted in the capacity of ring-keepers,
and one of them in that of time-keeper; he therefore ordered them to
find bail, to keep the peace for twelve months. They both urged that
they had come from London only on Tuesday or Wednesday, and that the
match was made up several days before, so that they were totally
ignorant of it until after their arrival at Brighton. Shelton also said,
that in London, on occasions of this sort, when proceedings are taken
against the principals, the umpires are never affected; but Sir David
cut this argument short, by saying, that he could not consent to be
guided by the practice or decisions of other magistrates, on any case
that might come before him. They were unable to find bail, and were kept
for a few days, at a public-house, in custody of one of the
headboroughs.
Two other men, named Hazledean and Sherwood, one acting as bottle-holder
to Smith, and the other as Watts’s second, were each ordered to find
bail for twelve months.
Spring and Shelton, after being in custody for a week, in default of
procuring the bail required of them, were liberated by Sir David Scott,
on entering into their own recognizances, £100 each, to be of good
behaviour for twelve months.
To all which we should merely say, with the Cornish jury, “Sarve them
right.” They were imprudent, as men in training, and his worship
leniently administered the law.
Tom Cribb had a jolly party at his tavern on Monday, May 3, 1823, as
also had Tom Belcher. Spring was Cribb’s hero; Neat, the attractive man
at the Castle Tavern. The stakes were made good for £200 a-side, and
were deposited in the hands of Mr. Jackson. Spring in the course of the
evening made his bow to the company; he was well received, and his
health drank with great spirit. The same compliment was also paid to
Neat in his absence. Mr. Belcher gave up £15 to Spring, respecting
Neat’s forfeit at Bristol; therefore all disputes concerning money
matters were settled. Spring offered to bet £100, according to Neat’s
challenge; but Belcher said, “he had no authority to put down any money
then; however, on the morning of fighting, Neat should bet him the
£100.” “No!” replied Spring, “I am ready to bet the £100 now; but I
shall have something else to do on the morning of the fight.” Both the
principals were extremely fond of the match, and both Spring and Neat
displayed the highest confidence in the event. Even betting was about
the state of the thing. Spring, within the last few days, got up for
choice. At Bristol the odds were high upon Neat.
Within a few days of the appointed time some of the magistrates of
Berks, Wilts, and Somerset, displayed bad taste by issuing their
documents to prevent an exhibition of this branch of the “fine arts” at
any of the places recited. Mr. Jackson’s “chateau” at Pimlico was
literally besieged by Corinthians on the Saturday previous to the fight,
May 17, 1823; and the whole of the night his knocker was in motion, so
numerous were the enquiries after the mill. At length the mist was
dispelled; the office being given for Weyhill, Hampshire. The inns were
immediately scoured for places by the stage coaches, and, at peep of day
on Monday morning the roads from Gloucester, Newbury, Winchester,
Bristol, Southampton, London, etc., were covered with vehicles of every
description. By five o’clock in the afternoon not a bed could be
procured at Andover, although a sovereign per head was offered. The
“flooring” system was obliged to be adopted by many “downy” ones, and a
carpet was considered a luxury. The principal taverns at Andover were
filled with persons of the highest quality in the kingdom, and men and
horses were obliged to put up with any shelter that could be got for
money. The little towns and villages contiguous to Andover were equally
overflowing with company, and thousands were on the road all night. The
Mayor and Corporation of Andover, it seems, were “ear-wigged” to spoil
the sport, but possessed too much sense to mulct the inhabitants of the
neighbourhood.
Hinckley Down, where the battle took place, is delightfully picturesque.
A hill at the back of the field formed an amphitheatre, not unlike Epsom
race-course, and upwards of thirty thousand spectators had a fine view
of the fight. The ring, under the superintendence of Mr. Jackson, was
excellent. At one o’clock, Neat, arm-in-arm with his backer, Mr.
Harrison, and Belcher, followed by Harmer, threw up his hat in the ropes
amidst thunders of applause. About ten minutes afterwards Spring, with
his backer, Mr. Sant, and Painter appeared, Cribb waiting for them.
Spring very coolly walked up to the ropes, and dropped his beaver within
them. He then shook hands with Neat, saying, “I hope you are well.” “I
am very well, thank you; I hope you are,” was the reply of Neat. Spring
was rather the favourite on the ground. The colours, an orange-yellow
for Neat, were tied to the stakes by Belcher; the blue, for Spring,
placed over them by Tom Cribb. Before the battle, Mr. Jackson entered
the ring and addressed the spectators:—“Gentlemen, I have to inform you
that no persons but the umpires and referee can be stationed close to
the ropes; I have therefore to request that every gentleman will retire
to some distance from the ring; and also, if necessity requires it, that
you will give me your assistance to keep the ground clear, to prevent
confusion, and to have a fair fight. I have refused to be referee, that
I may walk about and attend to the ring.” (Bravo! and applause.) This
address had the desired effect—the gentlemen retired to their places,
the good consequences of which were that every individual had an
uninterrupted view of the fight, and not the slightest disorder
occurred. Oh, _si sic omnes_!
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—The interesting moment had now arrived, all doubts and
fears as to a fight were at an end, and the ability of Spring to
obtain the Championship was about to be put to the test. Hands were
crossed and shaken, in token that no animosity existed. To describe
the intense interest of this vast assemblage is impossible. Spring
was fine as a star, strong as an ox, light and active as a deer, and
confident as a lion. His condition was tip-top; and in truth, could
not be better; his weight thirteen stone, three pounds. Neat was
equally an object of admiration; his partisans were highly delighted
with his appearance, and his frame was pronounced to have fully
answered the good effects of training. Indeed, two finer young men
could not have been opposed to each other, or a more equal match
made: Neat having slightly the advantage in weight over his rival.
Spring, cool, collected, firm, and confident, appeared to meet his
renowned and formidable opponent, who had obtained so much fame by
his conquest over the terrific Gas-light Man. Neat, equally
confident—nay, more so, if his countenance bespoke his mind—thought
it presumption for any boxer on the list to dispute his right to the
title of Champion. A pause of two minutes occurred in looking at
each other—dodging about for two minutes longer—Spring then let fly
with his left hand, but no mischief done. Neat missed the body of
his opponent with his right hand. Another long pause. Neat aimed a
tremendous blow with his right, which Spring stopped in great style.
(Applause from all parts of the ring.) A pause. Neat again attempted
his favourite slaughtering hit, which Spring parried, smiling and
nodding at his opponent. (Loud shouts of approbation from the
spectators.) Spring put down his hands, but Neat did not avail
himself of the chance. Spring immediately made himself up in one of
the finest attitudes for administering punishment ever witnessed,
and endeavoured to plant a hit with his right hand, which Neat
stopped in the most scientific manner. (The Bristolians shouting in
turn, “Bravo, Neat!” in fact applause from all parts of the ring.)
Neat missed the body of Spring with his left. Spring now went to
work, some blows were exchanged, but Spring’s hits were so severe
that Neat turned round. (“What do you think of that ’ere for
light-hitting?” a Cockney cove observed to a Bristol man who sat
close to him.) They followed each other over the ring, when Spring,
in retreating from some well-meant heavy blows, got into a corner
close against the stake, feeling with his heel whereabouts he was
situated; (“Now’s the time,” cried Tom Belcher;) but the defensive
position of Spring was so excellent that he was not to be got at
without great danger, which Neat perceiving did not get near enough
to do anything like execution. Spring fought his way out _à la_
Randall; a close ensued, when Neat had nearly got Spring off his
legs; but in struggling for the throw, Spring, with the utmost
agility, turned Neat over in his arms and sent him on the ground,
falling upon him. Between nine and ten minutes had elapsed. (The
chaff-cutters from the Long Town were now roaring with
delight—“Spring for ever—for anything—he can fight for a day and a
night into the bargain.”) Seven to four on Herefordshire.
2.—The superiority displayed by Spring in the preceding round rather
alarmed the backers of Neat. They did not expect it. The
“lady’s-maid fighter,” as he had been libelled—the “china-man,” as
he had been designated—the “light tapper,” as he had been
termed—thus to set at defiance the slaughtering hitter Neat; nay
more, to turn the scales and take the lead of him, operated severely
on their feelings. A long pause occurred. Spring stood as firm as a
rock, Neat unable to get at him; he, however, endeavoured to plant a
hit, but it fell short. Both men now made themselves up for
mischief, and counter-hits followed. Spring’s right went in so
severely over Neat’s eye that the claret followed instantly. Spring
exclaimed, “First blood, Neat.” This touch confused the Bristol hero
a little; but he tried to give his opponent a heavy blow, which fell
short. Spring, in return, gave him so sharp a nobber, that Neat
looked round, and was nearly going down.—(Disapprobation.) The
latter collected himself, and showed fight, when Spring fought his
way into a close, fibbed Neat with the utmost ease, and sent him
down. (The applause was like the roar of artillery. Two to one, and
“Neat has no chance—it’s all up with him.” Spring, while sitting on
his second’s knee, observed to Painter, smiling, “It is as right as
the day; I would not take £100 to £1, and stand it—he can’t hit me
in a week.”)
3.—The only chance now left to save a transfer of the Bristolians’
coin to the Metropolitan pockets, it would seem, was one of those
silencing hits by which Neat had acquired his milling fame, so as to
spoil Spring’s science, reduce his confidence, and take the fight
out of him. All the backers of Neat were on the gaze in anxious
expectation to see the “slogger” put in, which was to relieve their
fears, and produce a change in their favour. Shyness on both sides.
Spring endeavoured to plant a heavy right-handed hit, which Neat
stopped cleverly. (Great applause, and “Well done, Neat.”) The
latter smiled at this success, and Spring observed, “Well stopped!”
Rather a long pause. The toes of the combatants were close together,
and Spring not to be gammoned off his guard. Some blows were at
length exchanged, and Spring received so heavy a hit on his ribs,
that his face for the instant bespoke great pain, and his arms
dropped a little; but, in closing, Spring had decidedly the
advantage; and, in going down, Neat was undermost. (The Springites
were now as gay as larks, offering to back their man to any amount.)
4.—Neat, instead of going up and fighting at the head of his
opponent, where at least, he might have had a chance of planting
some of his tremendous blows, showed no signs of going in to fight.
Standing off to a superior, fine scienced boxer like Spring, almost
reduced it to a certainty, that in the event he must be beaten. In
his character as a heavy-hitting pugilist his strategy ought to have
been to smash his shifty opponent. He could not get an opening at
his length to put in any effective blows; in fact, he could not
break through the guard of Spring. Neat endeavoured to plant a
severe blow, which Spring stopped with the utmost ease. (Great
applause; and “You’ll break his heart, Tom, if you go on in that
way.”) Neat missed the body of Spring with his left hand. (Laughing,
and “It’s of no use” from the crowd.) A short rally near the ropes,
in which Spring had the best of it, and, in struggling for the
throw, Neat experienced a tremendous fall, added to the whole weight
of Spring on his body. (Shouting like thunder from thirty thousand
persons.)
5.—Neat informed Belcher (while sitting on Harmer’s knee) that his
arm was broken; it was, however, previously evident to every
disinterested spectator, that Neat had not a shadow of chance. Neat
made another stop; some blows were exchanged, and a slight rally
took place; Neat broke away, the latter gave Spring a slight hit,
and was going down, but he resumed his attitude. (Disapprobation.)
Spring, to make all safe, was in no hurry to go to work; another
pause ensued. Neat, as he was in the act of falling, received a hit,
when Spring added another one on his back. (The umpires called out
to Belcher, and told him “It was a stand-up fight; and Neat must
take care what he was about.” “I assure you, gentlemen,” replied Mr.
Jackson, “Neat received a blow.” Here Martin offered, in a very loud
manner, that he would bet £1,000 to £100 on Spring. During this
round, Belcher came to the side of the ropes, and in a low tone of
voice told Mr. Jackson, that Neat’s arm was “fractured.” “I perceive
it,” replied Mr. J., “but I shall not notice it to the other side.”)
6.—Neat hit short at Spring’s body with his left hand; holding his
right in a very different position from the mode when the battle
commenced. The Bristol hero was piping, and betraying symptoms of
great distress. Neat, however, gave a bodier to his opponent and
also made a good stop; but in a rally he received several blows, and
ultimately went down.
7.—Spring was as fresh as if he had not been fighting; and, although
it was now a guinea to a shilling, and no chance of losing, yet
Spring was as careful as if he had had a giant before him. The
latter got away from a blow. (“We can fight for a week in that
manner,” said Belcher. “Yes,” replied Painter; “but we have got the
general.” Neat received a severe hit on his head, and fell down on
his knees. The shouts of joy from the partisans of Spring, and roars
of approbation from the spectators in general beggared description.)
8th and last.—Neat endeavoured to plant a heavy blow on the body of
Spring, but the latter jumped away as light as a cork. A pause.
Spring was satisfied he had won the battle. Spring put in a hit on
Neat’s face; and when the latter returned, he again got away. In an
exchange of blows, Neat was hit down. When time was called Neat got
up and shook hands with Spring, and said his arm was broken, and he
could not fight any more. The battle was at an end in thirty-seven
minutes.
REMARKS.—We must admit that, as championship contests, there was
certainly a different colouring visible in the fights between Gully
and Gregson, and Cribb and Molineaux; to witness two big ones
opposed to each other for upwards of half an hour, and no mischief
done, was not likely to give satisfaction to the old-fashioned
admirers of milling. But the torrent of opinion was so strong in
favour of Neat, both in Bristol and London, on account of his
tremendous hitting, as to carry away like a flood all kind of
calculation on the subject. Spring was to have been smashed, and
nothing else but smashed. One hit was to have spoilt the science of
Spring: two were to have taken the fight completely out of him; and
the third to have operated as a _coup de grace_. Then why did not
Neat smash Spring, as he did the Gas? We will endeavour to answer
the question for the fallen Neat. Because he had a man of his own
size and weight, a boxer of superior talent to himself, pitted
against him: one that was armed at all points, and not to be
diverted or frightened from his purpose. His blows were not only
stopped, but all his efforts to break through the guard of his
antagonist were rendered of no avail. Hence it was that the fighting
of Neat appeared so defective in the eyes of his friends and
backers. He was out-generalled; and the fine fighting of Spring
laughed to scorn all the much-talked-of tremendous hitting of his
opponent. In truth, Neat could not plant a single effective hit. In
the fourth round, Neat asserted his arm received a serious injury,
and one of the small bones was broken; but we have no hesitation in
asserting, that Spring had won the battle before it occurred. Spring
triumphantly disproved the current libel on his character, that “he
could not make a dent in a pound of butter.” To give punishment, and
to avoid being hit, is deemed the triumph of the art of boxing.
Randall was distinguished for this peculiar trait in all his
battles, Spring adopted the same mode, and by so doing he did not
disgrace his character as a boxer: on the contrary, he showed
himself a safe man to back, and reduced success to a certainty.
Spring called on Neat after the battle, whom he found in bed, and
his arm put to rights by a surgeon. The latter said, “I am not
beaten, but I lost the battle by the accident.” Spring generously
made Neat a present of ten pounds. Spring arrived in town on
Wednesday night, but he did not sport the colours of his adversary
until after he had quitted the town of Andover, and received the
shouts and smiles attendant on victory from the populace in all the
towns through which he passed. He had a slight black mark on his
eye, and his arm in a sling, one of the bones of his right hand
having received an injury.
The abrupt conclusion of the battle produced sensations among the
backers of Neat not easily described, and such coarse expressions were
uttered by the disappointed ones as we cannot give place to in print.
The Bristolians were outrageous in the extreme; a few of them positively
acted like madmen; others were dejected and chapfallen. Neat was thought
to be invulnerable by his countrymen, and also by the majority of
sporting people throughout the kingdom. A few silly persons, in their
paroxysm of rage and disappointment, pronounced the above event a cross.
We feel anxious for the honour of the ring, and no exertions on our part
shall be wanting to preserve it. Tom Belcher and Neat both courted
inquiry on the subject. It was the expressed opinion of a spectator of
the fight, that “if Neat had possessed four arms instead of two, he
never could have conquered Spring.”
It is utterly impossible to describe the anxiety which prevailed in the
metropolis to learn the event of the battle on Tuesday evening, May 20,
1823. Belcher’s house was like a fair; Randall’s crowded to suffocation;
Holt’s not room for a pin; Harmer’s overflowing; Shelton’s like a mob;
Eales’ overstocked; and Tom Cribb’s crammed with visitors. Both ends of
the town, East and West, were equally alive, and profited by the event.
Hampshire had not had such a turn since the day when Humphries and
Mendoza fought at Odiham. Thus was good derived by thousands of persons
not in any way connected with the event. Several wagers were won in
London after eight o’clock at night on Spring—so high did Neat stand in
public opinion.
At Shelton’s benefit, May 22nd, 1823, after several spirited bouts,
Spring was loudly called for; he addressed the assemblage in the
following terms:—“Gentlemen, I return you my sincere thanks for the
honour you have done me to-day, and I hope my future conduct will
equally merit your kind attention. I promised to set-to with Shelton;
but having met with an accident (his hand was tied up with a
handkerchief), I trust you will excuse me; at all other times, you will
find me willing and ready to obey your commands.” Shelton returned
thanks; and Belcher likewise informed the audience that his benefit took
place on Tuesday, May 27, when Neat would be present, in order to
convince the amateurs that his arm was broken in the fight with Spring.
The latter received from Mr. Jackson the £200 of the battle-money as the
reward of victory. Mr. Jackson also publicly declared, for the
satisfaction of the sporting world, that, in company with two eminent
surgeons, he had seen Neat; and those two gentlemen had pronounced the
small bone of his arm to have been broken.
Spring now paid a visit to his native place. Fortune had favoured him,
and he was not unmindful of old friends. Here he was also not only
remembered, but respected; and a cup, made by Messrs. Grayhurst and
Harvey, of the Strand, was presented to him. This cup, known as “the
Hereford Cup.” The inscription and description are as follows:—
“1823.
TO THOMAS WINTER,
Of Fownhope, in the County of Hereford,
This Cup was presented,
By his Countrymen of the Land of Cider,
In Token of their Esteem for the Manliness and Science
Which, in many severe Contests in the Pugilistic Ring,
Under the name of
SPRING,
Raised him to the proud Distinction of
THE CHAMPION OF ENGLAND.”
The inscription is surrounded by a handsome device of apples, etc., at
the bottom of which is the representation of two game-cocks at the close
of a battle, one standing over the other. On the other side of the cup
is a view of the P.R., with two pugilists in attitudes. Upon the top or
lid of the cup is a cider-barrel placed on a stand. The inside is gilt;
and it is large enough to hold a gallon of “nectar divine.” It has two
elegantly chased handles, and a fluted pedestal.
About this period a new milling star arose in the west, in the person of
Jack Langan; and during a tour in the north of England some
correspondence took place between them, which is not worth reprinting.
On Thursday, October 23, 1823, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, Belcher,
on the part of Langan, deposited £50 towards making a match for £300
a-side with Spring. On the articles being completed, Spring offered £100
to £80, p. p., that he won the battle. Monday, December 1, 1823, the
backers of the “Big Ones” dined together at the Castle Tavern, Holborn,
but neither Spring nor Langan showed upon the occasion. However, when
time was called by the president of the D. C., the blunt was ready. The
Ould Champion (Tom Cribb) who attended on the part of his boy, Spring,
said that he had only one hundred pounds to put down; while, on the
behalf of Langan, Belcher insisted that the spirit of the articles
required £150, and he was ready to put down £150 for Langan. The
question was fairly discussed by the meeting; and the president decided
in favour of the majority—that if £100 a-side were put down, the
articles would be complied with. The Ould Champion rose with some
warmth, and said, “He was not particular, and if the other party wished
it, he would make the £300 a-side good immediately; or he would increase
the match between Langan and Spring up to 1,000 guineas. He (Tom Cribb)
was quite certain that Langan meant fighting, and if the latter wished
to increase the stakes, he and his party had an opportunity of doing
it.”
On Thursday, January 1, 1824, the whole of the stakes of £600 were made
good over a sporting dinner at Tom Cribb’s. When time was called,
Belcher showed at the mark on the part of Langan, and put down £150.
Cribb also, for his boy Spring, instantly fobbed out £150. At the head
of the table, before the president, was placed the “Ould Champion’s”
silver cup, and Spring’s cup was also seen before the deputy-president.
The John Bull fighter was present, and, by way of keeping the game
alive, offered to give two guineas to fight Langan, let him win or lose,
for £200 a-side; and likewise, that he would take ten guineas for £200
a-side with Spring. The true courage of Josh. Hudson was greatly
admired, and loudly applauded. The dinner was good, the wines were
excellent, and the company separated well pleased with their evening’s
entertainment. Spring was decidedly the favourite, at two to one; two
and a half to one was also betted; and in one instance £300 to £100 was
laid. In consequence of Langan being a complete stranger to the sporting
world the fancy were inclined to bet the odds, instead of taking them.
The sight at Worcester on Wednesday, January 7, 1824, was beyond all
former example. Upwards of thirty thousand persons were present; nay,
several calculators declared, to the best of their belief, that not less
than fifty thousand people were assembled. Proprietors of splendid parks
and demesnes; inmates from proud and lofty mansions; groups from the
most respectable dwellings; thousands from the peaceful cot; and myriads
from no houses at all—in a word, it was a conglomeration of the fancy.
Peers, M.P.s, yokels of every cast, cockneys, and sheenies throwing
“away their propertish” without a sigh that it cost so much “monish” to
witness the grand mill. The roads in every direction round Worcester
beggared description. The adventures at the inns would furnish subjects
for twenty farces, and the company in the city of Worcester was of so
masquerading a character as to defy the pen; even the pencil of a George
Cruikshank would be at fault to give it effect. The grand stand was
filled to an overflow in every part, with two additional wings or
scaffolds erected for the occasion. Ten shillings were paid for the
admission of each person. The masts of the vessels in the river Severn,
which flowed close behind, moored on each side of the stand, were
overloaded with persons; and even temporary scaffolds, about two stories
high, outside of the wagons, were filled by anxious spectators,
regardless of danger, so great was the public curiosity excited by this
event. Let the reader picture to himself a spacious amphitheatre,
encircled by wagons, an outer roped ring within for the many-headed, who
stood up to their knees in mud. What is termed the P. C. Ring was raised
about two feet from the ground, covered with dry turf, with a cart-load
of sawdust sprinkled over it. The race-course was so intolerably bad and
full of slush that all the scavengers and mudlarks from the metropolis
could not have cleansed it in a week. Outside the wagons the ground
displayed one complete sheet of water; and several lads, who were jolly
enough to save a few yards of ground by jumping over ditches, measured
their lengths in the water, receiving a complete ducking, to the no
small amusement of the yokels. What will not curiosity do? Here swells
were seen sitting down in the mud more coolly than if lolling on a sofa.
Not a place could be obtained in the stand after ten o’clock. The city
of Worcester was full of gaiety early in the day; the streets were
filled by the arrival of coaches and four, post-chaises, mails, and
vehicles of every description, blowing of horns, and the bells ringing.
A Roman carnival is not half so hearty a thing as a prize-fight used to
be when the people’s hearts were in it.
Spring rode through the town in a stylish barouche and four (Colonel
Berkeley’s) about twelve o’clock. The postilions were in red, and
everything _en suite_. He arrived on the ground by half-past twelve,
amidst the shouts of the spectators, and drove close up to the ropes in
a post-chaise. He threw his hat into the ring, accompanied by Tom Cribb
and Ned Painter. He was dressed with striking neatness. At this period
all were on the look-out for Langan, but a quarter of an hour had
elapsed, and no Langan—half an hour gone, and no Paddy—three-quarters
over, and still no Irish Champion in sight. Spring pulled out his watch,
and said, “It is time.” In the midst of the hour, waiting for the
arrival of Langan, the right wing belonging to the stand gave way, and
fifteen hundred persons, at least, were thrown in a promiscuous heap. It
was an awful moment. To give any description of the feelings of the
spectators baffles attempt. Spring turned pale, and said, “How sorry I
am for this accident.” In a few minutes composure was restored, it being
ascertained that nothing material had occurred, except a few contusions,
and some of the persons limping away from the spot. “Thank God!”
ejaculated Spring, “I would not have had it happen while I was fighting
for a hundred thousand pounds!” The John Bull boxer had now become
impatient, and exclaimed, “This is strange! Where’s my man?” “I’ll bet
ten to one,” said a swell, “he don’t mean to come at all.” “I’ll take
it, sir,” said an Irishman, “a thousand times over.” “No,” was the
reply—“I meant I would take it.” The stakes would certainly have been
claimed by Spring, but no precise time was specified in the articles. It
was, as the lawyers say, a day in law—meaning “any time within the day:”
the time had not been mentioned in black and white. Nearly an hour had
elapsed, when several voices sung out from the stand, “Josh. Hudson!
Josh. Hudson! Langan wishes to see you.” The John Bull fighter bolted
towards the place like lightning, and in a few minutes afterwards shouts
rending the air proclaimed the approach of the Irish Champion. He did
not, like most other boxers, throw his castor up in the air, but in the
most modest way possible leaned over the ropes and laid it down. He
immediately went up and shook hands with Spring. The latter, with great
good nature, said, “I hope you are well, Langan.” “Very well, my boy;
and we’ll soon talk to each other in another way.” The men now stripped,
when Reynolds went up to Spring, and said, “I understand you have got a
belt on, and whalebone in it; if you persist in fighting in such belt, I
shall put one on Langan.” Spring replied (showing a belt such as are
worn by gentlemen when riding), “I have always fought in this, and shall
now.” “Then,” replied Reynolds (putting on a large belt, crossed in
various parts with a hard substance), “Langan shall fight in this.” “No,
he won’t,” said Cribb; “it is not a fair thing.” “Never mind,” urged
Spring, “I’ll take it off;” which he did immediately. Josh. Hudson and
Tom Reynolds were the seconds for Langan, and the Irish Champion
declared he was ready to go to work. The colours were tied to the
stakes; and, singular to state, black for Langan, which he took off his
neck and blue for Spring. “This is new,” said Josh.; “but nevertheless,
the emblem is correct as to milling (laughing); it is black and blue;
I’ll take one hundred to one, we shall see those colours upon their mugs
before it is over.” The time was kept by Lord Deerhurst, afterwards Earl
of Harrington, who was also Spring’s umpire, while Sir Harry Goodricke
was umpire for Langan; Colonel Berkeley acted as referee. Five to two,
and three to one on Spring.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—On stripping, the bust of Langan was much admired for its
anatomical beauty; his arms also were peculiarly fine and athletic;
and his nob looked like a fighting one. His legs were thin; his
knees very small, and his loins deficient as to strength. It was
evident he had been reduced too much in training. Langan did not
exceed twelve stone four pounds, and was nearly two inches shorter
than his opponent. Spring was in fine condition; cool and confident,
and a stone heavier than his adversary. On placing themselves in
attitude, the advantages were manifest on the side of the English
Champion. The combatants kept at a respectful distance from each
other; both on the look-out for an opening. Spring at length made a
hit, which Langan stopped with skill. The Champion slowly advanced,
and Langan kept retreating, till he was near the stake at the corner
of the ring. At this instant the position of Langan was not only
fine but formidable, and Spring did not view it with contempt. The
latter let fly right and left, and Langan’s left ogle received a
slight touch. Spring got away from a heavy body blow. A pause. An
exchange of blows, but no mischief done; Langan broke ground well.
Another pause. Langan again in the corner, smiling, in a position
armed at all points; Spring’s eye measuring his opponent, but
hesitating to go in. Langan endeavoured to plant a body blow with
his left hand, when Spring jumped away as light as a cork. Here
Langan put his thumb to his nose, by way of derision. The latter
stopped Langan’s left hand. “Fight away, Jack,” said Josh. Hudson,
“he can’t hurt nobody.” Some blows were exchanged sharply, when the
John Bull fighter, and Tom Reynolds, exclaimed, “First blood!” “No,”
replied Spring. “Yes,” urged Hudson, “it is on your lip.” A long
pause. Langan made a good stop with his right hand. Some hits passed
between the combatants, when they closed, and a severe struggle
ensued to obtain the throw; both down, but Langan uppermost. This
round occupied nine minutes. “This battle will not be over in half
an hour,” said a good judge.
2.—It was seen, in this early stage of the battle, that Langan would
require heavy work to take the fight out of him. Spring was very
cautious, and appeared as if determined not to receive any of
Paddy’s clumsy thumps. A long pause. Langan hit Spring with his left
hand on the body. The latter planted a tremendous facer on the top
of Langan’s nose, that produced the claret; but the Irishman shook
it off. Science displayed on both sides. After a long pause Spring
put down his hands. The English Champion appeared to have made up
his mind not to be hit, but to be liberal in the extreme—to give and
not to take. Langan again displayed skill in stopping. (At this
juncture the left wing of the temporary scaffold erected for the
accommodation of the spectators, gave way with a tremendous crash,
and upwards of one thousand persons, from the height of thirty feet,
were precipitated one upon the other in one confused mass. The
countenance of Spring, whose face was towards the accident,
underwent that sort of sensation which did honour to his feelings
and to his heart—he appeared sick with affliction at the
circumstance, put up his hands, indicating that his mind was
perplexed whether he should quit the ring or proceed with the
battle.) Langan received a heavy blow on his left eye; and both went
down in a close.
3.—Both cautious. Spring put down his hands. Langan tried his left
hand twice; but Spring jumped away. “Take care of your plum-pudding,
boy!” said Josh., “he’s coming.” In closing Langan went down.
4.—The slightest offer on the part of Langan to make a hit never
escaped the wary eye of Spring, and the latter got away with the
utmost dexterity and ease; Langan followed his opponent to the
ropes; but Spring stopped a heavy hit. In closing, at the corner of
the ropes, both went down, but Langan uppermost.
5.—This was a short round. The Irish Champion ran in, hit Spring,
and also bored him down. “You have got the great man down, at all
events,” said Josh.
6.—Langan’s left peeper was nearly closed; but, in struggling for
the throw, Spring went down heavily on his head.
7.—Twenty-five minutes had elapsed, and nothing like mischief to
either combatant had yet taken place. A long pause. Langan made two
good stops, when he run in, and by dint of strength got Spring on
the ropes; a severe struggle took place till both down. The
spectators were now getting close to the ropes; and the whips were
hard at work, to keep the space allotted to the boxers.
8.—Langan received a nobber without giving any return. Another
tedious pause. Spring, as lively as an eel, jumped backwards from a
hit. Pause the second. The attitudes of the men were considered
peculiarly fine at this instant. Langan appeared formidable. The
English Champion put in two facers left and right. Langan could not
reach the body of Spring effectually: the left hand of the latter
could not get home. In struggling for the throw Langan was
undermost.
9.—The science and patience displayed by Spring rendered him a truly
troublesome, nay, a very tiresome customer to Langan. The Irish
Champion threw Spring in good style.
10.—Spring waiting at his leisure for Langan to commence hitting.
Langan, however, was not to be gammoned to go in, without something
like a chance offering itself. Spring put in a slight nobber, which
produced an exchange of blows. A very long pause. Langan’s left hand
touched the body of his opponent. This was a tedious round. In
struggling at the ropes, both down, but Spring uppermost.
11.—Without the Irish Champion ran in he could not make a hit to a
certainty. Both down, Langan undermost.
12.—Spring got away from almost every blow aimed at him. In closing,
Spring was thrown heavily.
13.—Langan came to the scratch smiling, and said, “You see I am
always ready.” Spring jumped two yards back from a body blow. An
exchange of hits but no mischief. Spring was again thrown.
14.—In all the preceding rounds, though Langan had received several
nobbers, he was not in the slightest degree reduced as to courage.
On the contrary, he was as gay as a lark. Langan observed to Spring,
“My boy, I can fight for a week.” “Yes,” said Josh., “for a month,
if you get no heavier blows than you have received already. I’m sure
it is not safe to the Champion; his honours are shaking, if not upon
the go.” Langan was thrown.
15.—Langan’s nose was pinked a little, and his left eye swelled up.
In closing, both down.
16.—The length of Spring enabled him to make a hit without any
return. The caution manifested by the English Champion perfectly
satisfied the spectators that he meant to give, but not to take.
Langan, by strength alone, got his opponent down.
17.—After looking at each other for some time, Langan bored in. At
the ropes both were down, Spring undermost.
18.—This was a tedious round. Nothing done. Both down.
19.—“Go to work, Spring,” from several spectators. “All in good
time,” replied Tom. “Never fear,” said Langan, “I am ready for
anything,” An exchange of blows; but the combatants were out of
distance. Both down.
20.—Langan could not reach Spring effectively at the scratch; he
therefore bored in. At the ropes Spring tried the weaving system
till both were upon the ground.
21.—Langan threw Spring out of the ropes; and, with much jocularity
and good nature, observed, laying hold of Spring’s arm, “If I sent
you down, I have a right to pick you up!” (“Bravo! What a strange
fellow!”)
22.—Both down, Spring uppermost.
23.—Langan stopped several blows skilfully; but he was not tall
enough for his opponent. In closing, Spring went down heavily, and
Langan upon him.
24.—Spring put in a body hit. In closing, both down.
25.—Spring was undermost in the fall.
26.—This was a good round, in comparison with several of the
preceding sets-to. Langan again put out his strength, and Spring was
undermost on the ground.
27.—The Irish Champion ran his opponent completely down.
28.—One hour and fourteen minutes had elapsed, and the Irish
Champion still as good as gold. Langan took the lead rather in this
round. He planted a couple of hits, and also threw Spring.
29.—Langan, it was thought, had decidedly the best of this round
also. He hit Spring; and, in closing, a severe struggle took place;
but ultimately Langan threw Spring over the ropes. (“Bravo,
Langan.”)
30.—Of no consequence. Both down.
31.—In this round, Spring was thrown upon his head. (“How well the
Irishman throws,” was the remark.)
32.—In several of the preceding rounds Spring planted some facers;
but they were not heavy enough to take the pluck out of Langan.
(“How bad Spring fights to-day,” was the observation of an old
backer of the English Champion. This was not the fact; Spring
appeared to fight with more caution than usual; the blows of Langan
were to be avoided at all events, if the battle was to be made
perfectly safe to Spring. The truth was, that Langan’s right hand
was dangerous, and a well-directed blow, at a proper distance, on
the mark, or on the nob, might have reduced the science of Spring.)
Langan napped a facer; but Spring was undermost in the fall.
33.—The left hand of the Irish Champion told on his opponent’s body.
Several blows passed, and Langan put in a hit on the side of
Spring’s head. Both down, Langan undermost.
34.—Langan went sharply up to Spring, but he received a nobber and
went down.
35.—The Irish Champion, as fresh as a daisy, appeared at the
scratch. In closing at the ropes Spring endeavoured to fib his
opponent till both went down. The ring was in much confusion, and
the P. C. men had their work to do to keep it clear.
36.—If Spring did not please the multitude by his smashing
qualities, his backers expressed themselves well pleased with the
caution he displayed. Lots of blunt, as to long odds, had been
sported upon the English Champion; but his friends began to be
somewhat apprehensive that the strength and throwing of Langan,
might tire out Spring. Some exchanges, but both down.
37.—Langan hit Spring slightly. On the whole this might be termed a
fighting round. In closing, a desperate struggle took place; Spring
undermost.
38.—This was also an excellent fighting round. Langan laughed at
Spring, saying, “You have done nothing yet!” “All in good time,”
replied Spring, “I shall do it at last.” Langan planted two blows on
the side of Spring’s head; but the Irishman wanted length to do
severe mischief. Both fell, and Cribb, in the bustle, was also on
the ground.
39.—Spring gave his opponent a noser, when a few hits passed till
both went down.
40.—Langan received another nobber. Both down.
41.—This was a tedious round; neither combatant would go to work for
some time. In closing, Spring obtained the fall, and was uppermost.
42.—Langan kept trying his left hand, in order to punish Spring’s
body; but the latter got away so cleverly, that the blows of the
Irish Champion were not effective. Spring undermost in the throw.
43.—A desperate trial of strength on the part of Langan to obtain
the fall, which the Irish Champion ultimately accomplished, Spring
being undermost.
44.—Langan planted two body blows with his left hand. Langan was
thrown; and Spring fell upon his knees.
45.—Spring cautious; Langan full of spirits. (Most of the fighting
men exclaimed, “He is the best Irishman ever seen in the ring. He is
the gamest man alive!” Here Martin observed to a Corinthian, “What a
pity it is that the backers of Langan had no more judgment than to
place him in opposition to Spring.”) Spring had the best of this
round, and Langan was fibbed down at the ropes.
46.—Langan made a hit. An exchange of blows, but the Irish Champion
slipped and went down.
47.—The ring was getting worse every round. In closing, both down.
48.—The men had not room for their exertions. The spectators were
close upon the combatants, and the utmost disorder prevailed. In
closing, Langan threw Spring.
49.—Some severe struggling; the English Champion fibbing Langan till
he went down.
50.—The face of Spring did not exhibit any marks of punishment, but
the left hand of Langan had told now and then upon his body. The
English Champion appeared getting weak from the struggles, and from
several heavy falls. Both down.
51.—The rounds were now short—the crowd pressing upon the men at
every step they took. Spring received a heavy hit on the side of his
head. In closing, both went down.
52.—Close quarters. An exchange of blows; both again down.
53.—Langan hit Spring, and also got him down.
54.—The English Champion had no room now to jump away from his
antagonist. Spring, in closing, fibbed Langan down.
55.—Struggling for the throw, but Langan undermost.
56.—The outer roped ring had been for the last hour in the greatest
disorder. The constables’ long poles were useless; the whips of the
fighting men were of no avail; and the mob was now close up to the
ring. Spring put in the most hits on the nob of his opponent; but
the strength of Langan in getting Spring down surprised every one
present. Both down.
57.—Spring received a fall, and Langan upon him.
58.—So much disorder now prevailed, that it was difficult for those
persons who were placed only at a few yards’ distance from the ring
to see the fight. Langan on the ground, and undermost.
59.—Spring had not room to display his science, but he endeavoured
to hit Langan as the latter rushed in. Spring had the worst of the
throw.
60.—Cribb, at this instant, was so pressed upon by the crowd, that,
in a violent rage, he declared he would give a floorer to any person
who stood in his way. “Here’s a pretty go!” said Tom, “a set of
fellows with books and pencils in their hands, pretending to be
reporters. A parcel of impostors! I don’t care; I’ll hit anybody.”
One of the umpires, a noble lord, was hit with a shillelah by a
rough Patlander, who was attempting to get a little space for
Langan, and when informed that he was behaving rude to a nobleman,
“Devil may care,” says Pat; “all I want is fair play for Jack
Langan. There’s no difference here: lords are no better than
commoners. Faith! I can’t distinguish them one from another, at all,
at all!” Langan ran in and gave Spring a blow on the head: but, in
struggling for the throw, the Irish Champion was undermost.
61.—When time was called, “Here we are,” said Langan. Spring had
only time to make a hit, when Langan bored in; but Spring again had
the best of the throw, Langan being undermost.
62.—Nothing. Langan bored Spring down.
63.—Spring had decidedly the best of this round. He made several
hits; and Langan received an ugly throw.
64.—“Go to work, Erin-go-bragh! Spring has no hits left in him. You
must win it,” said Josh. Langan followed this advice, and some sharp
work was the result. Spring could not retreat. Fighting till both
down.
65.—(“Go in, Jack,” said Josh., “as you did the last time, and you
will soon spoil his fine science.” Langan rushed in, but Spring
avoided his blow. In closing, the struggle to obtain the throw was
violent in the extreme, but Langan got it; Spring came down on his
back, and Langan on him, and the breath of the Champion was nearly
shaken out of his body. Spring was picked up by Cribb in a weak
state, and looked extremely pale. Here two or three persons hallooed
out six to four on Langan, but the confusion was so great that no
bets could be made.)
66.—In this round the English Champion put in a tremendous nobber,
and also fibbed Langan down. (“That’s a settler,” said a bystander.
“Indeed it is not,” replied a Paddy, “Spring will not settle his
account this time.” (Laughing.) “Where’s Jack Randall?” says Josh.;
“here’s a countryman for you! Spring’s tired of it. He can’t hit a
dent in a pound of butter.” “Well done, Josh.,” said Spring,
smiling, “chaff away. I’ll give you all you can do, except winning.”
“We can’t lose it,” replied the John Bull fighter.)
67.—Spring was still cautious: he would not give a chance away. Both
down.
68.—Langan’s left hand told on Spring’s body; but the Irish Champion
received a nobber for it. Langan seemed determined to have Spring
down, at all events. The struggle for the throw was severely
contested; Langan got Spring undermost.
69.—Short; a hit or two passed, when both were down.
70.—Langan’s face looked the worse for the battle, but his eye
retained all its fire and animation; the other peeper had been
nearly darkened for an hour and a half. “I am sure,” said Josh.,
“that Langan has made a contract with Spring for seven years; this
is a fine specimen of one of his fighting days.” Both men were
getting weak, but Langan always got up when time was called, saying,
“I am ready!” In the throw, Langan was undermost.
71.—The ring was now in confusion; yet some of the sharpest rounds
were fought. Spring received another fall, and was undermost.
72.—The general opinion in the twenty-four foot ring (which was
nothing else but a crowd), appeared to be, that Spring would win;
nevertheless the countenances of Spring’s backers indicated it was
not quite safe. Spring had no room to get away. Colonel Berkeley,
the referee, said, “I am so disgusted with the treatment I have
experienced, that I will give up the watch. Here is no ring. It is
impossible to stand still a second, without being assailed with a
cut from a whip, or a blow from a stick, and no good done either.”
In no fight whatever was there such a scene of confusion in the
space allotted for the men to fight. In closing, both down. During
the time Spring was on Painter’s knee, Sampson, Oliver and Israel
Belasco, were giving advice. “Hallo!” said Josh., “do you call this
fair play? How many seconds is Spring to have?” and, snatching a
whip out of a bystander’s hand, endeavoured to whip out the ring,
followed by Oliver. “Only give us a chance,” cried Josh., “and we
can’t lose it.” Nothing foul appeared to be attempted on the part of
Spring or on the side of Langan. The constables were mixed in the
mob, struggling for breath; the fighting men hoarse with calling
out, “Clear the ring,” and dead beat from the exertions they had
made. Nothing less than a company of Horse Guards could have made
out a ring at this period, so closely jammed were the spectators.
73.—The courage, confidence, and good spirits displayed by Langan,
excited the admiration of every beholder. He was too short in the
arm for Spring: he could not reach his head without rushing in to
mill. Langan left his second’s knee rather weak; in closing, he was
fibbed severely by Spring, who was well assured he had not a minute
to lose. The English Champion was cool, felt his situation, and his
knowledge and experience in the prize ring gave him the advantage
when the nicety of the thing was required.
74.—On Langan placing himself in attitude, “Go and fight,” said
Cribb to Spring; when the Champion went to work without delay, and
Langan received a heavy blow in the middle of his head, and went
down. (“Twenty to one,” said a swell, “he’ll not come again.”)
75.—The Irish Champion appeared the worse for the last round, and,
on his appearing at the scratch, Spring commenced the attack, when
Langan returned with great spirit; but Spring had decidedly the
best, and Langan was fibbed down, his face covered with claret.
(“Take the brave fellow away.” “I will not be taken away—who dare
say so?” exclaimed Langan.)
76.—Spring was now determined to lose no time, and again went to
work; but Langan showed fight, and struggled to obtain the throw:
both down. (“Take him away!” Langan’s head rested on his second’s
shoulder till time was called. The Springites roared out—“It’s as
right as the day. Ten pounds to a crown the battle is over in five
minutes.”)
77th and last.—Langan came up quite groggy, but full of pluck.
Spring now administered heavy punishment with both hands and Langan
fell quite exhausted. Reynolds had great difficulty in getting him
from the ground; he was in a state of stupor, and his eye closed.
Several gentlemen said, “Do not let the brave fellow fight any more;
Reynolds, take him away; it is impossible he can meet Spring any
more.” When time was called, Langan was insensible—and Josh. Hudson
gave in for him. Half a minute after, Langan opened his eyes, still
sitting on the knee of his second. When he was told that the fight
was over, he said, “His second had no right to give in for him. He
could fight forty more rounds.” “Don’t leave the ring, Spring,”
several persons cried out. Cribb told Langan, “The battle was over;”
and Painter observed, “Don’t let so good a man be killed; he does
not know what he is talking about!” The umpire was asked for his
decision, and he said, “Langan did not come when time was called;
therefore he had lost the battle, according to the rules of
pugilism.” Upon this answer, and decision of the umpire, Spring left
the ring, amidst the shouts of the populace, Langan roaring out, “I
am not beaten—clear out the ring—I can fight for four hours.” In the
course of a few minutes, he left the ring, and, as he approached the
Grand Stand, he was received with applause, and jumped over some
ropes in his way with agility. The battle lasted two hours and
twenty-nine minutes.
REMARKS.[3]—In consequence of the breaking in of the ring, the
struggles, and repeated falls of the men, it is impossible for any
reporter to be strictly accurate as to the precise rounds fought.
The battle would have terminated much sooner could Spring have used
his left hand effectively, but after the eighth round he could only
use it defensively, having injured his knuckles by bringing them in
violent contact with Langan’s nut. He has, however, proved himself
one of the safest boxers over known, and as Dusty Bob observes,
“never gives a chance avay. Another circumstance that retarded the
final issue was the destruction of the inner ring; the combatants
were so closely surrounded that they had no room for action, which
was greatly to the disadvantage of Spring, whose fine science was
set at nought in such close quarters. Langan has proved himself a
perfect glutton, and the best big Irishman that ever appeared in the
P.R. He has hitherto been unknown to the London Ring, and the wonder
is, how such a novice could make so long a stand against the best
man in it, and his superior in weight by nearly half a stone.” The
remarks conclude with some observations upon the persons who had
erected stands for the spectators, which, although the charges were
exorbitant, were so insecure as to cause serious injuries to many of
their customers. Not less than twenty persons were seriously
injured, many having broken bones, while an equal number were more
or less bruised. After deducting sufficient to pay the ring-keepers,
out of the money collected for admission to the ring, there remained
£200, which was divided equally between Spring and Langan. At the
conclusion of the fight, Cribb said to Langan, “You are a brave man
indeed.” “I never saw a better,” replied Painter. Even betting
occurred several times in the fight for small sums; and six to four
was offered on Langan in light bets, after the fight had lasted two
hours.
A voluminous paper war followed this fight, stimulated by “the
historian,” who at this period edited a weekly, called _Pierce Egan’s
Life in London_. The “milling correspondence,” as it was termed, became
as verbose and inconsequential as diplomatic circular notes or the
“protocols” on the Schleswig-Holstein question. Langan, Spring, Tom
Reynolds, Josh. Hudson, and Cribb, by their amanuenses, or
self-appointed secretaries, figured in print in what they would have
called in their vernacular, the “’fending and proving” line; but the
great gun was Tom Reynolds, primed and charged by Pierce himself. The
very reading of his letters, and weary reading they are, reminds us of
the Bastard Falconbridge’s description of the magniloquent citizen of
Angiers:—
“He speaks plain cannon, fire, and smoke, and bounce;
He gives the bastinado with his tongue;
Our ears are cudgelled; not a word of his
But buffets better than a fist of France.
Zounds! I was never so bethump’d with words
Since I first called my brother’s father ‘dad.’”
Reynolds proved too much in these letters (several of which serve to
“pad” out the bulk of “Boxiana”) by charging conduct upon men whose
whole life gave the lie to such imputations.
On the 19th of February, 1824, Langan had a bumper benefit at the Tennis
Court, and, at its close, thus addressed the audience:—“Gentlemen, I
thank you for the honour you have conferred upon me, and I beg to assure
you, on the honour of an Irishman (placing his hand on his breast), if I
have the good fortune again to enter the ring, that no effort shall be
wanting on my part to make it a more pleasant and agreeable ‘mill’ than
the last in which I was engaged. Gentlemen, I am ready to fight any man
who calls himself Champion of England, for any sum, from three hundred
to a thousand, upon a boarded stage, like this, in the same way as Cribb
fought Molineaux.”
This challenge produced the following epistle from Spring to the Editor
of _Pierce Egan’s Life in London_:—
“SIR,
“Your paper, and others of the public journals, have of late teemed
with idle correspondence on the subject of my fight with Langan. Of
Langan I have nothing to say, but that I consider him a brave fellow
in the ring, and a good fellow out of it; but in order to put an end
to all further chaffing, and to bring our matters to a clear
understanding, I have only this to observe: Langan, at his own
benefit, publicly stated that “he was ready to fight any man who
called himself Champion of England, on a stage, for from £300 to
£1,000.” Now, I have been pronounced the character he describes, and
I am ready to fight Langan, or any other man, for £500, in a roped
ring on the turf, or for £1,000 in any way that himself or his
friends may think proper to suggest—on an iron pavement if they
choose. This is my final answer to all challenges; and I shall be at
the Fives’ Court to-morrow, at Turner’s benefit, and come to the
scratch if called.
“I am, sir, yours most respectfully,
“THOMAS W. SPRING.
“_February 24, 1824._”
This was followed by a letter (bearing internal marks of proceeding from
the pen of Tom Reynolds) magniloquently entitled—
“THE IRISH CHAMPION’S DECLARATION TO THE SPORTING WORLD.
“GENTLEMEN,
“Mr. Spring, in his letter, speaks of his wish to avoid ‘chaffing,
and bring matters to a right understanding’ between him and me. To
show you, therefore, the chaffing is not on my side, and that I am
really anxious to have matters clearly understood, I beg leave to
submit the following facts to your judgment:—
“When I challenged him in Manchester, for £100 a-side, he pretended
to treat my offer with contempt (though he had never, but in one
instance, fought for more), and named £500 as the least stake, a sum
three times greater than any for which he had contended. But though
he was afterwards shamed into agreeing for £300 a-side, yet he
calculated on my inability to raise so much; and, to prevent my
doing so, he and his friends, besides throwing other obstacles in my
way, contrived to induce the gentleman who agreed to put down the
whole sum for me to withdraw his patronage, so that it was with the
utmost difficulty I raised the battle-money.
“As to the battle, it is needless to repeat that I have good reasons
to complain of the treatment I experienced. Every unprejudiced
witness will bear me out in this, and my friends are so satisfied
with my conduct, that they are ready to back me against Spring for
£500, on a stage, which they think the only way of guarding against
a repetition of unfair treatment. But when Spring finds me thus
supported, he raises his demand to £1,000, on the ground that I
challenged him to fight for any sum from £300 to £1,000. My words
were, that I would fight him for from £300 to £500, or for £1,000,
if I were backed, and I do not deny them; for if I had £100,000 I
would confidently stake it. But £500 is a sum between £300 and
£1,000; and if I could get backed for £1,000, I should rejoice at
it, as it would at once do away with this excuse of Spring. I think,
however, that it will not tell much for his credit, if he continues
to reject the £500, which I can command, and £50 of which I am ready
to lay down at Belcher’s, to make the match, any time he thinks
proper. I believe nine out of ten in the sporting world will agree
that Spring cannot honourably refuse this proposal, were it only to
meet the complaint of foul play, which I am justified in making with
regard to the former battle.
“But he also pledged himself, when he received the championship, to
imitate the donor’s conduct. Then why not redeem his pledge, or
resign the gift?
“He says that he does not wish to enter the ring again. This is mere
shuffling. He ought not to hold a situation for which he has no
taste: he cannot, in justice, have the honour without the danger. If
he will not fight, then let him resign the championship to one that
will—to a man who will not want to make a sinecure of the title, and
will always be ready to fight for a stake of £500.
“Permit me again to repeat that I am ready to make a match to fight
Spring for £500 a-side, within a hundred miles of London, on a
stage[4] similar to the one on which Cribb and Molineaux fought.
Sparring exhibitions I cannot attend till I set-to for my friend
Reynolds, on the 17th of March.
“I am, gentlemen, your very obedient servant,
“JOHN LANGAN.
“_Castle Tavern, Holborn, February 26._”
This letter produced its desired effect, for next week Spring thus
addressed the several sporting editors:—
“SIR,
“I can bear the bullying of this Langan no longer, but will, by the
consent of my friends, meet him upon the terms demanded in his last
letter. I will be at Cribb’s on Tuesday evening next, at eight
o’clock, to stake £100, and settle the business at once.
“I am, sir, yours, etc.,
“T. W. SPRING.
“_84, High Street, Marylebone._”
Langan accepted Spring’s invitation, and honest Tom Cribb’s crib, on
Tuesday, February 24, 1824, at a very early period of the evening was
crowded, not a seat to be had for begging or praying, for love or money.
The house was not one-third big enough, and hundreds of persons went
away angry and disappointed. Tom Belcher first made his appearance,
followed by Langan, in a military cloak; the rear was brought up by the
president of the Daffy Club. The street door was immediately closed, to
prevent an improper rush, and a sentinel was placed at the door of the
stairs. The Irish Champion seated himself in the first floor, and drank
Spring’s health in a glass of wine, the company, in return, drinking the
health of Langan. Spring, on being informed Langan had arrived, sent
word to the Irish Champion that he was ready. Cribb, who was very lame,
hobbled up stairs to meet his old opponent, and to “argufy the topic” in
a parliamentary style, across the table. Belcher then produced a draft
of the articles which, he said, Langan was prepared to sign. These
articles were as follows:—
“_Memorandum, of an Agreement entered into between Thomas Winter
Spring and John Langan at Thomas Cribb’s, Panton Street, on the 2nd
of March, 1824._
“It is hereby agreed between Thomas Winter Spring and John Langan to
fight, on a twenty-four feet stage, on Tuesday, the 8th of June,
1824, for £500 a-side, to be a fair stand-up fight, half-minute
time; umpires to be chosen by each party, and a referee to be chosen
on the ground by the umpires. The fight to take place within one
hundred miles of London, and the place to be named by Mr. Jackson.
The men to be in the ring between twelve and one o’clock, unless
prevented by magisterial interference. Fifty pounds of the money are
now deposited in the hands of the stakeholder, Mr. ——; £50 more to
be deposited, on the 17th of March, at Mr. John Randall’s,
Hole-in-the-Wall, Chancery Lane; £200 to be deposited at Mr. Thomas
Cribb’s, on the 1st of May; and the remainder of the £500 to be made
good at Mr. Thomas Belcher’s, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, on the
1st of June; and in case of failure on either side, the money
deposited to be forfeited.
“The stage to be boarded with deal planks, at least three inches
thick, and to be six feet from the ground, without turf. The
bottle-holders and seconds to retire to the corners of the ring when
the men shall have set-to, and not to approach the combatants till
one or both of them shall be down.
“The expenses of the stage to be equally borne by each of the men.”
To these conditions Spring took exceptions; first, expressing his desire
that the present deposit should be £100 instead of £50; this objection,
after a few remarks, he waived. He then objected to the day named for
the fight to take place, proposing the 25th of May instead of the 8th of
June; and, lastly, he insisted that the second £50 should be deposited
on the 13th of March, instead of the 17th, upon the ground that the 17th
had been appointed for Reynold’s benefit, and he did not wish to lend
himself to this additional attraction to the public. A good deal of
discussion followed, but, finally, there was mutual concession, Spring
agreeing to fight on the 8th of June, and Langan agreeing to make his
second deposit on the 13th instead of the 17th of March. All
difficulties thus cleared away, there were one or two verbal alterations
made in the articles; and a paragraph was added, by which it was agreed,
“that when the whole of the money was made good, it should be deposited
in the hands of Mr. Jackson.”
Spring, in alluding to the expense of erecting the stage, said he
thought it but fair, as this was Langan’s fancy, that he should bear the
whole expense. To which Langan replied, “See, now, Tom; say nothing
about that, for if I win, and I think I will, I’ll bear the whole
expense of the stage myself. (Loud cheers.) But that’s neither here nor
there; I hope the best man will win; and though we are going to fight,
it’s myself that would go a hundred miles to serve you, for I have no
antipathy or ill-blood towards you whatever.”
The president of the Daffy Club was then appointed stakeholder. The
articles having been signed and witnessed, and everything relative to
the pugilistic tourney having been settled comfortably on both sides,
Langan and his friends made their bows, and returned to finish the
evening at Belcher’s (the Castle).
Spring and Langan, according to the articles, met on Saturday evening,
the 13th of March, at Randall’s, and made £100 a-side good towards the
completion of the stakes of 1,000 sovereigns. They met like good
fellows, brave men, and personal friends. In the course of the evening
Langan proposed the health of Spring. He also rebuked several of his
partisans, who frequently shouted out, “Well done, Langan!” “Bravo,
Jack!” etc. “I hate these sort of remarks,” said the Irish Champion;
“they are calculated to make ill-blood and provoke animosity, which it
is my most sincere wish to prevent, if possible. All I want is, that we
may meet as friends, and have a comfortable, pleasant mill on the 8th of
June!” Sixty to forty was offered by a gentleman from Yorkshire upon
Spring. “I will bet £70 to £40,” said the latter. “I’ll take it, Tom,”
replied Langan; and before they separated, Spring betted with Langan
£580 to £168, that he should win the battle. The evening was spent with
the utmost good humour by all parties.
Spring’s benefit at the Fives Court on Tuesday, June 1, 1824, not only
produced a bumper, but the body of the Court was crowded, the gallery
overloaded even to danger; the little room, “the swells’ retreat,” once
secure from the vulgar eye and intrusion of commoners, was now full of
all sorts, and Earls, Right Honourables, Honourables, and M.P.’s, were
squeezed together, without complaint, quite satisfied with obtaining
only now and then a glimpse of the stage. In fact, numbers of persons
could not be admitted, and the doors were closed to prevent accidents
from the pressure of the multitude. Spring addressed the populace in the
street from one of the windows in the Fives Court.
In the evening a dinner was held at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, at which
fifty-two gentlemen were present. The chair was taken by Mr. Rayner
(well known for his excellent performances of Tyke, Giles, Fixture,
etc.), and the deputy-chair ably filled by the President of the Daffy
Club. When “time” was called, Spring, supported by his backer and Cribb,
appeared and posted the money. Loud approbation was expressed when it
was announced that £1,000 were deposited in the hands of the
stakeholder. Langan was present for a short time. The dinner was
excellent, and the wines pronounced of the first quality. Four to one
was betted on Spring!
The second great match was fixed for Tuesday, June 8, 1824, and Warwick,
in the first instance, was the place decided upon, but Chichester was
the “latest intelligence.” Some hundreds were “thrown out” by the
change. Nevertheless, the capital of Sussex was overflowing with company
so soon as it was known to be the right scent. Spring arrived at the
Swan Hotel in the course of Monday, in company with his backer, Mr.
Sant; they were received with loud cheers. Colonel O’Neil, Langan, Tom
Belcher, and company, arrived nearly at the same time at the Dolphin
Hotel, and were equally well received.
The cause of the change was, Mr. Hewlings, of the Swan Inn, Chichester,
having undertaken to give the men £200, and having intimated that there
would be no interruption. The spot chosen for the trial of strength was
admirably adapted for the purpose; it was a field about three miles from
the city, one side of which was bordered by the Canal, and it was only
approachable by means of a drawbridge, over which all must necessarily
pass to the ring side, and at which a toll was imposed on all comers.
The bridge was called Birdham Bridge. The moment the farmers in the
neighbourhood were informed of the gratification which awaited them,
they volunteered their wagons to form the outer ring, an offer which was
at once accepted by Mr. Hewlings, who appears to have taken the whole
management on himself, and in the course of Monday, the day prior to the
fight, no less than fifty-three large wagons were arranged in a circle
round the spot on which, in the course of the day, the stage was
erected. This stage was six feet from the ground, and was planked with
three-inch deal. Round it were fixed strong posts, to which three rows
of stout rails were fastened; these and the posts were rounded, so as to
diminish as much as possible any injury to the combatants. During Monday
afternoon Chichester presented an extraordinary appearance, and was as
crowded as one is accustomed to see it during the Goodwood meeting, and
all day the windows were filled with anxious spectators on the look-out
for a peep at the combatants.
In London, as soon as it was generally known that Chichester was the
centre of attraction, there was a simultaneous move to secure places in
the coaches going either to that city, or to Brighton or Portsmouth.
Many persons, unable to obtain places, and equally unable to afford
posters, had to betake themselves to their ten toes, so determined were
they not to miss the treat. As the evening advanced, the curiosity of
the Chichester folks was more or less gratified by the arrival of Cribb,
Oliver, Jack Martin, Dick Curtis, Ben Burn, Randall, Painter, Jack
Scroggins, and a long list of pugilists of note. Post-chaises and
carriages and four poured rapidly into the town: every inn was soon
crowded to an overflow, and soon every corner was filled. Spring and his
friends arrived at the Swan Inn about half past seven o’clock, and were
received with loud cheers. He was in excellent health and spirits, and
seemed delighted at his cordial reception. Langan was not long after
him, and took up his quarters at the Dolphin. He, like Spring, was
warmly cheered. He was in high spirits, laughed heartily, and appeared
to be in excellent condition. Some doubts having been expressed by the
friends of Langan as to the good faith of Mr. Hewlings, who had promised
the men £200 to fight near Chichester, that gentleman at once posted
half the money in responsible hands, to be paid to the loser, and it was
agreed that the winner should receive his £100 as soon as the contest
was over. In the course of the evening a little money was invested at
three to one on Spring.
On the morning of fighting the bustle was redoubled in Chichester, and
the excitement appeared to extend to Bognor, Portsmouth, and other
places in the neighbourhood. Both men rose in excellent spirits, and
thoroughly up to the mark. Spring’s weight was about thirteen stone four
pounds, while Langan was at least a stone under that amount, and by many
it was considered he had drawn it too fine. About eleven o’clock a move
commenced towards the ground, and on the arrival of the public at the
before-named bridge, it was found that some of the milling gentry had
planted themselves at the entrance, where they extorted sums varying
from 2_s._ 6_d._ to 5_s._ from every one who passed, thus forestalling
Mr. Hewlings, who had hired the field and erected the stage at his own
expense, depending on the toll at the bridge for his reimbursement. Of
course much indignation was excited by this conduct, but on the arrival
of Mr. Jackson everything was set right, and a settlement made with Mr.
Hewlings.
At length, everything being arranged, Mr. Jackson, who acted as
Commander-in-Chief, directed that the men should be brought forward.
A few minutes before one o’clock, Spring, arm-in-arm with his backer and
a baronet, made his way through the crowd towards the stage, and was
received with loud huzzas, Cribb and Painter close behind him. Spring
threw up his hat, which alighted upon the stage, then ascended the
ladder and jumped over the rails.
While Spring was taking off his boots, Cribb and Ned Painter put on
knee-caps, made of chamois leather and stuffed with wool. It having been
circulated in Ireland that Painter used his knee against Langan when he
was on the ground, in the fight at Worcester, a sergeant-major in a
marching regiment, quartered at Norwich, and occasionally visiting the
house of Painter, observed, “By J——s, Mr. Painter, I’ll take care you do
not hurt Langan this time with your knees: I’ll have a couple of
knee-caps made for you both, and if you mean to give Jack fair play, I
insist that you wear them during the battle.” The sergeant had them made
according to his own order, and as Painter and Cribb always were lovers
of fair play, both these pugilists, with the utmost good humour, placed
the caps, tied with a narrow blue ribbon, round their knees.
Langan shortly followed, under the patronage of Colonel O’Neil. Belcher,
Harmer, and O’Neil (not “Ned,” of Streatham), his bottle-holder, were in
attendance. The Irish champion ascended the stage, and in a modest
manner dropped his hat within the rails. He was prepared for action; but
the Champion not being ready, he walked up and down the boards with the
utmost composure.
A black silk handkerchief was placed loosely round Langan’s neck, which,
we understand, was tied by the delicate hands of the lady of a gallant
Irish Colonel O’B——, before he left the inn, at which the lady stopped
in her journey to the Isle of Wight. Mrs. O’B—— offered him a green
handkerchief, as a token of his country; but Langan politely refused,
saying, “I am not of importance enough to make it a national affair: I
do not wish it, indeed, madam; it is merely to decide which is the best
man; therefore, if you please, I prefer a black one, having fought under
that colour.” Mrs. O’B——, on tying it round his neck, romantically
exclaimed, “You are Irish: colour is immaterial to a brave man: glory is
your only object. Go, then, and conquer!” Langan returned thanks very
politely for the attention paid to him, and the good wishes of the lady.
Everything being ready, the colours, dark blue with bird’s eye for
Spring, black for Langan, were tied to the stage, and Mr. Jackson
arranged the spectators round the ring in an orderly and comfortable
manner. Betting two to one, and five to two, at the beginning of
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Spring never looked so big, nor so well, in any of his
previous contests; he appeared perfectly at his ease: coolness sat
upon his brow, and his deportment altogether was a fine
personification of confidence; indeed, it was observed by a noble
lord, “There is something about the person of the Champion, if not
truly noble, yet manly and elegant.” Langan also looked well; his
face exhibited a tinge of the sun, and his frame was robust and
hardy; his loins appeared smaller than in his former contest. His
countenance was as pleasant as his opponent’s, and his eyes sparkled
with fire and animation. Previous to setting-to, Langan went up to
Spring, opening his drawers, and observed, “See, Tom, I have no belt
about me,” the Champion immediately followed his example, and said
(also opening his drawers), “Nor I neither, Jack!” This circumstance
elicited great applause from all parts of the ring. “Well done,
Langan; bravo, Spring!” Spring now shook his brave opponent by the
hand. Cribb laid hold of Tom Belcher’s fist, and Ned Painter shook
the bunch of fives of big Paddy O’Neil (shortly afterwards beaten by
“my nevvy,” Jem Burn.[5]) The men placed themselves in attitude. The
glorious moment had arrived, and the seconds, in compliance with the
articles, retired to the corners of the stage. This time Langan
stood up within the reach of his adversary, and it was pleasing to
witness the activity displayed by the combatants moving over the
stage to obtain the first hit. A stand still, steadfastly looking at
the eyes of each other; at length Langan made an offer, which Spring
stopped well. The Champion made a hit, which told slightly on
Langan’s nob; the latter fought his way into a close, in which
Spring endeavoured to fib his antagonist. Here the struggle began
for the throw—it was desperate; the art of wrestling was not
resorted to by either of the boxers, and main strength was the
trial. Langan broke from the arms of Spring, and a stand still was
the result. Langan observed, “First blood, Tom;” which slightly
appeared at the corner of Spring’s mouth. The Irish Champion made a
good stop, but was blowing a little. Spring planted another facer,
when Langan fought his way into a close: a desperate struggle
ensued: fibbing was again attempted, when Langan went down on his
knees. Spring patted the Irish Champion on the back with the utmost
good humour, as much as to say, “You are a brave fellow,” (A
thundering report of approbation, and “Well done, Spring!”) Four
minutes and a few seconds. The referee, on being asked who drew the
first blood, replied, “He did not see any on Spring; but he saw a
little on the left cheek of Langan, just under his eye.”
2.—Langan made play; but Spring, with the nimbleness of a harlequin
showed the utility of a quick step. The Irish Champion made a rush,
when they were again entangled for a short time, until Langan broke
away. A pause: breath wanted: and consideration necessary. Langan
gave Spring a facer with his right hand, and tried to repeat the
dose; another quick movement prevented it, Spring smiling. A little
bit of in-fighting: a desperate struggle for the throw: downright
strength, when Spring went down, Langan falling heavily upon him.
(“Bravo, Langan!”)
3.—The attitudes of the combatants were interesting, and both
extremely cautious. Spring got away from one intended for his nob.
The science displayed on both sides was so excellent in stopping,
that in the ecstasy of the moment the Commander-in-Chief[6] loudly
exclaimed, “Beautiful.” Another skilful stop by Spring; and one by
Langan, “Well done: good on both sides,” observed Mr. Jackson.
Langan planted a hit. A pause. (“Fight, Langan,” from Belcher, “you
have all the best of it.”) Spring drove Langan to the corner, but
the hero of the black fogle got out of danger in style. He made also
an excellent stop while on the retreat: Langan made himself up to do
mischief, and Spring received loud applause for stopping a
tremendous hit. The Champion also bobbed his nob aside, in the Dutch
Sam style, from what might have been a floorer. The Champion again
broke ground, and bobbed cleverly away from the coming blow. Spring
now took the lead famously. He planted a facer without any return;
repeated the dose, and administered a third pill. Langan again got
out of the corner, by fighting up like a trump. A short stand still.
Heavy counter hits. A pause: Spring made another facer; a stand
still. The Champion stopped well, and also drove Langan into the
corner, but the hero of the black wipe would not be detained; he
fought his way out manfully, and, in closing, though the struggle
was terrible, Spring obtained the throw. (Loud applause.) This round
occupied nearly seven minutes. The left hand of Spring was already
going, if not gone.
4.—The “good bit of stuff from ould Ireland” endeavoured to take the
lead, and had the best of this round; he fought first. He planted
one or two hits, and not light ones either, and would have kept it
up, but Spring said “it wouldn’t do,” and stopped him. In fact, this
was a well-contested round on both sides; and Langan, after a
terrible try for it, got Spring down. (Applause.)
5.—The left ear of Langan was much swelled; he was also piping. The
superior science of String enabled him to get away from a number of
heavy blows. Langan followed his opponent, trying to do something.
Two counter-hits, which reminded both the men they were milling; the
claret ran from Spring’s nose. Spring planted a facer; and after a
determined struggle on both sides, as Langan was going down, the
Champion cleverly caught him a hard blow on the nose. (“That’s the
way, Spring; you’ll soon win it.”)
6.—A stand-still for a short time—Spring always taking his time to
do his work. Counter-hits that were a little too much for the
combatants. Langan began to shift: indeed, Spring had drawn his
claret liberally. Both down, Spring uppermost.
7.—This was a bustling round. Langan stopped well. Counter-hits, and
good ones. The stopping on both sides was excellent, and obtained
loud applause, “Be ready, my boy,” said Belcher, “fight first; he
can’t hurt you!”—“Walker,” replied Tom Cribb; “gammon him to that if
you can.” Langan followed the advice of his able second, put a
tremendous hit under Spring’s left ogle, and tried to repeat it, but
it was “no go.” A pause. Spring planted a facer; Langan got away
from another intended for him. The left hand of Spring told well on
his opponent’s body: he also planted three facers without any
return. Counter-hits, of no consequence to any but the receivers;
the hero of the black fogle touched Spring’s body with his left
hand. A stand still. “Keep up your head, Langan.” Spring followed
his opponent, administering pepper, and Langan’s face clareted.
Langan endeavoured to put in a heavy blow, but the harlequin step of
Spring prevented it. Langan napped two or three hits in succession;
in fact, he was quite groggy; nevertheless he fought like a man, was
mischievous, and gave Spring a nobber. In closing, Spring could not
throw him, when they separated; in closing again, after another
struggle, Langan received a topper as he was staggering and going
down.—(Great applause. It won’t last long—five to two, and three to
one, Spring will win it in a few rounds the backers of the Champion
were smiling, and said, “It is all right.”)
8.—Belcher got his man up very heavily, but on his being placed at
the scratch, he showed fight and got away from a hit. However,
Spring had decidedly the best of the round, and Langan was thrown.
Twenty-six minutes.
9.—This was also a short round, but against the Irish Champion.
Spring planted two or three nobbers, and also got his opponent down.
10.—It was evident to every one that Langan up to this time had had
the worst of it, and the general opinion was, that he must lose the
battle. Spring planted two successive blows, without any return.
Langan was getting better, and made an exchange of blows with some
effect. Belcher again cried out, “Fight, Jack.” In struggling for
the throw, Paddy O’Neil sung out, “Give him a back fall, Jack, but
don’t hurt him;” and, sure enough, Mr. Spring did receive a back
fall.
11.—Langan was now fast recovering his second wind and went to work.
An exchange of blows; a pause. Langan planted a slight body hit with
his left hand. Counter-hits. Langan down, Spring on him.
12.—In the struggle for the throw, Spring was undermost. (“Bravo,
Langan!”) The head of the Champion had an ugly knock against the
lower rail of the stage.
13.—Spring proved himself a most difficult boxer to get at; however,
Langan got in a body blow. In closing, both down, Spring uppermost.
14.—Spring getting weak, Langan improving: so said the most
experienced judge of boxing belonging to the P. C. Indeed, it is
accounted for without difficulty; as a superior fighter Spring ought
not to have wrestled so much with his opponent. The strongest man in
the world must have felt weakness had he been engaged in such
violent pulling, hauling, grappling, and catching hold of each
other’s hands. This round was little more than a struggle for the
throw; Langan undermost.
15.—It was now known to all the ring that the left hand of Spring
was gone; indeed; it was swelled and puffed like a blister. Langan
planted a left-handed blow, but Spring stopped his right. In
closing, the struggle was great, and, as Langan was going down,
Spring hit his nob. (“Foul, foul!” It was unintentional on the part
of Spring; he was in the act of hitting, and therefore, it could not
be decided wrong.)[7]
16.—Under all circumstances, Langan was a troublesome customer. The
remarks made by some persons were, that he did not fight well,
though they were compelled to allow that he was an extraordinary
game man. The counter-hits in this round were again well placed; but
it was regretted, by several sporting men, to see such numerous
struggles. Yet, to their credit be it spoken, neither of the men
wished to go down unhandsomely, which accounts for so much
wrestling. Both went down together; Langan patted the back of Spring
with the utmost good humour, both smiling.
17.—The fine science of Spring was again exhibited in skilfully
stopping his opponent; but, in closing, he received a dangerous
cross-buttock, which shook him terribly, and his legs rebounded from
the ground. (A cheering burst of applause for Langan.)
18.—The manner with which Langan had got round did not look very
promising for the backers of Spring. The Irish Champion went
resolutely in, and planted two hits. In closing, Spring tried the
fibbing system, when Langan broke away. Both combatants in turn
retreated from the blows of each other. Both down.
19.—The Champion showed weakness: it would have been singular if he
had not. He bobbed his head aside from a tremendous right-handed
blow of Langan’s, which might have settled the account in favour of
the hero of the black fogle; however, he closed the round by
throwing Langan cleverly.
20.—Spring stopped several blows, and the Irish Champion was thrown
violently on his head; Spring also fell heavily on him. Forty-five
minutes had elapsed. (“That fall is a settler: he can’t fight above
another round or two.”)
21.—Spring nobbed his opponent. A severe struggle took place at the
corner of the stage, and some fears were expressed that the men
might fall through the rails upon the ground. Langan received
another heavy fall.
22.—Langan, according to the advice of Belcher, fought first, but
his efforts were stopped, and he again went down, Spring uppermost.
During the time the Champion was sitting on the knee of his second,
he nodded, and gave a smile to his friends, intimating “It was all
right.”
23.—This was a short round, and Spring fibbed Langan down severely,
to all appearance, yet, on being picked up and placed on his
second’s knee, when asked to have some brandy and water by Belcher,
who told Harmer, who was below the stage, to hand it up, Langan
said, “Stop a bit, Harry; only keep it cool.” The president of the
Daffy Club, who was standing close by at the time, observed, “What a
strange fellow!”
24.—After three heavy falls in succession, and severe fibbing,
Langan came to the scratch as if nothing serious had happened; he
contrived to put in a body blow, but was thrown.
25.—Spring, although he had got the lead by his superior science and
length, was determined not to give a chance away, and was as
cautious as when he first commenced the battle. He retreated from
Langan’s blows, planted some returns with success, and ultimately
Langan was down.
26.—Langan made play, but Spring was too wary. Both down, Spring
uppermost.
27.—The Champion was evidently distressed, and his right hand also
getting bad. Some exchanges took place; but, in a trifling struggle
at the corner of the stage, it appeared to Spring’s umpire that
Langan went down without a blow, when he observed to Belcher, “Tell
your man not to go down without a blow, or I shall notice it.” “I
assure you, gentlemen,” replied Tom, “blows had passed in the round,
and it could not be termed going down without a blow, according to
the rules of fighting.” Blows certainly had passed between the
combatants.
28.—Langan walked up to the umpire, and said, “Sir, I did not go
down.” Time had been called, when Cribb sung out, “Why don’t you
come to the scratch? what manœuvres are you about, Mr. Belcher?” “I
want nothing but fair play,” replied Tom; “lick us fairly, and I
shall be satisfied.” Langan again made play, but was thrown.
29.—Spring planted a heavy facer. (“That’s a little one for us, I
believe,” said Cribb; “our hands are gone, are they?” Laughter.)
Langan was thrown heavily.
30.—It was quite clear that Langan could not get the lead, yet he
was not to be viewed with indifference; he was still dangerous, as a
throw might win the battle. Both down, Spring undermost.
31.—This round, more particularly at this stage of the fight,
exalted the character of Langan as one of the gamest of men. Langan
planted a body blow, but napped three facers in succession. A pause.
Langan received a heavy body blow, seemed exhausted, and fell on his
latter end.
32.—This round it was thought would have proved the quietus of
Langan. He was thrown heavily, and his head touched the lower rail.
(“That’s a finisher!” “He’ll not come again,” were the remarks of
the spectators.)
33.—Spring’s conduct towards Langan was generous and manly, and
deservedly applauded. Langan rushed in and made a blow at his
opponent, which Spring parried, then, laying hold of Langan, let him
down without punishment.
34.—Langan’s determination not only astonished the amateurs, but a
little alarmed the backers of Spring. Without an accident it was
booked almost to a certainty that Spring must win; still an accident
might happen. Langan could not persuade himself that anything alive
could master him. His backers were aware of his opinion, and
therefore would not oppose his resolution. The Irish Champion had
again the worst of it, and went down very much distressed. One hour
and seven minutes had elapsed, therefore all the bets that Spring
proved the conqueror in an hour were lost.
35.—This was a milling round. Langan would not go away, although hit
staggering: he went down as if he would not have been able to come
again. (Four to one on Spring.)
36.—This was ditto, with repeated, if not increased, punishment; yet
Langan returned, and Spring, with a caution that all his backers
must give him credit for, got away when anything like a heavy blow
was levelled at him. Langan fell exhausted. (“Take the brave fellow
away. Where are his backers?” “Very good, indeed,” replied Belcher;
“you are not hurt yet, Jack; and Spring’s hands are too far gone to
hurt you now.” “I will not give in,” said Langan; “I shall win it.”)
37.—Langan fought this round better than any of the spectators could
anticipate. He planted a couple of hits; it is true they were not
effective, but it showed the fight was not out of him. The Irish
Champion fought under the black flag, “death or victory,” and went
down, out-fought at all points.
38.—Belcher brought his man to the scratch, nay, almost carried
him,[8] when, singular to relate, gamecock like, all his energies
appeared to return, and he commenced milling like a hero. Spring
planted four blows without any return, and Langan went down.
39.—Langan was again down.
40.—The hero of the black fogle showed fight till he went down quite
exhausted.
41.—A short round, but it was surprising to witness the strength
exhibited by Langan in the struggle for the throw. Both down, when
Spring patted him on the back.
42.—Langan was undermost in this round, but Spring really had his
work to do to place his opponent in that situation.
43.—Langan again undermost, and Spring fell heavily upon him.
44.—Spring planted a facer, but met with a return. In struggling for
the throw, Langan took hold of the drawers of Spring, when Cribb and
Painter called out “Let go his drawers.” Langan immediately
relinquished his hold. The Irish Champion was thrown.
45.—Langan hit Spring on the side of his head, and fought well in an
exchange of blows. Spring, however, obtained the throw.
46.—It was astonishing, after getting the worst of it in the
previous rounds, to witness the resolute manner in which Langan
contested this round. He was still dangerous in the exchanges, and,
in struggling, both fell upon the stage. Langan undermost.
47.—Langan, on being placed at the scratch, was ready for the
attack. In a short time, after struggling, both went down. (The John
Bull fighter roared out—“I’m sorry for you, Tom Belcher; you will
certainly be ‘lagged’ if you don’t take your man away.” “Well done,
Josh,” replied Belcher, “that comes well from you; but we shall win
it; Spring can’t hurt a mouse now.”) Langan took a little brandy and
water.
48.—Spring exhibited weakness, but threw Langan.
49.—Langan still made a fight of it, to the surprise of all. In an
exchange of blows, however exhausted the brave boy from Paddy’s land
appeared to be, Spring used his harlequin step to prevent accidents.
In struggling for the throw, both down.
50.—Langan again showed himself ready at the scratch. “My dear boy,”
said Belcher, “it’s all your own if you will but fight first.”
Langan put in a body blow, and also countered with his opponent, but
had the worst of it, and went down.
51.—Seeing is believing; but to the reader who has perused the whole
of the above rounds, it must almost appear like romance to state,
that Langan held Spring for a short time against the rails to get
the throw, till they both went down, and Spring fell on him.
52.—Spring stopped a blow, and also got away from another;
ultimately Langan was hit down.
53.—Langan went to work and hit Spring on the nose; but the Champion
returned the favour, with interest, by nobbing his brave adversary
down. (“Is there anything the matter with that hand, I should like
to know? Lord! how Spring did hit him in the middle of the head!”
exclaimed Cribb.)
54.—“’Pon my soul, it’s no lie!” Langan threw Spring cleverly. Great
applause followed this momentary turn. (“He’s an extraordinary
fellow,” said Mr. Jackson; “he is really a very good man.”)
55.—Spring again had all the best of this round; but Langan kept
fighting till he went down.
56.—This round, it was thought, had settled the business. Langan
exchanged several blows, but, in closing, Spring hit up terrifically
on the face of his opponent, who went down like a log of wood.
57.—Langan commenced milling, and planted a blow on the side of
Spring’s head! “Do that again,” said Belcher. Langan endeavoured to
follow the directions of his master, but the Champion got away.
Spring now hit him staggering, repeated the dose, and Langan went
down.
58.—This was a good round, considering the protracted period of the
battle. Langan returned some blows till he went down.—(“Take him
away,”—“he has no chance.”)
59.—Langan appeared so exhausted that every round was expected to be
the last. He went down from a slight hit, little more than a push.
60.—“Wonders will never cease!” said a cove who had lost a trifle
that Langan was licked in forty minutes—“why he has got Spring down
again; it’s not so safe to the Champion as his friends may think.”
61.—Langan was now as groggy as a sailor three sheets in the wind,
and a slight blow sent him down. “I never saw such a fellow,” said
Jack Randall; “he’ll fight for a week! He don’t know when to leave
off.”
62.—The distress exhibited by Langan was so great that every time he
went down it was thought he could not again toe the scratch. If the
spectators did not think Langan dangerous, Spring got away from all
his hits, to prevent anything being the matter. Langan was once more
sent down.
63.—Langan, still determined to have a shy for the £500, made a hit
at Spring, but was shoved, rather than hit, down.
64.—For the last fifteen minutes it was next to an impossibility
Spring could lose, yet, contrary to all calculations on the subject,
Langan still contested the fight. The hands of Spring were in such
an inefficient, not to say painful, state, that he could not hit.
Here was the danger, as it was possible that he might be worn out,
but his caution and generalship did everything for him. Langan was
so distressed that a slight touch on his arm sent him down. A good
blow must have put an end to the fight, but Spring could not hit
effectively.
65.—Langan, when at the scratch, not only showed fight, but hit
Spring on the head; the latter, however, had the best of the round,
though Langan got the throw, Spring undermost. (“Where’s the
brandy?” said Belcher. “Here it is,” replied Tom Cribb; “a brave
fellow shall not want for anything in my possession.” “Bravo!” cried
Belcher; “that’s friendly, and I won’t forget it.”)
66.—The chance was decidedly against the Irish Champion;
nevertheless, he attempted to be troublesome to his opponent. Spring
put in a nobber, and also threw him.
67.—Exchange of blows. A pause. Langan on the totter, but he planted
two slight hits on the Champion’s face. Spring followed him up, and
gave Langan two blows, one in the body and one in the head, which
dropped the hero of the black fogle.
68.—The bravery of Langan was equal to anything ever witnessed in
the prize ring. The hands of Spring were in such a swollen state
that he could scarcely close them, and most of his blows appeared to
be open-handed. Langan was hit down. (“Take him away!” “Do you hear
what they say, Jack?” said Belcher. “Yes,” replied Langan: “I will
not be taken away; I can win it yet.”)
69.—In struggling for the throw, Langan’s head fell against the
rails. Both down.
70.—Langan again napped on the nobbing system, and was sent down.
One hour and forty-two minutes had elapsed. (Loud cries of “Take him
away!”)
71.—The backers of Spring were anxious to have it over; and the
spectators in general cried out, on the score of humanity, that
Langan ought not to be suffered to fight any more. Colonel O’Neil,
the friend and backer of the Irish Champion, assured the umpire that
he did not want for humanity; and he was well satisfied in his own
mind that, from the tumefied state of Spring’s hands, no danger
could arise. Langan was fighting for £200 of his own money,
therefore he had no right to interfere; he had, previous to the
fight, left it in the hands of his skilful second, Belcher, who, he
was certain, would not suffer the fight to last longer than was safe
to all parties. Langan, after a short round, was sent down.
72.—Langan was brought to the scratch by Belcher, who said, “Fight,
my dear boy; Spring can’t hurt you.” Langan, with undaunted
resolution, plunged in to hit his opponent; but, after receiving
more punishment, was sent down. (Repeated cries of “Take him away!”)
73.—It was now evident to all persons that Langan, while he retained
the slightest knowledge of what he was about, would not give in.
Spring fibbed Langan as severely as he was able, to put an end to
the fight, till he went down. (Here Jack Randall came close to the
stage, and said, “Tom Belcher, take him away; he cannot win it now.”
“He says he will not, Jack, and that he can fight longer,” replied
Tom Belcher.)
74.—This round was a fine picture of resolution under the most
distressing circumstances. Langan, without the slightest shadow of a
chance, seemed angry that his limbs would not do their duty; he came
again to the scratch, and, with true courage, fought till he was
sent down. While sitting on the knee of his second, Cribb thus
addressed him: “You are a brave man, Langan!” “A better was never
seen in the prize ring,” rejoined Painter; “but you can’t win,
Langan; it is no use for you to fight, and it may prove dangerous.”
“I _will_ fight,” said Langan; “no one shall take me away.”
75.—When time was called, Langan was brought to the scratch, and
placed himself in attitude. He attempted to hit, when Spring caught
hold of him and again fibbed him. (“Give no chance away now,” said
Cribb; “you must finish the battle.”) Langan went down quite stupid.
(“Take him away!” from all parts of the ring.)
76 and last.—Strange to relate, Langan again showed at the scratch;
it might be asserted that he fought from instinct. It did not
require much punishment, at this period, to send the brave Langan
off his legs; and, to the credit of Spring be it recorded, he did
his duty towards his backers as a fighting man, and acted so
humanely towards an opponent, that, to the end of life, Langan had
the highest respect for him as a man. Langan put up his arms in
attitude, but they were soon rendered useless, Spring driving him
down without giving punishment. When time was called, Langan was
insensible to the call, and thus, after a contest of one hour and
forty-nine minutes, the hat was thrown up, and Spring was declared
the conqueror, amidst the loudest shouts of approbation. Mr. Jackson
and Mr. Sant immediately ascended the stage. Mr. Sant congratulated
Spring on his victory, but concluded, “If you ever fight again, I
will never speak to you any more, Tom; I never saw such bad hands in
any battle.” Spring replied, “Sir, I never will.” He then left the
knee of his second, and went up to Langan, and laid hold of his
hand. The Irish Champion had not yet recovered, but on opening his
eyes, he asked in a faint tone, “Is the battle over?” “Yes,” replied
Belcher. “Oh dear!” articulated Langan. Spring immediately shook his
hand again, and said, “Jack, you and I must be friends to the end of
our lives; and anything that is within my power, I will do to serve
you. When I see you in town I will give you £10.”
REMARKS.—This contest was one of the fairest battles ever witnessed.
The principals had twenty-four square feet for their exertions,
without the slightest interruption throughout the mill. The seconds
and bottle-holders did their duty like men; they remained as
fixtures during the whole of the fight, except when the rounds were
at an end, and their assistance became necessary.[9] The umpires
were gentlemen—an Englishman for Spring, and an Irishman for
Langan—and they both did their duty. They watched every movement of
the men, that nothing like foul play should be attempted on either
side, and had the satisfaction of feeling there was no difference of
opinion between them in any instance whatever, and therefore no
necessity to call on the referee. Langan was beaten against his
will; and the conduct of Belcher deserves the highest praise as a
second: he stuck to his man; and we must here observe that his
humanity ought not to be called in question. He was anxious that no
reports should reach Ireland, or be scattered over England, that he
had given in for his man. Langan, previous to the battle, requested,
nay, insisted, that neither his bottle-holder nor second should take
upon themselves that decision, which, he declared, only rested in
his own bosom. They complied with it. After thirty minutes had
elapsed, it appeared to be the general opinion of the ring, by the
advantages Spring had gained, that the battle would be decided in
forty minutes; but at that period Langan recovered, and Spring
became weaker, and the best judges declared they did not know what
to make of it. The strength of Langan, certainly for several rounds,
did not make it decidedly safe for Spring. The superior science of
Spring won him the battle; and this confirmed a celebrated tactician
in the memorable observation that he “always viewed Tom as an
artificial fighter—he meant that he had no ‘natural’ hits belonging
to him; and hence always placed him in the highest place on the
boxing list.” So Tom Spring overcame the defects of nature, and,
without what are vulgarly called great “natural” capabilities for
fighting, has become the Champion of England. He is the greatest
master of the art of self-defence, and, if he could not hit hard
himself, almost prevented others from hitting him at all. His
stopping in this battle was admirable, and he continually got out of
danger by the goodness of his legs. Always cool and collected, he
proved himself one of the safest men in the P.R. to back, because he
could not be gammoned out of his own mode of milling. Before the
company quitted the ground £50 were collected for Langan, which was
afterwards increased three-fold. Spring was much bruised by his
falls on the stage, and complained of them as his principal
inconvenience. He now announced, a second time, his retirement from
the ring.
Spring beat all the men he ever fought with in the prize ring; and in
the whole of his contests lost but one battle. It is a curious
coincidence, that on Whit-Tuesday, 1823, he defeated the formidable
Neat, near Andover, and on Whit-Tuesday, 1824, he overcame the brave
Langan. Spring, therefore, won three great battles in one twelvemonth,
and one thousand pounds into the bargain; for instance—
With Neat £200
With Langan 300
Ditto 500
——————
£1,000
On Spring’s return to the Swan Hotel, Chichester, he was received by the
shouts of the populace all along the road; the ladies waving their
handkerchiefs at the windows as he passed along. Langan, so soon as he
had recovered a little from the effects of the battle, left the stage
amidst loudly expressed approbation: “You are an extraordinary fellow,
Langan,” “A brave man,” etc. The Irish Champion, accompanied by Belcher
and his backer, also received great applause on his return to the
Dolphin, in Chichester. Spring was immediately put to bed, and bled, and
a warm bath prepared for him. His hands were in a bad state, and his
face exhibited more punishment than appeared upon the stage, yet he was
cheerful, and quite collected. The same kind attention was paid to
Langan; and on being asked how he felt himself? he replied, “Very well;
I have lost the battle, but it owing to my want of condition; I am not
quite twelve stone; I have been harassed all over the country; I have
travelled two hundred and sixty miles within the last two days; I was
feverish, and on the road instead of my bed on Saturday night; I wanted
rest.” After making his man comfortable, Belcher, accompanied by his
bottle-holder, and also Colonel O’Neil, in the true spirit of chivalry,
all rivalry now being at an end, paid a visit to the bedside of Spring.
Here all was friendly, as it should be, and all parties were only
anxious for the recovery of both the pugilists. “How is Langan?” said
Spring to Belcher. “He is doing well,” replied Tom. “I am glad of it,”
said Spring. “We have had a fair fight, we have been licked, and I am
satisfied,” observed Belcher. All parties shook hands over the bed of
the conqueror. On leaving Spring, Mr. Sant, followed by Tom Cribb and
Ned Painter, immediately returned with Colonel O’Neil to the bedside of
Langan. Mr. Sant observed, “Well Langan, how do you do—do you know me?
You can’t see me.” “Yes, sir,” replied the fallen hero. “I am Spring’s
backer,” said Mr. Sant, “but, nevertheless, your friend.” “I am obliged
to you, sir,” answered Langan; “if it was not for such gentlemen as you
in the sporting world, we should have no fights. Indeed, Spring is a
smart, clever fellow, and I wish him well.” “That is liberal,” said
Painter; “I am happy to hear one brave man speak well of another.” The
visitors now retired, and left Langan to repose.
Spring left his bed early in the evening; and his first visit he paid to
Langan, at the Dolphin; they met like brave men, and on taking his
departure he shook Langan by the hand, leaving ten pounds in it.
The Champion left Chichester at eight o’clock on Wednesday morning, in
an open barouche, accompanied by Mr. Sant. He was cheered out of the
town by the populace; and, on his entrance into the metropolis, he was
also greeted with loud marks of approbation.
We here close the unstained and untarnished career of Tom Spring, as a
pugilist; if we wished to point a moral to his brother professors, a
better proof that “honesty is the best policy,” than the esteem which
Spring earned and held throughout his long career, could not be desired.
This respect has exhibited itself in several public testimonials, to say
nothing of innumerable private marks of respect. Spring, who had been
keeping a house, the Booth Hall, in the city of Hereford, on the
retirement of Tom Belcher became landlord of the Castle, in Holborn;
and, as the present seems the most fitting opportunity for a brief
sketch of this headquarters of sporting, we shall make no apology for
here introducing a brief history of this once noted sporting resort.
The Castle Tavern was first opened as a sporting house about seventy
years ago, by the well-known Bob Gregson; and designated, at that
period, “Bob’s Chop House.” (See GREGSON, _ante_.)
The Castle Tavern was viewed as a “finger-post” by his countrymen, as
the “Lancashire House;” and considered by them a most eligible situation
to give their Champion a call on their visits to the metropolis. It is
rather singular that Bob Gregson rose, in the estimation of the sporting
world, from defeat; he fought only four battles in the P.R., and lost
them all. Indeed, Bob’s character as a boxer reminds us of the simile
used in the House of Commons, by Charles James Fox, who observed of the
fighting Austrian General, Clairfait, who had been engaged in
one-and-twenty battles in the cause of his country, that he might be
compared to a drum, for he was never heard of but when he was beaten.
Just so with Gregson. Nevertheless, the Castle Tavern rose rapidly into
note, soon after Bob showed himself the landlord of it.
In mine host’s parlour, or little snuggery, behind the bar—considered a
sort of _sanctum sanctorum_, a house of lords to the fancy, where
commoners never attempted to intrude upon the company—Gregson carried on
a roaring trade. “Heavy wet,” or anything in the shape of it, except at
meal-times, was entirely excluded from this “Repository of Choice
Spirits,” where Champagne of the best quality was tossed off like ale,
Madeira, Claret, Hock, and other choice wines, handed about, while Port
and Sherry were the common drink of the snuggery. It might be invidious,
if not improper, to mention the names of the visitors who spent an hour
or two, on different occasions, in this little spot, famed for sporting,
mirth, harmony, and good fellowship; let it suffice, and with truth, to
observe, that persons of some consequence in the state were to be seen
in it, independent of officers, noblemen, actors, artists, and other men
of ability, connected with the “upper ten thousand.” John Emery,
distinguished as a comedian on the boards of Covent Garden, and a man of
immense talent in every point of view, spent many of his leisure hours
in “the snuggery.” George Kent, the ring reporter, was also eminent here
for keeping the game alive. He was of a gay disposition, fond of life in
any shape; when perfectly sober one of the most peaceable men in the
kingdom, and an excellent companion, but, when he got a little liquor in
his noddle, a word and a blow were too often his failings, and which
came first doubtful. The late Captain D——, connected with one of the
most noble families in the kingdom, and one of the highest fanciers in
the sporting world, in consequence of being six feet four inches and a
half in height, was likewise a great frequenter of the “Repository of
Choice Spirits.” Numerous others might be noted, but these three will be
sufficient as a sample of the company to be met with in Bob Gregson’s
snuggery—where there was wit at will, the parties sought out each other
to please and be pleased, “Dull Care” could never obtain a seat, and fun
to be had at all times. Sporting was the general theme, but not to the
exclusion of the topics of the day. Heavy matches were made here; and
certainly the period alluded to may be marked as the “Corinthian age of
the Fancy.”
The sun, for a time, shone brilliantly over this Temple of the Fancy;
but poor Bob, like too many of his class, did not make hay while it was
in his power. The scene changed, the clouds of misfortune overwhelmed
him, and, in 1818, the Lancashire hero was compelled to take a voyage on
board his Majesty’s “Fleet,” not only for the recovery of his health,
but to obtain a certificate against future attacks of the enemy. Thus
ended the reign of Bob Gregson, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn.
For a few months a sort of stoppage occurred at the Castle; the sporting
world was missing, and comparative silence reigned throughout the house,
when the sprightly, stylish, well-conducted Tom Belcher, in the summer
of 1814 (under the auspices of his sincere friend, and almost father,
Mr. John Shelton), appeared in the character of landlord. The house had
undergone repairs; the rooms were retouched by the painter; elegance and
cleanliness, backed by civility, became the order of the day, and a
prime stock of liquors and wines was laid in. Tom’s opening dinner was
completely successful, and the Fancy immediately rallied round a hero
who had nobly contended for victory in thirteen prize battles. Tom was
considered the most accomplished boxer and sparrer of the day; and the
remembrance, likewise, that he was the brother of the renowned Jem
Belcher, were points in themselves of great attraction in the sporting
world. The Castle again became one of the most favourite resorts of the
Fancy in general.
During the time Tom Belcher was the landlord of the Castle Tavern the
famous Daffy Club was started by Mr. James Soares.
During the principal time of Tom’s residence at the Castle, the members
of the sporting world were in “high feather.” Patrons “came out” to give
it support. No man knew better how to get up a purse, make a match, or
back a man, than Tom Belcher. He was always smart, and exemplarily well
dressed, whenever he made his appearance in the ring, upon a
race-course, or indeed in any situation before the public. Belcher was a
keen observer of society: he measured his way through life, and every
step he took turned to good account. He had lots of sporting dinners,
numerous gay little suppers, and plenty of matches on the board to
excite the attention of the fancy. “The Daffy Club” became very popular
in the sporting world, and for a long time was crowded to excess;
indeed,
“Fortune seem’d buckled to his back!”
Everything went right; Tom stuck to the Castle—he was always to be found
at his post; and the Castle in turn fortified him at all points; and
although Tom was prompt at times to lay a heavy bet, prudence was
generally at his elbow to prevent him from getting out of his depth. Tom
was far from a gambler; the hazard table had no charms for him, and he
scarcely ever sported a shilling, except upon a horse-race or a fight.
His principal style of betting was, to use his own words, “Blow my
dicky, I’ll bet a guinea and a goose!” and if he did not like to make a
bet, he would observe, “I’ll leave it all to the cook!”
Tom Belcher, after fourteen years’ residence at the Castle Tavern, was
enabled, by his civil conduct, attention to business, and good luck, to
retire from the busy world. If Tom did not retire in a “shower of gold,”
he, nevertheless, put by a good quantity of the “sweeteners of life,” to
render his retreat to the country safe and pleasant.
At this juncture Tom Spring, who had not only been losing his time
amongst his countrymen at the Booth Hall, in the city of Hereford, but,
what was worse, his hard-earned money, was determined, when the
opportunity offered, to have another “shy” in London: therefore, after
several sets-to had taken place between the “two Toms,” the match was
made, the money posted, and Tom Spring appeared in the character of
“mine host,” at the Castle Tavern, Holborn.
The subject of this memoir did not enter upon his new capacity without
possessing the highest claims to the notice of the patrons of boxing,
from his victorious career; and no man, from his general conduct and
deportment, was considered by the sporting world so eligible in every
point of view to succeed Tom Belcher.
With the close of Spring’s life the glories of the Castle were
extinguished; but ere we chronicle this event we will pause to notice
the testimonials with which his many admiring friends at various times
presented him.
The first was a vase in silver, entitled “The Hereford Cup,” of the
weight of fifty ounces. The inscription on this local mark of esteem
from the inhabitants of his native place sufficiently explains the
motive of its donors. Its presentation and inscription will be found at
page 23.
In the following year (1824), after his first battle with Langan, some
Manchester sporting men, out of respect to his honour, integrity, and
noble maintenance of the English championship against all comers,
decided upon their testimonial in the form of a silver vase, of elegant
proportions and massive weight. This, called “The Manchester Cup,” also
decorated Tom’s buffet on public and festive occasions. It was thus
inscribed:—
“This Cup was presented to
THOMAS WINTER SPRING
By a Party of his Friends in Manchester,
Not only for the Upright and Manly Conduct uniformly displayed by him in
the Prize Ring,
But also as a Man,
And as a Sincere Token of the Esteem
In which they hold his Private Character.
Manchester, 12th of April, 1824.”
The third and most valuable public testimonial (for Tom had many gifts
of snuff-boxes, canes, pencil-cases, etc., from private friends), was
known as “The Champion Testimonial,” and consisted of a noble tankard in
silver, of the capacity of one gallon, or six bottles of wine, with a
lining of 450 sovereigns, the balance of a subscription of over £500
raised by the ex-Champion’s friends. The tankard, which was executed by
Messrs. Hunt and Roskell, is a beautiful work of art, ornamented with
chased bands of leaves of the British oak and English rose. The cover
was surmounted by a bold acorn, the outer edge having, in raised
letters, “THE SPRING TESTIMONIAL.” On the shield it bears the
inscription:—
“Presented
By Public Subscription to
THOMAS WINTER SPRING,
EX-CHAMPION OF ENGLAND,
In Testimony of the Sincere Respect in which he is held
For his Pure and Honourable Conduct
During his Long and Unblemished Career
In Public and Private Life.
1846.”
After an excellent dinner (on Tuesday, May 19, 1846), presided over by
the editor of _Bell’s Life in London_ (Vincent George Dowling, Esq.),
the Chairman took occasion thus to allude to the letters of various
distant subscribers: “Every letter he had seen bore testimony to the
public and private worth of Spring, and spoke of him as a man whose
unblemished integrity, benevolence of heart, urbanity of disposition,
and unquestionable courage, entitled him to the highest praise. In all
and every of these sentiments he concurred. From the first hour he had
known him he had watched his conduct, and he could conscientiously say
that in his opinion a more honest or a more high-principled man did not
exist. But in whatever light he might regard this testimony towards
Spring, it had a higher value in his eyes, as being the representative
of those sentiments of admiration with which the feelings of honour and
honesty were regarded by every class of the community. It was a proof
that such qualities were not overlooked, and he only regretted that
every pugilist in England could not be assembled in that room to witness
the fruits of a career distinguished by these virtues, as it would
afford them the best encouragement to persevere in the same course, and
probably elicit similar marks of favour.” After some further laudatory
remarks, the Chairman presented the testimonial, with an earnest belief
that it would be received with becoming sentiments of gratitude, and in
the hope that Spring might long live to see it grace his table, in
addition to his other cups, as a sterling representative of his merits,
and of the sincere respect to which he had entitled himself.
After a short pause Spring rose, almost overpowered by his feelings. He
knew not, he said, how to express in words the overflowing sentiments of
gratitude with which his heart was bursting. He had certainly
endeavoured through life to steer the straight-forward and honest
course, and when he looked inwardly he could not charge himself with
ever having given ground for shaking the confidence of his friends
(hear). Still he could not persuade himself he was better than other
men, or that he had entitled himself to this magnificent token of public
favour—for public it was, arising as it had from the spontaneous
contribution of a large and mixed portion of his countrymen—to whom he
could not say how sincerely he was obliged, or how deeply sensible he
was of their munificent liberality. When he received the cup presented
to him at Manchester, and subsequently that given to him by his friends
in Herefordshire, both of which were then on the table, and when to
these were added other tokens, less in value, but not less dearly
appreciated, he could not but feel proud; but when these were followed
by the testimonial now presented to him, he candidly confessed the
fondest wishes of his ambition had been realised. He should indeed
cherish it with a becoming sense of its intrinsic and representative
value, and would, in the closing years of his life, look back to this
day as one of surpassing interest to himself and to all those who were
dear to him. Here Spring could no longer sustain his self-possession,
and placing his hand on the tankard with deep emotion, he concluded by
saying, “I can only thank you, and all else I might say I must leave to
your own hearts to imagine.” (Loud and continued cheers.)
Caunt, Ned Neale, Frank Redmond, Johnny Broome, Owen Swift, Dan Dismore,
Joe Phelps, etc., were among the pugilists present; and Mr. Sant, one of
the earliest backers and a constant friend of Tom Spring, after a warm
eulogy on mine host, proposed “The Subscribers to the Testimonial.”
[Illustration:
TOM SPRING’S MONUMENT IN NORWOOD CEMETERY.
]
From this period to that of his death, on the 20th of August, 1851,
Spring dispensed the hospitalities of the Castle, never losing a friend,
except by the hand of death. In his later days, family difficulties, and
too great a confidence in self-styled friends, who induced him to
execute turf commissions, and when the thing went wrong were absentees
or defaulters, added to his embarrassments. Still he held on,
universally respected by all who knew him until his 56th year, when pale
death struck him down somewhat suddenly, the blow being dealt through a
heart disease of some years’ standing. His funeral took place with
becoming solemnity on Sunday, the 25th of August, 1851, his remains
being followed by several mourning coaches and other carriages to the
grave. In the first carriage were his only surviving son, Melchior
Winter; Mr. Price, of Hereford, his solicitor and executor; his firm
friend, Mr. Elbam, of Piccadilly; and the writer of these pages. Poor
Tom lies buried in the Norwood Cemetery, beneath the monument which we
have here engraved. “Peace be to his manes!” Few men who have led a
public life have less reason to dread the last call of “Time,” than
Thomas Winter Spring.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER II.
JOHN LANGAN, THE IRISH CHAMPION—1819–1824.
John Langan, one of the bravest of pugilists—and whose fortune it was to
find his ambition foiled when struggling to the topmost round of the
ladder, by the superior skill of Tom Spring, the English Champion—well
deserves a chapter in the History of Pugilism. As the author of
“Boxiana” was not only the countryman but the personal friend of Langan,
we shall accept, with a few alterations and additions, the biography of
“the Irish Champion,” as we find it in that work; and for the further
reason that it is, in its earlier pages, a lively and amusing specimen
of “the historian’s” apocrypha.
John Langan was born in the month of May, 1798, at Clondalton, in the
county Kildare. Ireland was then in the full blaze of insurrection, and
Pierce Egan tells us “that young Paddy had scarcely become one of his
father’s family five minutes, before his ears were saluted by a
tremendous fire of musketry from a party of United Men who were
attempting to get possession of a powder-mill situated within fifty
yards of his daddy’s mud edifice.” Mrs. Judy O’Shaughnessy, his nurse,
had her own way of explaining this as rather ominous that little Jack
Langan was born to make a noise in the world. The early years of little
Jack passed as is usual with lively urchins, until his father left
Clondalton, and settled in the suburbs of Dublin, at a place called
Ballybough Lane, adjoining that beautiful spot of freedom known as Mud
Island.
Langan had always a taste for milling; and his turns up at school (?),
says Pierce Egan, would fill a moderate volume. In company with two of
his school-fellows, he discovered a bird’s nest; but as the birds were
not fledged, it was unanimously agreed to leave it till a more
convenient opportunity. The boys played truant one afternoon, and went
in search of the bird’s nest, and the eldest lad claimed for his share
the top bird, which is generally considered the cock. Langan protested
against such choice, and a battle decided it; but, after a fight of an
hour’s duration, in which Jack proved the conqueror, the only recompense
he got for the scratches and loss of claret, was, upon examining the
nest, that the birds had fled during the row.
[Illustration:
JOHN LANGAN (IRISH CHAMPION).
]
On the borders of the Dublin canal, when only thirteen years of age, he
thought himself man enough to enter the lists with a strong youth of
eighteen years of age; in fact, he stood forward as champion for his
friend, who had received a blow from the youth. In forty-five minutes,
against weight, length, and height, Langan proved the conqueror.
Shortly after the above battle, Jack persuaded his father to let him go
to sea, and, ultimately, he was bound apprentice to Messrs. Dunn and
Harris, of Dublin. Langan sailed for Oporto and Lisbon, in the New
Active, Captain M’Carthy. In Bull Bay, Lisbon, in spite of the stiletto
used by two Portuguese, he made the cowards run before him; but Jack
received a scratch or two on his body from their knives. His courage,
however, did not desert him for an instant, though he was attacked in
such an assassin-like manner.
On Langan’s passage home, he severely drubbed one of his messmates, of
the name of Dunn, who had taken liberties with the fame of Ould Ireland.
“Erin-go-Bragh!” said Jack Langan, after giving Mr. Dunn a receipt in
full of all demands, then retired to his berth to take his grog,
singing—
“St. Patrick is still our protector,
He made us an Island of Saints,
Drove out snakes and toads like a Hector,
And ne’er shut his eyes to complaints:
Then if you would live and be frisky,
And never die when you’re in bed,
Arrah! come to Ireland and tipple the whiskey,
And live ten years after you’re dead!!!”
Like all new schemes and occupations, a sailor’s life, for a short
period, was highly relished by Langan; some terrible gales of wind,
however, and a tremendous storm or two, on his return to Ireland, showed
the other side of the picture so emphatically, that Jack spoke to his
ould dad to get his indentures from the captain, as he had a great wish
to try his fortune on shore. Old Langan accomplished this circumstance
for his darling boy; and Jack was bound apprentice to a sawyer. Langan
soon became a proficient in his business, and arrived at the climax of
his trade, a top-sawyer; but he was anxious to get a cut above the pit,
and turn his hand to another account. Although but fifteen years of age,
our hero had a taste for milling; he was fond of fighting, but not
quarrelling; yet he was always ready to punish impudence and insolence,
whenever rude fellows crossed his path.
“From little causes great events arise!”
Throwing snow-balls at each other, near the Dublin canal, produced a
most determined mill between Jemmy Lyons, a Hibernian pugilist, and Jack
Langan. It was a cool situation for a fight, but warm work while it
lasted; and Jack’s blows were put in so fast and hard upon the face of
Paddy Lyons, for the space of twenty-five minutes, that he cried out
“Enough! too much!” This turn-up was without any precision as to time:
it was pelt away, till Jemmy was carried off the ground. “By St.
Patrick,” said Jack Riley (the friend of Lyons) to Langan, “you shall
get a good bating for all your luck this time; and if you will meet me
in Cannon’s Quarry, I will soon make you cry quarter.” “And is it to me
you mane, Misther Riley, that is to ask you for quarter? Well, come on,
and we’ll soon see all about it,” replied Langan. Riley was the hero of
the Mud Island, in the milling way. In Cannon’s Quarry, Langan so served
out Riley, that when he was taken home to Mud Island he was so spoilt as
to be scarcely recognisable by his most intimate acquaintance.
Langan was now viewed as a “striking” object in Mud Island; Jack
however, was too good-humoured a fellow to be anything like a terror to
the peaceable inhabitants of that happy spot. Pat Macguire had a great
desire to take the shine out of Langan, and boasted that he would be
“number one” in the Island. “So you shall,” replied our hero, “if you
can.” But poor Pat Macguire reckoned his chickens before they were
hatched; for, in the short space of ten minutes, his peepers were
darkened, his nose swelled up to the size of two, his ivories dancing,
and the whole of his face the picture of agony and distress. Soon after
poor Pat was undressed and put to bed, he exclaimed, “By J——s, those
blows I got from Jack Langan are more like the kicks of a horse than the
thumps of a man.”
Michael Angin, who had some notions of boxing, was completely satisfied
in a single round with Langan, at Clontarf. A tremendous nobber put
Mike’s head in chancery. On returning to his mother’s cabin, she saluted
him with “Arragh! Mike, my jewel, what have you got in your mouth, that
makes you look so ugly?” “It’s Jack Langan’s fist, mother. I am almost
choked,” replied Angin, hoarse as a raven. “Take it out, my darlint,”
said his parent; “sure it is no good to anybody!”
Robert Titford, Dan Henigan (brother of the boxer of that name), and Jem
Turner, were, in succession, disposed of with apparent ease by our hero.
In short, he had no competitor amongst the boys, and therefore we will
take leave of his early turn-ups, for battles of a more manly
description.
Langan had a desperate battle with a man of the name of Hemet: the
latter person struck the father of our hero. “I will make you repent
your conduct, you blackguard,” said Jack. “A boy like you?” replied
Hemet; “I’ll kick your breech, if you give me any more of your prate.”
Young Langan, as we have before mentioned, was fond of milling; but in
defence of his father felt doubly armed; and in the course of thirty
minutes Hemet was glad to acknowledge the boy was his master.
One Savage, a man weighing about eleven stone, and twenty-one years of
age, had behaved unhandsomely to Jack three years previously to the
period when the following circumstances transpired. Langan, although not
more than sixteen years old, entertained an opinion that he was able to
take the field against Savage, and challenged him without hesitation.
Savage, with the utmost contempt, accepted the challenge, and agreed to
fight on the banks of the Dublin canal. A few friends on each side
attended to see fair play. The battle was long, and well-contested; but
night coming on, as neither of the combatants would agree to surrender,
it was deemed expedient according to the laws of honour, to fight it
out, and therefore candles[10] were introduced. But, before the glims
required topping, Langan floored his opponent, by a wisty-castor upon
the jugular, and Savage was carried home amidst the lamentations of his
friends, and the regret of Langan. Savage was washed and laid out by his
lamenting associates, and everything comfortable prepared to “wake” him.
The body was surrounded by about forty old women and men, smoking and
drinking, and bewailing his loss, interspersed every now and then with
some prime fil-la-loos. “Arrah! my dear Jemmy, why did you put your head
in the way of Jack Langan’s fist?”
In the midst of this beautiful solemnity, to the great surprise and
confusion of the company present, Mr. Savage waked himself, but, before
he could enquire into the particulars how he came into this strange
situation, the whole assembly brushed off with terror, leaving the
corpse to explain his position in the best manner he could.
Good as Langan had proved himself in the above contest, Paddy Moran
challenged our hero. The latter proposed to fight Jack upon the real
principles of milling—for love, glory, and honour. Blunt was out of the
question, for the best of all reasons—Moran had nothing in the funds.
“You shall be accommodated,” replied Langan; “it shall be for love,
glory, and honour.” It was a severe battle for fourteen rounds, and
although Moran was compelled to submit to defeat, he proved himself a
brave man, and Langan’s nob received some ugly visitations during the
fight.
Moran’s brother called Langan out to meet him in the field of battle,
the following week. Our hero, fresh as a daisy, and gay as a lark,
accepted the challenge with the utmost alacrity and when “Time” was
called, proved himself ready. Moran’s brother likewise proved a man of
excellent courage, but he had nothing like so good a chance as his
relative. After a few rounds, Langan became the conqueror, without a
mark the worse for his encounter. Norman, a pugilist distinguished in
Dublin, seconded Moran’s brother against Jack; but his conduct appearing
questionable, Langan sent a challenge to Norman.
Norman accepted the challenge, but requested to name Sunday for the time
of combat. To this request Langan positively refused; upon any other
day, he said he should be happy to wait upon his opponent. After some
little “blowing up” on the subject, it was agreed that the battle should
take place on the following Thursday. Norman, who was a deep covey, and
wishing to turn everything to a good account in which he was engaged,
gave out the mill would take place on the Sunday. He was a proprietor of
jaunting cars, and every one of his vehicles was engaged for the fight.
Some hundreds of the Fancy were completely hoaxed by being collected
together within a short distance of Old Langan’s cottage. Young Jack did
not make his appearance, to the astonishment of the spectators; when
Norman cut a great bounce, and, offered to put down twenty pounds to
back himself—well knowing Langan would not be present; expressing his
surprise at the absence of Langan, who, he told the crowd, had made a
promise to meet him. The news was soon brought to Jack of the trick
played off by Norman. He instantly started off to the public-house,
where Norman was swallowing the whiskey like water; rejoicing how he had
done the flats that day. Langan, with more courage than prudence,
without hesitation, told Norman he had conducted himself like a
blackguard. Norman, surrounded by his father, brothers, and friends,
fell upon Langan before he was scarcely withinside the door, and, with
the aid of whips, sticks, etc., so punished him that if a few of his
supporters had not rushed in, Langan might have been found as “dead as
door nail.” Jack was picked up insensible, taken home, and put to bed.
Thursday, the day appointed for the mill, drew on rapidly, when our hero
sent to Norman, trusting that he would not fail in being true to his
time. This Langan did, against the advice of his friends. Jack could
hardly lift his right hand to his head, from a blow he had received
among the mob of unmanly fellows, in the interest of Norman,
nevertheless he met his man on the North Strand, near Clontarf. The
car-keeper was seconded by Pat Halton and Cummings; and Langan by two
tight boys belonging to the “Island of Mud.” The battle lasted above an
hour, because Langan could not punish Norman with his right, but, even
in this crippled state he had so much the best of the fight, that
Norman’s friends, who were by far the most numerous, seeing that he must
lose, rushed in, separated the combatants, saved their blunt, and put an
end to the mill. Langan was exceedingly vexed that he was prevented from
dressing his antagonist as he deserved. In a few days after this affair,
about five o’clock in the morning, Jack was roused from his bed by a
violent knocking at the door. Between sleeping and waking, with peepers
neither open nor shut, he came down in his shirt to see what was the
matter. On opening the door, Jack believed he was dreaming, for, strange
to relate, he beheld Norman stripped, and in a fighting attitude. “By
J——s,” said Norman, “I have been uneasy all night. I could not sleep,
Jack, so I thought you and I could amuse ourselves very agreeably;
besides having the day before us.” “Is it a day you said?” replied
Langan; “by the Saint of Ould Ireland, I’ll settle your impertinence in
a few minutes; before I return to roost and finish my rest, I’ll pay
you, Misther Norman, for calling me up.” Langan ran over to the stream
opposite his father’s cabin, and washed his face. “Now,” said he, “I’m
ready; take care of yourself.” The novelty of this battle was, that no
umpires, bottle-holders, nor seconds on either side, were engaged. In
the short space of four rounds, it was all over. Norman napt it in such
first-rate style, that he laid on the ground like a calf, so completely
satisfied, that he never requested a third battle. Langan at that period
did not weigh more than ten stone three pounds,[11] while Norman weighed
thirteen stone seven pounds.
It was impossible for Langan to remain idle with such a reputation, as
some one or other was continually offering himself to his notice.
Slantlea, a hardy fellow, offered his services to Jack, which were
accepted without a single murmur. But to ensure success, the night
before the battle, Langan was introduced by a friend to the late Sir
Daniel Donnelly. The advice of the Irish (whiskey-punch) Champion was
asked as to the best mode of training. “Is it training you mane?”
replied Sir Dan, with a smile upon his comical mug; “by the okey, I
never troubled myself much about that training, d’ye see, which the
fellows in the Longtown make so much bother about. But, nevertheless, I
will give my opinion as to what I think necessary to be done upon such
occasions. First of all, you must take off your shirt, Jack Langan, then
walk up and down the room briskly, and hit well out with both hands, as
if you intended giving your opponent a snoozing without asking for his
night-cap. Jump backwards and forwards one hundred times at least; and
then to find out if the wind is good, for being out of breath in
fighting, my boy, is not a very comfortable thing for a distressed man.
Now, Jack,” says Sir Dan, it being then about twelve o’clock at night,
“you must go home directly, and drink half a gallon of the sourest
butter-milk you can get, and then go to bed. At five o’clock, not a
minute after five o’clock in the morning, you must get up, and run three
or four miles, and at every mile you must swig, not whiskey, by J——s,
but a quart of spring water. Mind, now Langan, do as I tell you.” Jack
thanked Sir Daniel for his friendly advice, and started off to procure
the butter-milk; but felt extremely mortified after knocking up all the
dairymen in the neighbourhood, that he was not able to buy more than
three pints. At five o’clock in the morning, although Langan had
scarcely had an hour or two of rest, he jumped out of bed to finish his
training. To make up for the deficiency of butter-milk, our hero drank a
greater proportion of water. The time appointed for the fight to take
place was six o’clock; but Jack, in his eagerness to train, was nearly
half an hour behind his time. His antagonist was upon leaving the
ground, when Langan mounted the brow of a hill, in sight of the ring,
quite out of breath, and dripping with perspiration, roared out as loud
as he was able, “Don’t go yet, man, I’ll be wid you in a jiffy!” The
ring was again formed, and Langan, hot as fire, stripped for action cool
as a cucumber.
Slantlea began well: he took the lead, gave Langan several clumsy
thumps, and had decidedly the best of the Irish Champion for the first
four rounds. He sent Langan down three times by nobbing hits; and the
friends of the former laughed heartily at the idea of his paying off
Slantlea for waiting for him. “You have got your master now, Jack,
before you.” “Be aisy,” replied Langan; “I have trained by the advice of
Dan Donnelly; I’m sure I’ll bate any opponent; only look, I’m just going
to begin!” and letting fly his left hand in full force upon Slantlea’s
head, the latter fell as if he had been shot. Poor Slantlea never
recovered from the effects of this blow; but he proved himself a game
man for thirteen rounds, when he received a finisher. It was over in
thirty-five minutes.
A porter of the name of Dalton, employed at the Irish Custom-house—a
Josh. Hudson in nature, but so fond of milling that hardly a fellow
round the Custom-house dared look at him—challenged Langan. “By the
powers of Moll Kelly,” said Dalton, “he shall find he will have
something more to do in bating me than he had with Slantlea.” The battle
took place in Gloucester-fields. Dalton pelted away like a bull-dog for
four rounds, but Langan put an end to his ferocity in the course of
three more. At the expiration of twenty-five minutes Dalton was rendered
as harmless as a mouse.
Pat Halton, at this period, was called “Donnelly’s boy;” in fact, he was
the avowed pupil of the late Irish Knight of the Sod. Langan and Halton
met at Donnelly’s house, and a match was made between them, to fight at
Ballinden-Scorney, in the county of Wicklow. On the day appointed, a
great muster of the Fancy took place; but the multitude was compelled to
separate by the horse-police, and to cross the water to form a new ring.
During the interregnum, Halton went into a public-house, kept by one
Maguire, and took a glass of liquor. When he was called out to meet
Langan, he complained that the liquor he had drunk was bad, and had made
him so unwell that he was not able to fight. Langan, of course, claimed
the money, but the stakeholder would not part with it. However, by way
of some compensation to our hero, the subscription money, £19, which had
been collected from the spectators for the privilege of the inner ring,
was given to him. This disappointment produced “lots of grumbling,”
until a new match was made. Langan full of gaiety, fond of company, and
much caressed by his friends, lived freely till his money was nearly
gone, when he was called upon once more to enter the ring with Halton.
Jack had not above a day to prepare himself, while it was said that
Halton had been training upon the sly, at Bray. “Devil may care,”
replied Langan, when he was told of it; “I am ready, even without
butter-milk, this time.”[12] On the Curragh of Kildare this battle took
place. It is but fair to state, that the mill between Langan and Halton
has been differently reported; but we are credibly informed that the
following account is a correct outline:—Coady and Norman were the
seconds for Halton, and Grace and a countryman for Langan. It was for
£50 a-side. The first five rounds were manfully contested on both sides;
but upon Halton being floored by a tremendous blow on his head, he
became very shy afterwards, and did not like to meet his man; he kept
retreating, and getting down in the best manner he could. Upwards of
sixty minutes had elapsed, and it rained all the time; Halton went down
from a flooring hit, and could not come to the scratch when time was
called. This created a disturbance, the ring was in disorder, and when
Halton came to, he said he was not licked. The backers of Langan
insisted upon the money being given up; but Donnelly, whose word was law
at that time, asserted that his boy had not lost the battle, and no
individual being found on the ground to contradict or dispute the
assertion of that mighty chief, the parties separated very much
dissatisfied at the non-decision of the contest!
A short time afterwards, Langan met with Donnelly at the Cock-pit, and
remonstrated with him on the impropriety of his conduct, in being the
cause of withholding the stakes from our hero. Some high words passed
between them, when Langan, with more courage than prudence, thus
addressed the chief of Ireland—“I know, Dan;—no, I do not know, Dan,
neither—but I think, you could bate me; yet I will hold you a wager,
that you do not lick me in half an hour, and I will have a turn-up with
you directly in the Cock-pit.” Donnelly did not appear inclined for a
mill; and, after considerable chaffing about the merits of the battle,
Langan received the money.
Our hero was now an object of envy in Dublin. Carney, a boat-builder, a
fine strapping fellow, and a milling cove into the bargain, challenged
Jack Langan for £50 a-side. It was accepted without delay, and at a
place called Saggert, in the county of Wicklow, they met to decide which
was the best man. Donnelly was present. Langan had for his seconds
Plunket and Malone. While they were beating out the ring, Langan
employed himself by using a pickaxe, digging out the scratch. Carney
asked Malone, “What Jack was doing?” “Doing, man,” replied Malone;
“don’t you know? Why Langan is one of the most industrious fellows
alive; he not only manes to bate you, but afterwards to bury you: he
digs graves for all the men that he fights with!” Carney turned pale at
the recital; his knees trembled, and he seemed frightened almost out of
his wits. His second, however, cheered him up a little, by telling
Carney not to mind such trash.[13] Carney mustered up courage, and
commenced the battle well, and with a terrifying blow made Langan kiss
his mother earth. A louder fil-la-loo from Carney’s party was never
heard at any fight, and he tried to repeat the dose in the second round,
but Langan was too clever—he made a tie of it with his opponent, and
Carney found himself at full length upon the turf. In the third round
Langan put in such a teazer, in the middle of his adversary’s nob, that
his eyes rolled about with astonishment, and he put up his hand to feel
if his head had not taken flight from his shoulders, as he lay prostrate
on the ground. This blow put an end to the fight; and Cummins, a potato
factor, and second to Carney, fell foul of Plunket, as a signal for a
riot. The ring was broken, and Langan cruelly treated. Twenty thousand
persons were present. By this stratagem Langan did not get a farthing
for the battle, which ended in a most terrible uproar.
Langan challenged Cummins for his foul conduct, although the potato
merchant weighed fifteen stone. The latter, in answer, said he would not
disgrace himself by fighting in a public ring. In the course of a month
Langan went to Palmerston Fair, to buy a horse for his father, when he
accidentally met with Cummins, who had several fellows with him. The
potato factor observed to Langan, “You had the impudence some time ago
to challenge me (then giving Langan a blow); there, take that for your
prate.” “Well,” replied Jack, “I did; and only come out and let us have
fair play, and I will give you what you deserve in a few minutes.”
Langan and Cummins immediately repaired to the outside of the fair, and,
although Langan was alone, in the course of ten rounds he punished Paddy
Cummins so severely that he could not forget for six months he had been
well thrashed at Palmerston Fair. We now come to the first authenticated
combat of Jack Langan.
Owen M’Gowran, a native of the fighting locality of Donnybrook, and a
boxer of considerable note, was matched against Langan, for 100 guineas
a-side. The contest came off on Wednesday, May 29, 1819, on the Curragh
of Kildare.
The crowd assembled was immense: vehicles of every kind were put in
requisition, and by twelve o’clock the Curragh exhibited as motley a
concourse as could be imagined. The country boys from the adjacent
counties, Wicklow and Kildare, who love a bit of sport of this kind as
well as the best of the fancy, assembled in great numbers, and all
repaired to take their places at that natural and beautiful
amphitheatre, known by the name of “Belcher’s Valley.”[14] In the centre
flat, surrounded entirely by rising hills, a twenty-four feet ring was
erected, well corded in—the amateurs paying 5s. for front seats—while
the uplands were covered with spectators. About twenty-five minutes
before one o’clock Langan entered the ring, attended by his second,
Halton, with Norman as his bottle-holder; immediately after, Owen
M’Gowran, attended by Kearney as his second, with his bottle-holder,
advanced to the scene of action. The combatants stripped, both
apparently in good condition; they shook hands with the greatest
cordiality, and at eighteen minutes before one o’clock the fight
commenced, at minute time. Betting five to four on Langan, the
favourite.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—The first round commenced with cautious sparring, each man
waiting for his adversary; both made play right and left, then
closed, and, after some hugging, both fell, M’Gowran under. (Betting
rising in favour of Langan.)
2.—Each advanced cautiously to meet his adversary, warily sparring;
at last Langan made a feint, which gave him an opening, and he hit
M’Gowran a chopper over his right eye, which drew first blood. This
blow had a great effect throughout the fight. They closed and fell
together. (Four to one on Langan.)
3.—The combatants came up with much caution, and sparred _à la
distance_. Some smart hitting took place, but not severe; the hits
were followed up until they closed and fell, Langan under.
4.—Much sparring, counter-hits, but no great punishment. M’Gowran
staggered and fell.
5.—Similar fighting. M’Gowran grassed, but not by a clean
knock-down.
6.—Like the two former at the beginning. Both closed and fell,
Langan under. (Bets still the same.)
7.—This might be said to have commenced the fight in earnest; both
came up determined, and desperate hard hitting took place. Each
stood well up, and received and paid in prime style—no flinching.
After very severe hitting, they closed and both fell together.
8.—Both went in, showing much pluck, stood fairly up, and fought
hard. Langan grassed his man again, although he seemed to have got
much the worst of the hitting. (Bets even.)
9.—Both determined milled away rapidly, and there was good
in-fighting. They closed with equal advantage, and both went down
together.
10.—The combatants seemed cautious from the effects of the last
round, and made much play, hitting wide. At last they closed more
lovingly, when Langan was hit down, but not cleverly. (Cries of
“Owen for ever!” from the surrounding heights.)
11.—Very severe fighting, at the close of which M’Gowran was hit
down.
12.—A desperate rally commenced, and any science that either had
heretofore shown was here out of the question: they stood close in,
and hit as hard as they could; at last they clenched. Both fell,
M’Gowran under.
13.—Both came up to the scratch more cautiously, making play, the
effects of the last round being visible on both. Some
counter-hitting, but weak. The men parted, but neither down.
14.—Owen placed a tremendous blow on Langan’s left side. The latter
grunted; and, in a close, both fell, Langan under. (Loud cheering.
Betting changed in favour of M’Gowran.)
15.—Some severe fighting, which ended in M’Gowran’s falling.
(Betting again even.)
16.—Good play on both sides: closed and, parted; set-to again; much
fighting, chiefly body blows. Langan hit over the ropes.
17.—Langan stood to his man with spirit, and planted a severe facer,
which uncorked the claret from M’Gowran’s nose. Both down, M’Gowran
under.
18.—Both very queer in the bellows; closed and parted; came up
again—a desperate rally; parted again; time counted.
19.—Both came up refreshed, and made play; desperate fighting.
Langan hit over the ropes, and grassed the third time. (“Huzza for
Paddy M’Gowran.”)
From the twentieth to twenty-sixth round similar fighting. Both
appeared much exhausted, and little science displayed.
27.—Much hard hitting. Langan hit over his adversary’s right eye, as
in the second round; M’Gowran’s claret puzzling him, he fell much
exhausted.
The combatants fought to the thirty-fifth round, during which time
M’Gowran was much punished. He came in time to the thirty-sixth
round, but finding that he had so thorough-bred a customer to deal
with, gave up in a manly style. The fight lasted an hour and
forty-seven minutes.
Langan, by his conquest over M’Gowran, was placed at the top of the
tree, in Dublin, as a pugilist. He threw down the glove to all Ireland,
but no boxer thought it would fit him. The gauntlet, therefore, remained
untouched, and Langan was hailed as Champion by the warm-hearted boys of
the sod. His friends, however, wished him to have a shy in the London
Ring; but, while he was undecided as to his future steps, a larger field
presented itself for the exertions of our hero.
Colonel Mead was raising a regiment in Dublin, to join the Independents
in South America, during which time the Colonel became acquainted with
Langan, and he roused in his breast so strong a sympathy for the
American sons of liberty, that Langan resolved to give his bunch of
fives a holiday for a short period, and to take up the cause of the
Independents with his sword. Jack sailed from Liverpool, with that
ill-fated expedition, in the Charlotte Gambier brig, in company with
another vessel, named La Force. Langan, being a smart, lively fellow,
was made a sergeant, as an earnest of his patron’s future intentions.
During the voyage, the privations which the crew endured were extremely
severe; but by the really patriotically inclined adventurer they were
borne without a murmur, while those individuals who embarked to obtain
wealth by their speculation—the thoughts of the gold and silver mines,
those precious metals, which their minds had flattered them might be had
for carrying away—pursued their voyage without grumbling, in hopes that
they would be paid for their troubles at last. Indeed, so strongly did
the accumulation of riches operate upon some of their feelings, that
several of the crew employed themselves in making canvass bags, out of
old sailcloth, to hold the dollars and doubloons.
The first place this expedition touched at was St. Michael’s. Colonel
Mead, in a conversation with the British Consul, mentioned Langan as a
pugilist; when the latter gentleman expressed a wish to witness an
exhibition of sparring. Langan immediately complied with the request of
the British Consul, and on board of the Charlotte Gambier some sets-to
occurred. The superiority of Langan was so great, in point of scientific
movements, over the hardy and brave sailors, that he disposed of five or
six in the style of an auctioneer knocking down a lot of sundries. From
the Azores they sailed to Tobago. In this island Langan’s brother died,
who once belonged to Admiral Nelson’s ship, the Victory. The brother of
Langan was on board when the gallant Admiral died at Aboukir Bay.[15]
The expedition then made for the island of St. Marguerite, which was
made the depôt, but more correctly speaking, the grave of the European
troops. Landed at St. Marguerite, the anticipation of wealth and glory
vanished, and the truth presented itself. Owing to the state of
starvation, the badness of the food, and the unwholesomeness of the
climate, the men, one after the other, sunk into the grave. Langan, with
a constitution unbroken, defied all the horrors by which he was
surrounded, and never enjoyed a better state of health. He was always
foremost in giving assistance to his sick comrades, and never complained
of being unwell for a single day. To describe the sufferings of this
wretched, ill-fated band, is impossible; the officers did not experience
any kinder treatment than the men. It was nothing uncommon to meet with
superior officers, with scarcely any covering upon their backs, ragged
as beggars, an old blanket thrown across their emaciated frames, with
holes made to admit their head and arms.
The proverb says that “hunger will force its way through stone walls.”
Langan, who had been without food for a considerable time, in company
with Captain Collins and Major Brian, were compelled to compromise their
feelings, and went seven miles up the country one night to pay their
respects to an inviting pig. The residence of this four-footed beauty
had been marked down in the course of the day, and the spot was soon
recognised in the dark. Our hero, who did not want for science in
flooring an opponent, was quite at a loss to quiet a pig: coaxing proved
fruitless, and the pig made so much noise that its owner was instantly
alarmed for the safety of his inmate, and a party sallied out well armed
to shoot the abductors. Langan, at this juncture, had got hold of the
pig’s leg by way of a parley; but his companions catching a glimpse of
the farmers, who were approaching in battle array, and being unarmed,
made their escape. Running away from the scene of action was so contrary
to the feelings of our hero, that he hesitated for a moment whether he
should show fight or bolt; but ten to one being rather too much odds for
Jack, he plunged into the nearest thicket and laid himself down. In this
situation he waited their approach, and heard his pursuers thrust their
rifles, with a sword affixed to the end, into every bush and thicket
which they supposed able to conceal a man. When Langan’s pursuers
approached the place where he had hid himself, they thrust the rifle,
with the sword, into the thicket several times without doing him the
slightest injury; but the last push wounded Langan in the leg. His game
was put to the test. To cry out would have cost him his life; silence,
therefore, was his only security. The armed band now retired, concluding
the borrowers of the pigs had made good their retreat. When the coast
was clear, Langan hobbled from his place of concealment, and joined his
companions in safety.
It ought to have been mentioned, that soon after Langan’s arrival at St.
Marguerite, Colonel Mead mentioned his prowess in the milling line to
Admiral Bryan, who had a _penchant_ for fistic exercises. The admiral’s
boatswain, Jack Power, bore a high character for his thumping qualities,
and was anxious to have a trial of skill with our hero. The boatswain
waited upon Langan with proposals for a match; he was received by the
latter with a hearty welcome, and the match made without delay. Three
days only were allowed for training; at the expiration of which a proper
place was selected for the mill, and a tolerably good ring made,
although not so tight and compact as the Commissary-general of England,
Bill Gibbons, might have produced. At the coolest period of the day, the
combatants, attended by their respective friends, appeared; the “legion”
of course attended to have a peep at the triumph of their countryman.
For the first five rounds the boatswain took the load: his constitution
was excellent, and his shipmates backed him to win. Jack was floored
several times, and napt lots of punishment, but his pluck never deserted
him; his superior science enabled him to get out of trouble, and his
goodness upon his legs ultimately decided the battle in his favour. The
natives appeared highly pleased with the manly exhibition; and it is to
be sincerely wished that they had also profited by such a display of
true courage over the stiletto and knife, those treacherous weapons
being generally used among the natives, the legitimate use of the bunch
of fives being unknown to them. This conquest tended to increase
Langan’s popularity, and also to establish his character as an
out-and-outer among the islanders.
At this period Langan’s rank was Quarter-master Sergeant; promotion had
been promised to him on the first opportunity, but in consequence of the
gross mismanagement of the funds, and the neglect which had occurred in
the hospital department, Jack resolved to quit the service. Langan,
therefore, left St. Marguerite, and worked his passage to Trinidad, in
company with several officers and men, whose military ardour was damped
by the want of funds and clothing, and the dreary prospects of the
expedition.
At Trinidad Jack found employment in a coaster, the property of a Mr.
Jewel, a merchant in the island. Some months were passed by Langan in
this new mode of life, when he came alongside of a Bristol man of the
name of Newton, who had milled several of Jack’s shipmates. Meantime
another boxer arrived at Trinidad, with whom Jack was compelled to enter
the lists without delay; but Jack polished off “Mr. Newcome” in such
quick and decisive style that the backers of Newton became alarmed; they
possessed influence enough, however, to induce the governor to draw his
bets upon the intended match, and in all probability, by so doing, not
only saved the honour of Newton, but also their pockets. Soon after the
above circumstance Jack sailed for Cork, on board of the Guadaloupe, of
Greenock: after a most favourable voyage he arrived at Cork in safety.
It is impossible to depict his feelings on his once more beholding his
beloved country; the ideas and anticipated delight of “sweet home!”
formed altogether a most agreeable contrast with the difficulties and
privations he had experienced in less hospitable climes.
Langan’s stay in Cork was very short, and Dublin soon became the object
of his attention; at the latter famed city, he began the world again in
the character of a publican; an employment for which it should seem that
nature had peculiarly adapted him. He was a lively fellow over his
glass, possessing a fund of wit and humour well calculated to amuse; not
forgetting, at the same time, that Jack was seconded by a fair stock of
muscle and bone, to keep up good discipline amongst disorderly or rum
customers. Thus we perceive our hero changing from one tutelary divinity
to another, discarding Mars to worship at the shrine of Bacchus! The
jolly god was delighted at receiving the devoirs of such a votary,
showering upon him his benign influence, and, for two years, Langan
carried on a roaring trade, in King Street, at the sign of the Irish
Arms, which bears the following motto:—
“Quiet when stroked;
Fierce when provoked!”
The attentions of our hero had hitherto been paid to Mars and Bacchus;
in fact, so exclusively, that Venus and Cupid were determined to resent
the insult and contempt offered to their power, through the person of
Miss Katty Flynn. Miss Katty was of true Hibernian genealogy; her father
was a dairyman, and the fair daddles of Katty, it is said, were often
employed in churning of butter.
“Most people fall in love some time or other,
’Tis useless, when the flame breaks out, trying it to smother;”
and so it appeared with poor Katty. Amongst her numerous elegant
customers was the funny, joking, gay Jack Langan. Katty endeavoured to
smother the unruly flame, but all-powerful love prevailed, and upon
every succeeding visit at Jack’s crib it increased like an oil-fed
blaze. The cream of her dairy was continually offered as a present to
our hero to embellish his tea tackle; in addition to which, lots of
new-laid eggs, lumps of butter, and oceans of milk; a dietary, according
to Lord Byron, of the most dangerous excitement to amatory ideas. Jack’s
counsel urged in his defence, that instead of being the seducer, he was
the seduced: and it would be a perversion of justice if he was not
placed as the payee, instead of the payer, for endeavouring to impart
comfort and consolation to the love-stricken damsel. But despite the
sophistry of his learned counsel, the jury were ungallant enough to
award damages against him of One Hundred Pounds. This circumstance,
combined with the treachery of a friend, compelled Jack once more to
quit Ireland, and try his luck in England. A few fleeting hours enabled
our hero to lose sight of the Pigeon-house, and the charms of Miss Katty
Flynn, and he landed in a whole skin at Liverpool, where he was not long
before he found himself seated snugly in Bob Gregson’s hostelrie.
Under this friendly roof he rested himself for a few days. Jack then
started for Manchester, in which place Pat Crawley had the honour of
entertaining the aspiring Irish hero, at the Three Tuns Tavern. At
Oldham Jack followed the occupation of a sawyer, and Tom Reynolds, like
the celebrated Peter Pindar, who discovered Opie in a saw-pit, found
Langan in a similar situation. “Come up, Jack,” says Tom, “and I’ll soon
make a top-sawyer of you.” Langan obeyed the summons; and after
comparing notes together, and having a small wet, Reynolds and Langan
became inseparable friends, setting-to together, both in private and
public, for their mutual advantage. Things went on in this way for a few
months, when Matthew Vipond, alias Weeping, a Manchester man, well known
as a good bit of stuff, entered the lists with the Irish Champion, on
Wednesday, April 30, 1823. The celebrity of the pugilists drew together
five thousand persons. The battle was fought between Buxton and
Bakewell, in a field called Lydia’s Island, and certainly a better place
could not be wished for—it was a perfect amphitheatre, and every person
was near enough to the ring to have a distinct view of the men, when
seated on the ridges of the surrounding eminences. The ring, which was a
roped one of twenty-four feet square, being formed, Vipond first entered
it, and threw up his golgotha; a few minutes after Langan made his
_entrée_, and hoisted his also in the air. The Manchester man was
seconded by two amateurs, the Irishman by Reynolds and Halton. Ned
Turner and Bob Purcell also attended. About two o’clock the men peeled,
shook each other by the fives, and the mill commenced.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—The men came to the scratch with good humour painted on
their mugs, and after gathering up and breaking ground for a few
seconds, Vipond made play, but was stopped and hit in a style by no
means expected. Vipond got in at last, closed, and gave the
Hibernian his first welcome to English ground by a sort of
cross-buttock.
2.—Vipond came up, bleeding from the left ogle, not quite so
confident, but nothing loth, and wishing to pay with interest the
favour received; but, alas! he was not the first man disappointed in
good intentions, for he was met in so tremendous a manner by Pat’s
right hand on the temple, that he was sent to the ground as if
kicked by a horse. (Ten to one on Pat.)
3.—The Patlanders in the last and in this round seemed frantic with
joy; hats went up in the air, and all roaring out for the darling
boy. Bob Purcell called out to Reynolds, “Blow my dickey, Tom, if
you don’t keep the Murphy back he will kill his man, and you’ll get
lagged.” This had no effect on Tom, for he sent Langan in to Vipond,
who was staggering from the effects of the blow in the last round.
Paddy brought him to his recollection by a blow at the victualling
office, and following it up with another for the box of knowledge,
Matthew went down before he received, and Langan fell also from
over-reaching himself.
4.—Vipond came to the scratch with far different spirits to those he
started with: he was nervous in the extreme, and a person might
easily guess that if he had known as much before as he did then he
would have left Mr. Irishman for somebody else. Vipond’s ivory box
was visited by Pat’s left mawley; by a ditto from the right, on the
old sore on the temple, he went down, and the amateurs thought he
would not come again. Langan during this round, and, in fact, all
the others, was laughing.
5.—It was astonishing how willingly Vipond came to the scratch; but
though he made some excellent hits, none of them told, they were so
well stopped. Unfortunately for Matthew there was a kind of magnetic
attraction between Paddy’s left hand and the Lancashire man’s
frontispiece, which kept the claret continually streaming, and
before the round was half over, Matthew seemed as if sprinkled by a
mop. This was the busiest and the longest round in the fight; it
ended by their getting entangled at the ropes, and both were down in
a struggle for the throw.
6.—Vipond toed his mark, but in such a manner that any odds might be
had against him. The only surprise was that he came at all, for he
had had enough to satisfy an out-and-outer, without the slightest
chance of winning. Langan, in commencing this round, nobbed him two
or three times, and then let go a good one at the mark, but as the
hit was going in, Vipond struck Langan’s wrist downwards, which
caused the blow to fall below the waistband. This the seconds
thought to take some advantage of, by saying the blow was below the
line prescribed by the laws of fighting, and a complete stand-still
took place, until the umpires declared they saw nothing unfair, and
desired the fight to proceed.
7.—The time-keepers called time, but Vipond seemed to hang fire. The
moment he got on his legs, Reynolds sent Langan to him, and Matthew
went to grass.
8.—Matthew, to tell the truth, did not like the suit; and we must
say he had no reason. When his second lifted him up to take him to
the scratch, he declared he had been struck foul in the sixth round,
and disregarding the direction of the umpires, declined fighting any
more. Time was called, but Matthew slipped under the ropes and left
the ring. Victory was then proclaimed for Langan in a shout that
rent the skies.
REMARKS.—This fight excited more interest in Lancashire and the
surrounding counties, than anything of the kind that has happened in
the recollection of the oldest man. It was a kind of duel between
England and Ireland—the English free in backing Vipond, the Irish
almost offended if any doubt was expressed against Paddy. Langan
stood five feet ten inches; Matthew, five feet eleven inches and
three-quarters, about ten pounds the heavier, and a most powerful
man. It was, as long as it lasted, a lively fight; but Vipond
certainly had no chance of winning. The Irishman was (a wonder for
that nation) cool and deliberate. Independent of that, he was quick
on his legs, hit hard, and used both hands. As a proof of the
inequality of the men, Pat had not the slightest visible mark of
injury about him when the contest ended. At the time the row ensued,
and Vipond had left the ring, a man called Rough Robin, about
fifteen stone, entered the ropes, and challenged Pat for any money.
Langan offered to fight that instant for £5, or anything else; but
simple as Robin looked, he had good sense enough to take a second
thought, and said he would train first. At the conclusion, Langan
was exultingly carried by the boys of Shillelah on their shoulders
to his carriage, and left the ground. The following certificate of
the umpires was considered sufficient to satisfy all parties as to
any doubt which they might have at the time respecting the alleged
foul blow:—
“CERTIFICATE.
“This is to certify that Messrs. Swiney and Cope, being appointed
umpires in the fight between Langan and Vipond, declare that the
fight was fairly won by Langan.
“W. SWINEY,
“ENOS COPE.
“_Buxton, April 30th, 1823._”
Langan, after his conquest over Vipond, left Lancashire for the Emerald
Isle, to exonerate his bail; honesty being at all times his polar star.
He had scarcely landed in Dublin, when he was compelled to spend his
time in the Marshalsea, in consequence of not being able to raise the
sum of money necessary to repair Miss Katty’s damages. Langan ultimately
got out of his love adventure by the adverse party not opposing his
discharge at the Insolvent Court; nevertheless, this bit of a love
affair made great havoc in his cash account. Shortly after our hero’s
liberation from durance vile, he received a letter from Tom Reynolds,
informing Jack that Rough Robin could be backed against him in
Manchester. He lost no time in obeying the summons; but to his great
regret, he found out it was “no go”—the Rough One did not appear at the
scratch. Langan issued a challenge to all the Lancashire boys, but
without the desired effect, and the Irish Champion could not pick up a
customer. A sporting friend recommended Langan to visit Ned Painter, at
Norwich, and under his auspices to enter the P.R. Jack would readily
have availed himself of his advice, but Tom Reynolds, under whose
guidance he was at that time, wished Langan to have a shy with Josh
Hudson, at Doncaster Races, for a subscription purse—the John Bull
Fighter having announced himself ready to meet any boxer at that
sporting town. Many slips, however, happen between the cup and the lip;
the manager of the Manchester Theatre had engaged Spring and Cribb for a
sparring exhibition; the placards announced Spring as the Champion of
England, and stated, at the same time, that the latter celebrated
pugilist was ready to fight any man in the world. Langan conceived that
the validity of Spring’s title to the championship at least demanded a
trial, and therefore, without hesitation, challenged Tom Spring for
£100. This, in the first instance, was refused by Spring, but after
several negotiations upon the subject, a match was made for six hundred
sovereigns, and the battle took place at Worcester, on Wednesday,
January 7, 1824, as may be seen detailed in the preceding chapter.
Langan, accompanied by Reynolds, appeared in London a few days after his
defeat at Worcester, and exhibited the art of self-defence at the Surrey
Theatre. He was warmly received by the Sporting World.
Thinking he was not fairly treated in his fight at Worcester, Langan
entered into a second match for 1,000 sovereigns.
For the details of this gallant contest we must also refer to the memoir
of the victor. To the minutiæ there given we must here add a few proofs
from contemporary publications of the deservedly high position in which
Langan’s gallant conduct placed him with the public at large and
sporting men generally.
Spring, it cannot be denied, received considerably more punishment in
this battle than in any of his previous contests. This speaks for
itself, and refutes the imputation of Langan being a bad fighter. The
hero of the black fogle hit hard at a greater distance than most boxers.
Mr. Jackson went round the ring and collected several pounds for Langan;
and in the course of a few minutes, as a proof of how high the Irish
Champion stood in the opinion of the amateurs, Pierce Egan collected on
the stage, from a few gentlemen, £12 16s., of which sum Mr. Gully
subscribed five sovereigns. The following letter from John Badcock (the
Jon Bee of Sporting Literature) forms a fitting accompaniment to the
appended verses in praise of Langan:—
“Well, sir, there is redemption in Gath, and the Philistines are
discomfited, the Puritans overthrown, the Parliament of the
Barebones dissolved, the opponents of the fancy defeated in their
designs, the impugners of manhood laughed into scorn. There have now
been no beaks, no x x’s, like clouds and storms upon the pugilistic
hemisphere; we have had a noble, manly, fair British fight—the flag
of the P.R. is again triumphant, and the colours of both the
combatants covered with glory. The conqueror has reaped new laurels,
the conquered has renewed and refreshed his: Spring has been truly
triumphant, but Langan is not disgraced—as the old Major says,
‘quite the contrary.’
“You have acted, and you have written nobly, sir, about the
discomfited son of Erin: you have rendered unto Cæsar Cæsar’s goods.
I am an Englishman, and I love, I reverence, the land of mawleys and
roast beef; but I can respect our brethren of the Union, and speak
well of the country of shillelahs and potatoes. The hero of the
sable banner shall yet be a conqueror—‘quoit it down, Bardolph!’—and
so, my jolly Daffs, let us have a stave for the Black Fogle.
“JOHN OF CORINTH.
“THE BLACK FOGLE.
“‘Hic Niger est, hunc tu Romane caveto.’—_Old Classics._
“‘He sports a black flag, ye millers beware of him.’—_Modern
Classical Translation._
“Hail to brave Pat! though he’s had a sound thumping,
Long life to the Champion from Ireland so dear;
Strike up, ye fancy coves, and be all jumping,
To give the brave Paddy a benefit clear,
Crest of John Langan—
Faith, ’tis a queer ’un,
A fogle of sable as black as can be,
And he hath stuck to it,
Though without luck to it—
Whack for the fogle and Jack Langan’s spree!
“Oh! ’tis a colour that ne’er shall grow whiter,
The blues and the yellows may flaunt it amain,
But the black flag that waves for the Paddy Bull fighter,
If torn a small bit shall not nourish a stain,
Hudson may puff away,
Sampson may blarney gay,
Still ’tis no Gaza to yield to his blow;
Shelton may shake a fist,
Ward he may try a twist,
And be one in chancery if he does so.
“Drink, Paddies, drink, to your hero from Erin!
While manhood shall flourish, and true friendship thrive,
So long for your Champion his ensign be wearing,
’Tis defended and held by a good bunch of fives.
While the ring flourishes,
And Erin nourishes
Freedom and fancy and true sporting joys,
The black flag shall have a toast,
The P.R. shall ever boast
The fogle of sable and Langan, my boys!”
Langan took a benefit at the Fives Court on Thursday, July 1, 1824, when
that popular place of amusement was crowded to suffocation, and numbers
went away disappointed, not being able to procure admittance. Hundreds
of amateurs were quite satisfied at getting a short peep now and then at
the stage, and a great number of persons left the Court without being
able, with all their efforts, to obtain a single glimpse of the
sparring; indeed, it was such an overflow as almost to render the safety
of the spectators doubtful. The sets-to were generally good.
Loud cheers greeted the appearance of Spring, and also Langan, upon the
stage. Neither of the heroes had yet recovered from the effects of their
then recent contest. The set-to was a fac-simile of the battle in
Chichester, the length of Spring giving him the advantage; it, however,
gave general satisfaction. At the conclusion Langan addressed the
audience in the following words:
“Gentlemen.—The first wish nearest my heart, is to return thanks for the
kindness and attention I have received in this country. I trust you will
believe me, when I say, that I do not appear here in anything like a
national point of view. There is no man loves Ireland and her sons
better than I do. My pretensions are to show as a man among pugilists,
and to contend for the Championship of England. I will contend with
honour, and that shall be my pride, or I should be undeserving of that
patronage which you so liberally bestowed upon me. When I met the
Champion of England at Manchester, my friends backed me for the sum
which was asked, £300. I would be proud to have my name enrolled in
history amongst those brave champions, Jem Belcher, Pearce (the Game
Chicken), John Gully, Cribb, and Tom Spring. I am now willing to accept
a challenge to fight any man in England—to fight for that proud and
enviable title, for the sum asked of me by Spring—£300.”
Jem Ward then mounted the stage, and said he was willing to fight Langan
for 200 sovereigns.
Langan—I’ll accept your challenge if you’ll make it 300, but I’ll not
fight for less—it would be beneath the dignity of the distinction at
which I aim, to fight for a smaller sum.
Ward—I am willing to fight for £300 if my friends will make up the sum.
Here the matter ended, and nothing decisive was done.
The Irish hero arrived in Bristol, on his way to Dublin, on the 11th of
July, 1824, but the packet not being ready to sail, he immediately set
off by the steam-boat for Tenby, in Wales, in order to meet with the
steam-packet for Waterford. In his journey through Pembroke and Milford
he met with a very kind reception from the Welsh people. Langan put up
at the Nelson’s Hotel, in Milford. Crowds of people surrounded the house
during his stay; and the sailors, who were wind-bound, came on shore,
along with the crews of two revenue cutters, just to get a peep at the
Irish milling cove. The inhabitants of Tenby wished him to spar for a
benefit, and some gentlemen amateurs offered him their assistance, but
Langan refused to accept their kind offer, on account of his father’s
illness. He sailed in the Ivanhoe steam-packet for Waterford, on the
14th.
In the second fight with Spring, our hero, during one of his severe
falls on the stage, injured his shoulder so seriously, that upon
Langan’s application to Mr. Cline, the celebrated surgeon, the latter
gentleman informed him he must not fight for a twelvemonth. In
consequence of this advice, Langan kept aloof from the prize ring, and
went on a sparring tour, in various parts of England, with Spring; paid
a visit to Dublin, Cork, and various other parts of Ireland, with great
success, and likewise went on a similar expedition with Peter Crawley to
Liverpool, Manchester, etc. Jack improved considerably during his
practice with the late ponderous host of the French Horn.
Lots of letter-writing passed between Langan and Shelton on the subject
of a fight, but it all ended in smoke. Ward and our hero had also a few
words on the subject of a mill, but no battle was the result. For
several months after Langan’s fight with Spring, the pain in his
shoulder operated as a great drawback to his exertions in setting-to.
Jack could not hit out with effect.
We copy the following letter from a Dublin journal, to show the feelings
of our hero upon the subject of a challenge:
“_To the Editor of_ FREEMAN’S JOURNAL.
“SIR,
“May I request you will contradict a statement which appeared in
your paper of Saturday, in a letter signed ‘Paul Spencer,’ in which
it is stated that during my stay in Cork I was challenged to fight
an English soldier for £150, and that I did not accept the
challenge. I have not been challenged by any person whatsoever, and
therefore the statement in the letter signed ‘Paul Spencer’ is
utterly without foundation. There are certain persons in Dublin with
whom I would not associate, and who, in consequence, have felt a
soreness that fully accounts for the occasional squibs which now and
then appear in print to my prejudice, and which I hold in the utmost
contempt.
“I remain your obedient servant,
“JOHN LANGAN.
“_April 22, 1826._”
For some months Langan was completely lost sight of by the London Fancy;
at length he was heard of as the proprietor of a snug public-house in
Liverpool. Here his lively disposition, civility of demeanour, industry,
and attention gained him hosts of friends. Langan sang a tolerably good
song, and told a story well. He was the first to prevent a brawl, the
last to provoke any one, or to suffer any one to be insulted in his
house, and ever ready to lend a hand to any one in distress—colour,
country, or profession disregarded. He gained the esteem of all who knew
him; he accumulated money, and took an hotel, which he termed St.
Patrick’s, at Clarence Dock, from whence he after some years retired
with an ample fortune. At his house he had a large room; in this place
he nightly placed beds of clean straw, rugs, etc.; it was a nightly
refuge for every Irishman that chose to apply. Let the tongue be but
tipped with a bit of the brogue, “Come in and welcome,” said Langan,
“only, lads, let me take away your reaping hooks and shillelahs—there is
a clean bed, a warm rug, and lashings of potatoes, for the honour of the
land we all come from.” This Langan did, unaided by any subscription,
for years. Such a fact needs no comment. We could enumerate a hundred
acts of his charity—he did not wait to be asked.
Here, for many years, he lived honoured, respected, and prosperous; but
latterly his health failed, and he retired from the bustle of business
to a house at Five Lanes End, Cheshire, where, on the 17th of March (St.
Patrick’s Day), in the year 1846, he departed this life, aged
forty-seven.
It was with deep regret that we heard of the demise of the brave, the
good Jack Langan. Brave he was, as his conduct in conflict showed; good
he was, as perpetual acts of benevolence proved. He was a boxer, a
prize-fighter—no matter, a profession never yet disgraced a man, if he
took care not to disgrace the profession. Langan, though poorly educated
was a man of superior mind; he was, to speak of them generally, better
educated than the class with whom his name was associated; and in power
of observation, acuteness of reasoning, was, in fact, far above many who
walk in higher places.
The sun never rose on a braver or a better man; and hundreds of poor
Irishmen have cause to bless his memory. One of those domestic
afflictions that are utterly beyond remedy increased the maladies to
which he had been long subject, and we fear we may, to use a common but
expressive phrase, say that he died of a broken heart.
“Light lie the earth on his grave.”
[Illustration]
CHAPTER III.
NED PAINTER—1813–1820.
Edward Painter was known to the past and to not a few of the present
generation, as a worthy specimen of the English boxer—a race of men, we
fear, well-nigh extinct. To the first, as one of the gamest of pugilists
that ever pulled off a shirt; to the second, as a respectable and worthy
tradesman resident in Norwich, but ever and anon visiting his old
friends and patrons in the great metropolis, when some “event” occurred,
in which those he knew in former days required a hand; or when some
public or charitable object could be assisted by “Old Ned’s” showing
with Tom Spring, Peter Crawley, Jem Ward, one or other of the
distinguished “big ’uns,” who were contemporary with his ring career.
[Illustration:
NED PAINTER, OF NORWICH.
_From a Drawing by_ GEORGE SHARPLES, 1824.
]
Ned Painter was born at Stratford, Lancashire, within four miles of
Manchester, in March, 1797, and, as a young man, followed the calling of
a brewer. His connexions were respectable, and young Ned bore the
character of a well-behaved, civil fellow. A difference with a big
fellow in the brewery, one Wilkins, led to a blow from that personage,
and its return by the youthful Ned. A cartel from Wilkins was boldly
answered by Painter, and they met in due form in the yard of the Swan
Inn, Manchester, when Ned so quickly polished off the “big one” that he
gave in after a very few minutes. Ned’s master, who was a spectator of
the affair, complimented him for his courage and skill, and, as Ned
himself said, gave him the idea of his own boxing qualities.
Accordingly, when Jack Carter, “The Lancashire Champion,” as he
vauntingly called himself, was exhibiting in Manchester, in 1811,
Painter, at the solicitation of his friends, was induced to offer
himself for a set-to. The specimen he gave with the gloves confirmed
their good opinion that he was the “right stuff,” but required a little
more polish to spar with a full-blown “professional.” Painter, at this
time, was in his twenty-fourth year, his weight thirteen stone, his
height five feet nine inches and three-quarters, and his bust, when
stripped, an anatomical study for symmetry and strength. Few men, at
this time, or in after years, could throw half a hundred-weight near to
the distance to which Painter could sling it with comparative ease. Our
hero, thus qualified, presented himself to his fellow countryman, Bob
Gregson, at the Castle, as an aspirant for fistic fame. Bob, at this
time, was a sort of Mæcenas of millers, as boxers were then termed, and
his house the mart for match-making. He welcomed the arrival of this
promising young Lancastrian, and soon found him an opponent in one
Coyne,[16] an Irish boxer from Kilkenny, six feet in height, and
fourteen stone in weight, who also ambitioned a name. The articles fixed
40 guineas a-side as the stake, and the men met at St. Nicholas, near
Margate (in the same ring as Harmer and Ford), August 23, 1813. Painter
was attended by his friend Bob Gregson, and Joe Clark; Coyne was
esquired by Joe Ward and Hall. The men lost little time in preliminary
sparring, and, considering the size of the Hibernian, Painter’s
confidence was more conspicuous than his science. He went up to the head
of Paddy, and put in one two, but got it heavily in return, and as the
rally went on the weight and length of Coyne bored him gradually back on
to the ropes, where he escaped cleverly, and “upper-cut” his opponent
amidst some applause. Another rally and both napped it heavily; the
round ending in Painter down, but the larger share of punishment
certainly to Coyne, whose appearance excited much amusement. His arms
were unusually long and lathy, and his face long also, with sharp-cut
features and a prominent “cut-water;” indeed, after a little of
Painter’s painting, it is compared by the reporter to that of the Knight
of La Mancha—he of “the woeful countenance;” the swinging of his arms,
too, resembled that of the windmill sails so unsuccessfully attacked by
Cervantes’ hero. The mill, however, went on merrily, Painter receiving
far more than he need have received, but for his eagerness to “polish
off” his man triumphantly. Paddy was game as a pebble; but Painter, by
his skill, gradually obtained a decided lead, and ended each round by
milling poor Coyne to grass. After forty minutes, during the latter part
of which time Coyne acted as “receiver-general,” Painter was hailed the
conqueror.
Alexander, known as “The Gamekeeper,” who had, a short time before,
defeated the game Jack Ford, at Hayes Common, now challenged Painter,
and the match was made for 60 guineas a-side. The Fancy betted two to
one on Alexander! The battle came off at Moulsey Hurst, on Saturday, the
20th of November, 1813. Gregson and Tom Owen were the knowing seconds to
Painter; Old Joe Ward and the veteran Paddington Jones attended to the
Gamekeeper. At one o’clock the men stood up, there being scarcely a
point to choose, in height, weight, or length of arm.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Painter gave evidence of improvement, and immediately went
to work with both hands. The Gamekeeper, equally on the alert, hit
Painter on the head. Some blows were exchanged, when Alexander went
down, from a slip on his knee.
2.—Some caution before blows were exchanged. Alexander did not show
himself off in the superior style which had been anticipated.
Painter proved himself an equal, if not a superior fighter to his
opponent. They fought their way into a close, and in going down, the
Gamekeeper was undermost. (Five to two now vanished, and level
betting was the truth.)
3.—Both on their mettle. Heavy exchanges occurred in a sharp rally.
Painter was thrown.
4.—Milling, without ceremony, hit for hit. This was the evenest and
best contested round in the fight. The Gamekeeper planted a
desperate blow on Painter’s ear that staggered him. Both their nobs,
from heavy punishment, were metamorphosed. The claret was first seen
on Alexander’s face. Painter went down from a slip. Great applause.
5.—Both distressed at the scratch. The efforts of the last round had
winded them. Alexander was soon down. (Betting now took a turn, and
Painter was the favourite.)
6.—The superiority was now decidedly on the part of Painter.
Alexander endeavoured to keep pace with his opponent, but had the
worst of it at every move. In closing the Gamekeeper was thrown.
7.—Alexander took the lead in this round. He nobbed Painter twice
under the ear, without return. Both down.
8.—Both combatants appeared to have out-fought themselves, and
sparred for wind. In closing, both down, but Painter uppermost.
9.—It was now a blinking concern, both their peepers being
materially damaged. The Gamekeeper’s right hand appeared to have
given way, and he made his blows at random. Painter took the lead in
fine style, and finished the round by flooring his adversary. This
was the first knock-down blow.
10.—Painter still kept the advantage, but in closing both down.
11.—Alexander contested his ground ably, but Painter had the best of
the hitting. In struggling to obtain the throw the latter
experienced a severe cross-buttock.
12.—It was altogether a sporting fight; another change had taken
place, and the Gamekeeper appeared the freshest man. Alexander
commenced play with increased spirit. A desperate rally took place,
in which Painter received a severe blow again under his ear, and he
was ultimately thrown.
13.—The Gamekeeper kept the advantage, and also brought into play
his left hand, which had hitherto been neglected. Painter exhibited
great weakness, and Alexander improved this opportunity with
considerable skill by putting in some good blows, and ultimately
obtained the throw. Alexander was again the favourite in point of
betting.
14.—One of Painter’s eyes was completely closed, and the Gamekeeper
did everything in his power to put the other into a state of
darkness, but in this attempt he was floored so severely by Painter
that he went down nob foremost.
15.—In favour of Painter; but both down, and Alexander undermost.
16 to 20.—These rounds were in favour of Alexander, who fought with
his left hand at Painter’s half-closed eye. The latter stood up
manfully to his opponent, but seemed incapable of hitting
effectively. Alexander was best in wind and strength, and was booked
as the winning man. (Three to one was boldly offered in his favour).
21 and last.—Such is the uncertainty of war, that although victory
seemed within the grasp of Alexander, yet from a straight
well-directed hit at the “mark,” Painter was announced the conqueror
in a twinkling. It positively electrified the “knowing ones” (who
had just before sported the odds against Painter), to see Alexander
stagger away from his opponent. The Gamekeeper fell heavily and
could not be brought to time. The battle continued for near forty
minutes.
REMARKS.—This was a proud day for the Lancashire fancy, and Bob
Gregson felt considerable exultation in having produced a hero who
bid fair to obtain a high place on the roll of fame. Painter was
brought home to the Castle Tavern with the honours of a triumphal
entry.
Painter, from this conquest, was deemed a match for Tom Oliver; but here
the smiles of conquest deserted our hero, who experienced a most gallant
defeat. For an account of this memorable battle, see Life of OLIVER,
Chapter IV.
For a purse of 50 guineas, without training, Painter entered the lists
with Shaw, the life-guardsman, at Hounslow Heath, on April 18, 1815.
Nothing but true courage could have induced Painter to contend with an
opponent so much his superior in every point. Shaw was upwards of six
feet in height, and above fifteen stone in weight. Having the
advantages, also, of military exercise every day, a good knowledge of
pugilistic science, frequent practice with the gloves, and so confident
of success, that he had challenged all England. Painter, on the
contrary, was a debtor in the Fleet, and had only obtained a day-rule.
The odds, in consequence, were two to one on the life-guardsman. Cribb
and Oliver seconded Painter. The latter set-to with great gaiety, and
the soldier did not appear to have much the best of him, but the length
and weight of Shaw ultimately prevailed, and numerous terrible hits were
exchanged. It was piteous to view the punishment Painter received, and
the game he exhibited astonished every one present. The long arms of
Shaw were truly formidable, and he stood over Ned, planting his blows
with confidence. Painter received ten knock-down blows in succession;
and, although requested to resign the battle, not the slightest chance
appearing in his favour, he refused to quit the ring till nature was
exhausted. The battle lasted twenty-eight minutes.
At Carter’s benefit, at the Fives Court, on Tuesday, March 11, 1816,
Oliver and Painter set-to; the latter boxer was considered to have
rather the best of it, and, in one instance, Painter hit Oliver away
from him with such violence against the rail of the stage, that it was
broken. This circumstance occasioned considerable conversation among the
amateurs; and, at a sporting dinner which occurred soon after at
Belcher’s, the friends of Painter, in order that he might have a chance
to recover his lost laurels, subscribed £100 towards a second combat. It
was generally thought that Painter was much improved from frequent
practice with Carter, in their sparring tour in various parts of England
and Ireland, and it was argued that it was during his “noviciate” he was
defeated by Oliver. The following challenge was, in consequence, sent by
Painter:—
“_Castle Tavern, Holborn, March 21, 1817._
“E. Painter’s compliments to Mr. T. Oliver, and challenges him to
fight, on Thursday, the 22nd day of May next, in a twenty-four feet
ring, half-minute time between each round, a fair stand-up fight,
for one hundred guineas a-side. The place to be appointed by and
stakes deposited with Mr. Jackson, who, Mr. Painter understands, is
willing to contribute a purse of twenty-five guineas to make up the
one hundred. An early answer is requested.”
The following answer was returned:—
“Tom Oliver, with compliments to Mr. Painter, informs him he has
received his most welcome challenge to fight him. Oliver certainly
cannot refuse to fight him on the day appointed, but requests it to
be understood, he will not fight for a smaller stake than £100
a-side, independent of the purse which may be thought proper to be
given by the Club.
“Oliver also begs leave to inform Mr. Painter, he agrees to his own
proposal, that is, to make it a stand-up fight, in a twenty-four
feet ring, at half-minute time between each round; and also the
place to be appointed by Mr. Jackson; and, if it meets his pleasure
(which it does his most unexceptionably) to deposit the whole stakes
in his hands. Your early answer to the above terms is requested, in
order that he may apprise his friends to come and make a deposit.
They will either meet you at my house, or he will meet you and them
at Mr. Thomas Belcher’s, in Holborn, at his.”
“Peter P. Weston—_22nd March, 1817_.”
“Mr. Painter has to inform Mr. Oliver, that having waited upon Mr.
Jackson with the above reply, it is contrary to the rules of the
Pugilistic Club to give a purse of twenty-five guineas when the
battle-money amounts to £100.
“_Castle Tavern, March 24, 1817._”
The following articles were, at length, most amicably agreed to:—
“_Castle Tavern, April 10, 1817._
“Thomas Oliver and Edward Painter agree to fight, on the 19th of May
next, for 100 guineas a-side, in a twenty-four foot ring, a fair
stand-up fight, half-minute time. The fight not to take place within
twenty-five miles of London. Twenty guineas are deposited in the
hands of Mr. Belcher, which deposit is to be forfeited, if the whole
of the money is not made good on the 2nd May, at T. Oliver’s, Great
Peter-street, Westminster. The men to be in the ring precisely at
one o’clock.
“THOMAS OLIVER, HIS ✗ MARK.
“EDWARD PAINTER.”
“Witnessed by T. W. and J. H.”
The stakes were made good as stipulated, and the odds were six to four
on Oliver. The sporting world, however, experienced great disappointment
from the unexpected interruption of the fight. Oliver, from an
information laid against him at Worship Street, Moorfields, was brought
from Riddlesdown, where he was in training, to the above police-office,
and bound over to keep the peace for a twelvemonth, himself in £200, and
two sureties in £100 each. Both combatants felt equally mortified in
being thus defeated without a blow. A trip to Calais was talked of among
the swells, as the only safe mode of evading this untoward circumstance.
Oliver and Painter were both eager for the fray, and “Mossoo” might be
treated to an opportunity of witnessing _le boxe Anglaise_.
To keep the game alive, a match was proposed between Painter and Sutton,
a strong, bony, long-armed, man of colour, aged twenty-seven years, who
made a début in the ring, on the casual offer of a purse, at Coombe
Warren, on May 28, 1816, with an old black man. From his sets-to, soon
afterwards, with Cooper and Oliver, at the Fives Court, it was thought
he displayed capabilities; and his fight with Robinson, at Doncaster,
not only confirmed this opinion, but produced him numerous patrons. He
also fought a man of the name of Dunn, for an hour and seven minutes, at
Deptford, with success. Sutton was well known to be a desperate
punisher, without fear, possessing great strength, a penetrating eye to
direct his efforts, and tolerably well thought of by the milling
fraternity. He and Painter met on Wednesday, the 23rd of July, 1817, at
Moulsey Hurst, and boxing annals do not record a greater exhibition of
pugilistic heroism. Painter was finally defeated, after a battle of
forty-eight minutes, which was “anybody’s fight” up to the last round.
Painter strained every nerve to turn the chance in his favour, but in
vain. He fought till nature refused to second his will; and more sincere
regrets were never expressed at the defeat of any pugilist, for Ned had
earned hosts of friends by his inoffensive disposition and respectful
demeanour in society.
It was not to be expected that so courageous a boxer as Ned Painter had
proved himself to be should “rest and be thankful” under the dark shade
of this black defeat. Accordingly he at once demanded of his sable
victor another trial, which Harry Sutton most cheerfully granted,
nothing doubting to score another win. Bungay, in Suffolk, was the spot
pitched upon, and the stake 100 guineas. On the morning of the 7th of
August, 1818, the rendezvous being the ancient city of Norwich, whence
Painter was backed, the amateurs were in motion, and not a coach,
chaise, cart, or any sort of vehicle whatever, could be had, all having
been previously engaged for the mill. Notwithstanding the rainy state of
the weather, myriads of pedestrians were pouring in from all parts of
the county, and by twelve o’clock not less than 15,000 persons had
assembled upon Bungay Common. The ring was formed in a superior style to
those made at Moulsey or Shepperton. Besides the enclosed quadrangle of
twenty-four feet for the combatants to engage in, an outer roped ring
was placed, leaving a clear space of twenty yards for those persons
connected with the fighting men to walk round without confusion. Outside
this stood the pedestrians several rows deep; and three circles of
wagons surrounded the whole, giving the ring the appearance of an
amphitheatre. Every person could see with the utmost ease, and all was
conducted with good order. The spectators were unusually silent for such
an occasion, though the combatants were much applauded upon entering the
ring. Painter was seconded by Tom Belcher and Harry Harmer; Sutton
attended by Tom Owen and Richmond. About ten minutes after one the men
shook hands and set-to. Five and six to four upon Sutton.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—The fine condition of Painter attracted the attention of
every eye, and the formidable bulk of Sutton was equally imposing.
Nine minutes elapsed before a hit occurred, during which much
science was displayed. The Black, it seems, had undergone some
previous rehearsals, and his “cue” was “steady,” which was given to
him by his second, Tom Owen, in order not to make the first blow.
The attack, however, was begun from Sutton, which Painter returned
by a right-handed hit at the Black’s nob. A rally followed, and
Painter’s superior skill milled the man of colour most successfully.
Painter at length got away, when a second rally occurred, and Sutton
was floored by a right-handed hit on his jaw. The first blood was,
however, drawn by Sutton, slightly, from Painter’s nose. (Great
applause.)
2.—The science of Painter was much admired, and the knowledge of
boxing displayed by Sutton far above mediocrity. Painter planted,
with much adroitness, a severe bodier, and got away, the Black
following; but he received a facer, till Painter made a sudden
stand, and again floored the nigger. (Six to four against Sutton.)
3.—The success of Painter rendered it necessary for Sutton to alter
his previously planned system; and Owen, upon the alert, like a
skilful general, loudly observed to Sutton “to fight his own way!”
This hint was enough, and the man of colour went to work without
loss of time. He endeavoured to plant a terrible blow with his left
hand, which Painter stopped in a scientific manner. The Black now
seemed determined on doing some execution, and Painter appeared
equally resolute. They stood up to each other as if insensible to
the effects of punishment, exchanging hits with all the celerity of
blacksmiths striking at an anvil, till they became exhausted, when
Painter was thrown in closing. In this round the advantages were
considered on the side of Sutton; but the claret run down in a
stream from his left eye. The nob of Painter was rather damaged, and
one of his ogles slightly marked. (Even betting.)
4.—The man of colour seemed bent on milling, and rallied in a most
heroic style. Finer courage or greater resolution could not be
witnessed. The gameness of Sutton was the object of admiration from
all the spectators, and the true bottom exhibited by Painter equally
impressive. It is impossible to particularize the blows that passed
between them in this round, more than to observe that they were
dreadful indeed. Sutton not only received a severe bodier, but so
tremendous a blow on his nob that it was distinctly heard all over
the ground. Painter went down easy.
5.—Half a minute was too short apparently for the men to come up to
the scratch anything like themselves, and both commenced sparring to
recover wind. The Black at length made play, but out of distance,
and got again severely nobbed. He, without dismay, fought his way
manfully in, although he had the worst of the punishment. One of
Painter’s listeners received a heavy hit, and, in closing, he was
thrown.
6.—Sutton’s nob, from the milling it had undergone, and the singular
contrast of the red streams upon his coal black phiz, would have
been a fine subject for the strong imagination of a Fuseli. Some
reciprocal hitting occurred, when Painter’s back was accidentally
turned for an instant upon his opponent, but he soon righted
himself, and in a sharp contested rally planted a good blow on the
head of Sutton. In closing, Painter went down.
7.—In this round the superiority of fighting was decidedly on the
side of Painter, who, with much skill put in a “winder,” and also
planted a severe blow on his opponent’s punished head. The men
opposed each other like lions, till Painter fell, rather exhausted
from the exertions he had made. Sutton was equally distressed, and
staggered like a drunken man. He appeared scarcely to know where he
was.
8 to 10.—The fine condition of Painter was manifest in these rounds,
and he recovered himself with advantage in all of them. His improved
science was evident.
11.—Sutton proved himself a troublesome customer to be got rid of,
and in the most manly style he endeavoured to get a change in his
favour. The head of the Black, terrific to view, was again punished;
but the left ear of Painter received so sharp a hit that the blood
ran down his back. In closing, both down. It was evident Sutton was
beaten, and Tom Belcher went up and asked the question, but the
seconds of the Black reproved him for the interference.
12.—In this round Painter astonished his most intimate friends, from
the superiority of science he exhibited. Sutton had no chance left
him now but desperation, and he bored in, regardless of the
consequences. His nob came in contact with the left hand of Painter,
and the claret followed profusely. Still the gameness of Sutton was
not to be denied, and he contended bravely. Painter, in getting away
from his impetuosity, found himself awkwardly situated against the
stakes of the ring, when he fought his way out in the Randall style,
and extricated himself from his perilous position cleverly. He also
showed the advantage of giving, and the art of not receiving. The
Black’s nob was again punished out of all shape, and fibbed so
sharply that the claret flowed from his ear. It was a terrible
round, and Sutton was all but done.
13.—The Black was nothing else but a “good one,” or he never could
have met his man again. In fact he appeared stupid as to scientific
movements, but, nevertheless, rushed at his opponent pell mell.
Painter, quite collected, stopped the desperation of the Black with
the utmost ease, and nobbed him at will. Painter received a chance
hit upon his cheek, but in return he floored Sutton. The Black was
now so dead beat that he resigned the contest in a whisper to his
seconds. He was requested to try two rounds more, which he gamely
did, but it was only to add to his punishment. At the end of the
fifteenth round he could scarcely articulate in reply to Belcher,
who had crossed the ring, “he would fight no more.”
REMARKS.—One hour and forty-two minutes had elapsed, and a braver or
a more manly battle does not stand recorded in the annals of
pugilism. Sutton weighed thirteen stone nine pounds, being two
pounds heavier than his opponent; he was also about three inches
taller; his arms too were considerably longer than Painter’s.
Several of the spectators were so pleased with the manliness
displayed by the combatants, that, in the impulse of the moment,
they drew Painter and his seconds off the ground in their
post-chaises into the town of Bungay, where females were seen waving
their handkerchiefs from the windows as he passed through the
streets to the inn. From the superior style with which this victory
was gained Painter raised himself high in the opinion of the
sporting world. True, that to good condition and active and careful
training, he was much indebted for conquest, opposed to a man of
almost Herculean strength and pluck. His first battle lost with
Sutton proceeded greatly from a deficiency of tone in the system,
but he was now able to face his man for an hour and forty-two
minutes without difficulty; whereas, in his former contest with this
sombre hero his distress was so great that he could not lift up his
hands. At Bungay he came into the ring so confident in mind and firm
in his person that he took the fight out of Sutton at an early part
of the battle. It was good training that enabled him to do this.
Painter, it was remarked, could have fought much longer had it
proved necessary. The advantages of a scientific second were
manifest throughout the fight, from the improved system of tactics
pursued by Painter upon this occasion. “Gladiator in arena capit
consilium,” was said two thousand years ago, and Tom Belcher being
at Painter’s elbow, the defensive plan was acted upon with judgment
and success; indeed, according to the expressed opinion of many of
the best informed, the prompt advice and superior skill of Belcher
tended in an eminent degree, in addition to the tractability of
disposition and courage of Painter, to ensure victory. Comparison
proves the fact. The latter, in his second contest, hit and got
away; while in his first battle he went in boldly, opposing strength
to strength; hence he was defeated, the length and weight of Sutton
overpowering him. In the character of a second, from his experience
and practice as a scientific pugilist, Tom Belcher, if not superior,
was not excelled by any boxer. The result of this contest completely
deceived the knowing ones, as the odds were greatly in favour of
Sutton previous to the fight; and Oliver, the conqueror of Painter,
backed the Black freely on the ground, so sure was the event
considered.
Painter called, the morning after the battle, upon Sutton and left him a
_douceur_. The sporting people of Norfolk, it appears, were highly
gratified at the manner in which the battle between Painter and Sutton
was conducted. Belcher, Harmer, Richmond, Owen, Oliver, etc., exhibited
at the Norwich Theatre in the evening, after the battle, and their
efforts to amuse were respectably attended.
We have noticed Painter’s athletic capabilities; he, about this time,
proved winner in several foot races. In a trial of strength in a field
belonging to the White Hart, Commercial Road, Stepney, March 21, 1817,
Painter undertook, for a wager of 10 guineas, a dozen of wine, and a
good dinner for twelve, to throw half a hundred-weight against a
gentleman of the name of Donovan, of immense Herculean proportions, and
renowned for his prodigious strength. Mr. Donovan called on Painter to
“set” a throw, which he did (with his coat on). The distance, though
unfortunately not recorded, was so great that Mr. Donovan, after every
preparation, could not touch it by eighteen inches and a half.
“Painter,” adds the report, “has, as yet, beaten every competitor in
this feat, from England, Scotland, and Ireland.” A fine athletic young
man, called “Spring,” was matched by Scroggins to run the distance of
five miles against Painter, for 10 guineas. It was a hasty bet on the
part of the latter, and undertaken without training. The race was
decided on the 7th of November, 1817, from the four mile stone on the
Essex road. Painter merely jogged on before Spring at starting, when the
latter took the lead, and kept it for nearly two miles and a half, the
distance of running out, Painter keeping close at his elbow, compelling
Spring, as it were, to use his best speed. Painter now shot by him like
an arrow, touched the handkerchief first, and returned to run the two
miles and a half in. Spring was so dead beat, and out of wind, at the
corner of White Post Lane, three miles and a half, that he could proceed
no farther. Painter continued to run in gallant style, at the rate of
ten miles an hour, and arrived at the place of starting at the
expiration of thirty-five minutes and a half. This great feat for “a big
one” like Painter, was loudly cheered on his touching the winning post.
At this period a young “big one” from Herefordshire, whose career was
destined to be of the brightest, had just arrived in the metropolis,
determined, as he himself declared, to go in for the Championship. The
friends of Painter thought that Ned was the very man to check his
aspiring flight, and a match was made for 100 guineas, when Painter was
defeated by the future champion, on Mickleham Downs, in thirty-one
rounds, occupying eighty-nine minutes, giving reason to many of the
“knowing ones” to remember their lack of wisdom on the 1st of April,
1818, as will be found in full under the memoir of Tom Spring, in the
first Chapter of this Period.
The friends of Painter were not satisfied that their man was defeated
upon his merits, and made another match for 100 guineas a-side so early
as April 10, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, each party depositing 10
guineas. The contest to take place on Friday, the 7th of August, 1818.
Tom Belcher took an active part in making this match, feeling confidence
in Painter. Nearly four months was allowed him to recover from his
accident, and it was also inserted in the articles, that the ring should
be made with eight instead of twelve stakes. The betting immediately
commenced at six and seven to four on Spring. It also continued in
favour of the latter during the time of training. The former backers of
Spring betted upon him freely; even many of Painter’s friends changed
sides.
The fight took place on a piece of ground called Russia Farm, four or
five miles from Kingston, and was well attended. Painter had for his
seconds Belcher and Harmer; Spring was waited on by Cribb and Clark.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Both the combatants stripped with great confidence.
Painter, attributing his loss of the last battle to an accident,
appeared to feel that he had an opportunity to recover his blighted
laurels. Spring, equally satisfied that his victory was due to his
superior science, seemed conscious that conquest would again crown
his efforts, but in less time. Great caution was observed on both
sides, and between four and five minutes elapsed in endeavouring to
gain the first advantage, when Spring made play, but Painter stopped
his left in good style. Painter now appeared bent on mischief, and
skilfully measured his distance, making a feint with his left hand,
and, with a tremendous right-handed blow over Spring’s eye, not only
produced the claret copiously, but floored him like a shot. This
decided two events upon which many wagers were depending, namely,
first blood and first knock-down blow. Loud shouting from the Castle
side of the question; the betting was reduced to even, and Painter
much fancied.
2.—The last blow might be said almost to have made the fight
Painter’s own. Spring was evidently confused from its great
severity, and the claret running down in streams, Painter lost no
time, but endeavoured to improve his success, and immediately went
to work. Some slight hits were exchanged, and in struggling for the
throw, Painter went down undermost.
3.—Spring showed that he did not mean to let Painter have it all his
own way, and gave the latter a heavy nobber. Exchanges, and both
down.
4.—A short but sharp round. In throwing Spring proved that he was
the stronger man.
5.—Two nobbing counter hits, that made both men go back a little. In
closing, Painter got his opponent’s nob under his left arm, and
endeavoured to fib him, but Spring, with much dexterity, stopped
Painter’s hand, and ultimately threw the latter heavily. (Bravo,
Spring!)
6.—This was a most manly round. Reciprocal hitting occurred. The
punishment was heavy, but Spring had rather the best of it, and got
Painter down.
7 and 8.—The combatants were both rather winded, and became cautious
of getting into work. Slight exchanges till both were down.
9.—This was nothing else but a fighting round. Hit for hit occurred,
till at the close of a rally Spring received a terrible blow upon
his ear, that brought the claret freely. Spring reeled from its
severity, and Painter was the favourite at seven to four. Spring
went down to avoid a close.
10.—Spring came staggering to the scratch, evidently suffering from
the last hit. He, however, went to work in the most gallant style,
and in a rally gave Painter “pepper;” but the latter got away
scientifically. In a close, Painter was thrown.
11 to 13.—Spring had the worst of these rounds, nevertheless he
displayed great game.
14.—In this round the turn was on the side of Spring; he had not
only the best of the hitting, but knocked Painter off his legs. (“Do
that again, Spring, and you’ll win it.”)
15 to 22.—Painter decidedly took the lead in all these rounds. A
tremendous rally occurred, when Painter finished the round by
fibbing Spring down.
23 to 30.—It was almost a certainty that Spring must lose the
battle; he was getting worse every round, but his game was of the
first quality.
31.—This round, it was thought, would have finished the contest.
Spring received a tremendous hit on his jaw, and went down
exhausted. “It was all up,” was the cry, any odds upon Painter, and
even that Spring did not again come to the scratch.
32 to 42 and last.—Spring was satisfied that he could not win, yet,
like a brave man, he was determined to continue the battle while a
chance remained. He came up for ten rounds, but could not plant
effectively. He was hit on the ear in the last round, and fell dead
to time. He did not give in; that is, he did not say No. It was over
in one hour and four minutes.
REMARKS.—Painter displayed great coolness and judgment in this
fight, and having so able a general as Tom Belcher for his second,
was greatly in his favour. Spring never recovered the severity of
the blow on his eye in the first round, but his game was of so
staunch a quality that his fame rose by defeat, and the loss of the
battle was attributed to the chance of war.
Painter now publicly declared that he would not fight any more prize
battles. Indeed, he took his farewell of the ring, with a benefit at the
Fives Court, in a combat with Richmond, on Monday, the 7th of September,
1818. Spring was extremely anxious for another trial; but Painter
positively refused. After spending a few months at Lancaster, and not
finding a house it London to suit him, Painter left the metropolis, and
commenced publican, in Lobster Lane, Norwich, under the most flattering
auspices of the sporting people of the above ancient city. Here Painter
enjoyed a quiet life, till the following circumstance, in November,
1819, put him “on the fret.”
Some aspersions having been made upon the character of his first battle
with Spring, at Mickleham Downs—indeed, an influential amateur having
declared it to have been a cross—Painter indignantly repelled the
accusation. He immediately set off for London, determined to undergo the
most rigid examination by the supporters of the P.R. In the fight in
question, in the second round, Painter received a knock-down blow, and,
in falling, his head not only came in contact with one of the stakes of
the ring, but his shoulder also received a violent contusion. He,
however, continued the battle for one hour and twenty-five minutes; but,
retiring from the contest without much punishment, gave rise to the
report in question. Painter, at the time, procured the assistance of one
of the most eminent surgeons in the kingdom, Mr. Cline, (a gentleman
totally unconnected with the sporting world) to reduce the fracture. On
Thursday, November 5, 1819, an application was made to Mr. Cline as to
the fact, when he immediately wrote a certificate, which stated the
injury Painter had received on the curve of the shoulder bone had
rendered him incapable of using his arm at the time specified. This
document was put into the hands of the members of the P. C., and the
result was satisfactory. Ned’s integrity was declared to be without a
stain.
The following paragraph appeared on November 21, “The amateurs of
Norwich will back Painter for 100 guineas, or more, and also give a
purse of £50, if Spring will contend with Ned at Norwich. The patrons of
the science, also, will give Spring £20 towards his expenses.”
In consequence of this challenge, a match was made between Spring and
Painter, on the Tuesday following, at Cribb’s, the Union Arms, Oxenden
Street, “to fight on the second Tuesday in February, in a twenty-four
feet ring, thirty miles from London. An umpire to be chosen by each
party, and Mr. Jackson as the referee; fifty guineas a-side to be
completed in the course of three weeks at Cribb’s, and the remaining
fifty at Harmer’s the last Tuesday in January, or the deposit money to
be forfeited.”
The friends of Painter, however, forfeited to Spring, or rather, the
gentleman who somewhat hastily put down the £5. In consequence, however,
of a challenge that Tom Belcher would back Oliver against Painter for
£100 a-side, within thirty miles of London, and deposit £20, pp., the
gage was taken up with great spirit by the sporting men of Norwich,
which led to the following articles of agreement:—
“_Castle Tavern, May 20, 1820._
“Edward Painter agrees to fight Thomas Oliver for a purse of 100
guineas, on Monday, the 17th July, within twenty miles of the city
of Norwich. To be a fair stand-up fight, in a twenty-four feet ring,
half-minute time. An umpire to be chosen by each party, and a
referee selected on the ground by the umpires. Ten pounds a-side are
deposited in the hands of Mr. Soares, and the remaining ten pounds
a-side to be made good at the Castle Tavern, on Monday, May 29,
between the hours of seven and eleven o’clock. The forty pounds to
be placed in the hands of Mr. Jackson. Either party declining the
contest to forfeit the deposit money; but if a fight takes place,
Oliver to draw the £40. The purse to be given by the Pugilistic Club
at Norwich. The place of fighting to be left in writing for Oliver
and his friends, at the house of Mr. Painter, on the Saturday
previous to the battle. The gate-money to be divided between Oliver
and Painter, and their respective seconds and bottle-holders. The
purse to be placed in the hands of a banker previous to the day of
fighting.
“Signed, in behalf of PAINTER, C. T.
“For OLIVER, T. BELCHER.”
The betting was six to four on Painter. He was decidedly the favourite
in the metropolis; but in Norwich, long odds were laid on him. So great
was the interest that, for a week before the fight, numerous parties
left London daily to be sure of witnessing the battle. The stage
coaches, besides a variety of vehicles from London, were filled inside
and out for some days previous to the appointed time; and small groups
of persons mustered of an evening in the streets of Norwich to hail the
arrivals. In short, the ancient city appeared as much alive upon the
subject as on the eve of an election. This sensation was also felt for
miles around Norwich. The spot selected for the combat was North
Walsham, sixteen and a half miles from the above city; and so little
apprehension was entertained of the fight being interfered with, that a
stage was built upon the ground for the accommodation of the spectators.
In short, this fistic tourney engrossed the conversation in Norwich.
On Monday, July 17, 1820, every vehicle in Norwich was engaged to go to
the scene of action. People were in motion by four o’clock in the
morning; and in the streets which tended towards the place of contest
the doors and windows of the houses displayed groups, eager to witness
the departure. The road to North Walsham, which is delightful and
picturesque, was thronged with carriages, equestrians, and pedestrians.
To give some idea of the appearance the route presented, it may be
mentioned that at least twelve hundred vehicles, of various
descriptions, are ascertained to have passed over Coltishall Bridge. By
ten o’clock, North Walsham was literally crammed with strangers; and the
arrival of persons, continued up to two o’clock, from all the roads
leading to the fight, baffled description.
In the field, a stage of a hundred yards in length was erected for
spectators; and a circle of about sixty wagons was formed round the
outer roped ring, at about ten yards distance from it, which were also
filled with spectators. In the space between the outer and inner ropes
some few persons were likewise admitted. The ring was similar to that of
the Pugilistic Club, and the stakes were also of the same colour. Upon
the whole, it was better made, and the accommodation it afforded to the
spectators, as well as to the combatants, was superior to the London
ring. £50 were collected at the gate (the pedestrians being made to
tip), and the stage produced £80. The greatest order prevailed; the
decorum of the thing was kept up by Shelton, Randall, Turner, Scroggins,
Eales, Josh. Hudson, Harmer, Purcell, Teasdale, etc. And the immense
concourse of assembled faces above faces, rising in amphitheatric tiers,
formed an extraordinary and an interesting sight.
About a quarter before one o’clock, Oliver, dressed in white trousers, a
black waistcoat, and a green great coat, made his appearance, and threw
up his hat, followed by the Champion of England (Cribb) and Belcher. A
clapping of hands took place. Some little time elapsed, and Painter not
making his appearance, Cribb asked one of the Norwich Committee where
Painter was? The question had scarcely escaped the lips of Cribb when
enthusiastic shouts announced the approach of Painter. Upon throwing up
his hat the shouting was universal; the clapping of hands, and the noise
of upwards of thirty thousand persons, was like a roar of artillery.
Painter was without his coat, and on his entering the ring he
immediately and cordially shook hands with Oliver. Spring and Paul
attended upon Painter.
Some demur took place respecting the division of what is termed the
gate-money,[17] Oliver claiming half the cash taken for admissions upon
the stage, and also the money collected in the sixty wagons upon the
ground. This claim was resisted by the Norwich Committee, who insisted
that the stage and wagons were an entire gift to Painter. Here Cribb
offered to bet a guinea that no fight would take place. The articles
were now resorted to, and a gentleman from London, one of the umpires,
decided that, according to the articles, Oliver was not entitled to the
stage or the wagons, although the latter did offer to pay half of the
expenses. This knotty point being settled, the scratch was made, and a
toss-up took place between Cribb and Spring for the shady side of the
ring, which was won by the latter. The combatants then stripped. The
colours, yellow for Painter, and blue for Oliver, were tied to the
stakes; the ceremony of all the parties shaking hands was not forgotten.
The moment so long wished-for had now arrived, and the boxers prepared
to set-to. Five-and-a-half to four were the real odds upon the ground.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Oliver appeared in good condition. He fought in striped
silk stockings; and the symmetry of his form was not only attractive
to the amateur, but the lovers of anatomy had before them a capital
subject in the action and development of his muscles. Painter was
also in tip-top trim, and though he had been reduced in training
nearly two stone, he was effective for every purpose. On the men
placing themselves in fighting attitudes, caution was the order of
the day. After eyeing each other for about a minute, Oliver made an
offer to hit, when Painter got away; Oliver in turn now got away
from a hit made by Painter. Oliver hit short. Painter endeavoured to
put in a tremendous hit, which was stopped in first rate style by
his opponent. Painter got away from another hit. Oliver stopped a
heavy hit, and gave a loud “ahem.” The combatants seemed tired of
holding up their arms, and stood still and looked at each other, and
after a pause Painter put in a tremendous hit on Oliver’s neck.
Painter ran in to follow up his success, but Oliver stopped him with
the accuracy of a Randall. Some heavy hits were exchanged, and in
closing Painter endeavoured to fib Oliver, when the latter in the
first style of the pugilistic art, broke away from him. (Applause.)
Both were piping a little, and Oliver gave Painter a slight tap on
the body. Each in turn stopped scientifically. Painter put in two
hits, and after severe exchanges the men again broke away. Oliver
hit Painter on the nose, when the combatants fought into another
close, and Painter again attempted the weaving system, when Oliver
used Tom Owen’s stop for a short period, till Painter got away in
gallant style. Each man now made himself up for tremendous hitting,
and the stopping was admirable on both sides. Painter put in another
severe hit on Oliver’s cheek. The men closed, and in a struggle for
the throw, Oliver got Painter down. Rather better than ten minutes
had elapsed.
2.—First blood was now decided, as it was seen trickling from
Painter’s nose. Oliver endeavoured to plant a nobber, which Painter
stopped, and laughed at him. This second round was longer than the
first, but the caution and mode of fighting was exactly the same.
Oliver got a hit on the nose; he also broke away from a close in
great style, and gave Painter so severe a blow on his right cheek,
that red ink was the result. Oliver put down his hands, and both
seemed exhausted from the length of the round. In closing, Painter
weaved down Oliver at the ropes. The applause was loud. Twenty-four
minutes had now elapsed.
3.—Oliver appeared rather to more advantage; he nearly closed
Painter’s right eye, and to prevent being fibbed held his hand at
the ropes, and ultimately got him down.
4.—This was a sharp set-to. Hard exchanges; both down very much
distressed.
5.—Oliver hit Painter’s left cheek, and produced the claret in a
twinkling; but, in a short rally, Oliver, from a tremendous hit on
the side of the head, went down. Twenty-nine minutes.
6 and 7.—Both piping a little. Oliver broke away from the weaving,
but after some sharp exchanges, both went down in struggling for the
throw. Thirty-seven minutes.
8.—One minute, and no hit made. Oliver at length put in a sharp
facer, which was returned in a counter by Painter. A long pause.
Oliver met Painter in the front of the head, as he was coming in to
mill. Severe exchanges, till both down. The Norwich people were
silent, and exhibited symptoms of fear for the result.
9.—Painter’s right eye was rather troublesome to him, and he put up
his finger; but he hit Oliver hard upon the side of his head. Some
sharp blows passed, to the advantage of Oliver, who now with great
force floored Painter.
10.—Oliver had rather the best of this round; but, in struggling for
the throw, Painter fell upon him so heavily, that the wind seemed
shaken out of him.
11.—Oliver made a good hit; but at the ropes he was again down. It
was still thought he would win it, by the Londoners.
12 and last.—Oliver made play, put in a sharp facer, and got away;
in fact, he generally showed fight first. Two terrible counter hits
occurred, and both the combatants went back. Some sharp blows
passed, when Painter followed up Oliver to the ropes, where the
latter received a tremendous blow upon his temple, that floored him.
When time was called, he could not appear at the scratch. The hat
was, therefore, thrown up, and the victory proclaimed for Painter.
REMARKS.—When Oliver recovered from the state of insensibility into
which the last blow had thrown him, he rose (as if from a trance)
from his second’s knee, and going up to Painter, said—“I am ready to
fight.” “No,” said Painter, “I have won the battle;” upon which
Oliver, in the utmost astonishment, asked his second why he had not
picked him up sooner? The reply was, “Why, Tom, I could not wake
you.” Painter walked two or three times round the ring after the
fight, and then returned to North Walsham. Oliver, after resting
himself on his second’s knee for about a minute, dressed himself,
put the yellow handkerchief round his neck, and sat himself down
upon some straw to see the next fight. Oliver has declared to
several of his friends since, that the blow operated upon him like a
shock of lightning, rendering him totally insensible. Oliver’s face
bore scarcely any marks of punishment. Painter, in point of
appearance, had received most about the head; but neither could be
said to be much hurt. Painter showed great activity and goodness
upon his legs, and stopped in good style. The Londoners were much
mortified at this “chance blow,” as they termed it. Oliver appeared
greatly dejected at losing the battle; but the punishment the
combatants received was so light for such heavy men, that they were
up at an early hour next morning to breakfast.
It is remarkable that Painter, at the first attempt, was defeated by
Oliver, Sutton, and Spring, but that in each case on demanding another
trial, he reversed the verdict, and proved the conqueror in all three
instances.
At a public dinner at North Walsham, after the battle, Painter, on his
health being drunk, repeated the declaration he had made, previous to
his encounter with Oliver, that he would never fight again; and this
resolution he adhered to.
Painter now lived retired from the ring, but was a publican for many
years at the Anchor, in Lobster Lane, Norwich; he afterwards removed to
the Market Place, and died in that city on the 19th of September, 1853.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER IV.
TOM OLIVER (COMMISSARY-GENERAL OF THE P.R.)—1811–1831.
Tom Oliver, originally a member of the most ancient of callings—a
gardener—lives in the memory of hundreds of modern ring-goers as the
civil, active, diligent, and respectable _custos_ of the P.R. ropes and
stakes; enjoying in a green old age, despite occasional twinges of the
gout, the post of “Commissary,” assisted latterly in his duties by his
son Fred, also known as a pedestrian. Tom, who was a fine specimen of
manhood, entered the ring somewhat late in life. An anecdote is
preserved that his first appearance in the ring was owing to his
accidentally witnessing the battle between Silverthorne and Dogherty, at
Coombe Warren, in January, 1811, where Tom was engaged in digging and
planting. He is said to have remarked on their display—“Well, if you
call this prize-fighting, I’ll be hanged if I don’t think I could fight
a little,” and he determined to put his abilities to the test of
experiment. At his début Tom received the appellation of “The Battersea
Gardener,” from his general place of employment; he was, however, born
at Breadlow, in Buckinghamshire, in June, 1789. He left his native place
a mere boy, and lived in the service of Mr. Baker, a gardener at
Millbank. Here he made his first attempt at milling, with one Kimber, a
stonemason from Walham Green. The battle took place in the dominions of
old Caleb Baldwin, Tothill Fields, Westminster, for a couple of guineas
a-side. Oliver was seconded by Silverthorne and Byrne. It was a heavy
fight for an hour and forty minutes, when Oliver’s strength and game
prevailed, and he was hailed the conqueror.
Oliver’s second engagement also took place in Tothill Fields, with a
fighting man denominated “Hopping Ned.” The sum fought for was four
guineas a-side. Oliver, rather diffident of his own abilities, when
pitted against a scientific pretender, proposed that the loser should
receive two guineas by way of consolation for defeat; but Ned, confident
in his own prowess, scouted the idea, and declared the entire sum should
go to the conqueror, which was ultimately agreed to. But such is the
uncertain fate of war, that “Hopping Ned,” who had congratulated himself
with what ease and dexterity he would serve out the Gardener, was, in
the short space of a quarter of an hour, so completely milled out of all
conceit of his fighting, that he was reluctantly compelled to cry,
enough! He was convinced of his error by retiring severely punished,
without the benefit of the two “quid.” Oliver was so much in obscurity
at this period that the fighting men present seemed rather shy in
seconding him, and a novice must have performed that office, if
Silverthorne and old Dick Hall had not appeared, and stepped forward to
bring their friend through the piece.
On the 2nd of June, Oliver fought with Harry Lancaster, at Newman’s
Meadow, near the turnpike, at Hayes, Middlesex, for a subscription purse
of twenty guineas. Caleb Baldwin seconded Oliver, and Paddington Jones
attended upon Lancaster. Harry, who had a sparring reputation, cut a
sorry, figure before Oliver. In fact, on the part of Lancaster, it was a
most contemptible fight. Oliver was everything, and in the short space
of eighteen minutes was proclaimed the conqueror. So easy a thing did it
appear to the spectators, that it was the general opinion Oliver could
have won without taking off his clothes.
Oliver, somewhat more experienced, next entered the prize ring with
Ford, for a subscription purse of twenty guineas to the winner, and five
guineas to the loser, on the 6th of October, 1812, at Greenford Common,
Middlesex. Caleb Baldwin and Silverthorne were his seconds; and Tom
Jones and Joe Norton officiated for Ford. The latter was deficient in
weight, but considered the most effective boxer. Little more was known
of “The Gardener” than that he was a good man; but an opinion was
entertained that his milling abilities were rather moderate. He was slow
in hitting, and not looked upon as anything of a punisher. Previous to
the battle it was even betting. During a contest of two hours and ten
minutes, his patience, courage, science, and fortitude, were completely
put to the test. It was not only a battle of experience, but a proper
day of trial to him; and it will hereafter be seen that he completely
profited by it. To detail the numerous rounds would be superfluous, but
the odds changed several times during the fight. Ford, in the fifth
round, put in a tremendous blow on Oliver’s eye, which nearly closed it
up; this raised the betting six to four on Ford. From the tenth to the
fifteenth round Oliver took the lead, when Ford, recovering from his
weakness, again kept the advantage for some time. It might be said to be
reciprocal fighting for about an hour and a quarter, when Ford felt
convinced that every art and stratagem must be adopted. Oliver received
heavy punishment in the face repeatedly, and had few opportunities of
returning, as Ford generally fell on making a hit. Every manœuvre was
practised to tire out “The Gardener;” but he at length triumphed over
all the shifting, notwithstanding he was nearly blind the last half hour
of the battle. The game of Oliver claimed universal praise; for few men
possess fortitude enough to have endured such an irritating opponent.
They were both terribly punished.
[Illustration:
TOM OLIVER.
_From a Drawing by_ WAGEMAN.
]
From the sound pugilistic qualities developed by Oliver, he became an
interesting article to the Fancy, and the afterwards renowned George
Cooper (see _ante_, p. 303, vol. i.), was selected as a competitor for a
subscription purse, at Moulsey Hurst, on May 15, 1813. Bill Gibbons and
Caleb Baldwin were seconds to Oliver; Richmond and Jones for Cooper.
Betting six to four on “The Gardener.”
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Milling seemed determined upon by both, and set in with
unusual severity. The Gardener, in putting in a right-handed hit,
met with a severe return, and a good rally followed. The men closed,
but soon broke away, and again rallied courageously, when Cooper put
in a severe blow upon the neck of his adversary, who gallantly
returned. Strength was now resorted to, when Oliver went down. So
severe a first round has seldom been witnessed.
2.—Cooper hit his opponent on the head, who not only returned
severely, but also threw him. The odds rose considerably, and a few
offered two to one on Oliver.
3.—A better round was never seen, nor was greater courage ever
displayed by pugilists. Both combatants full of gaiety showed
themselves off to great advantage; and a great many hard blows were
exchanged. Towards the close of the round Cooper suffered severely
from the fibbing he received from Oliver, who got his head under his
left arm.
4.—The scene was now materially changed, and Cooper played his part
with so much judgment, that it became even betting. In a desperate
rally, Cooper planted a terrible hit, and as Oliver was going in to
return the favour, Cooper measured his distance so accurately, that
he again hit Oliver between his jaw and ear with such tremendous
force, that he went down as if he were “finished.” Cooper took the
lead most decidedly in this round.
5.—The admirers of bravery and manhood were anxiously interested.
Each man claimed equal attention. If the one was brave, the other
proved himself equally courageous. But Cooper reappeared to have the
advantage also in this round, from the great facility with which he
used both hands. He hit Oliver to the ropes, where he was thrown.
Betting stationary.
6.—This round was bravely contested. A severe rally took place, but
terminated in favour of Cooper, who got his man down.
Notwithstanding the manhood displayed by Oliver, it was evident he
had not got the better of the severe blow he received in the fourth
round.
7.—Cooper put in a tremendous blow upon Oliver’s eye, just as he
commenced a rally. This round was also bravely fought. Several heavy
hits were exchanged, when Oliver was thrown.
8.—A small change took place. Cooper seemed rather distressed, and
Oliver appeared getting fresh. A long and hammering rally occurred,
but Oliver had the best of it, and Cooper went down exhausted.
9.—Cooper now showed he was no stranger to the science, and adopted
his master’s (Richmond’s) plan of hitting and getting away. He, with
much adroitness, put in a body blow and got away, but the Gardener
was not to be had upon this spoiling suit; by watching the manœuvres
of the enemy with vigour and caution, and by his prudence, he gained
the best of the round, and threw his man.
10.—Cooper now appeared much fatigued, yet his game was good.
Oliver, perceiving the chance was in his favour, lost no time in
going in, when Cooper was levelled. Oliver, the winning man, five to
one.
11.—Oliver showed himself a cool and steady fighter, possessing good
judgment, and determined resolution. He was now winning fast, and
again sent his man down. The exertions of Cooper were manly and
firm, but his strength was so reduced that he could not check the
successful career of his antagonist.
12.—Cooper now only stood up to receive punishment. He was so much
exhausted, that his blows produced no effect upon Oliver.
13 and last.—It was pitiable to view the gameness of Cooper induce
him to make another effort, as he was now so beaten that he could
not deliver a blow, whereupon Oliver was declared the conqueror, in
seventeen minutes.
REMARKS.—Two such boxers do not often meet, and, it might be
observed, it was the best and most evenly contested battle that had
been witnessed for a long time. Bravery and science marked both
men’s efforts. The game of Oliver was clearly manifested with Ford,
but his marked improvement in science claimed peculiar attention. He
was cool, steady, and confident, and used both his hands with much
greater facility than heretofore. The severe checks he received from
Cooper in the fourth, fifth, and sixth rounds, enough to terrify
most men, did not deter Oliver from persevering until he became the
conqueror.
Cooper, although defeated, must be viewed as a pugilist of no common
pretensions. He is a diffident young man, and this operated as a
sort of drawback to him during the mill. It was his second attempt,
he having but a short time previously defeated Harry Lancaster.
Cooper is a first-rate pugilist, a hard and quick hitter, and
possesses courage of the finest quality, with science that gives him
a good place among the list of prime boxers.
Oliver acquired considerable fame in conquering Cooper, and was deemed
an equal match for Painter, who had distinguished himself by two recent
conquests, and was looking forward to the highest honour of the ring.
When this match was first made known, Painter, being the heavier man,
was rather the favourite, but on the night previous to the battle, the
odds had changed eleven to eight on Oliver.
On Tuesday, May 17, 1814, they met at Shepperton Range, for a purse of
£50, given by the Pugilistic Club, to be contended for in a twenty-four
feet ring. Oliver was seconded by the Champion and Clark, and Bob
Gregson officiated for his friend and countryman, Painter. At one
o’clock they set-to.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Upon stripping, the clear appearance of Oliver satisfied
every one that he had been trained to the highest pitch of
condition; and his arms, from their muscular form, were a study for
the anatomist. Painter was equally conspicuous; two finer young men
never entered the ring. The anxious moment had arrived, and the
spectators were watching with eagerness for the first advantage.
Oliver commenced the attack by making play with his left hand, which
was returned by Painter, but too short to do execution. The men
rallied with high spirit and determination, during which sharp
facers were exchanged and the claret was first seen trickling down
Painter’s chin. In endeavouring to put in a right-handed blow,
Painter, not being correct in his distance, missed his man, which
brought them to a close, when Oliver immediately got his opponent’s
nob under his left arm, fibbed him cleverly, and ultimately threw
him. More anxiety displayed than betting.
2.—Most determined resolution appeared on both sides; indeed, the
spectators were aware, from the character of the men, that victory
would not be obtained by either at an easy rate. Oliver, with much
dexterity, put in a severe hit upon Painter’s mug, who returned
sharply with his right. A desperate rally now commenced, when it was
perceived that Painter left his head unprotected. Oliver, awake to
every chance, punished his opponent’s nob terribly with his left;
but Painter, with considerable adroitness and execution, planted a
blow on the cheek of Oliver, that instantly sent him down. Its
effect was not unlike the kick of a horse. Even betting.
3.—From such a tremendous hit it was truly astonishing to see Oliver
so ready to time. Painter, somewhat flattered by his last effort,
made play, but his distance proved incorrect. Oliver returned by
planting a heavy blow in his face. A rally now followed, in which so
much determination was exhibited, as to excite surprise in the most
experienced pugilists. It lasted more than two minutes, without
advantage to either combatant. If courage was at any time portrayed,
no boxers in the world ever put in a higher claim to it than Painter
and Oliver, who undauntedly stood up to each other, giving blow for
blow, till accuracy of stopping and force of hitting had left them
both. A pause ensued. The skill of Oliver at length obtained the
advantage. He adopted the Cribb system of milling on the retreat,
and punished his opponent’s nob heavily, till Painter fought his way
in to another rally, which, if possible, was more determined and
severe than the first. This second rally seemed rather in favour of
Painter, who hit tremendously, but he was checked in the midst of
his career by a severe body blow, that nearly sent him down. He,
however, collected himself a little, and continued fighting till he
fell from weakness. A more thorough milling round is not to be met
in the annals of pugilism, and there was more execution done in it
than in many fights of an hour’s length. Indeed, it was enough to
finish most men. It lasted four minutes and a half, and twelve
seconds, all fighting!
4.—On this round the fate of the battle hung. Skill was now required
to recover from the severe winding each had experienced in those two
desperate rallies. Oliver, convinced that systematic precaution was
necessary, again successfully adopted milling on the retreat. He
nobbed his opponent with his left hand, as Painter incautiously
followed, literally throwing away most of his blows, which, had they
reached their destination, must have done execution. Painter was
evidently distressed by this retreating system, but at length got in
a tremendous right-handed hit upon Oliver’s eye, and appeared
getting more fresh in his wind. A spirited rally took place, when
some heavy blows were exchanged, but Painter fell exhausted. Two to
one was loudly vociferated upon Oliver.
5.—Oliver kept the advantage of his system of fighting, reducing the
strength of his opponent in almost every round. He hit Painter
repeatedly without receiving a return, and his left hand was
continually at work. Painter still kept pursuing Oliver, although so
heavily hit at every step, and he at length fell upon his face.
6.—This round was rather more evenly contested, and, in rallying,
Painter put in several good hits both right and left, when he fell
from weakness.
7.—It was now demonstrable which way the battle would terminate.
Oliver appeared so much at home that he punished his opponent in any
direction he thought proper. Painter did everything that a game man
could, but he was so exhausted that in making a hit he fell on one
knee. Three to one, but no takers.
8 and last.—Painter was done up, and Oliver finished the contest in
prime style, by meeting his antagonist in every way that he
presented himself; and, finally, with a right-handed blow, knocked
him down. Painter could not be brought to time. They were both
punished heavily. Oliver’s body showed marks of some punishment, and
both his eyes were in mourning.
REMARKS.—Upon Oliver’s being declared the conqueror, Cribb took him
up in his arms and carried him round the ring in triumph, when he
received universal applause, and he deserved it.
In conquering Painter he defeated a hero of the first mould, whose
fine game and true courage were never excelled. But game alone will
not win in opposition to superior science, though it may prolong the
battle. Painter suffered severely from his distances proving
incorrect. During the battle he missed nineteen hits; and, in one
round, Oliver put in five severe blows on the head, without
receiving a single hit in return. Oliver is a fine looking young
man, and weighed, in the above fight, twelve stone, seven pounds,
and is in height five feet nine inches and three-quarters. In every
battle he has successively risen in fame and shown more science; but
with Painter, however desperately contested, it appears, that he
felt within himself less danger of being beaten than in any of his
other five. In the early part of his training (for which he was
indebted to the peculiar skill, care, and attention of Captain
Barclay), the severity of fatigue he experienced rendered him
unwell, but when his pitch was correctly ascertained, his
constitution was so finely and vigorously tempered, so much spirit,
lightness, and sound stamina were infused into his frame, that it
was thought he could have fought an hour without much difficulty. It
is astonishing what confidence men are taught to feel, from the
superior system of training pursued by Captain Barclay.
In fighting Kimber, Oliver appeared a mere novice; in his battle with
“Hopping Ned,” he was a promising tyro; with Harry Lancaster, he rose
above the thumping commoner; when he fought Ford, he showed that he had
good stuff in him, and proved himself a staunch tough man; in his severe
conflict with Cooper, he was an improving and steady boxer; while
against Painter, he proved his claim to the appellation of a first-rate
pugilist. It was from this progressive state of pugilistic acquirement,
and Oliver’s superiority over Painter, that he was considered equal to
anything upon the list. Not even the Champion was excepted; in fact, so
high were his capabilities rated, that before Carter offered himself as
a customer, Oliver had displayed great anxiety to enter the lists with
Tom Cribb; and it appears that some conversation had passed between
those mighty heroes of the fist, as to the propriety of a meeting to
decide the subject.
Tom had at this juncture touched the culminating point of his pugilistic
eminence. He was now a publican, and his house, the Duke’s Head, in
Peter Street, Westminster, was looked upon as headquarters of the Fancy
of that special district. Tom had inherited the title and dominion of
the renowned Caleb Baldwin, and was regarded as the hero and champion of
Westminster. It is but justice to observe, that contemporary prints bear
testimony to the personal civility and general good behaviour of Oliver
as a public man, and of his disposition as “truly inoffensive;” a
general characteristic of steady and unflinching courage. After a couple
of years of “minding the bar,” Tom accepted the challenge of Jack
Carter, “the Lancashire hero,” who, at this period, boldly claimed the
Championship. The game battle near Carlisle, October 4, 1816, in which
Oliver fell gloriously, although at one period three to one was laid in
his favour, will be found in the Life of CARTER, Chapter VIII. of this
Period. (Page 170.)
Tom now returned to serving his customers, and again nearly two years’
peaceful interval was spent by Tom in “minding his own business,” when
some of the friends of Bill Neat, of Bristol, of whom hereafter, offered
to make a match with Oliver, for 100 guineas a-side, to fight on the
10th of July, 1818, within thirty miles of London. The invitation was
accepted, and the articles signed, betting being, at first, in favour of
Oliver. The tremendous hitting of Neat knocked the game Tom off his
legs, and into a state of obliviousness, after an hour’s hard up-hill
fighting. See NEAT, Chapter V. of this Period.
On the 28th May, 1819, Oliver was at Epsom, enjoying the racing, when a
purse of £50 being to be fought for, and Kendrick, the Black, expressing
a desire to “try for it,” Tom agreed to be his opponent, as he expressed
it, “to keep his hand in.” About six o’clock, accordingly, when the last
race was over, a ring was formed near the starting post, and surrounded,
quickly by several thousands of spectators. Oliver showed first,
attended, by Tom Cribb and Randall, while Carter and Richmond waited on
the Black.
THE FIGHT.
In the first round, the Black threw Oliver; and in the fifth he also
fibbed him sharply. In a few other instances he had the best of the
rounds, but not enough to turn the battle in his favour, or to
influence the betting. Massa did not attempt to hit, but he stopped
extremely well, and rushed in for a close. When he was forced into a
rally, too, he fought with some determination. Oliver not only threw
Massa in great style twice, but he went down very heavily in the
hitting. The Black did not exhibit much signs of punishment, but
would have left off earlier than he did, had his second not induced
him to try it on a little longer. He was at length hit down by a
tremendous facer, which so satisfied him that he would not again
appear at the scratch. Little, if any, betting occurred, as the £50
was considered a present for Oliver. Some few wagers took place that
it would be over in thirty minutes. It was not, however, won with
that ease which had been anticipated, and it was asserted, that if
Massa had been in better condition, and had possessed the advantages
of patronage, he might have proved a troublesome customer. As it
was, the battle lasted one hour and a quarter, during which thirty
rounds were fought.
Favoured by adventitious circumstances, and puffed with praise, Dan
Donnelly, the Irish Champion, now appeared upon the scene with “A
Manifesto to the Milling World,” which will be found in his memoir,
Chapter VIII. of this Period. Accordingly at Jack Martin’s benefit,
April 20, 1819, Oliver challenged Donnelly for 100 guineas a-side, when
Randall declared he was authorised to accept it. That day six weeks was
named as the time of battle, the articles signed at Dignam’s, the Red
Lion, Houghton Street, Clare Market, and the battle came off at Crawley
Hurst, thirty miles from London, on Wednesday, July 21, 1819, as fully
detailed in the Life of Dan Donnelly, _post_.
Shelton, who had risen high in the opinion of his friends, from his
conquest of Big Bob Burn, was soon matched against Oliver for 100
guineas a-side, and the battle came off at Sawbridgeworth, Herts.,
twenty-seven miles from London, on Thursday, January 13, 1820. Shelton
was the favourite, partly owing to Oliver’s recent defeat. At a few
minutes before one o’clock Oliver threw his hat into the ring (which was
swept, and strewed with sawdust), and was soon followed by Shelton. The
look of Oliver was firm and collected, and smiling confidence sat on his
brow. He fought under the “yellowman,” _à la_ Belcher, and was going to
tie his colours himself to the stakes, but Randall took them out of his
hand, and placed them on the ropes. After some little time Spring
covered Oliver’s colours with the blue handkerchief. The time was
announced for the men to strip, notwithstanding a heavy fall of snow.
Randall and Tom Callas waited upon Oliver, and Spring and Turner
seconded Shelton. The latter had his right wrist tied with a small piece
of his colours, part of a blue handkerchief. This was done in order to
give a security to his wrist, which had received a severe injury from a
cut with a glass rummer about eight months previous to the fight. In
tossing for the choice of side, Oliver was the winner. The men then
shook hands and set-to for
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Shelton, being the best two-handed fighter on the list, and
the hardest hitter, it was expected that he would go to work
immediately; but there was a drawback to his efforts in Oliver’s
attitude and guard, and great caution was the prominent feature; he,
however, made two feints, but Oliver stopped him. Shelton made
another attempt without effect, as Oliver got away. Sparring with
great caution. Some exchange of blows now occurred, and a trifling
rally. Counter hits, which operated upon both their mugs, and a
tinge of claret was seen upon the mouth of Oliver, when Shelton
observed, “First blood, Tom.” Oliver, in great style, stopped right
and left the hits of Shelton, and returned a severe body blow.
Shelton showed also some science in stopping, but Oliver planted two
severe facers right and left. Some exchanges took place, and in a
sort of close both men went down, Shelton undermost. The round
occupied seven minutes. (Loud shouting in favour of Oliver.)
2.—Oliver put in a severe facer without any return. Shelton seemed
rather confused at the superior tactics displayed by his opponent,
and absolutely stood still from the severity of a blow he received
on his ribs. He, however, recovered from his stupor, and with more
fury than science attacked Oliver till the latter went down. (“Well
done, Shelton! Bravo!”)
3.—In this round the spectators were astonished at the excellence of
Oliver. Some smart exchanges took place, when the latter not only
damaged Shelton’s right ogle, but hit him severely in the throat,
followed him and ultimately floored him.
4.—The fine fighting of Shelton could not be perceived. Oliver put
in such a tremendous facer that Shelton put down his hands and
retreated. The latter, rather angry, endeavoured to plant a heavy
hit on the tender ear of Oliver, but he stopped him on his elbow,
laughing at him. Shelton received some more facers, and Oliver
ultimately got him down. (“That’s the way, Oliver; go it, my old
Westminster trump, we shall have another jubilee yet in the
dominions of old Caleb.”)
5.—Shelton went down, but it appeared more from the slippery state
of the ground than the hit.
6.—Shelton put in a sharp nobber; but in return his upper works were
peppered, and he was again down. Shelton’s right eye was nearly
gone, and Oliver smiled with confidence.
7.—Shelton threw his opponent, and appeared the stronger man.
8.—This was a well-contested round. Shelton’s face now exhibited the
handy-work of his opponent. He went down, and Oliver fell upon him,
but threw up his arms.
9.—Oliver’s right hand would be nobbing Shelton; but the latter made
a desperate return on Oliver’s already cut mouth that fetched the
claret copiously. Shelton endeavoured to repeat this electrifying
touch, but Oliver stopped him neatly. Shelton then closed, pelting
away, and in struggling made a jump to get his opponent down. Both
fell, Oliver undermost.
10.—Oliver commenced this round by planting two facers, right and
left, and also put in a bodier, without a return. Shelton, however,
gallantly fought his way into a sharp rally, and some severe
exchanges occurred, when the men broke away. In closing again, both
down, but Shelton undermost. (“Bravo!” from all parts of the ring;
“good on both sides.”) More real courage could not be witnessed.
11.—The scene was now rather changed, and some little danger was
apprehended from Shelton’s not only nobbing his opponent, but by a
well gathered hit having floored Oliver like a shot. Randall and
Callas lost not a moment in getting Oliver up; but when placed on
his second’s knee his head lolled on one side, and he appeared lost
to what was going forward. In fact, it seemed as if the game Oliver
could not recover, although Randall kept telling him to look about
and recollect himself, calling out, “Tom! Tom!” Shelton’s friends,
who had previously been as if frozen, now jumped about and began to
bet without hesitation.
12.—Shelton satisfied the spectators that his nob was screwed on the
right way; he immediately went to work with Oliver, and again got
him down. (Ten to one on Shelton.)
13.—Oliver was very bad, but his game brought him through it, and he
came up better than was expected. Shelton did not wait for his
coming up to the scratch, but was going to attack him, when Randall
reminding him of it, he struck the Nonpareil, saying, “I’ll lick you
as well; don’t talk to me about the scratch.” Randall very properly
passed it over, observing, “It was the first time he ever received a
hit without returning it.” Shelton, however, made a bold attack upon
Oliver, but the latter caught him at the ropes, and in the Randall
style fibbed him till he went down. The joy of the Westminster boys
cannot be described.
14.—The fibbing system was repeated till Shelton went down.
15.—Shelton in going down received a sharp facer in falling.
16.—It was singular to observe that Shelton could not stop Oliver’s
right hand. A smart rally occurred, when the men broke away. Shelton
was ultimately hit down. (This change surprised every one. Oliver
was again the favourite, seven to four.)
17.—Shelton went down as quickly as he could in this round, and
Oliver behaved generously.
18.—This was a gallant round; both men fought like lions, and
displayed heroism that called forth the loudest approbation from all
parts of the ring. Both down.
19.—Shelton passionately run in, but went down. (Disapprobation.)
Both his peepers were much damaged.
20.—Oliver, who had hitherto been considered a slow fighter, evinced
considerable quickness; and as Shelton was coming in with a
tremendous hit he was stopped by Oliver, who, in finishing the
round, hit Shelton down. (The Westminster boys offered to sport
their last brown on their old favourite, Oliver.)
21.—This round was decidedly in favour of Oliver; in fact, he had it
all his own way, till Shelton was hit down, when Oliver, with much
manliness, stepped over him. This conduct was received as it
deserved; Oliver was loudly cheered.
22.—Shelton got away with much dexterity from a body blow aimed by
Oliver; but turned to and fought like a hero, till he went down in a
distressed state.
23.—Here the warmth of Shelton’s feelings was evident; he rushed in
to mill Oliver, regardless of consequences, till he went down.
24.—Shelton hit Oliver on the mouth, which operated forcibly, and
made a change again in Shelton’s favour; but the bravery of Oliver
was not to be overcome, and he sent Shelton down, although obliged
to go down himself. With much honour he endeavoured not to fall upon
his opponent. (“Bravo, Oliver! you are a noble fellow, and an honour
to the ring.”)
25.—This was a most singular round. Shelton was hit off his balance,
and went round like a whirligig. Oliver did the same: their backs
came against each other. They recovered themselves, and made some
good exchanges, till Shelton went down.
26.—Shelton was floored from a flush hit on his nose.
27.—Oliver again hit Shelton in the face as he was falling; but
Oliver was in the act of giving and could not help it. It was not an
intentional blow. However, loud cries of “Foul, foul!” “Fair, fair!”
occurred; and on Shelton’s asking the umpires if it was not foul, it
was deemed fair, the hit not being intentional.
28.—This was a most courageous round, and Shelton did all that a
brave man could do to win. The hits on both sides were terrific,
till Shelton retreated from the heavy punishment dealt out to him,
followed by Oliver all over the ring. He caught Shelton, in the act
of falling, under his arm, carrying him a considerable way, then
generously letting him go down easily. (Tumultuous applause for
Oliver.)
29.—Another fine round—all hitting and no flinching. Both down, but
Shelton undermost. When the combatants were on the knees of their
seconds, Shelton said to Oliver, “Let them chaff (meaning the
seconds), but you and I, Tom, will do what is right.” “Certainly,”
replied Oliver.
30.—Shelton still proved himself a dangerous customer; he went up to
Oliver, planting some hard blows, till he was hit away. In
struggling, both down.
31.—It was not long before Shelton was floored.
32.—Shelton put in a good nobber; but Oliver soon returned two
facers, right and left, and Shelton went down on his knee.
33.—Oliver observed to his opponent, “Tom, I have got you now,” and
instantly went to work, till Shelton went down much distressed.
34.—Shelton got wild, and ran after Oliver, till he was stopped by a
flush hit and went down exhausted.
35.—Shelton had now lost his self-possession, but still he was
dangerous, for Oliver received a nobber that moved him from the
ground. Shelton ran all over the ring after Oliver, while the latter
kept getting away, putting in a hit now and then, and laughing till
Shelton ran himself down. (Any odds. “It’s all your own, but be
steady.”)
36.—It was sad to see the state of Shelton; he hit at random and was
as groggy as a Jack tar three sheets in the wind. He received a hit
on his head, and fell.
37.—Notwithstanding the groggy state of Shelton, Oliver would not
give a chance away, but kept at a distance, planting his hits in a
winning manner, till Shelton went down. While the latter was on the
knee of his second, Callas went up to Shelton and asked him if he
would fight any more. Spring was irritated with Callas, and a row
had nearly been the result. (Odds were now out of the question.)
38.—The opponents of Shelton could not but compliment his bravery,
as he came up like a man, although reeling to and fro; he,
nevertheless, made a hit, till he was sent down at the ropes.
39 and last.—On time being called, Shelton got up, but he reeled and
could not steady himself at the scratch. Some interference took
place, and Oliver was declared the conqueror. The latter jumped up
for joy. He immediately left the ring, and did not appear much
punished about the face, except his mouth. Shelton was shortly
afterwards led out of the ring; his face was much peppered. It was
over in fifty-one minutes.
REMARKS.—The game of Oliver brought him through triumphantly, to the
surprise and expense of the knowing ones, many of them paying dearly
for their mistake. The conduct of Oliver was a perfect specimen of a
thorough-bred Englishman, and finer courage was never displayed, nor
more manliness and generosity. The “stale one,” as Tom was termed,
defeated in style a much better fighter than himself. Shelton, on
being stopped, appeared to lose his confidence, although he took a
great deal of punishment, and exerted himself even after his last
chance was gone. The success of Oliver was greatly due to the able
seconding of Randall, whose advice at critical periods was
invaluable. Shelton fell with honour, for a more gallant battle
could not be fought. On being put to bed at Harlow, Shelton said,
“My heart is not beat, that’s as good as ever; but I’m sorry for
those who have backed me.” On Shelton’s return to town a medical
certificate was shown to the effect that two of his ribs were
broken.
Shelton solicited his friends to allow him another chance with Oliver
for £100; and they not only presented him with a handsome gratuity, but
proposed to post the money for a new trial; but this was interfered with
by the match we are about to notice. Although Tom Spring had been beaten
in a second battle by Painter (August 7, 1818), that excellent judge,
Tom Belcher, contrasting the styles of the men, declared he thought
Oliver a good match for the Norwich hero, whom, as we have already seen,
he had defeated four years previously, and purposed to back him for
£100. The friends of Painter, though refusing Spring a new trial,
thought the present “a good thing,” and Painter sharing their opinion,
articles were quickly agreed on. See Life of PAINTER, in the preceding
chapter. In this fight, at North Walsham, near Norwich, July 17, 1820,
Oliver suffered defeat. Still his friends adhered to him, and that their
confidence was not withdrawn a striking instance was soon given. Tom
Spring—although he had beaten in succession Henley, Stringer, Ned
Painter (and been beaten in turn by him), and afterwards conquered
Carter (who had beaten Oliver), Ben. Burn, Bob Burn, and Josh.
Hudson—was declared by many to be “a sparring hitter,” and it was urged
that this “fine fighting” would never dispose of the gallant Tom. At any
rate opinions differed, and accordingly Oliver was backed for 100
guineas, the tourney to take place on February 20, 1821. How Oliver
struggled against length, weight, skill, and superior judgment, is told
in the memoir of Spring, his conqueror, whose merits Oliver, during his
long life, has often warmly descanted upon. He once said to us, “It’s no
use arguing—Spring was too long, too clever, and too strong for any of
us. I tried his strength, but found out my mistake. Lord bless you, he
never let nobody see _how much he could fight till it was wanted_, then
he just served out the quantity. He had _a head for fighting, and a man
only wins by chance if he hasn’t a head_.” Oliver experienced this, and
acknowledged it. His argument, however, received an adverse illustration
shortly afterwards, when he met Hickman, the Gas-light man, as yet
unconquered, on Tuesday, June 12, 1821, at Blindlow Heath, Surrey, and
was defeated in nine rounds. Oliver was virtually beaten in the first
round. He was stale, slow, and could not in any way parry the onslaught
of his opponent; yet here again he kept untarnished his fame as a
courageous man. See HICKMAN, _post_, Chapter VI.
Tom seems, like many other high-couraged men, not to have been at all
conscious of the important axiom that “youth will be served,” and once
again, for his last appearance but one, made a match with a powerful
young boxer, Bill Abbott, for the trifling sum of ten guineas. The
affair was considered a “bubble,” and that a forfeit must follow.
Abbott, however, meant it, and so did Oliver, and they met November 6,
1821, on Moulsey Hurst, when Oliver was beaten by a heavy hit under the
ear in the thirtieth round, the odds immediately before the blow being
four to one on him. How this fight was lost and won will be seen under
ABBOTT in the Appendix to Period VI., Abbott’s last fight being in 1832.
Years now rolled by, and Tom was generally known and respected. Being
appointed to the charge of the ropes and stakes of the P.R., he was a
constant attendant at the ring-side as commissary, and at sparring
benefits. At length, in 1834, the “old war-horse” was neighed to by
another old charger, no other than “Uncle Ben” (Burn). “My Nevvy” (Jem
Burn) had removed from the Red Horse, Bond Street, to the Queen’s Head,
Windmill Street, Haymarket, and there the commissary, “Mine Uncle,” and
many of the old school, as well as the aspirants of the new school,
nightly held their merry meetings, and talked over “deeds that were done
and the men who did them,” with an occasional interlude of a new match
between the active pugilistic practitioners of the day. For a long time
“Uncle Ben” had amused himself and the listeners by somewhat disparaging
opinions, not of Tom’s game, but of what he called his “wooden
fighting,” and at length, half in jest, half in earnest, Tom, in his
matter-of-fact style, informed “Mine Uncle,” that his opinion of the
family was that they had produced only one “fighting man among the lot,”
and he was his very good friend Jem Burn. This was “most tolerable, and
not to be endured;” and “my Nevvy,” who loved a bit of fun, “as an
alderman loves marrow,” tarred on the old uns by siding with the
Commissary. Ben. hereupon produced his pouch, and offered to post a
deposit to meet the veteran in battle array. The joke went on, but the
old heroes were in earnest, and meant the thing they said. Articles were
drawn, and the day fixed for Tuesday, the 28th of January, 1834. Oliver
having won the toss, he named Coombe Warren as the place of rendezvous,
and on Monday evening Uncle Ben took his departure from his training
quarters at Finchley to the Robin Hood, at Kingston Bottom, where he
arrived safe and sound, in the full anticipation of covering himself
with glory on the ensuing day. Oliver, who was not so fortunate in
patrons, had not the advantage of training beyond what he could obtain
by his daily walks from his own domicile in Westminster, and on Thursday
morning took the road towards the appointed place in a cab, accompanied
by the Deputy Commissary, Jack Clarke, who had the care of the ropes and
stakes. He made a halt at the same house as “my Uncle,” only occupying a
separate apartment.
The crowd assembled in front of the Robin Hood at twelve o’clock would
have been characterised by Dominie Sampson as “prodigious!” and it was
not till “the office” was given that the ring had been formed by Deputy
Commissary Clarke in a field at the back of Coombe Wood, that a move
took place and the blockade of the Robin Hood was raised. The moment the
where was known, a simultaneous toddle took place up the hill, and the
ring was shortly surrounded by an extensive circle of panting prads and
loaded vehicles; but scarcely had the anxious coves time to congratulate
themselves on having obtained a good berth, when a “Conservative” beak,
one of the enemies of the sports of the people, who had stolen from his
counter in the town of Kingston, attended by a noted distributor of
religious tracts, poked his ill-omened visage into the ring, and
addressing Jack Clarke, who was viewing his handiwork with the eye of an
accomplished artist, said, “My good man, you have your duty to perform
and I have mine; I am a magistrate, and will not permit any fight to
take place in this county, and I trust I shall not be molested.” Jack
looked as civil as a gipsy at the tusks of a farm-yard dog; but he was
too good a judge to “kick against the pricks.” He saw it was no go, and
assuring his worship he was as safe as if he were wrapped up in a ball
of his own flannel, he saw him safely through the surrounding multitude.
An immediate retreat was beaten up the main road, and Jack lost no time
in undoing what he had done, and packing his traps, as before, under the
wings of a cab, with which he followed his friends.
A consultation now took place as to what was to be done. Some were for a
flight to Hayes, in Kent, while others looked towards Middlesex, and at
last the latter course was taken, and “to Hampton” was the word of
command. The cavalcade set off helter-skelter, taking the course over
Kingston Bridge, to the unexpected but great satisfaction of the
toll-keepers, who were thus put into a good thing, not improbably for
good reasons, by the pious Kingston beak. But here a new difficulty and
some jarring arose, for the cabs in those early days not being entitled
to go more than eight miles from London without paying an additional
duty of 1_s._ 9_d._ to the excise, the impost was demanded, and the gate
shut till it was exacted. The stoppage produced not only great
resistance, but much ill-blood, and at one time there was a string of
not less than three hundred carriages on the stand-still, all impatient,
and each fresh cabman producing fresh arguments in favour of a right of
passage. At last foul means took the place of fair: the gate was opened
by the “friends of liberty,” and away went the whole line pell mell,
many of them not even condescending to pay the ordinary toll. Thus the
imprudent resistance (when the number of the cab might have been
sufficient) led to the loss of much which would otherwise have been
bagged to the positive advantage of the Trust. The way was now clear to
Hampton, with the exception of a few accidents by “flood,” for the
waters being out on the road between Hampton Court and the Bell, many
immersions took place; and, in not a few instances, “old Father Thames,”
with the pertinacity of an exciseman, walked through the bottoms of
those drags which happened not to be at least two feet from the surface
of his waters. These were, however, “trifles light as air,” and in due
course the motley assemblage were collected round the roped arena once
more, a convenient field having been found, of which possession was
taken without the ceremony of saying to the proprietor, “by your leave.”
All now went smoothly; the men arrived on the field “ripe for action;”
and by a quarter to three o’clock the dense mass was all alive for the
commencement of business, a straw rick in the vicinity affording ample
material for forming a dry resting-place for the “Corinthians” close to
the stakes. Such was the crowd, however, that great difficulty was
experienced in preserving order, and hundreds were altogether shut out
from a view of the sport which they had encountered so many difficulties
to witness. At ten minutes to three the men entered the ring; Oliver
attended by Frank Redmond and Owen Swift, and Burn by Young Dutch Sam
and Anthony Noon. Oliver sported a bird’s eye blue, and Burn a yellow
man, which were tied to the stakes in due form. Burn, on entering the
ring, seemed to be a good deal excited, and some thought he had been
sitting too near the brandy bottle; but his subsequent conduct showed
that he had lost nothing by the aid of artificial spirit. Oliver was
quiet and easy in his manner; and although he was aware of the
importance of the contest upon which he was about to enter, exhibited as
much coolness as if he were engaged in his ordinary occupation of
Commissary. He wore a tarpaulin hat, which gave him much the appearance
of a veteran tar, instead of a veteran of the boxing school. On
stripping, it was clear that Burn had the advantage of height and
weight, as well as in freshness, although his flesh shook within his
skin, as if the latter had been made too large, or the former had shrunk
from its natural rotundity, the inevitable effect of training upon an
old frame. Oliver looked sleek, and in good case. He was, however, stiff
in the pins, which, although not “gummy,” as might have been expected
from his frequent attacks of the gout, wanted that elasticity of muscle
requisite to the display of activity, an important essential in getting
away from the rush of a heavy and determined antagonist, as he
discovered in the course of the mill. The odds on setting-to were six
and seven to four on Oliver.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—The men eyed each other _à la distance_, Oliver smiling,
Ben as serious as Newton solving a problem in astronomy, their hands
well up, and Tom waiting for the attack; but Ben was in no hurry.
Tom tried a feint—no go; Ben steady. After a short pause Ben let out
his left, caught Tom on the canister, and stopped the counter with
his right. Neat stopping, followed by counter hits with the left,
which raised a blush on the cheek of each. Good straight hitting and
stopping, and no flinching. Tom caught Ben on the pimple with his
left, but had it on the mark from Ben’s left in return. A sharp
rally, give and take in good style; no getting away or mincing
matters, it was all hard work. Both became flushed and got to a
close, but little was done at in-fighting; mutual efforts to chop
and fib, when they broke away. Ben was all alive, and popped in his
left straight as an arrow on Tom’s mouth. Tom returned, but was
short. (Cries of “First blood” from Sam, and Tom showed claret from
the mouth.) Burn again put in his left, and stopped the counter.
Oliver was slow, but sure, and stealing a march, gave Ben a poke on
the snout. Ben had him on the noddle in return. Oliver threw in a
blow on Ben’s ribs with his right, but he was rather short. Ben
countered on his pimple; good manly fighting, and neither retreated
an inch. Ben flung out his left as swift as lightning, and catching
Oliver between the chin and the lip, gave him a “snig,” from which
the blood flowed copiously. (“No mistake about blood now,” cried the
Burnites, while Sam said “it was a certainty.” “Aye,” cried Ben
exultingly, “I can lick him and Tom Spring in the same ring!”)
Oliver smiled, but was not dismayed; he went to his man and tried
his left, but was short. Hit for hit, and no dodging. The men stood
like Trojans, fearless of consequences, depending solely on science
in stopping or hitting. A spirited rally and some heavy exchanges,
when Oliver put in his left upon Ben’s throat, and downed him in
good style. This was “trick and tie,” first blood for Ben and first
knock-down for Tom. The friends of the latter, who were not prepared
for so admirable a display on the part of Burn, revived. The round
lasted eleven minutes, all fighting, and both were a little fagged.
2.—Ben came up as confident as ever, while Tom smiled as if
unshaken in his own good opinion. After a short pause Ben caught
Oliver a swinging hit with his right on the side of the head, just
above the ear. Tom popped in his left twice on Ben’s smelling
bottle and cigar trap, drawing blood from the latter. Some good
manly hits and neat stopping, when both closed, but in the
struggle neither could do much. They appeared to be incapable of
getting the lock or giving a cross-buttock. Each fibbed by turns,
and at last Oliver succeeded in getting Ben down and falling upon
him. Both got up bleeding, and the spectators were agreeably
surprised by the manly and straight-forward manner in which the
men continued the contest.
3.—Oliver came up a little groggy on his pins, but ripe for action.
He let go his left, but Burn stopped him beautifully, and made a
pretty counter in return. A brisk rally, in which heavy hits were
exchanged, and Burn was again floored with a poke as he was on the
retreat. This was given as a second knock-down blow.
4.—Again did Burn show his generalship by stopping Oliver’s left;
but it was now seen that the knuckles of his right hand were gone,
and that he did not keep up his arm so well as at starting. Oliver
saw the opening, and “flared up” with his left so quickly and
effectually that he cut Ben between the eyes, and down came the
claret in a stream. Still Ben showed no symptoms of fear.
Counter-hitting; the men firm to the scratch and no denial.
(“Remember his ribs,” cried Frank Redmond to Tom.) No sooner said
than done, and whack went Tom’s right on the appointed spot. Ben did
not like this, but he fought manfully, and the counter-hitting and
stopping was of the first order. Again did Oliver plant on the sore
ribs, but had it on the nob for his pains. Ben’s right continued
low, and a job on the snout reminded him of his negligence; but this
memorandum was not sufficient. Oliver again hit with his left: he
received in return; but in the next broadside Ben went down.
(Oliver’s friends now became satisfied that “all was right,” and
cheered him accordingly.)
5.—Both men came up somewhat exhausted, for there was no breathing
time taken on either side. Ben tried his left, but was stopped; and
the return from Tom’s left on his knowledge box was neat, though
with little severity. Oliver again dropped heavily on Ben’s ribs
with his right and no return. A splendid rally, in which the “old
uns” fought with signal bravery. Tom, however, had the advantage of
hitting, as Ben’s right kept dropping, in spite of hints from Sam to
keep it up. The jobbing with the left was effective on both sides;
but in the end, after a desperate rally, in which both were piping
and weak, and yawing like a ship in a storm, Uncle Ben dropped
exhausted.
6 and last.—Notwithstanding Ben’s distress in the last round he came
up with unshrinking bravery, although looking blue. And “now came
the tug of war,” for, in point of punishment, the men were pretty
much on a par, and all seemed to depend on their physical strength.
Ben’s right guard still drooped, and Oliver commenced by giving him
a job with his left. Ben was not idle, and returned; repeated
counter hits were given, and Oliver delivered both right and left
with precision, although not with much force; still the blows told
on a man already on the go, and at last, in the close, both went
down, Ben under. It was now all over, and, on time being called, Ben
was declared incapable of coming again. Oliver, who had every reason
to be glad his labours were brought to a conclusion, was immediately
hailed as the victor, amidst the shouts of his friends; but he was
some time before he was sufficiently master of his motions to quit
the ring. Burn received every attention from his “Nevvy,” and
complained that he felt the effects of a rupture, under which he had
been long labouring. It was this which induced Jem Burn not to let
him get up for another round, though he wished it. The fight lasted
exactly twenty-four minutes.
REMARKS.—This affair surprised and delighted the old ring-goers, for
all anticipated, from the age of the combatants, that it would be a
“muffish” affair, and especially as Ben had never had a very high
reputation for game. It was admitted on all hands, however, that few
more manly fights had been witnessed, and that no men, considering
their capabilities, could have conducted themselves better. There
was no cowardly retreating or flinching on either side, nor any of
those hugging manœuvres which are so foreign to fair stand-up
fighting. We doubt whether “Uncle Ben” ever showed to so much
advantage; and, in defeat, he had at least the consolation of having
convinced his friends that his pretensions to the character of a
“foighting” man were not altogether without foundation. Tom has lost
all that fire for which he was formerly distinguished, and of course
much of his vigour, for his blows were not delivered with severity;
nevertheless, he vindicated his character as a thorough game man,
and to that quality his success may be in a great measure ascribed,
for the punishment he received, would have more than satisfied many
younger men. The betting was not heavy, and those who lost were
perfectly satisfied Ben had done his best, both for himself and
them. Nature, and not his will, forcing him to say “enough.”
This was Tom’s “last bumper at parting” with the active practice of
pugilism, though up to a very recent period, when succeeded by his son,
Fred. Oliver, the veteran Tom was rarely, despite his periodical
visitations of his old enemy the gout, absent from his post whenever the
P.R. ropes and stakes were in requisition. The civility, respectful
attention, and forbearing good humour (often under circumstances of the
utmost provocation) of Oliver we can personally bear testimony to. He
was emphatically “the right man in the right place;” even-tempered,
firm, obliging, yet undismayed by the most demonstrative of “roughs,”
Tom preserved his dignity, and commanded order by his quiet,
inoffensive, yet determined mode of doing what he considered to be his
“duty.” During his latter years, “Old Tom” vegetated as a fruiterer and
greengrocer in Pimlico and Chelsea, where he brought up a family, as a
fine specimen of lusty old age, and of the days when we may say of the
ring, “there were giants in the land.” Tom finally “threw up the
sponge,” June, 1864, at the ripe age of 75.
CHAPTER V.
BILL NEAT, OF BRISTOL—1818–1823.
At one period this weighty and hard-hitting specimen of the Bristol
school bid fair to attain the topmost round of the ladder to pugilistic
fame. Neat was born on the 11th of March, 1791, in Castle Street, of
respectable hardworking parents, and was known to his townsmen for many
years of his youth and manhood as a man of prodigious strength of arm,
temperate habits, and extreme personal civility. A finer young fellow,
“take him for all in all,” could not be met with in a day’s walk in a
populous city. His height was five feet eleven inches and a half; his
weight, in training, thirteen stone seven pounds. He had arrived at the
age of twenty-seven before London heard of his provincial reputation, a
fight with one Churchill, a maltster, weighing fourteen stone, being his
only recorded battle. This was a somewhat curious affair. It was
admitted that Churchill could not beat Neat, but the latter, for a
trifling wager, offered to thrash Churchill “in ten minutes!” The cash
was posted, and the combat came off, Churchill fighting with “yokel
desperation.” Nevertheless, Neat lost his money by not hitting his
opponent out of time in the ridiculously short space stipulated by the
agreement. However, the powers displayed by Neat led to some
conversation, in which a Bristol amateur offered to find 100 guineas for
Neat, if he chose to meet Tom Oliver, then in the city on a sparring
tour. Neat, who was as brave as he was powerful, closed with the offer.
Bristol, since the appearance of the renowned Jem and Tom Belcher in the
metropolitan prize ring, followed in rapid succession by the
never-defeated Game Chicken, the truly brave Gully, and the staunch and
often-tried Champion of England, Tom Cribb, not only attained a high
character for pugilistic excellence, but was denominated the “nursery of
British boxers.” Neat was brought forward under those advantages; and
although he could not boast of the experience of
“Battles bravely fought, and hardly won!”
[Illustration:
BILL NEAT.
]
yet his qualifications were so promising, his patronage so high and
imposing, that with the improving value of ten weeks’ training under the
immediate auspices and tuition of Cribb, the advice of Gully, and the
generally sound judgment of Captain Barclay, he soon became the
favourite; the Bristolians anxiously anticipating, through the exertions
of this new candidate for milling fame, to realize the days of another
Jem Belcher.
Oliver, nothing loth, accepted the cartel, and the subjoined articles
were drawn up:—
“W. Neat engages to fight Thos. Oliver on the 10th of July, 1818,
within thirty miles of London, for 100 guineas a-side. A fair
stand-up fight, in a twenty-four feet ring. Mr. Jackson to name the
place. The whole of the money to be made good on the 23rd of May.
Neat not to exceed thirteen stone seven pounds. Ten guineas a-side
are now deposited.
“Witness, W. TEAST.”
Upon the deposit being made, the odds were decidedly in favour of
Oliver; but previous to the day of battle, they changed to five to four
on Neat; the good judges observing that if freshness, length, strength,
and height were points towards victory, Neat, who possessed them all,
ought to win the fight. The latter, however, sustained some drawback
from being an entire stranger to the London fancy.
In opposition to these pretensions, Oliver, the darling of Westminster,
who had bravely conquered, in succession, Kimber, Hopping Ned, Harry
Lancaster, Ford, Cooper, and the determined Painter—but who was rather
cast in the shade from his defeat at Carlisle by Carter, if not
considered to have received a check to the championship of England—again
presented himself to the attention of the amateurs. Many of the old
fanciers were partial to Oliver; and if some of them thought him slow,
others viewed him as sure, and the odds against him were taken with much
confidence. Previous to the fight the betting varied repeatedly, and on
Thursday evening both Oliver and Neat were favourites in turn; it might
almost be termed even betting.
Not a bed could be had at any of the villages at an early hour on the
preceding evening; and Uxbridge was crowded beyond all precedent. At
four o’clock in the morning vehicles of every description were in
motion; and the road from Hyde Park Corner to Gerrard’s Cross was one
cloud of dust. The ring was formed upon one of the most delightful spots
the eye of a landscape painter could imagine. The scenery was truly
picturesque. Bulstrode House, the seat of the late Duke of Portland, was
on the left of it; the foliage of the trees, the verdure of the ground,
the swelling eminences, and the grandeur of the prospect, rendered the
_tout ensemble_ captivating, and the company congratulated each other on
the excellent choice which had been made for the display of gymnastic
sports. Yet before an entrance could be gained to this elysium of the
fancy a handsome tip was demanded at the gate, guarded by more heads
than were in the possession of Cerberus of old. But such is the
uncertainty of human affairs, in an instant this enchanting scene was
changed; all was anxiety and suspense—the stakes were pulled up, the
carriages rolled off with the utmost celerity, and the bustling scene
became as it were a desert. A magistrate had fixed his paw upon Neat,
and no milling could be permitted in Buckinghamshire on that day.
Cerberus had now taken flight from the gate, and lots of Johnny Haws
stood laughing at the flats who had been drawn of their tin.
Rickmansworth, nine miles off, was the scent, and the string of
carriages on the road exceeded all calculation. In a field, within a
mile of the above place, the ring was again formed; and a few minutes
before three Neat appeared and threw up his hat. Oliver immediately
followed, bowing to the spectators, and was received with great
applause. The latter, on stripping, showed good condition, and was
seconded by Tom Jones and Clark; Cribb and Tom Belcher performing that
office for Neat. Cribb tied the yellow colours of his man to the stakes,
and Jones placed the blue handkerchief of Oliver upon them. Lord
Yarmouth, Sir Henry Smith, and a long _et cetera_ of amateurs, were
round the ring. The ceremony of shaking hands took place, and at three
o’clock the fight commenced. Neat five and six to four the favourite.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—On setting-to, Neat looked formidable. His attitude was
springy and ready for quick action. His legs, decorated with silk
stockings, not only evinced fine form, but vast strength; and his
arms were equally sinewy. Upon the whole, he had the appearance and
make of what is generally considered a prize pugilist. He had also
excellent symmetry. Both were anxious to commence in good style, and
some sparring occurred. Neat hit short, and Oliver planted the first
blow. Some hits were exchanged, and Oliver put in a body hit and got
away; however, in following his opponent, he received a blow, and,
slipping at the same time, went down. Two minutes and a half had
elapsed.
2.—It was evident that experience was on the side of Oliver; but the
right arm of Neat was truly dangerous. Oliver put in a bodier, and
Neat returned short. The combatants then got into a sharp rally,
which terminated with Oliver fibbing down his opponent. (Great
applause.) The claret was now seen on the mouth and neck of Neat.
3.—Oliver again made a hit on the body, which Neat returned short
with his left hand. Oliver also planted successfully several body
blows, and Neat frequently missed in return. Some good counter hits
occurred. Oliver followed Neat closely up; some exchanges took
place, when Neat turned round and went down from a hit. (Slight
disapprobation.)
4.—Oliver found his opponent was a novice, and felt confident of
success. This was the longest round in the fight, displaying the
various tactics and style of fighting of both the combatants: it may
serve as a sort of criterion for the whole battle, and save much of
the minute routine of the rounds. Oliver, with much gaiety, planted
a severe facer, and Neat in return hit short. Oliver gave another
facer. Neat, with his right hand, gave Oliver a tremendous blow
under his ear that seemed to send his head from his shoulders, the
claret flowing copiously, and a large lump instantly rose. Oliver
here showed a good acquaintance with the science, and fought better
than usual; he frequently planted body hits and facers without
experiencing returns, and broke away in good style. Oliver was tired
and put down his hands. Several counter hits occurred. Neat put in a
severe body blow, when Oliver soon afterwards was observed to spit,
as if his inside had suffered. Oliver made a good right-handed hit,
and stopped a tremendous blow with his left. Several other incidents
also occurred in Oliver’s favour. The latter again spat, and, in a
rally, both went down from exhaustion. The round lasted eight
minutes. (Six to four on Oliver.)
5.—The hands of Oliver were covered with claret from the work he had
done upon his opponent’s mug. Oliver took the lead, and finished the
round by sending Neat down. (Shouts, and three to one on Oliver.)
6.—Oliver planted a good facer, and counter hits again took place.
This was a singular round. Oliver followed Neat to the ropes, and in
a sort of scuffle, caught the latter by the thighs, when Neat fell,
and Oliver also went down. Both exhibited severe marks of
punishment: Neat’s mouth was open, and he appeared distressed.
Oliver was now decidedly the favourite.
7.—This round had nearly decided the fight. Oliver went down like a
dead man from a tremendous right-handed blow under the ear. His
senses were completely hit out of him; and Jones, by extraordinary
exertions, placed him on the bottle-holder’s knee and used every
means to recover him again to meet his opponent. (“Time, time,” was
loudly vociferated from all parts of the ring, and many persons with
stop-watches in their hands insisted a minute had elapsed.)
8.—Oliver’s second at length brought him forward, with his arm round
his body, up to the scratch, when the bottle-holder on Neat’s
behalf, insisted on his letting go his man. Oliver, staggering, put
himself in position to fight, when he was immediately floored.
9.—Time was again called by the spectators, on the difficulty of
Oliver’s coming to the mark. The latter was evidently stupefied, and
was again hit down. (Ten to one on Neat, and hats were thrown up.)
10.—The gameness of Oliver astonished the oldest amateur; and he now
so far recovered himself as to have the best of it, and fibbed his
opponent down at the ropes. (Great applause.)
11.—Oliver kept the lead, and not only gave a staggering hit to
Neat, but caught him again as he was falling.
12.—Oliver in this round was everything. His science in getting away
was excellent: he gave his opponent a severe facer, a blow on the
eye, and finally floored him, Neat frequently hitting short.
(“Bravo, Oliver!” and the odds rising rapidly.)
13.—Neat gave Oliver, in following him, a tremendous right-handed
hit on his mouth, so that his upper works were in a complete state
of chaos. Neat, notwithstanding this superiority, went down, and it
was loudly asserted without a blow. It occasioned marks of
disapprobation. (£100 to £5 was offered on Oliver, but no one took
it.)
14.—Oliver, after having the best of the round, threw Neat.
15.—Neat hit down, and Oliver fell upon him.
16.—Oliver planted a severe blow under the left ear of his opponent,
who went down much distressed.
17.—Oliver made a hit, but Neat stopped it with much dexterity;
counter hits, yet Neat was floored.
18.—Neat made three blows, but went down.
19.—Oliver floored his opponent, but was, nevertheless, punished in
the round.
20.—Neat’s right hand was at work, and Oliver quickly followed him
up till he went down.
21.—Oliver floored his antagonist, and fell upon him, and hit Neat
in the face as he was in the act of falling upon him. (This produced
“Foul, foul,” from the friends of Neat.)
22.—Oliver received a hit from Neat, when the latter fell.
(Hissing.)
23.—Oliver, in closing, fell upon his opponent.
24.—Neat planted some sharp blows; but Oliver had the best of the
round, when Neat went down. (“Bravo, Oliver! well done, Tom!” and
the betting greatly in his favour.)
25.—Neat, it appeared, now felt the use of his right arm, and with
two blows, right and left-handed, not only sent Oliver staggering
away, but hit him down like a shot. (The hats were again thrown up,
and the odds had all vanished.)
26.—It was evident Oliver could not recover from the severe effects
of the last round. (“Time” was again loudly vociferated; and he came
up staggering, only to be hit down.)
27.—Neat again went to work, and planted more tremendous blows; but,
in closing, Neat was undermost.
28.—Oliver, game to the last, and more than anxious that his backers
should not find fault with him, contended for victory as if the fate
of an empire hung upon the event. The stunning blows he had received
had put aside all his science, and he now incautiously followed his
opponent, who, with his right hand, gave Oliver the _coup de grace_,
which took him off his legs in a singular manner: he fell flat on
his back as senseless as a log of wood. “Time” was called, but the
brave Oliver heard not the sound. One hour and thirty-one seconds
had elapsed.
REMARKS.—Neat, notwithstanding the decisive victory he obtained over
Oliver, appeared little more than a novice in scientific boxing. It
is true, he might be improved under the tuition of skilful and
accomplished boxers, for he possesses a requisite above all that
teaching can achieve, namely, “one hit with his right hand, given in
proper distance, can gain a victory, and three of them are
positively enough to dispose of a giant.” Neat hits from the
shoulder with an astonishing and peculiar force; and, in one
instance, the arm of Oliver received so paralyzing a shock in
stopping the blow, that it appeared almost useless. The admirers of
fine fighting are decidedly of opinion that Neat has no such
pretensions; but as a hard hitter (of steam-engine power), it is
asserted there is nothing like him on the present list. He fought
very awkwardly; and had he used his right hand to advantage in the
early part of the fight, in all probability it must have been over
in a few rounds; but it should be recollected it was his first
appearance in the London ring. One word for the brave but fallen
Oliver before these remarks are closed. He fought like a hero; and
the courage of human nature was never witnessed in a higher point of
view than exhibited by him in this contest. The battle was never
safe to him, notwithstanding his exertions were more scientific than
in any of his previous fights. It was also far from being safe to
Neat till the twenty-fifth round. The latter was in bad condition,
while Oliver could not be finer; but a chance blow from Neat can
floor one hundred to one in a twinkling, although he is a round
hitter.
Oliver, although defeated, was not disgraced; on the contrary, it was
asserted that he had fixed his claims more strongly upon the amateurs in
general by his brave conduct. In eight battles he had proved himself a
good man—six of them he won. It was upon the whole a good fight; but
Oliver was too slow for an active man like Neat. Several minutes elapsed
before Oliver recovered sensibility, and his situation for a short
period was thought to be critical. He was bled in the ring, and Neat
shook hands with him. He was taken from the scene of action in a landau,
and every attention paid to him that humanity could suggest. Neat was
also assisted to his vehicle in a very distressed state, his face
completely altered from the severity of punishment it had undergone.
Neat did not remain long in the metropolis; and, in his way home, he
called at Sam Porch’s booth, at Lansdown Fair, where the latter, in
honour of the victory of his countryman, had for his sign portraits of
Neat and Oliver in battle. The amateurs who made the match for Neat now
suggested to him the propriety of taking a benefit in London, which the
latter rather reluctantly complied with. However, he again arrived in
the metropolis; and on Tuesday, the 23rd of February, 1819, the Fives
Court was respectably attended for his benefit. Neat, followed by
Shelton, attracted considerable attention. It was Neat’s first
appearance with the gloves at the Fives Court; his severity of hitting
in the ring had been previously ascertained, and his knowledge of the
science was now only to be developed. He proved quick in his movements,
and stopped with skill, and the set-to, upon the whole, was entitled to
praise. It is true that Shelton planted the most nobbing hits, and one
on the mouth told rather heavily; but a bodier from Neat out-valued the
whole of them in calculation and effect, and seemed to operate so
sharply upon the frame of his opponent that the interior appeared in
sudden motion. Shelton evinced improvement, and was pronounced to have
rather the best of this bout. Richmond and Harmer showed the advantages
of science: their play was light and pleasing to the amateur. Neat and
Harmer wound up the sports of the day in a light contest, when the
former complained of not being able to return thanks as he wished, being
no orator. Cribb, Oliver, Randall, Reynolds, Owen, and Gregson were
present, but did not exhibit. It appeared that one of the small tendons
of Neat’s right arm had been injured, which prevented him from using it
with any strength or activity, and three months must elapse, it was
said, before a cure could be pronounced, or Neat returned fit for
service.
In calculating his loss of time, the neglect his business sustained at
home, and his expenses in London, it is said Neat scarcely cleared
himself by this appeal to the patronage of the public.
Cribb and Spring being on a sparring tour, and making Bristol in their
route, a match for 100 guineas a-side was made between Neat and Spring,
and £50 a-side put down at the Greyhound Inn, Broadmead, Bristol. The
fight to take place on the 6th of October, 1819, half-way between
Bristol and London; but, in consequence of Neat’s breaking his arm while
in training, this match was off, not only to the chagrin of both the
combatants, but to the great disappointment of the sporting world.
Symptoms of a “screw being loose” between the Champion of England and
Neat, the following appeared in most of the London newspapers:—
“TO MR. T. CRIBB.
“I observed in a report of the sparring match for the benefit of
Harry Harmer, that you, being flushed by the juice of the grape,
took an opportunity of paying me a compliment, which I did not
expect you had liberality enough to do; namely, that ‘Neat was the
best of the bad ones,’ and that ‘you would fight him for from £500
to £1,000.’ In answer to which, I inform you that I will fight you
as soon as you like (the sooner the better) for from a glass of gin
to £200.
“WILLIAM NEAT.
“_All Saints’ Lane, Bristol, August 14, 1820._”
Neat’s next match was with the terrific “Gas” for 100 guineas a-side,
and the spot fixed was Newbury, Berks. On Monday, December 11, 1821, the
day before the fight, as soon as daylight peeped, the bustle on the road
to Maidenhead was tremendous. Nothing particular, however, occurred,
except the staring of the good people of Reading at the fancy as they
passed through that place. At the entrance of the town of Newbury a
strong muster of the yokels stationed themselves throughout the whole of
the day grinning at the Londoners as they arrived. Indeed, the road on
Monday, and all night, up to Tuesday morning at twelve o’clock, from the
metropolis, was thronged with vehicles of every description. The roads
leading from Oxford, Gloucester, etc., and likewise from Bristol, were
in the same state with persons anxious to reach the rallying point,
Newbury. All the inns were filled, and the beds engaged some days
previous: it was a prime benefit to the town.
About three o’clock in the afternoon, Hickman, with his backer and
Spring, in a barouche and four, with Shelton outside, drove rapidly
through the town, the Gas-light Man laughing and bowing, on being
recognised and cheered by the populace, till they alighted at the
Castle, Speen Hill. Here he was visited by numerous gentlemen, to all of
whom he declared his confidence of success, and that victory would crown
his efforts in a short time. After the bustle of the day was over, the
President of the Daffy Club took the chair at the Three Tuns, in the
Market Place, Newbury, which, as soon as the office had been given,
became the head quarters. Thither the swells and the sporting men
mustered round the holder of the stakes. It was a complete betting
stand, and numerous wagers were made on the coming event. In consequence
of the Newmarket people, with Mr. Gully and Mr. Bland at their head,
taking Neat, the odds fell on the Gas: a few persons who were funking a
little got off some of their money, but the principal part of the fancy
stood firm, and many of them laid it on thicker, although Mr. Gully, in
the most candid manner, declared his opinion, “that if a fine, young,
strong, fourteen stone man could not defeat a twelve stone boxer, then
there was no calculation on prize milling.” Tuesday morning, long before
the darkness had cleared off, presented a scene to the Johnny Raws, in
the numerous arrivals from London, most of them having been on the road
all night, with their peepers half open and their tits almost at a
stand-still. About ten o’clock Newbury presented an interesting
appearance. The inhabitants were all out of doors; the windows of the
houses crowded with females, anxiously waiting to witness the departure
of the fancy to the mill. Indeed it was a lively picture—barouches and
four, curricles, post-chaises, gigs, carts, stage coaches, wagons,
myriads of yokels on horseback, chawbacons scampering along the road,
Corinthians and bang-up lads tooling it along.
The fun and gig was kept up by the lads till Hungerford Downs, the
wished-for spot, appeared in sight. It was a delightfully fine morning,
the sun adding splendour to the scene, giving the whole a most
picturesque appearance. The prospect was quite attractive. A charming
country on both sides of the road; the town of Hungerford at a distance,
with the spire of the church; the ring on the Downs, surrounded with
wagons and coaches, marquees, etc., rising grandly like an amphitheatre,
formed so pleasing a feature as to render description no easy task. The
spot was selected under the judicious management of Mr. Jackson, and the
ring was so well arranged that 25,000 persons, who were present, had an
excellent sight of the battle. Not the slightest accident occurred, and
the whole was conducted with the greatest decorum. It was curious to
witness the anxiety displayed by this great assemblage of persons,
waiting with the utmost patience, without the slightest murmur, for two
hours, the ring having been formed so early as eleven o’clock.
At a few minutes after one, Neat, arm-in-arm with his backer and
Belcher, appeared in the outer space, and threw up his hat, but the sun
being in his eyes it did not reach its intended destination, when
Belcher picked it up and threw it in the ring. Shortly afterwards the
Gas, in a white topper, supported by his backer and Shelton, repeated
the token of defiance, and entered the ring sucking an orange. He
immediately shook hands with Neat, saying, “How are you?” Mr. Jackson
was the referee. Belcher and Harmer were the seconds for Neat, and
Spring and Shelton for the Gas. The odds had completely changed on the
preceding evening; and on the ground Neat was backed five to four,
besides numerous even bets, and being taken for choice. Upwards of
£150,000, it is calculated, eventually changed owners on this battle.
The Gas weighed twelve stone, Neat nearly fourteen. The colours, deep
blue for Gas, and the Bristol yellow man for Neat, were tied to the
stakes.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Both men appeared in the highest condition; in fact the
backers of Neat and Gas asserted that they were to all intents and
purposes fit for milling. The frame of Neat was a fine study; and
the comparison between the pugilists was remarkable. The Gas, on
placing himself in attitude, surveyed his opponent from head to
foot, and Neat was equally on the alert. Hickman kept dodging about
in order to get an opening to plant a determined hit; but Neat was
too leary to be had upon this suit, and whenever the Gas moved, he
likewise altered his position. On Neat’s preparing to give a blow,
the Gas, smiling, drew himself back; but immediately afterwards, as
if resolutely making up his mind to do some mischief, he went right
bang in, and with his right hand put in a nobber, Neat retreating.
Hickman planted a second blow on his shoulder; he also put in a
third hit upon Neat’s left eye, and, elated with his success, he was
on the rush to place a fourth blow, when Neat stopped him with a
tremendous hit on his throat, which made the Gas stagger a little.
Hickman, however, undismayed, attacked Neat with great activity, and
the result was, the Bristol hero went down (more from a slip than
the severity of the blow) between the legs of Hickman, the Cockneys
shouting for joy, and the regular fanciers declaring “it was all
right, and that Gas would win it easy.” (Seven to four on Gas.)
2.—Hickman came laughing to the scratch, full of confidence; but on
his endeavouring to plant his tremendous right-handed hit on the
throat of his antagonist, the length of Neat prevented it, and the
blow alighted on his shoulder. The Gas again endeavoured to make it,
when the Bristol hero gave Hickman so hard a blow on his box of
ivories that he chattered without talking, and went back from his
position as if he could not keep it; he also was compelled to make a
pause before he again commenced the attack. The Gas got away smiling
from a left-handed hit, when he rushed in with uncommon severity,
and, after an exchange of blows, they both went down, Neat
undermost. (Another loud shout for Hickman, the odds rising on him,
and “he’ll win it to a certainty,” was the cry.) While sitting on
the knee of his second the Gas winked to his friends, as much as to
give the office “it was all right.”
3.—If the backers of the Gas could not see the improvement of the
Bristol hero, Hickman was satisfied that he had a dangerous customer
before him, and found that the length of arm possessed by his
opponent rendered it highly necessary for him to act with great
caution; he, therefore, on coming to the scratch, made a pause, and
did not appear, as heretofore, eager to go to work. Neat was all
caution and steadiness, and determined to wait for his opponent; the
Gas, in consequence, was compelled to make play, and he planted a
sharp hit on Neat’s head, and, laughing, nodded at him. Encouraged
by this success, he was about furiously to repeat the dose, when
Neat caught him with his left hand on his nob, which sent the Gas
down on his knee; but his courage was so high and good, that he
jumped up and renewed the fight like a game cock, till he was hit
down by another tremendous blow. (The Bristolians now took a turn
with their chaffers, and the shouting was loud in the extreme. The
partisans of the Gas-light Man were rather on the fret, and several
of them had “got the uneasiness.”)
4.—It was now discovered by the knowing ones that they had not
consulted Cocker; it was also evident (but rather too late to turn
it to their advantage) that Neat was as quick as his opponent, a
better in-fighter, with a tolerable knowledge of the science, and
not such a roarer as he had been said to be. The severe nobbers the
Gas had received in the preceding round had chanceried his
upperworks a little, and, on his appearing at the scratch, he again
made a pause. He saw the length of his opponent was difficult to get
within; and he also saw that, if he did not commence fighting, Neat
was not to be gammoned off his guard for a month. Hickman went in
resolutely to smash his opponent, but he was met right in the middle
of his head with one of the most tremendous right-handed blows ever
witnessed, and went down like a shot. (The Bristolians now applauded
to the echo, and the London “good judges,” as they had previously
thought themselves, were on the funk. “How do you like it?” said one
of the swells, who was pretty deep in it. “Why,” replied the other,
“that blow has cost me, I am afraid, a hundred sovereigns.”)
5.—Gas came up an altered man; indeed, a bullock must seriously have
felt such a blow. He stood still for an instant, but his high
courage would not let him flinch; he defied danger, although it
stared him in the face, and, regardless of the consequences, he
commenced fighting, made some exchanges, till he went down from a
terrible hit in the mouth. (The Bristol boys hoarse with shouting,
and the faces of the backers of Gas undergoing all manner of
contortions. “That’s the way,” said Tom Belcher. “It’s all your own.
You’ll win it, my boy: only a little one now and then for the
Castle.”)
6.—The mouth of the Gas was full of blood, and he appeared almost
choking when time was called. He was getting weak; he, nevertheless,
rushed in and bored Neat to the ropes, when the spectators were
satisfied, by the superiority displayed, that Neat was the best
in-fighter. He punished Gas in all directions, and finished the
round by grassing him with a belly puncher that would have floored
an ox. This hit was quite enough to have finished the pluck of two
good men. (The long faces from London were now so numerous, that no
artist could have taken their likenesses. The Bristolians were
roaring with delight, “Didn’t I tell thee what he could do? The Gas
is sure to go out now!” “Not this time,” replied a few
out-and-outers from the Long Town, who endeavoured to face it out in
favour of Hickman, while anything like a chance remained.)
7.—Spring and Shelton were very attentive to their man, and led him
up to the scratch at the sound of time. The Gas was sadly
distressed, and compelled to pause before he went to work; but Neat
waited for him. The Gas was about to make play, when Belcher said to
Neat, “Be ready, my boy, he’s coming.” The Bristol hero sent the Gas
staggering from him by a nobber, but Neat would not follow him. On
the Gas attempting to make a hit, Neat again put in a tremendous
blow on his mouth that uncorked the claret in profusion. The Gas
recovered himself to the astonishment of all present, went to work,
and, after some desperate exchanges, sent Neat down. This change
produced a ray of hope on the part of his backers, and “Bravo, Gas!
you’re a game fellow, indeed.” The anxiety of Tom Belcher to be near
his man, occasioned Shelton to remark to Mr. Jackson, that if Tom
did not keep away from Neat, according to his order, he should
likewise keep close to the Gas. “Tom,” said Shelton, “you had better
come and fight for Neat.”
8.—The Gas, laughing, commenced the attack, but received such a
giant-like blow on his right eye that he was convulsed; such were
the terrific effects of this hit, that Hickman, after standing
motionless for about three seconds, appeared to jump off the ground,
his arms hanging by his sides, when he went down like a log on his
back, and the shock was so great that his hands flew up over his
head: he was totally insensible; so much so that Shelton and Spring
could scarcely get him off the ground. The whole ring seemed
panic-struck. Spring, vociferating almost with the voice of a
Stentor to awake him from his stupor, with the repeated calls of
“Gas! Gas! Gas!” The head of Hickman had dropped upon his shoulder.
The spectators left their places and ran towards the ropes, thinking
it was all over; indeed, the anxiety displayed, and the confusion
which occurred in whipping out the ring, had such an effect that
several persons observed a minute had passed away. On time being
called, the Gas opened one eye wildly, for he had now only one left,
the other being swelled and bleeding copiously.
9.—The battle was now decidedly Neat’s own, and every eye was on the
stretch, in expectation of the Bristol hero going in to administer
the _coup de grace_. An experienced boxer of the London ring would
have taken advantage of this circumstance, and not have given the
chance away; but Neat, in the most manly manner, waited for Hickman
at the scratch till the Gas felt himself enabled to renew milling.
On recovering, he shook himself, as it were, to remove the effects
of the overpowering stupor under which he laboured, and every person
seemed electrified with his manner. He commenced the attack with
much activity, and, after an exchange of blows, strange to say, sent
Neat down. (Loud shouts of applause, and the whole ring expressing
their admiration at the almost invincible courage Hickman
possessed.)
10.—The Gas came to the scratch staggering, his knees almost bending
beneath his weight; he, however, showed most determined fight, and
contended like a hero till he was hit down.
11.—The state of the Gas was truly pitiable, and on setting-to he
scarcely seemed to know where he was, and made a short pause before
he attempted to put in a hit. Neat’s left hand again was planted on
his nob, which sent the Gas staggering from him. Neat endeavoured to
repeat the dose, but he missed his opponent; it might be considered
fortunate that this blow did not reach its place of destination, as,
in all probability, it would have proved Hickman’s quietus. The
latter, after some exchanges, was again hit down. (Four to one.)
12.—It was quite clear that the Gas was not yet extinguished, for
this round was a complete milling one. Hickman followed his
adversary, exchanging hit for hit; but it was evident, however
desperate the intention of Hickman might be, his blows were not
effective; while, on the contrary, the hits of Neat were terrific,
and reduced the strength of his opponent at every move. Still the
confidence of the Gas was unshaken, and he returned to the charge
till Neat went down. (Tremendous applause. “What an astonishing game
fellow!”)
13.—The Gas had scarcely attempted to make a hit, when Neat’s left
floored him like a shot. (The shouting from the Lansdown and the St.
James’s Churchyard natives was like a roar of artillery. Ten to one;
but all shy, and scarcely a taker.)
14.—It was now a horse to a hen, although Hickman seemed determined
to contend. He was distressed beyond measure, and his seconds were
compelled to lead him to the scratch.[18] On putting himself in
attitude, he was quite upon the see-saw, and to all appearance would
only take a touch to send him down. “Give him a little one for me,”
said Shelton. “I will,” replied Hickman; “but where is he?” Some
exchanges took place, till both went down. (Any odds.)
15.—The intention of Hickman was still for fighting; or, to speak
more accurately, it should be called instinct, for as to reflection
it seemed quite out of the question. This round was short; and,
after a blow or two, the Gas was again hit down. (Loud cries of
“Take the brave fellow away, he has no chance; it is cruel to let
him remain.”) As Hickman lay on the ground he appeared convulsed.
16.—Shelton and Spring, when time was called, brought the Gas to the
scratch. He stared wildly for a second, when he endeavoured to
fight, but was on the totter. His fine action was gone, and he now
only stood up to be hit at. (“Take him away,” from all parts of the
ring, in which Mr. Gully loudly joined.)
17.—The game of the Gas was so out-and-out good that he preferred
death to defeat. He again toddled to the scratch, but it was only to
receive additional and unnecessary punishment. He was floored _sans
cérémonie_. (“Take him away,” was again the cry; but he would not
quit the field. “He must not come again,” was the general expression
of the spectators.)
18 and last.—On the Gas appearing at the mark, instead of putting up
his arms to fight; he endeavoured to button the flap of his drawers
in a confused state. Neat scorned to take advantage of his
defenceless situation, and with the utmost coolness waited for him
to commence the round. The Gas, as a last effort, endeavoured to
show fight, but was pushed down, which put an end to the battle by
his proving insensible to the call of time. The contest occupied
twenty-three and a half minutes. Neat jumped and threw up his arms
as a token of victory, amidst the proud and loud shouts which
pronounced him conqueror. He went and shook the hand of his brave
fallen opponent before he left the ring. A medical man bled Hickman
on the spot without delay, and every humane attention was paid to
him by his backer and his seconds. He remained for a short time in
the ring in a state of stupor, was carried to a carriage, and
conveyed to the Castle Inn, Speen Hill, near Newbury, and
immediately put to bed.
REMARKS.—To sum up the behaviour of the fallen hero in the fight, it
is only common justice to say of the Gas, that he cut up, without
disparagement, gamer than any man we ever before witnessed. His
greatest enemy must join in this remark; indeed, if his countenance
was anything like an index of his mind, the courage of Hickman was
so high that he appeared to feel ashamed, and to quarrel with nature
for deserting him. It is true that he was floored, but it is equally
true the Gas was not extinct. “Give him,” said an old sporting man,
“but a chance with anything near his weight, and the odds will be in
his favour; he will again burst forth with redoubled splendour.” It
cannot be denied that Hickman made himself numerous enemies by his
chaffing. Out of the ring he was viewed as a great talker, often
asserting more than he could perform; but in his battle with Neat he
decidedly proved himself no boaster; and in the eyes of the sporting
world, although suffering defeat, he raised his character higher
than ever it stood before as a pugilist. His fault was, he thought
himself unconquerable, and laughed at the idea of weight, length,
and strength being opposed to him. If any apology can be offered for
Hickman, it is that he did not stand alone in this view of his
capabilities, for he was flattered by the majority of the fancy to
the very echo, who backed him, on the match being made, nearly two
to one.
A parallel might be instituted between Hickman and the lion-hearted
Hooper; high patronage, without discretion, ruined the former, and
however good nobs for milling boxers may possess, it is too commonly
seen they do not wear heads to bear sudden elevation. As a friendly hint
to all pugilists we trust this lesson will prove useful to them, and if
they will endeavour to avoid “putting an enemy into their mouths to
steal away their brains,” all will go right. The fists of pugilists are
only to be exercised in the prize ring; the tongues of boxers were never
intended to excite terror in the unoffending visitor. Hickman, however,
wanted discretion and self-control: he had no reason to be ashamed of
this defeat, for it was one of the most manly fights ever witnessed. No
closing, no pulling and hauling each other at the ropes, but fair
stand-up milling from beginning to end. No pugilist strained every point
further to win a battle than the Gas did, and although thousands of
pounds were lost on him, his backers had no right to complain.
The behaviour of the subject of this memoir was the admiration of all
present: it was unassuming and manly in the extreme. In a word, Neat
proved a good fighter, and was thought, before he met with Spring, to be
superior to any boxer on the list. He retired from the ring without any
prominent marks; nevertheless, he received many heavy blows.
Bristol, in the person of Neat, now claimed the championship. Although
its hero bore his blushing honours with becoming modesty, and publicly
asserted, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, on the Thursday after the
fight, that he took no merit to himself in having defeated Hickman. “The
Gas-light Man,” said Neat, “was over-weighted; but I think he can beat
all the twelve stone men on the list. He is, I am convinced, one of the
gamest men in the kingdom; and, although I have been a great deal
chaffed about as a nobody, I will fight any man in London to-morrow
morning for £100 a-side of my own money.”
The result of this mill was a pretty “cleaning out” of the Londoners,
who returned to town with “pockets to let.” Nevertheless, there was
little grumbling, all uniting in the opinion that Hickman was entitled
to praise, doing all that he could to win. The news arrived in London by
pigeon about half past three o’clock in the afternoon. It is impossible
to describe the anxiety of the great crowds of persons which surrounded
all the sporting houses in the metropolis to learn the event. In Bristol
it was the same, and the editor of the _Gazette_ of that place thus
describes it:—“Such was the intense feeling excited in this city, that
the streets were crowded as if an election contest was at its height,
all inquiring the result, which was known here about seven o’clock.” The
following sentences were exhibited by a boy on a board in the road:—
“Bristol illuminated,
London in darkness,
The Gas extinguished by a ‘Neat hand.’”
The Bristol hero arrived at Belcher’s, the Castle Tavern, Holborn, on
Wednesday evening, and made his bow to the Daffy Club. He was received
with loud cheers.
The turn of that “tide” which Shakespeare has declared to exist in the
“affairs of man” now occurred in the milling career of the “Pride of
Bristol,” as he was at this time termed. This was the great match with
Tom Spring for the championship, of which full details will be found in
pp. 16–22, vol. ii., _ante_. The battle was for £200 a-side, and took
place near Andover, May 20, 1823. Spring’s weight was stated at thirteen
stone two pounds, Neat’s at thirteen stone seven pounds, Spring being
about four years older than his antagonist. The length to which the
report of the battle extends in the pages above referred to, precludes
the necessity of farther dwelling on its features here, than by relating
a few anecdotes connected therewith.
There is a class of men who always couple defeat with disgrace, and
insinuate or assert dishonesty whenever events do not fall in with their
hopes, their prophesies, or their wishes. The editor of the _Bristol
Gazette_ made the following remarks on the occasion:—“Round the
9th.—Here—publish it not in Gath, tell it not among the Philistines—when
time was called, Neat walked up and, instead of clenched fist, stretched
out his hand to Spring; it was all U P. The Londoners shouted, the
Bristolians looked glum; not the recollection of former victories by all
the Pearces and Cribbs, and Gullys and Belchers, could for a moment
revive them: every man stared at his neighbour with inquiring eye—‘What
does it all mean?’ At last a report ran that Neat had broken his arm in
a fall. ‘Pshaw! all my eye!’ Mr. Jackson, the Commander-in-Chief, went
round with a hat for a collection for the loser—he confirmed the report
of the broken arm. Whether this was a fact or not remains to be proved;
this, however, was evident, that Neat neither fought with his accustomed
courage nor skill. The battle had lasted but thirty-seven minutes:
neither of the men were otherwise hurt. Neat never attempted once to get
in to his man; when Spring was at the ropes, he did not follow him as he
might have done; he was all on the shy, and fell once with the shadow of
a blow. Spring relied chiefly, there is no doubt, upon his superior
wrestling, and was always eager for the hug; but Neat either had not
quickness to keep him off or wanted courage to strike. The sparring of
Spring was much admired; but if Neat had had recourse to the smashing
which he practised on Hickman, Spring’s science might have been puzzled.
It is supposed that more money was lost by the Bristol boys than at any
fight on record. The Londoners went chaffing home in fine style, whilst
the return of the Bristol cavalcade was like that of a long country
funeral.”
Mr. Jackson collected for the losing man, on the ground, £47 19_s._ The
night previous to the battle, Spring, in company with his backer, walked
from Andover to take a view of the ground on which the battle was to
take place, when Spring observed, “It was so beautiful a spot that no
man could grumble to be well licked upon it.”
The newspaper report respecting Mr. Sant, the backer of Spring, having
won £7,000 on the event is erroneous; also that Mr. Gully had realised
£10,000. Mr. G. did not win more than £100. It is true that Mr. James
Bland picked up a tidy stake; but it was false that Belcher lost a large
sum of money upon the battle: Tom was too good a judge to risk too much
of his blunt. So much for correct newspaper information.
Painter left his house at Norwich on purpose to perform the office of
second to Spring, it being a particular request of the latter boxer. The
wags of the fancy, at the conclusion of the battle, proposed that the
town of Andover in future should have the letter H _neat_-ly added to
it—to stand thus, Hand-over, in allusion to the great transfer of specie
on this occasion.
It was stated in the newspapers that a fine old lady of the Society of
Friends, with a couple of her daughters, came in their carriage to the
Angel at Marlborough, during the time Neat was training. The two
daughters remained in the carriage at the door, while the old lady made
her way into the Angel. She ascended the stairs, and found Belcher in a
room, sitting by himself, Neat having retired to change his clothes. Tom
thought the lady had mistaken the apartment, till she addressed him.
“Thy name is Belcher, is it not, friend?” “Yes, madam,” was the reply.
Tom was in hopes to get rid of the lady before Neat returned; but she
waited till the Bristol hero made his appearance. “I understand, friend
Neat, thou art about fighting a prize battle. Dost thou not know it is
very sinful? Be advised, friend, and give it up.” Neat urged that he was
bound in honour, and that if he gave it up he should not only be a heavy
loser of money, but stand disgraced for betraying his friends. “If it be
the lucre of gain, friend Neat, I will recompense thee,” thereon, the
report went on to say, that the lady offered money to the pugilist.
Other journals coupled the name of the worthy and excellent Mrs. Fry
with the affair, which called forth the following epistle from her
husband:—
“_To the Editor of the_ MORNING CHRONICLE.
“My wife and myself will be much obliged by thy insertion in thy
valuable paper of a few words, contradicting the absurd story,
copied from a Bath and Cheltenham paper, of her having interfered to
prevent the late battle between Spring and Neat, the whole of which
is without the slightest foundation in truth or probability.
“I am respectfully, etc.
“JOSEPH FRY.
“_St. Mildred’s Court, 22nd 5th Month, 1823._”
Notwithstanding this denial, it is certain that a well-intentioned
Quaker lady did act as above described, for which, viewing the peculiar
tenets of her sect, we must rather applaud than ridicule her.
In disposition, Bill Neat was not only generous and cheerful, but might
be termed a “high fellow,” and always ready to serve a friend. He was
fond of a “bit of life,” threw off a good chant, and was the President
of the Daffy Club, held at Sam Porch’s, Guildhall Tavern, Broad Street,
Bristol. It was said of him that, “If he is not a good fighter, Neat is
a good fellow.”
From this period Neat, the small bone of whose arm was really fractured,
retired from the fistic arena. He became subsequently a butcher in
Bristol, where he resided until his death, which took place on the 23rd
of March, 1858, in the sixty-seventh year of his age. Neat was respected
for many social qualities, and his genuine kind-heartedness, under a
rough exterior, gained the friendship of many. His prowess in levelling
the small Welsh cattle by a blow with a gauntlet glove between the eyes
has been narrated to us by eye-witnesses of this Milonian feat. Bill
Neat adds another to the many instances, which this history has
presented, of the esteem and good opinion which the best men of the ring
have earned from all classes of society.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VI.
THOMAS HICKMAN (“THE GAS MAN”).
A second Hotspur, had the sword been his weapon—fiery, hardy, daring,
impetuous, laughing to scorn all fear, and refusing to calculate odds in
weight, length, or strength, “the Gas Man,” for a brief period, shone
rather as a dazzling comet than a fixed star or planet in the pugilistic
sphere. Impetuous in the assault almost to ferocity, though not
destitute of skill, Hickman, like Hooper in his earlier day, prided
himself that his irresistible charge must confound, dismay, and paralyze
the defence of his opponent. There was certainly something terrific in
his attack, for in his earlier battles his head and body seemed
insensible to blows, at least they failed to drive him from his purpose
or to sensibly affect his strength, cheerfulness, or vigour. At one
period it was thought by his over-sanguine admirers that no skill could
repel his clever “draw” and his rushing onslaught. Retreat, when once in
for a rally, was with him a thing not to be thought of, and he carried
all before him. Success is the test and only criterion of the many, and
Hickman, despite experience, was over-rated. Out of the ring, Hickman
was fond of fun, vivacious, warm-hearted, and friendly; but, as may be
supposed, headstrong, violent, and repentant where wrong. Pugilists,
more liable to insults than most men, should always control their
tempers. It is necessary in the fight, and equally valuable in private
life. Our most eminent boxers (see lives of JOHNSON, CRIBB, SPRING,
etc., for corroboration) have been kind, forbearing, and of equable
temper. As a runner, Hickman was known before his ring _début_, and won
several prizes at this and jumping. The early career of Hickman we take
upon the credit of “Boxiana,” “the historian” being his contemporary.
[Illustration:
THOMAS HICKMAN (“THE GAS MAN”).
]
Thomas Hickman was born in Ken Lane, Dudley, Worcestershire, on the 28th
of January, 1785. His nurse thought that he showed something like
“fight,” even in his cradle; but when Tommy felt the use of his pins,
and could toddle out among his play-fellows, he was considered as the
most handy little kid amongst them. His skirmishes, when a boy, are too
numerous for recital; but it will suffice to state that, in the circle
in which he moved, when any of them were in danger of being beaten, it
was a common observation amongst them, to intimidate the refractory,
that they would fetch “Tom Hickman to lick him!”
Hickman was apprenticed to a steam-engine boiler maker. His first
regular combat was with one Sedgeley, in a place called Wednesbury
Field.[19] Sedgeley was disposed of with ease and quickness by young
Tom.
John Miller, a coppersmith, was his next opponent in the same field.
This match was for one guinea a-side; but Miller proved so good a man
that Hickman was one hour and a half before he obtained the victory.
Miller was heavily punished about his nob.
Jack Hollis, a glass-blower, a hero who had seen some little service in
the milling way at Dudley, was backed for £5 a-side against Hickman.
This turned out a very severe battle. Hollis proved himself a good man,
although he was defeated in twenty-five minutes.
Luke Walker, a collier, entertained an idea that he could beat Hickman
“like winking,” and matched himself against the latter for two guineas;
but, in the short space of nineteen minutes, Walker lost his two
yellow-boys, and got well thrashed in the bargain.
Hickman now left his native place for the metropolis, to follow his
business, and took up his residence in the Borough. It was not long
before a customer of the name of Bill Doughty, a blacksmith, offered
himself to the notice of our hero, and was finished off cleverly in
thirteen minutes, in a field near Gravel Lane.
An Irishman of the name of Hollix, the champion of “the Borough”—then,
as in later years, noted for its fighting lads—fancied Hickman, and a
match was made for six guineas a-side. Miller seconded Hickman upon this
occasion. This was a tremendous fight, in the same field as the last
battle, occupying thirty-two minutes, in the course of which Hickman was
thrown heavily in nineteen rounds, owing to the superior strength of the
Irishman, experiencing several severe cross-buttocks. Hickman at length
got a turn, when he caught the Irishman’s hand, held him fast, and
planted such a stupefying blow under his listener, that poor Paddy was
so much hurt and so much frightened that he requested the bystanders to
take him to the hospital.
Jack Thomas, a thirteen stone man, well known in the Borough, was beaten
by Hickman in a short, fierce battle. He also accommodated a fellow of
the name of Jack Andrews, for £1 a-side, in the Borough, who talked of
what great things he had done in the boxing line, and what great things
he could still perform; but in the course of seventeen minutes he was so
punished as to be glad to resign the contest. Hickman had not the
slightest mark upon his face in this encounter.
Seven millwrights belonging to Sir John Rennie’s factory, it is said,
were all beaten by Hickman, in a turn-up near the John’s Head, Holland
Street. The latter, on leaving the above house, was attacked by this
party, and compelled to fight in his own defence. These millwrights
afterwards summoned Hickman before the magistrates at Horsemonger Lane;
but, on an explanation taking place, Hickman had also the best of the
round again before his worship, the first assault being proved.
Hickman was a well made, compact man, by no means so heavy in appearance
as he proved to be on going to scale, namely, eleven stone eleven
pounds. His height was five feet nine and a half inches. His nob was a
fighting one, and his eyes small, being protected by prominent orbital
bones. His frame, when stripped, was firm and round, displaying great
muscular strength. Hickman was not a showy, but an effective, decisive
hitter; perhaps the term of a smashing boxer would be more appropriate.
He was, however, a much better fighter than he appeared from his
peculiar style of attack.
We believe it was owing to Tom Shelton (who first discovered this
milling diamond in the rough) that Hickman exhibited in the prize ring.
His out-and-out qualities were whispered to a few of the judges on the
sly, and a patron was at length found for him. It was then determined
that he should be tried with a promising pugilist; and a match was made
between Hickman and young Peter Crawley, for £50 a-side. This came off
on Tuesday, March 16, 1819, at Moulsey Hurst.
The morning was threatening, but the enlivening rays of bright Sol
chased all gloom, and infused animation, interest, and spirits through
the multitude. It might be termed the first turn-out of the fancy for
the spring season, and the vehicles were gay and elegant. The presence
of a sprinkling of Corinthians gave life to the scene. More interest was
excited upon the fight than might have been expected, as both the boxers
on point of trial were viewed as new ones to the ring. Hickman, although
a light subject in himself, was, to the amateurs, completely a dark one.
“What sort of a chap is he?” “What has he done?” “Has he ever fought
anybody?” were repeatedly asked, and as repeatedly answered, “That no
one knew anything about him.” It was, however, generally understood that
he was very strong; but it was urged, as a sort of drawback, that he had
too much chaffing about him. On the other hand, though “Young Rump
Steak” stood high as a glove practitioner, his strength and stamina were
doubted. He was a youth of not more than nineteen years of age, nearly
six feet high, twelve stone in weight, but thought to have more gristle
than bone; however, the keen air of Hampstead, added to good training,
had not only produced an improvement of his frame, but had reduced the
odds against him, and, on the morning of fighting, it was, in a great
measure, even betting, or “Young Peter” for choice. The importance of
the “Man of Gas” was kept up by his trainer, Tom Shelton, who
confidently asserted that if Hickman did not win he would quit the
boxing ring, and take up a quiet abode in the bosom of Father Thames,
Oliver also declaring that he would follow his namesake’s example if
their “Tom” did not win in a canter. Such was the state of affairs when
the moment arrived for the appearance of the heroes on the plains of
Moulsey. Hickman showed first in the ring and threw up his castor,
attended by his seconds, Oliver and Shelton. Crawley soon followed,
waited upon by Painter and Jones. The colours were tied to the stakes,
and at one o’clock the men set-to.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—The Gas-light blade seemed well primed as a “four pound
burner,” and eager to eclipse his opponent with his superior
brilliancy. He showed fight instantly, rushed upon his opponent, and
gave Young Rump Steak a mugger, but it did not prove effective.
Crawley endeavoured to retreat from the boring qualities of his
antagonist, and tapped Hickman over his guard. The latter went in,
almost laughing at the science against him, and Crawley could not
resist his efforts with anything like a stopper. He also received a
desperate hit upon his right ear, that not only drew the claret, but
floored him. In going down he unfortunately hit his head against a
stake. (“Well done, my Gassy,” from the Light Company; and seven to
four offered upon him.)
2.—The appearance of Crawley was completely altered. He was groggy
from the effects of the last blow and the contact with the stake.
The Gas Man let fly _sans cérémonie_, and the nob of his opponent
was pinked in all directions. His nose received a heavy hit, and he
went down covered with claret. (£10 to £5 upon Hickman.)
3.—It was evident that Crawley had not strength enough in the first
round, but now he was quite reduced. He, however, showed good pluck,
put in some hits that marked his opponent, and swelled up his left
eye like a roll; but he was punished in return dreadfully, and again
went down. (Three to one, but no takers.)
4.—Crawley received a terrible hit in the throat, and fell on his
back, with his arms extended, quite exhausted. (Five to one.)
5.—Crawley set-to with more spirit than could have been expected. He
planted some facers; but the force of his opponent operated like a
torrent—the stream appeared to carry him away. He was punished up to
the ropes, and then floored upon his face. (Seven to one.)
6.—The pluck of Crawley was good; he tried to make a change, but
without effect; he received a nobber that sent him staggering away,
quite abroad, and fell down.
7.—This was a desperate round, and Crawley gave hit for hit till the
Gas-light Man’s face blazed again; but Crawley was exhausted, and
both went down. (“Go along, Crawley; such another round, and you
can’t lose it.”) It was almost give and take hitting.
8.—Crawley also fought manfully this round; but he had no chance,
and the Gas Man again sent him down. (All betters, but no takers.)
9.—The right hand of Hickman was tremendous. Crawley’s nob
completely in chancery, and he was milled out of the ring.
10.—This round was similar to the famous one between Painter and
Sutton during their first fight. Crawley was so severely hit from
the scratch that he never put up his hands. (“Take him away,” from
all parts of the ring.)
11.—This round was nearly as bad; but the game of Young Rump Steak
was much praised. The Gas Man did not go without some sharp
punishment.
12.—Crawley floored in a twinkling. Long, very long, before this
period it was “Tom Cribb’s Memorial to Congress” to a penny chant.
Crawley could not resist the heavy hitting of his opponent.
13 and last.—The Gas-light Man had completely put his opponent in
darkness, and he only appeared this round to receive the _coup de
grace_. Thirteen minutes and a half finished the affair.
REMARKS.—The Gas Man retained all his blaze; in fact, he burnt
brighter in his own opinion than before. However, he was pronounced
by the cognoscenti not a good fighter. Indeed, a few words will
suffice. Hickman appeared too fond of rushing to mill his opponent,
regardless of the result to himself, and often hit with his left
hand open. The good judges thought well of the Gas-light Man from
the specimen he had displayed, yet urged that there was great room
for improvement; and when possessing the advantage of science, he
would doubtless prove a teaser to all of his own, and even above,
his weight. Crawley had outgrown his strength.
In this battle Hickman injured one of his hands severely in the third
round; indeed, he kept looking at one of his fingers, and complained of
it to his second, Tom Shelton. The latter, with much bluntness, told him
“to hold his chaffing; such conduct was not the way to win; he was not
hurt!” The Gas-light Man took the hint, and was silent during the
remainder of the battle. In a few days after the fight his hand was so
painful, and had assumed such a livid appearance, that he was compelled
to have the advice of a surgeon. On examination it was found one of his
fingers had been broken.
The Gas-light Man was now looked upon as somebody by the fancy; and
several matches were talked over for him, but they all went off except
the following, which was made up in a very hasty manner, for a purse of
£20, at the Tennis Court, at Cy. Davis’s benefit.
In this contest Hickman entered the lists with the scientific George
Cooper, at Farnham Royal, Dawney Common, near Stowe, Buckinghamshire,
twenty-four miles from London, on Tuesday, March 28, 1820, after Cabbage
and Martin had left the ring. This contest was previously termed fine
science against downright ruffianism, and seven to four and two to one
was the current betting on Cooper without the slightest hesitation. On
entering the ring the latter looked pale; but when he stripped, his
frame had an elegant appearance. He had for his seconds Oliver and Bill
Gibbons. Hickman was under the guidance of Randall and Shelton. Hickman
laughed in the most confident manner, observing, “That he was sure to
win.” Previously to the combatants commencing the battle, Mr. Jackson
called them both to him, stating the amount of the subscriptions he had
collected for the winner. “I am quite satisfied,” replied Hickman; “I
will fight, if it is only for a glass of gin!” This sort of braggadocio
quite puzzled all the swells, and the Gas-light Man was put down as a
great boaster, or an out-and-outer extraordinary. Notwithstanding all
the confidence of Hickman, the well-known superior science possessed by
George Cooper rendered him decidedly the favourite.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—On setting-to Cooper placed himself in an elegant position,
and a few seconds passed in sparring and in getting room to make
play. Every eye was on the watch for the superiority of Cooper; but
the rapidity of attack made by the Gas Man was so overwhelming that
he drove Cooper to the ropes, and the exchange of hits was terrific,
till Cooper went down like a shot, out of the ropes, from a terrible
blow on the tip of his nose, with his face pinked all over. (The
shouting was tremendous: “Bravo, Gas! it’s all up with his
science.”)
2.—The impetuosity of the Gas Man positively electrified the
spectators. He went in to mill Cooper with complete indifference.
Cooper’s face was quite changed; he seemed almost choked.
Nevertheless, as the Gas was coming in with downright ferocity,
Cooper planted a tremendous facer, right in the middle of the head.
This blow, heavy as it was, only made the Gas Man shake his head a
little, as if he wished to throw something off; but in renewing the
attack, Hickman slipped down from a slight hit. (Great shouting, and
“The Gas-light Man is a rum one.” The odds had dropped materially,
and Hickman was taken for choice.)
3.—The face of Hickman now showed the talents of Cooper, and he was
hit down on one knee; but the former instantly jumped up to renew
the attack, when Cooper sat himself down on his second’s knee, to
finish the round.
4.—Gas followed Cooper all over the ring, and hit him down.
(Tumultuous shouting. Two to one on Gas.)
5.—The fine science of Cooper had its advantages in this round. He
planted some desperate facers with great success, and the nob of his
opponent bled profusely. In struggling for the throw, both down, but
Gas undermost. (By way of a cordial to Cooper, some of his friends
shouted, Cooper for £100.)
6.—This was a truly terrific round, and Cooper showed that he could
hit tremendously as well as his opponent. Facer for facer was
exchanged without fear or delay, and Cooper got away from some heavy
blows. In closing, both down.
7.—The assaults of the Gas Man were so terrible that Cooper, with
all his fine fighting, could not reduce his courage. Hickman would
not be denied. The latter got nobbed prodigiously. In struggling for
the throw, Cooper got his adversary down. (“Well done, George.”)
8.—The Gas Man seemed to commence this round rather cautiously, and
began to spar, as if for wind. (“If you spar,” said Randall, “you’ll
be licked. You must go in and fight.”) The hitting on both sides was
severe. The Gas Man got Cooper on the ropes, and punished him so
terribly that “Foul!” and “Fair!” was loudly vociferated, till
Cooper went down quite weak.
9.—The Gas Man, from his impetuous mode of attack, appeared as if
determined to finish Cooper off-hand. The latter had scarcely left
his second’s knee, when Hickman ran up to him and planted a severe
facer. Cooper was quite feeble; he was hit down.
10.—In this round Cooper was hit down, exhausted, and picked up
nearly senseless. (“It’s all up,” was the cry; in fact, numbers left
their places, thinking it impossible for Cooper again to meet his
antagonist.)
11.—In the anxiety of the moment several of the spectators thought
the time very long before it was called, and, to their great
astonishment, Cooper was again brought to the scratch. He showed
fight till he was sent down. (“Bravo, Cooper! you are a game fellow
indeed.”)
12.—This was a complete ruffian round on both sides. The Gas Man’s
nob was a picture of punishment. Cooper astonished the ring from the
gameness he displayed, and the manly way in which he stood up to his
adversary, giving hit for hit till both went down.
13.—It was evident that Cooper had never recovered from the severity
of the blow he had received on the tip of his nose in the first
round. “It’s all up,” was the cry; but Cooper fought in the most
courageous style till he went down.
14.—Cooper, although weak, was still a troublesome customer. He
fought with his adversary, giving hit for hit, till he was down.
15.—This round was so well contested as to claim admiration from all
parts of the ring, and “Well done on both sides,” was loudly
vociferated. Cooper was distressed beyond measure; he, nevertheless,
opposed Hickman with blow for blow till he fell.
16 and last.—Without something like a miracle it was impossible for
Cooper to win. He, however, manfully contended for victory, making
exchanges, till both the combatants went down. When time was called,
Hickman appeared at the scratch, but Cooper was too exhausted to
leave his second’s knee, and Hickman was proclaimed the conqueror,
amidst the shouts of his friends. The battle was over in the short
space of fourteen minutes and a half.
REMARKS.—The courage exhibited by Cooper was equal to anything ever
witnessed, but he was so ill before he left the ring that some fears
were entertained for his safety. After the astonishment had subsided
a little, the question round the ring was, “Who on the present list
can beat Hickman?” The courage and confidence of Hickman seemed so
indomitable that he entered the ring certain of victory. Both
combatants were terribly punished, and Cooper showed himself as game
a man as ever pulled off a shirt. The Gas Man, it was observed, used
his right hand only.
In consequence of Hickman being informed that Cooper wished for another
battle, he put forth the following challenge in the _Weekly Dispatch_,
October 8, 1820.
“_To George Cooper, Britannia Tavern, Edinburgh._
“SIR,—
“Having seen a letter written by you from Edinburgh to Tom Belcher,
at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, stating that you wished I would give
you the preference respecting another battle between us, I now
publicly inform you that I am ready to fight you for any sum that
may suit you; and, as a proof that I am ready to accommodate you
according to your request, it is indifferent to me whether it is in
London or Edinburgh. But if at the latter place, I shall expect my
expenses of training to be paid, and also the expenses of the
journey of my second and bottle-holder. Having proved the conqueror,
I felt myself satisfied, and had no idea of another contest; but I
cannot refuse a challenge.
“Yours, etc.,
“T. HICKMAN.
“_October 7, 1820._”
This produced the desired result, and, over a sporting dinner, in
October, 1820, at the Castle Tavern, Holborn, a match was made between
Hickman and Cooper, for £100 a-side, to take place on the 20th of
December, within twenty-four miles of London, Tom Belcher putting a
deposit of £5 on the part of Cooper, the latter being at Edinburgh. A
further deposit to be made on the 7th of November, of £20 a-side. The
odds immediately were sixty to forty in favour of Hickman. But the £5
was forfeited, and the match off, for the reasons stated in the memoir
of GEORGE COOPER, _ante_, p. 317.
A match was proposed between Hickman and Kendrick, the man of colour,
for 25 guineas a-side. But in a previous trial set-to, at the Fives
Court, the man of colour was so dead beat with the gloves that
Kendrick’s backers took the alarm, and were quite satisfied that he had
not the shadow of a chance. The superiority of Hickman was so evident
that no person could be found to back poor Blacky. Hickman treated the
capabilities of Kendrick with the utmost contempt, milled him all over
the stage, and begged of him to have another round just by way of a
finish. Yet this man of colour proved a tiresome customer both to the
scientific George Cooper and the game Tom Oliver.
The second match between Hickman and Cooper excited intense interest, as
this new trial was regarded as a question of skill against Hickman’s
bull-dog rush. The day was fixed for the 11th of April, 1821, and
Harpenden Common, twenty-five miles from London, and three from St.
Alban’s, was the fixture. So soon as the important secret was known,
lots toddled off on the Tuesday evening, in order to be comfortable,
blow a cloud on the road, and be near the scene of action. The
inhabitants of Barnet and St. Alban’s were taken by surprise, from the
great influx of company which suddenly filled the above places. The
sporting houses in London also experienced an overflow of the fancy; and
the merits of the Gas Man and Cooper were the general theme of
conversation. Six to four was the current betting; but in several
instances seven to four had been sported. Early on the Wednesday morning
the Edgeware and Barnet roads were covered with vehicles of every
description, and the inns were completely besieged to obtain
refreshment. The inhabitants of St. Alban’s were out of doors, wondering
what sort of people these Lunnuners must be, who spent their time and
money so gaily. The place for fighting had been well chosen—the ground
was dry, and the ring capacious. Pugilists were employed to beat out the
outer ring, and had new whips presented to them, on which were engraved
“P. C.”
At one o’clock the Gas Man appeared and threw his hat into the
twenty-four feet square. He applied an orange to his lips, and was
laughing and nodding to his friends with the utmost confidence. He had a
blue bird’s eye about his neck. He was followed by Randall and Shelton.
In a few minutes afterwards, Cooper, in a brown great coat, with a
yellow handkerchief about his neck, attended by Belcher and Harmer,
threw his hat into the ring with equal confidence. Cooper went up to the
Gas Man, shook him by the hand, and asked him how he was in his health.
Two umpires were immediately chosen; and, in case of dispute, a referee
was named. Mr. Jackson informed the seconds and bottle-holders that,
upon the men setting-to, they were all to retire to the corners of the
ring, and that when time was called the men were to be immediately
brought to the scratch. The greatest anxiety prevailed. A few persons
betted seven to four on Hickman as the men stood up.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—On stripping, the appearance of Hickman was fine, and no
man ever had more attention paid him, being trained in a right
sporting place, where many gentlemen belonging to the Hertfordshire
Hunt had an opportunity of watching him. Cooper looked pale, and his
legs had not quite recovered from a severe attack of boils. It was
evident Cooper was not in tip-top condition; in fact, the time was
too short to get his legs well. On setting-to, little sparring
occurred; Cooper, with much science, broke away from the furious
attacks of the Gas-light Man. The latter, however, followed him, and
planted two slight hits, when Cooper kept retreating; but on
Hickman’s rushing in furiously to plant a hit, Cooper, with the
utmost severity, met him with a most tremendous left-handed hit on
the left cheek, just under his eye, that floored him like a shot,
and his knees went under him. (To describe the shouting would be
impossible; and several persons roared out, “Cooper for £100!” and
“The Gas must lose it.” Even betting was offered, and some roared
out seven to four.)
2 and last.—The Gas Man came up rather heavy: it was a stunning hit;
his cheek was swelled, and the claret appeared on it. He, however,
was not at all dismayed, and went to work with the utmost gaiety.
Cooper broke ground in great style, but missed several hits; if any
one of these had told, perhaps it might have decided the battle.
Hickman followed him close to the ropes, at which Cooper, finding
himself bored in upon by his opponent, endeavoured to put in a
stopper, but the blow passed by the head of his adversary, when
Hickman, in the most prompt and astonishing manner, put in a
tremendous hit, which alighted just under Cooper’s ear, that not
only floored him, but sent him out of the ropes like a shot. Belcher
and Harmer could not lift him up, and when time was called he was as
dead as a house, and could not come to the scratch. The sensation
round the ring cannot be depicted: and the spectators were in a
state of alarm. Cooper was thus disposed of in the short space of
three minutes. The Gas-light Man also seemed amazed: he was quite a
stranger to the state of Cooper, and asked why they did not bring
him to the scratch. Belcher endeavoured to lift Cooper off Harmer’s
knee, when his head, in a state of stupor, immediately dropped.
“Why, he is licked,” cried Randall. The circumstance was so
singular, that, for the instant, Randall and Shelton seemed at a
loss to know what to do, till, recollecting themselves, they
appealed to the umpires, and took Hickman out of the ring, put him
in a post-chaise, and drove off for St. Alban’s. In the course of a
minute or so Cooper recovered from his trance, but was quite unable
to recollect what had occurred; he said to Belcher, “What! have I
been fighting?” declaring that he felt as if he had just awoke out
of a dream: he appeared in a state of confusion, and did not know
where he had been hit. A gentleman came forward and offered to back
Cooper for £50 to fight the Gas Man immediately, and Cooper, with
the utmost game, appeared in the ring; but Hickman had left the
ground. The Gas Man was most punished.
REMARKS.—Instead of making any remarks upon the above fight, it
might be more proper to say, that the Phenomenon (Dutch Sam), the
Nonpareil (Jack Randall), the Champion of England, Tom Johnson, Big
Ben, Jem Belcher, the Chicken, Gully, Tom Cribb, etc.—without
offering the least disparagement to their courage and
abilities—never accomplished anything like the following:—Hickman
won three prize battles in thirty-one minutes.
He defeated Crawley in 13½ minutes.
〃 Cooper 〃 14½ 〃
〃 Ditto 〃 3 〃
——
31
The preliminaries of Hickman’s match with Tom Oliver are given in that
boxer’s life, we shall therefore merely detail the doings of the day of
battle.
On Tuesday, June 12, 1821, at an early hour, the road was covered with
vehicles of every description, and numerous barouches and four were
filled with swells of the first quality to witness the Gas again exhibit
his extraordinary pugilistic powers. The Greyhound, at Croydon, was the
rallying point for the swells. The fight was a good turn for the road;
the lively groups in rapid motion, the blunt dropping like waste paper,
and no questions asked, made all parties pleasant and happy. The fun on
the road to a mill is one of the merry things of the days that are gone;
more character was to be seen there than ever assembled at a masquerade.
View the swell handle his ribands and push his tits along with as much
ease as he would trifle with a lady’s necklace, the “bit of blood”
thinking it no sin to hurl the dirt in people’s eyes; the drags full of
merry coves; the puffers and blowers; the dennets; the tandems; the
out-riggers; the wooden coachmen, complete dummies as to “getting out of
the way;” the Corinthian fours; the Bermondsey tumblers; the high and
low life—the genteel, middling, respectable, and tidy sort of chaps, all
eager in one pursuit; with here and there a fancy man’s pretty little
toy giving the “go-by” in rare style, form altogether a rich scene—the
blues are left behind, and laughter is the order of the day. Such is a
print sketch of what going to a mill was in days of yore.
It was two to one all round the ring before the combatants made their
appearance, and at one o’clock, almost at the same moment, Oliver and
Hickman threw their hats into the ropes. Oliver was attended by Harmer
and Josh. Hudson; the Gas Man was waited upon by Spring and Shelton.
This trio sported white hats. The colours, yellow for Oliver and blue
for the Gas, were then tied to the stakes. On Oliver entering the ring
he went up to the Gas-light Man smiling, shook hands with him, and asked
him how he did, which was returned in a most friendly manner by Hickman.
On tossing up for the side to avoid the rays of the sun, Hickman said,
“It’s a woman; I told you I should win it.” He appeared in striped silk
stockings; and, on stripping, patted himself with confidence, as much as
to infer, “Behold my good condition.” Some little difficulty occurred in
selecting umpires.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Considerable caution was observed; each dodged the other a
little while, made offers to hit, and got away. The Gas endeavoured
to plant a blow, but it fell short, from the retreating system
adopted by Oliver. The Gas again endeavoured to make a hit, which
alighted on Oliver’s right arm; the latter, by way of derision,
patted it and laughed. Oliver was now at the ropes, and some
exchanges took place; but in a close Oliver broke away, and a small
pause ensued. Hickman at length went to work, and his execution was
so tremendous in a close that the face of Oliver was changed to a
state of stupor, and both went down. Oliver was picked up instantly,
but he was quite abroad; he looked wildly, his left ear bleeding;
and the cry was, “It’s all up, he cannot come again.” Indeed it was
the general opinion that Oliver would not be able again to appear at
the scatch. However, the Gas did not come off without a sharp taste
of the powers of the Old One.
2.—Oliver was bad; in fact, he was “shaken.” His heart was as good
as ever, but his energy was reduced: he got away from a hit. The Gas
now put in so tremendous a facer that it was heard all over the
ring, and Oliver was bleeding at the mouth. In closing, Oliver tried
to fib his opponent, but it was useless; the Gas held him as tight
as if he had been in a vice till they both went down. Oliver was so
punished and exhausted that several persons cried out, “It’s of no
use, take the Old ’un away.”
3.—The scene was so changed that twenty guineas to two were laid
upon Hickman. The latter smiled with confidence on witnessing the
execution he had done; but the game displayed by Oliver was above
all praise: he appeared, after being hallooed at by his seconds, a
shade better, and he fought a severe round. The Gas received a
terrible body hit, and some other severe exchanges took place. The
cunning of Gas was here witnessed in an extraordinary degree; with
his left hand open, which appeared in the first instance as if his
fingers went into the mouth of Oliver, he put the head of Oliver
a-side, and with a dreadful hit, which he made on the back part of
his opponent’s nob, sent him down on his face. A lump as big as a
roll immediately rose upon it. The Gas in this round was very much
distressed; his mouth was open, and it seemed to be the opinion of
several of the amateurs that he was not in such high condition as
when he fought Cooper, or he must have finished the battle. The Gas
once stood still and looked at his opponent; but Oliver could not
take advantage of it.
4.—Hickman endeavoured to plant his desperate right hand upon
Oliver’s face, but missed and fell. Oliver, in trying to make a hit
in return, fell over Hickman; the Gas laughed and winked to his
second. It was, perhaps, a fortunate circumstance that Hickman
missed this hit, as it might have proved Oliver’s _quietus_.
5.—The left eye of the Gas was rather touched; but his confidence
astonished the ring. The confident look of Hickman developed his
mind. Oliver broke away, and also jobbed the Gas-light Man’s nob;
but as to anything like hitting, it was out of him. Hickman not only
bored in upon Oliver, but punished him till he went down stupid.
(Hickman for any odds.)
6.—Oliver came up to the scratch heavy, but he smiled and got away
from the finishing hit of his opponent. Singular to observe, in
closing, Oliver, by a sort of slewing throw, sent the Gas off his
legs, and he was almost out of the ring. (The applause given to
Oliver was like a roar of artillery.) The Gas got up with the utmost
_sang froid_.
7.—Oliver put in a facer, but it made no impression; and the Gas
with his left hand again felt for his distance against Oliver’s nob,
and the blows he planted in Oliver’s face were terrific. The
strength and confidence of Hickman was like that of a giant to a
boy.
8.—Oliver came up almost dozing, and began to fight as if from
instinct. Hickman now made his right and left hand tell upon
Oliver’s head, when the latter went down like a log of wood. (It was
£100 to a farthing. “Take him away; he has not a shadow of a
chance.”)
9 and last.—Oliver, game to the end, appeared at the scratch and put
up his arms to fight, when the pepper administered by the Gas was so
hot that he went down in a state of stupor. The Gas said to his
second, “I have done it; he will not come again.” Oliver was picked
up and placed on his second’s knee, but fell, and when time was
called could not move. Hickman immediately jumped up and said, “I
can lick another Oliver now;” and finding that this boast was in bad
taste, and met no response, even from his own partisans, he, upon
second thoughts, went up and shook Oliver by the hand. Medical
assistance being at hand, Oliver was bled and conveyed to the
nearest house. He did not come to himself rightly for nearly two
hours. It was all over in twelve minutes and a half.
REMARKS.—Thus, in less than three-quarters of an hour, had Hickman
conquered in succession, Crawley, Cooper (twice), and Oliver. In
quickness he came the nearest to the late Jem Belcher; but the Gas
could not fight so well with both hands. Perhaps it might be more
correct to compare him with the Game Chicken; yet the latter was a
more finished and more careful fighter than Hickman. It is, however,
but common justice to say of the Gas, that his confidence was
unexampled. He went up to the head of his opponent to commence the
fight with such certainty of success as almost enforced and asserted
victory. He thought himself invulnerable before, but this conquest
convinced him he was invincible, and he immediately offered as a
challenge to all England, once within four or six months, to fight
any man, and give a stone. It is useless to talk against stale men:
Oliver fought like a hero, and it was generally said “that a man
must be made on purpose to beat the Gas.” The latter was so little
hurt that he walked about the ring, and played two or three games at
billiards at Croydon, on his way to London. Forty-five pounds were
collected for the brave but unfortunate Oliver. The backer of the
Gas was so much pleased with his conduct that he ordered the
President of the Daffies,[20] who held the stakes of £200, to give
Hickman the whole of them.
Oliver, on his return to London the same evening, after he had recovered
a little from the effects of this battle, called in at the Greyhound, at
Croydon, when Hickman presented him with a couple of guineas. The backer
of Hickman also gave Oliver five guineas; and several other gentlemen
who were present were not unmindful of the courage he had displayed.
The decisive conquests of Hickman had placed him so high in the
estimation of the fancy, and he was upon such excellent terms with
himself, that he would not hear of a question as to his ability to
conquer any pugilist on the list. In conversation on the subject, he
often insisted that he was certain he could lick Cribb; and also
frequently wished “that Jem Belcher was alive, that he might have had an
opportunity of showing the sporting world with what ease he would have
conquered that renowned boxer.” Hickman asserted he did not value size
or strength; and the bigger his opponents were the better he liked them.
In consequence of this sort of boasting at various times, and also upon
the completion of the stakes between Randall and Martin, in August,
1821, at the Hole-in-the-Wall, Chancery Lane, a trifling bet was offered
that no person present would make a match between Hickman and Neat. A
gentleman immediately stepped forward and said Neat should fight Hickman
either for £100 or £200 a-side, and he would instantly put down the
money. This circumstance operated as a stopper, and the match went off.
In another instance, the backers of the Bristol hero sported £100 at
Tattersall’s, on Thursday, September 13, 1821, to put down to make a
match; but the friends of Gas would not cover. It certainly was no match
as to size; but, as the friends of Neat observed, “Neat has no right to
be chaffed about it, as his £200 is ready at a moment’s notice.”
The match at length was knocked up in a hurry over a glass of wine, a
deposit made, and the following articles of agreement entered into:—
“CASTLE TAVERN, _October 13, 1821_.
“Thomas Belcher, on the part of W. Neat, and an amateur on the part
of Hickman, have made a deposit of 25 guineas a-side, to make it 100
guineas a-side, on Monday, the 20th inst. The money is placed in the
hands of the President of the Daffy Club. To be a fair stand-up
fight; half-minute time. The match to take place on the 11th of
December, half-way between Bristol and London. An umpire to be
chosen on each side, and a referee upon the ground. The battle-money
to be 200 guineas a-side, and to be made good, a fortnight before
fighting, at Belcher’s.”
Immediately on the above articles being signed five to four was betted
on Hickman. Neat, it was said, would be nearly two stone heavier than
the Gas-light Man. It will be recollected that both Neat and Hickman
defeated Oliver, but with this vast difference—Neat won it after a long
fight of one hour and thirty-one minutes, and during the battle it was
once so much in favour of Oliver that £100 to £3 was offered, and no
takers; while, on the contrary, the Gas defeated Oliver in twelve
minutes, without giving the latter boxer a shadow of chance. Neat had
appeared only once in the prize ring; he was a great favourite at
Bristol, and one of the finest made men in the kingdom. He was also said
to be much improved in pugilistic science.
The name of the Gas, on Thursday, December 5, 1821, proved attractive to
the fancy at the Tennis Court in the Haymarket. The “Gas” was loudly
called for, when the Master of the Ceremonies, with a grin on his mug,
said, “It shall be turned on immediately.” Hickman, laughing, ascended
the steps, made his bow, and put on the gloves, but did not take off his
flannel jacket. Shelton followed close at his heels, when the combat
commenced. The spirit and activity displayed by the Gas claimed
universal attention: he was as lively as an eel, skipped about with the
agility of a dancing master, and his decided mode of dealing with his
opponent was so conspicuous that it seemed to say to the amateurs, “Look
at me; you see I am as confident as if it was over.” The hitting was not
desperate on either side, except in one instance, when the Gas let fly
as if he had forgotten himself. Both Shelton and Hickman were loudly
applauded.
The details of the exciting contest between our hero and Neat, on
Tuesday, December 11, 1821, will be found in the memoir of NEAT. It came
off sixty-seven miles from London, on Hungerford Downs, and produced
perhaps in its progress and results as great an excitement as any
contest on record. Neat and the Gas-light Man met at Mr. Jackson’s rooms
on Friday, December 15, when they shook hands without animosity. Neat
generously presented Hickman with £5. The latter afterwards acknowledged
that Neat was too long for him, and that, in endeavouring to make his
hits tell he over-reached himself, and was nearly falling on his face.
Hickman also compared the severe hit he received on his right eye to a
large stone thrown at his head, which stunned him. Neat was afraid to
make use of his right hand often, in consequence of having broken his
thumb about ten weeks before, and it was very painful and deficient in
strength during the battle.
“ON THE DEFEAT OF HICKMAN.
“The flaming accounts of the Gas are gone by,
As smoke when ’tis borne by the breeze to the sky,
The ‘retorts’ of brave Neat have blown up his fame,
And clouded the lustre that beamed from his name.
His ‘pipes’ may be sound, and his courage still burn,
But Neat to its ‘service’ has given ‘the turn;’
The Fancy may long be illumed by his art,
And ‘the coal’ that is sported due ardour impart;
Yet never again can his light be complete,
Now sullied and dimmed by the ‘feelers’[21] of Neat.”
In March, 1822, Hickman, in company with Cy. Davis, set out on a
sparring expedition to Bristol, where he was flatteringly received. A
Bristol paper observed:—“On Thursday morning the sport at Tailors’ Hall
was particularly good. In the evening upwards of four hundred persons
met at the Assembly-room to witness the set-to between Hickman and the
Champion (rather premature this), which enabled the amateurs to form a
pretty correct notion of the manner in which the great battle was lost
and won. The style of Neat exhibits the perfection of this noble
science—it is the cautious, the skilful, the sublime. That of the Gas is
the shifting, the showy, and the flowery style of boxing. The audience
were highly gratified, and the sum received at the doors exceeded £120.”
Another journal of the same city remarked that—“The puissant Neat and
the lion-hearted Hickman, attended by that able tactician, Cy. Davis,
with Santy Parsons and others of minor note, have, within these few
days, been showing off in this city in good style. The benefits have
been well attended, principally by Corinthians, for the tip was too high
for other than well-blunted coves. The sums received at the doors are
said to exceed £120. This is really good interest for their notes of
hand.”
Hickman had a bumper benefit at the Fives Court on Wednesday, May 8,
1822, and altogether the amusement was excellent. The principal
attraction of the day was the set-to between the Gas and Neat. The
former was determined to have “the best of it,” and he most certainly
had “the best of it.” It is, however, equally true that Neat has no
taste for sparring, and is not seen to advantage with the gloves on. The
Gas was still a terrific opponent, and it was evident “the fight” had
not been taken out of him. “Let those pugilists who meddle with him,”
said an experienced amateur, “anything near his weight, beware of the
consequences.” What sporting man connected with the ring, on viewing the
Gas and Neat opposed to each other, could, in point of calculation,
assert it was anything like a match between them; and Neat, with the
most honourable and manly feeling on the subject, never did exult on the
conquest he obtained over as brave a man as ever stripped to fight a
prize battle.
Hickman appeared rather unsettled in his mind after his defeat by Neat;
and, when irritated by liquor, several times boasted that he was able to
conquer the Bristol hero. But, as time gets the better of most things,
Hickman became more reconciled to his fate, and asserted, in the
presence of numerous amateurs at the Castle Tavern, when Josh. Hudson
challenged him for £100 a-side, that he had given up prize-fighting
altogether. In consequence of this declaration he commenced publican at
the Adam and Eve, in Jewin Street, Aldersgate Street, which house he
purchased of Shelton. During the short time he was in business he was
civil and obliging to his customers, and a great alteration for the
better, it was thought, had taken place in his behaviour; but, before
any just decision could be pronounced on his merits as the landlord of a
sporting house, the sudden and awful termination of his career banished
every other consideration.
A tradesman of the name of Rawlinson, a strong made man, a native of
Lancashire, but well known in the sporting circles in the metropolis for
his penchant for pugilism and wrestling, being rather inebriated one
evening at Randall’s, would have a turn-up with Hickman. The Gas-light
man was perfectly sober, and extremely averse to anything of the kind;
but the set-to was forced upon him by Rawlinson chaffing, “That Tom was
nobody—he had been over-rated, and he was certain that Hickman could not
beat him in half an hour; nay more, he did not think the Gas could lick
him at all.”
Four rounds occurred, in a very confined situation; in the first and
second little, if any, mischief was done between them; but in the third
and fourth rounds Hickman let fly without reserve, when it was deemed
prudent by the friends of Rawlinson to take him away to prevent worse
consequences, the latter having received a severe hit on the left eye.
In a short time afterwards a hasty match was made, over a glass of
liquor, between an amateur, on the part of Hickman, and Rawlinson (but
completely unknown to the Gas-light Man), for £10 a-side, to be decided
in Copenhagen Fields. The backer of Hickman had to forfeit for his
temerity in making a match without consulting him. Hickman was ten miles
from London on the day intended for him to have met Rawlinson, who
showed at the scratch at the place appointed.
On the production of Tom and Jerry at the Royalty Theatre, Mr. Davidge,
the acting manager, went down to Bristol to engage Neat, at £30 per
week, and a benefit, in order to induce him to come to London for a
month. Hickman was also engaged; but not upon such high terms, in
consequence of his residing near the theatre. The exhibition of the Art
of Self-defence answered the manager’s purpose, and good houses were the
result of this speculation; but it was more like fighting than
setting-to. The Gas-light Man could not, or would not, play light; yet
he frequently complained of the bruised state of his arms in stopping
the heavy hits of his opponent. As a proof of his irritable state of
mind, Hickman bolted on the night of his benefit, not thinking the house
so good at an early part of the evening as it ought to be, and supposing
that he should be money out of pocket. Mr. Callahan, in the absence of
the Gas-light Man, set-to with Neat. It, however, appeared that the
house improved afterwards, and that Hickman’s share would have been
nearly £20.
When perfectly sober, Hickman was a quiet, well-behaved, and really a
good-natured fellow; but at times, when overcome with liquor, he was
positively frightful, nay, mad. It was in one of those moments of frenzy
that he struck old Joe Norton, in Belcher’s coffee-room, merely for
differing with him in opinion. Like Hooper, the tinman, Hickman had been
spoiled by his patron, who made him his companion. That Hickman was
angry about losing his fame there is not the least doubt; and he must
have felt it severely after boasting at the Fives Court that “the Gas
should never go out!” In his fits of intemperance and irritation, he
often asserted that he had received more money for losing than Neat did
by winning the battle.
We now come to his melancholy death. Hickman, accompanied by a friend,
left his house early on Tuesday morning, the 10th of December, 1822, to
witness the fight between Hudson and Shelton, at Harpenden Common, near
St. Alban’s. He was in excellent health and spirits during the battle,
walking about the ground with a whip in his hand, in conversation with
Mr. Rowe. At the conclusion of the battle he returned to St. Alban’s,
where he made but a short stay, and then proceeded on his journey to
London.
On returning home in the evening Hickman drove, and endeavoured to pass
a road wagon on the near side of the road instead of the off side.
Whether from unskilful driving, the darkness of the night, or some other
cause, in clearing the wagon the chaise was overturned, and, dreadful to
relate, both were precipitated under the wheels, which went over their
heads. Hickman was killed instantaneously: his brains were scattered on
the road, and his head nearly crushed to atoms. Mr. Rowe seemed to have
some animation, but was soon dead. Randall had parted with them at South
Mimms shortly before, and stated that they were both sober.
It was in the hollow, half a mile north of the Green Man, Finchley
Common, where Hickman and Mr. Rowe were killed.
It appears that the last place where the two unfortunate men, Hickman
and Rowe, drank, was at the Swan, between Whetstone Turnpike and the
Swan with Two Necks, and within half a mile of the spot of the
catastrophe. Hickman observed upon the darkness of the night, and spoke
of the fog coming on when he got into the chaise. His friend anticipated
some danger, and refused to accompany him in the gig unless he drove.
Hickman positively refused, and, unfortunately for Mr. Rowe, the latter
occupied the place of Hickman’s friend. The horse escaped unhurt, and
the chaise was perfect, and in it the sufferers were conveyed, more than
a quarter of a mile, to the Swan with Two Necks. This shocking accident
had such an effect on the nerves of the landlord of the Swan that he was
also a corpse in less than a week afterwards.
Mr. Rowe left an amiable wife and three small children to lament his
loss.
Immediately after the fight between Hudson and Shelton, Hickman said
that, on his own account, he was sorry Hudson had lost the battle, it
being the intention of the friends of Josh., in the event of his having
proved the conqueror, to have backed him against Hickman for £100
a-side; and he laughingly observed, “Blow my Dickey, if I shouldn’t like
it vastly.” It it rather a curious coincidence that, on the same day a
twelvemonth previous, a report reached London that Hickman was dead, in
consequence of the blows he received in his battle with Neat.
On Wednesday, December 11, 1822, an inquest was held at the sign of the
Swan with Two Necks, Finchley Common, before T. Stirling, Esq., coroner,
on the bodies of Thomas Hickman and of Mr. Thomas Rowe, silversmith, of
Aldersgate Street, St. Luke’s.
The accident excited the greatest interest in the sporting world; and
although the inquest was held at an earlier period than was expected,
the jury room was crowded to excess to hear the evidence.
The jury proceeded to view the bodies of the deceased persons, which
laid adjacent to the house in which the inquest was held. On their
arrival an appalling spectacle presented itself: the Gas-light Man laid
on his back, and had it not been known that it was to that individual
the accident had happened, it would have been impossible, from the
mutilated state of the head, to have recognised him. His head was
literally crushed to atoms.
Mr. Rowe was also dreadfully crushed about the head, but not so sadly as
Hickman.
On returning to the jury-room the following witnesses were called:—
Chancy Barber, of Finchley, bricklayer, said, Before eleven o’clock last
night I was in bed at home, when the alarm came for a light; it was then
starlight. I got up and went along the road to where the deceased
persons were; they were put into their own chaise-cart, and were both
dead. They were brought to this house. A medical gentleman, assistant to
Mr. Hammond, was at the door nearly as soon as the bodies arrived, and
examined them. They exhibited no symptoms of life after I saw them.
There was a wagon standing by the chaise, and a cart behind the wagon,
when I got up. I examined the spot where the accident took place this
morning. The wheels of the chaise had been on the footpath; the chaise
had nearly gone the whole width on the footpath where it was overturned.
The wagon was going towards town. The chaise was going the same way; the
chaise was on the near side; the wagon was nearest to the near side of
the road. The track of the wagon appeared to have proceeded in a direct
line, and there was no room for a chaise to have passed on the near side
without going on the footpath. There was more than plenty of room for
one or two carriages to have passed on the off side without injury. I
think the wagoner could not be in any manner to blame, as he appeared to
me to have been unconscious of the chaise being there.
James Ball, of Whetstone, servant to Mr. Sutton, said, I was coming
towards Whetstone, and met the wagon and chaise. I saw the wheel of the
chaise on the footpath, immediately before it overturned towards the
wagon. I saw the men fall out. I think the wagon wheel did not go over
them, but that the drag-cart did: the drag-cart was loaded. Hickman was
run over by the wheel of the drag-cart; Rowe’s head was struck against
the cart wheel. The wagoner was not to blame: he was driving in a
regular and steady manner. Verdict—Accidental Death.
Between the hours of eleven and twelve on Thursday, December 19, 1822, a
vast concourse of people assembled in Aldersgate Street and Jewin Street
to witness the funeral of Hickman. At twelve o’clock the funeral
procession commenced from the Adam and Eve, in Jewin Street, the house
of Hickman, previous to which the interior exhibited a most melancholy
scene. The pall was supported by Josh. Hudson and Shelton, Tom Belcher
and Harmer, and Randall and Turner. The father of the Gas, his brother,
and some other relatives were the principal mourners. The procession was
filled up by Mr. Warlters, Tom Owen, Scroggins, Parish, Oliver, Jem
Burn, Purcell, Powell, Bill Davies, Baxter, and Pierce Egan. The plate
on the coffin stated Hickman to be in his twenty-seventh year. He was
buried in the churchyard in Little Britain. On the ground were Bittoon,
Bill Eales, Jack Carter, George Head, etc., who were not in time to join
the procession. The crowd in the streets was immense.
The prize ring expressed its high respect to one of its bravest members;
and, as Randall said over his grave, “It would be a long time before we
should see his fellow!” The whole of the boxers (the mourners), on
taking leave of the widow, promised her their support at her house, and
that they would exert themselves to procure a good benefit for herself
and two fatherless children.
The Champion of England was prevented from attending as one of the
pall-bearers in consequence of a restive horse, on the preceding
evening, near Stockwell, having thrown him off and fallen upon him.
Mr. Rowe, the unfortunate companion of Hickman, was interred in the same
burying-ground on the preceding Sunday morning.
As a proof of the _esprit de corps_ which then animated pugilists, we
copy a placard circulated on this melancholy occasion.
“TO THE SPORTING WORLD.
“Remembrance of a Brave Man, and Consideration for his Wife and
Children. Under the patronage of the P. C. and superintendence of
Mr. Jackson. A Benefit for the Widow and Two Infant Children of the
late T. Hickman, denominated in the Sporting Circles the Gas-light
Man, will take place at the Fives Court, St. Martin’s Street,
Leicester Square, on Wednesday, February the 5th, 1823, at which
every exertion will be made by all the first-rate pugilists to
produce a grand display of the Art of Self-defence. The sets-to by
Messrs. Cribb, Spring, Belcher, Harmer, Carter, Oliver, B. Burn,
Randall, Turner, Martin, Cy. Davis, Richmond, Eales, Shelton, J.
Hudson, Tom Owen, Holt, Scroggins, Curtis, A. Belasco, P. Halton,
Purcell, Brown, Lenney, etc.
“In consequence of the melancholy and afflicting accident which
befel the late T. Hickman, instantly depriving his Wife and Two
Children of his support, he having scarcely commenced licensed
victualler (not more than six weeks), but with an excellent prospect
of improving his circumstances in life, the above appeal is made to
the noblemen, gentlemen, and amateurs composing the sporting world,
in order to assist his widow towards providing for her fatherless
offspring. The well-known liberality of the sporting world, so
highly distinguished upon all occasions, to give a turn to the
unfortunate, renders any further comment upon the aforesaid
melancholy circumstance totally unnecessary to excite their interest
and attention. Tickets 3_s._ each, to be had of Mr. Jackson, at his
rooms, 13, Old Bond Street; of Pierce Egan, sporting bookseller, 71,
Chancery Lane; Cribb, Union Arms, Panton Street, Haymarket; Belcher,
Castle Tavern, Holborn; Randall, Hole in the Wall, Chancery Lane;
Harmer, Plough, Smithfield; Cy. Davis, Cat Tap, Newgate Market;
Holt, Golden Cross, Cross Lane, Long Acre; Eales, Prince of
Mecklenburg Arms, James Street, Oxford Street; B. Burns, Rising Sun,
Windmill Street, Haymarket; and of the widow (Mrs. Hickman), Adam
and Eve, Jewin Street, Aldersgate Street.”
The rush at the Fives Court was equal to anything ever experienced. On
the door being opened the money-taker was almost carried away from his
post by the pressure of the crowd. The attraction was great, independent
of the cause; and, on the whole, it was one of the best displays of the
science ever witnessed at the Fives Court. Mr. Jackson superintended the
pairing of the men, and the result was talent opposed to talent. Oliver
and Acton first made their bows to the spectators; Aby Belasco and
Gybletts, Gipsey Cooper and Peter Warren, Curtis and Harris, Ward and
Holt, Harmer and Shelton, Josh. Hudson and Richmond, Carter and Sampson,
Spring and Eales, Belcher and Neat, and Randall and Scroggins, exerted
themselves to amuse and interest the audience, and their efforts were
crowned with the most loud and lively plaudits. The set-to between
Spring and Eales was much admired, from the skill displayed on both
sides; and Belcher, in his combat with Neat, received a severe hit on
the nose, which produced the claret, when Tom, with the utmost good
humour, observed, “That friendly touch prevented the expense of cupping,
as it was absolutely necessary he should be bled, and was merely a baulk
to the doctor.” Thanks were returned by Pierce Egan.
Neat, unsolicited, left Bristol at his own expense to exhibit at the
benefit. Eales also came twenty-five miles on the same morning; and the
veteran Tom Cribb hurried from the country to assist at the door, to
make “all right and pleasant;” the assistance of his “strong arm” proved
valuable in the extreme to all parties. Mr. Jackson (so well known upon
all occasions to render his personal interest to the unfortunate) never
exerted himself with more successful zeal than in the cause of the widow
of Hickman. The receipts were £136 13_s._ 6_d._
So anxious were the pugilists to exert themselves in the cause of the
widow and children of Hickman that, as soon as decency permitted them,
Randall, Shelton, Spring, Josh. Hudson, Curtis, etc., took the chair for
several weeks in succession at the Adam and Eve, and their efforts were
crowned with success.
A benefit was also got up for the widow and children of Mr. Rowe, which
was liberally supported. The company was most respectable, including
fourteen M.P.’s and other persons of “the upper ten thousand.” Great
credit is due to Mr. Belcher for his exertions and the attention he gave
in getting up this benefit, which realised nearly £100.
We have recorded these minutiæ to show the comparative want of
self-sacrifice among the pugilists of “these degenerate days.”
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VII.
DAN DONNELLY, CHAMPION OF IRELAND.
“Our worthy Regent was so delighted
With the great valour he did evince,
That Dan was cited, aye, and invited
To come be-knighted by his own Prince.”
This renowned “knight of the knuckle,” whose fistic exploits and
capabilities, though indisputable, are rather matter of oral tradition
than of written record (like the glorious deeds of Charlemagne, Roland,
the British Arthur, or his own countryman, Brian Boroihme), first saw
the light in Townshend Street, Dublin, in March, 1788. He was a
carpenter by trade, and, although undoubtedly possessed of milling
requisites of the first order, by no means thirsted for fame in the
ring, until circumstances drew forth his talents and made him, for a
brief period, “the observed of all observers” in the boxing world. His
first recorded appearance in the roped arena was with Tom Hall (known as
Isle of Wight Hall), who was then on a sparring tour in Ireland. The
battle was for a subscription purse of 100 guineas, and took place on
the Curragh of Kildare, on the 14th of September, 1814. Hall, who had
beaten George Cribb, and other men, stood high in the estimation of his
friends, seeing that Dan was looked upon as a mere novice, or rough, by
the knowing ones.
[Illustration:
DAN DONNELLY (CHAMPION OF IRELAND).
_From a Miniature by_ GEORGE SHARPLES.
]
The concourse of persons that flocked to witness this combat was greater
than was remembered upon any similar occasion. It seemed as if Dublin
had emptied itself, not less than 20,000 spectators are stated to have
been present. The vehicles on the road were beyond calculation, from the
barouche, jaunting cars, and jingles, down to the most humble
description, and the footpaths were covered with pedestrians. Donnelly
first entered the ring, and was greeted with thunders of applause. Hall
was also well received. The battle did not answer the expectations
previously formed; in fact Hall was overmatched considerably in length,
and therefore compelled to act on the defensive. It was far from a
stand-up fight. Donnelly received no injury, except one trifling cut on
his lip, which drew first blood, and he slipped down once. His
superiority of strength was evident, and he was throughout the first in
leading off. Hall did not acknowledge defeat, and retired from the ring
by order of the umpires after the fifteenth round, exclaiming “Foul,”
declaring he was hit three times when down. Little betting occurred
during the fight, but previously it was sixty to forty upon Hall, and on
the ground twenty-five to twenty. Bonfires were made in several of the
streets of Dublin by the jubilant countrymen of Donnelly, who was under
the training of Captain Kelly. He was also seconded by that gentleman
and Captain Barclay, brother to the celebrated pedestrian. Hall was
attended by Painter and Carter. During the fight Donnelly kept his
temper, closed every round, and put in some heavy blows. Hall was well
known as a game man; but it was urged by the partisans of the Irish
champion that Hall fell three times without a blow, and Donnelly, in his
eagerness to catch him, before he could execute this manœuvre, hit Hall
desperately on his ear while sitting on the ground. The most independent
and candid opinion upon the subject, from the best judges of pugilism
who witnessed the battle, appears to be that both combatants lost
it.[22]
George Cooper, who was teaching the art of self-defence in Ireland with
much approbation, and whose fame as a boxer in England was well known to
the Irish amateurs, was selected as a competitor for Donnelly. They
fought for a purse of £60.
On Monday, the 13th of December, 1815, they met on the Curragh of
Kildare, at a few minutes after ten o’clock in the morning. At an early
hour thousands of persons left Dublin to witness the fight, and the road
to the scene of action was crowded with vehicles of every description.
Donnelly, followed by Coady, received loud greetings upon making his
appearance; Cooper also, on entering the ring, was loudly cheered by the
spectators. The combatants shook hands, and immediately began to prepare
for action. Coady seconded Donnelly; Ned Painter attended upon Cooper.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—The boys of the sod were all upon the alert in favour of
their countryman: Donnelly must win, and nothing else, was the
general cry. Every eye was fixed as the men set-to. Some little time
elapsed in sparring, when Donnelly planted a sharp blow on the neck
of Cooper; the latter returned in a neat manner on the body.
Desperate milling then took place, when the round was finished by
Donnelly, who floored his antagonist in first rate style. It would
be impossible to describe the shout that accompanied this feat; it
was not unlike a discharge of artillery, and the faces of the
Paddies beamed with exultation.
2.—Considerable science was displayed before a hit was made, when
Donnelly put in a sharp facer. He also drew blood from one of
Cooper’s ears, and his strength prevailed to the extent of driving
Cooper to the ropes, where he went down.
3.—Had it not been on the Curragh of Kildare, it was presumed that
the fine fighting of Cooper would have told with better effect. He
evidently laboured under fear, from the prejudice of the numerous
spectators in favour of his opponent. Donnelly exhibited great
improvement, and completely took the lead this round. After some
tremendous hitting Cooper went down. (Another uproarious burst of
applause.)
4.—This was altogether a good round. Cooper convinced Donnelly that
he was a troublesome customer, and, in spite of his overwhelming
strength, he could not protect himself from punishment. In closing,
both down, Cooper undermost. (Donnelly was now decidedly the
favourite, and six to four was the general betting.)
5.—The gaiety of Donnelly was hastily stopped, after an exchange of
a few blows. Cooper, with much adroitness, floored him in a
scientific style, but the latter instantly got upon his legs without
any help. (The odds changed, and even betting was the truth.)
6.—Cooper’s mode of fighting extorted the admiration of the
Hibernian amateurs, from the easy and natural manner he contended
with his big opponent. Donnelly was kept to his work, and had no
little difficulty in getting Cooper off his legs.
7.—In this round Donnelly was seen to much advantage, and he
resolutely went in as if to beat his opponent off-hand. He drove
Cooper to all parts of the ring till they closed, when the strength
of Donnelly almost proved decisive. Cooper received one of the most
dreadful cross-buttocks ever witnessed, and by way of rendering it
conclusive, Donnelly fell on Cooper with all his weight.
8.—From the severity of the last fall, Cooper appeared much
distressed on setting-to. Donnelly, with some judgment, turned the
weakness of his opponent to good account; and, after having the best
of his adversary, Dan put in so tremendous a left-hander that Cooper
was hit off his legs. (The loud cheering from all parts of the ring
beggared description, and, in the pride of the moment, a guinea to a
tenpenny-bit was offered on Dan.)
9.—Cooper commenced this round in the most gallant style, and the
milling was truly desperate on both sides. In making a hit, Donnelly
over-reached himself and slipped down.
10.—The strength of Donnelly was too great for Cooper,
notwithstanding the latter fought him upon equal terms of
confidence. Cooper was, however, again floored. (High odds, but no
takers.)
11 and last.—It was evident Cooper could not win; nevertheless, this
round was fought with as much resolution and science as if the
battle had just commenced. Donnelly at length put in two tremendous
blows that put an end to the contest, particularly one on the mouth,
which knocked Cooper off his feet. On victory being declared in
favour of Donnelly, the applause lasted more than a minute. The
battle occupied about twenty-two minutes. Donnelly appeared quite
elate with victory, and shook hands with Cooper and his friends.
REMARKS.—Dan displayed improvement both in science and in temper,
which, added to superior strength, enabled him to beat down the
guard of Cooper with ease and effect. He was also in better
condition than when he fought Hall. It was urged that Cooper was
half beaten before he entered the ring, from the prejudices which
existed against him. The sum originally offered to the combatants
was a purse of £120, and the loser to have £20; but, on the morning
of fighting, after Cooper had been kept waiting in a chaise on the
ground for upwards of an hour, he was told that the funds would not
admit of more than £60 being given to the winner, and nothing to the
loser. Upon this statement, Cooper declared he would not fight; but
the reply was, “You are on the ground, man, and must fight. The
multitude must not be disappointed.” Under these disadvantages
Cooper met his adversary, in the bold attempt to wrest the laurel
from the brow of the champion, and that, too, upon his native soil.
It is not meant to be asserted that Cooper could have won the
battle. An impartial opinion has been given by his own countrymen to
the contrary, they admitting that Cooper, with all his superior
boxing skill, could not compete with Dan, who had long ranked A1 in
the sparring and boxing circles of the Irish metropolis.
It was for some time a generally expressed opinion that the recognised
Irish champion would not cross the channel and show himself in this
country. However, in February, 1819, it was whispered that “The ‘big’
hero, the pride of Hibernia, known as the Irish Champion, had slipped
across the Water, and shown himself in England.”
Dan left full of spirits—the Pigeon-House soon lost sight of—Dublin Bay
and its surrounding beauties no longer visible—the Hill o’ Howth
(Paddy’s landmark) nearly extinct—and behold our hero “half seas over”
towards Liverpool, before he had time to reflect upon the hasty step he
had taken. However, there was now no retreating: a few “more glasses”
made everything pleasant, reflection no longer intruded, and, after some
forty winks, the light-house of the Mersey broke upon Dan’s ogles, and
the quay of Liverpool gave him a safe deliverance from the briny deep.
It was at this sea-port that Carter crossed his path, picked him up as a
brother performer, which gave birth to his adventures in England; for it
seems Dan’s original intention was not to visit the metropolis, but, as
soon as his pecuniary affairs were settled, to return to Dublin.
Dan’s fame had gone before him: there was not an out-and-outer upon the
Coal Quay in Dublin (and the mere appearance of some of these rough
heroes is enough to appal Old Nick), who had not repented of his
temerity in attacking Donnelly. It was also asserted that he had floored
with ease every opponent in Ireland.
Carter, who was sufficiently well acquainted with the stage to know the
advantages of a good bill, issued the following placard, on the 19th of
February, 1819, at Manchester:—“Donnelly, the Champion of Ireland, and
Carter, the Champion of England (?), will exhibit together in various
combats the Art of Self-defence, at the Emporium Rooms.” This had the
desired effect: an overflowing audience was the result; and at Liverpool
they met with great encouragement. Soon afterwards the “brother
champions” took the road to the metropolis, and bets were offered that
Carter fought twice during the summer and won both the events. Several
wagers were also made in London respecting the identity of Donnelly;
some of the best judges asserting that the new-come personage was not
that Donnelly who fought with George Cooper. Donnelly, on his arrival in
London, showed himself at the Castle Tavern.
On Friday, March 18, 1819, about a hundred of the most respectable of
the amateurs assembled at the Peacock, Gray’s Inn Lane, in a large room
selected for the purpose. The following description of Donnelly appeared
in a paper of the day:—“Donnelly at length stripped, amidst thunders of
applause. The Venus de Medicis never underwent a more minute scrutiny by
the critical eye of the connoisseur than did the Champion of Ireland. In
point of frame, he is far from that sort of ‘big one’ which had been
previously anticipated: there is nothing loose or puffy about him; he is
strong and bony to all intents and purposes. It may be said of Donnelly
that he is all muscle. His arms are long and slingy; his shoulders
uncommonly fine, particularly when in action, and prominently indicative
of their punishing quality; his nob is also a fighting one; his neck
athletic and bold; in height nearly six feet; in weight about thirteen
stone; and his _tout ensemble_ that of a boxer with first rate
qualifications. Thus much for his person. Now a word or two for his
quality. His wind appears to be undebauched; his style is resolute,
firm, and not to be denied; and he maintains his ground upon the system
that Mendoza practised with so much success. Getting away he either
disdains, or does not acknowledge, in his system of tactics. His
attitude was not admired, and it was thought that he leant too far
backward, inclining to his right shoulder. He makes tremendous use of
his right hand. Eight rounds were finely and skilfully contested; and
Carter, equal to anything on the list for scientific efforts, must be
viewed as a formidable opponent for any man. The difference of style
between the two performers attracted considerable attention, produced a
great variety of remarks, and drew down peals of applause. Carter
possesses the agility and confidence of an experienced dancing master,
getting away with the utmost coolness, walking round and round his
opponent to plant a blow, with the perfection of a professor. Donnelly
is not so showy, but dangerous: he is no tapper, nor does he throw blows
away; neither is he to be got at without encountering mischief. He is,
however, awkward; but final judgment cannot be pronounced from his
sparring, more especially as he does not profess the use of the gloves.
It was an excellent trial of skill. Carter made some good hits, and
Donnelly some strong points; and the end of one round in particular, had
it been in the ring, must have been pronounced pepper. The good temper
of Donnelly was much noticed; and, impartially speaking, it was a nice
point to decide who had the best of it, even in effect. Carter, without
doubt, had the show of the thing.”
In consequence of but few persons having had an opportunity of
witnessing Donnelly’s talents, the Minor Theatre, in Catherine Street,
Strand, was selected on the Thursday following. Ben Burn appeared in
opposition to the Irish champion. It was a set-to of considerable merit,
and the science of Burn was much applauded. Donnelly soon convinced the
spectators of his peculiar forte. He showed off in good style, and
finished one round in a way that must have been tremendous in the ring.
It was still thought he stood rather too backward, leaning from his
opponent; but that could only be decided from a practical result. At all
events, Donnelly was a great attraction. Carter and Donnelly finished
the performances: it was a sharp and long set-to upon the whole, and
loudly applauded. But a wish was expressed that Cribb and Donnelly
should have been opposed to each other, in order to give the public an
opportunity of deciding upon the different sort of tactics pursued by
these rival champions.
At Gregson’s benefit at the same theatre, on April 1, 1819, the
principal attraction was the announced combat between the two rival
champions, Cribb for England and Donnelly for Old Ireland. This proved
an April hoax: Cribb, of course, did not show, and Donnelly set-to with
Carter amid the hisses of a crowd of disappointed dupes. Sutton, the man
of colour, came forward and challenged Donnelly to fight for £50 a-side.
(Great applause.) Richmond presented himself to the audience on the part
of Donnelly, stating, “That the Irish champion did not come over to
England with the intention of entering the prize ring.”
(Disapprobation.) Carter soon followed, and observed that, “As Mr.
Richmond had only made half a speech, he would finish it. Mr. Donnelly
meant to consult his friends about fighting Sutton.” Sutton again came
forward, and said that he would fight Donnelly at five minutes’ notice
for £50, or from £100 to £200, at any given time, in a ring.
In consequence of some aspersions having been thrown upon the courage of
Donnelly, he published the following document, which was pompously
designated—
“THE IRISH CHAMPION’S MANIFESTO TO THE MILLING WORLD.
“At a sparring match, for the benefit of Gregson, on Thursday, the
1st day of April, Donnelly, having met with an accident, hopes the
public will pardon him if he did not amuse the gentlemen present to
their satisfaction; but it was his wish to do so. After the set-to
between Harmer and Sutton, the latter thought proper to come forward
and challenge any man, and also Donnelly in particular, for £50 or
£100. Donnelly, being somewhat a stranger, did not immediately
answer the challenge, until he should first consult his friends; but
he has confidence in his friends, both here and in Ireland, that
they will back him. He therefore begs leave to say that he did not
come over to England for the mere purpose of fighting; but, as it
appears to be the wish of the gentlemen here to try his mettle, he
begs to say that he will fight any man in England of his weight,
from £100 to £500.
“D. DONNELLY.
“Witness, C. BRENANT.”
On the 6th of April, 1819, at Randall’s benefit at the Fives Court,
Donnelly had scarcely mounted the stage, when “Cribb! Cribb! Cribb!” was
vociferated from all parts of the Court, till Carter made his appearance
on the platform ready to commence the combat. The cries of “Cribb!” were
now louder, added to hisses, etc., when the Lancashire hero bowed and
retired. The Champion of England, however, did not appear; then Carter
was called, but he had also left the Court. In the midst of this
confusion Harmer offered himself amidst thunders of applause, and
appeared to have the best of it; but the set-to was by no means first
rate, and Donnelly left off under marks of pain. It ought to have been
announced that Donnelly had a large tumour upon his right arm near his
elbow. The usage to Donnelly might be termed ungenerous; indeed, it was
very unlike the usual generosity of John Bull towards a stranger, and
savoured of prejudice, says his countryman, Pierce Egan.
As all this savours of benefit “gag,” we are glad to record that at
Martin’s benefit, on Tuesday, April 20, 1819, Oliver challenged Donnelly
for 100 guineas a-side, when Randall (Donnelly not being present)
mounted the stage, and said he was authorized to accept it on the part
of the Irish champion, who would enter the lists with Oliver on that day
six weeks for any sum that might be posted.
On May 25, 1819, Donnelly, Cooper, and Carter opened the Minor Theatre,
Catherine Street, to exhibit the capabilities of the Irish champion
previous to his going into training.
Spring and Donnelly were received with great applause. Donnelly stopped
several of Tom’s hits with skill; in fact, from his quick mode of
getting away, and the sharpness with which he returned upon his
opponent, it was pronounced that he had either acquired considerable
science since his arrival in England, or that he now let “peep” some of
his fighting requisites. The latter seems to be his real character; as a
sparrer he does not show off to advantage. It was a manly bout; some
smart facers were given and returned; no niceties were observed, and it
afforded general satisfaction.
Articles were signed for Dan’s match with Oliver at Dignam’s, Red Lion,
Houghton Street, Clare Market. Fifty guineas level was offered that
Oliver proved the favourite during the fight or won the battle. Five
hundred guineas were also offered to four hundred that Oliver did not
beat Donnelly in the hour, and some large sums were laid at odds that
Donnelly did not prove the conqueror in half an hour. Oliver was
generally declared “slow,” but a gamer man was not in existence. Upwards
of £100,000 were said to be pending in the two countries on the issue of
this national pugilistic contest, which came off, for 100 guineas
a-side, on Wednesday, July 21, 1819, on Crawley Hurst, thirty miles from
London.
The sporting world in Ireland were so warmly interested in this event
that numerous parties arrived in England to witness the efforts of their
avowed champion. The English boxers viewed him as a powerful opponent,
and, jealous for the reputation of their “prize ring,” clenched their
fists in opposition whenever his growing fame was chanted. In Ireland,
as might be expected, two to one was laid without hesitation, from a
knowledge of his capabilities; and in England, where only hearsay
evidence was the inducement to make him the favourite, six to four was
confidently betted on his winning. The torrents of rain which fell the
previous evening to the fight operated as no drawback to the
warm-hearted friends of Donnelly, who desired to see a “whack for the
honour of Ireland,” and they tramped off in hundreds on the overnight
without sigh or murmur, hoping to arrive in time to see their countryman
fight and win. Early on the morning of Wednesday the weather proved
equally unpropitious, but the game of the fancy was not to be disposed
of by rain. A string of carriages of every description, reaching nearly
a mile in length, might be seen from the top of the hill above Godstone;
and deep “murmurings” occurred when it was announced that the scene of
action was to be removed from Blindlow Common to Crawley Hurst, merely
owing, it was said, to the caprice of one or two influential persons.
The lads were not prepared for this long journey of sixty-two miles out
and in, and many of the Rosinantes were unable to perform it. In
consequence of this removal, it was two o’clock before the contest
commenced. Oliver first threw his hat in the ring, followed by Cribb and
Shelton; and Donnelly, waited upon by Tom Belcher and Randall, entering
soon afterwards, repeated the token of defiance. Donnelly appeared the
heavier man. Betting, seven to four. The green colour for Ireland was
tied to the stakes over the blue for England, and the battle commenced.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Donnelly, on stripping, exhibited as fine a picture of the
human frame as can well be imagined; indeed, if a sculptor had
wished a living model to display the action of the muscles, a finer
subject than Donnelly could not have been found. His legs wore firm
and well rounded, his arms slingy and powerful, and his _ensemble_
indicated prodigious strength. The idle stories of his bad training
were silenced on his putting himself into attitude; and his
condition was acknowledged by his friends from Ireland to be far
superior than when he fought with either Hall or Cooper on the
Curragh of Kildare. Smiling confidence appeared to sit on his brow,
his eye was sharp and penetrating, his face clear and animated, and
he commenced the combat quite satisfactorily. Oliver was equally
fine; and, under the training of Clark, who had waited upon him with
the greatest care and attention, displayed flesh as firm as a rock;
in fact, Oliver had never been in so good condition before. Such was
the state of the combatants. Upon the shaking hands, the current
betting was seven to four on Donnelly. The Irish champion was cool
and collected, with nothing hurried in his manner. Upwards of a
minute elapsed in sparring, or rather the pugilists were dodging
each other to get a favourable opportunity. Donnelly made two hits
with his left, which fell short, in consequence of Oliver’s getting
away. Long sparring. Oliver made an offer to hit, but Donnelly, on
the alert, retreated. More sparring, and dodging over the ground,
till they got to the ropes in a corner of the ring, when Donnelly
hit severely with his left. Several sharp exchanges occurred, and
reciprocal fibbing took place, till they both went down in a
desperate struggle for the throw, Oliver undermost. Five minutes had
elapsed. (Loud shouting from the “boys of the sod,” and “Bravo,
Donnelly!”)
2.—Oliver aimed a heavy blow at the body, which Donnelly stopped in
good style. Some sharp work occurred again at the ropes. More
fibbing, and Oliver again undermost in the throw.
3.—Oliver appeared bleeding at the scratch, and exhibited symptoms
of slight distress from the recent struggle. Donnelly made a feeble
hit with his right hand, when Shelton exclaimed, laughing, “That’s
one of Carter’s hits!” Oliver took the lead; some heavy blows were
exchanged, and, when at the ropes, Donnelly was for a short time
seen in the struggle balancing on them, till he extricated himself,
and both went down. (Loud shouting, and “Well done, Oliver.”)
4.—Donnelly exhibited a new feature in the London prize ring. Oliver
again pinked at the body, after the manner he fought with Neat,
which Donnelly stopped with much skill; but his right hand, which
had been hitherto spoken of as “tremendous,” he did not make use of,
although Oliver had already given him several opportunities to have
used it to advantage. Oliver made a good hit on the bread-basket,
when Donnelly’s left hand told on his opponent’s mug, which
staggered him, and he followed him to the ropes. Here some sharp
work ensued, and Donnelly made use of his head instead of his fists
(which were occupied in holding Oliver) in bumping his opponent’s
nob. (Loud shouting, and some disapprobation was expressed at this
mode of butting.)[23]
5.—Oliver put in a sharp body blow, and some good counter-hits were
exchanged. The mouth of Donnelly was clareted, which was the first
blood. The combatants again got in the corner of the ring, when, by
way of a finish to the round, Donnelly cross-buttocked his opponent.
(“Erin-go-bragh,” from his warm-hearted countrymen, and “Go along,
my Danny,” from his John Bull backers.)
6.—Caution on both sides, till Oliver made a chopping right-handed
hit on his opponent’s nob. In close quarters at the ropes, after
some sharp exchanges, it was urged by several persons close to the
ring that Donnelly had hit Oliver down from a blow on the body. On
reference to the umpires, it was not admitted as a “knock-down
blow,” but that Oliver had slipped and fell.
7.—Oliver planted a good facer, and laughed at his opponent. He also
put in a bodier and got away. In short, it might fairly be said, he
had the best of the round, and Donnelly went down bleeding. (“Bravo,
Oliver!” and great applause.)
8.—Nothing of passion appeared on the part of Donnelly, which it had
been urged by his opponents he would exhibit on getting a “nobber or
two;” on the contrary, he was as cool as a cucumber. In struggling,
both down, Oliver bleeding profusely about the face. (We must not
pass over a circumstance which occurred in this round, in
consequence of some altercation between the seconds. On Donnelly’s
being down, it was urged that, perceiving Oliver meant to fall upon
him, he lifted up his legs with intent to kick Oliver, or to divert
him from his purpose. This also excited the various opinions and
expressions of “Foul!” “Fair!”)
9.—In this round Donnelly received great applause. The men fought
into a close, from which Donnelly extricated himself in style, and
returned sharply to work, till he had the best of the hitting, and
Oliver went down exhausted. The spectators were perfectly convinced
that Donnelly was a tremendous hitter with his right hand, when he
thought proper to use it. He gave Oliver so hard a blow upon the
ribs that the impression of his knuckles was strongly imprinted, and
remained visible during the whole of the fight.
10.—Oliver stopped a heavy hit of Donnelly’s, and laughed. But
Donnelly was not irritated, and got so much the best of this round
that Oliver was prevented from going heavily down by Shelton’s
putting out his knee to ease his fall. (Belcher warmly said, “If he
acted as foul again, he would knock a hole in his head;” and Randall
also observed, he would give him a “topper.” Shelton declared it was
an accidental entangling of his legs with Oliver’s, and was not done
from design.)
11.—Had Donnelly used his right hand he must have reduced the battle
to a certainty in his favour. This was, however, a sharp hitting
round, till both went down, Oliver again undermost.
12.—Although the fighting on either side had not been of the highest
order, yet the combatants were not insensible to the weight of each
other’s arms; and, after fighting up to the ropes, they both stood
still, till Donnelly broke away and made some hits. In again
closing, both down, Oliver undermost and much exhausted. Twenty-four
minutes had now elapsed.
13.—Donnelly, _sans cérémonie_, hit Oliver with his left on the
mouth, which sent him staggering from the scratch. In the corner of
the ring the struggle was severe to obtain the throw. Oliver
received a heavy blow on the throat, and as he was hanging on the
ropes, balancing, as it were, Donnelly lifted up his hands not to
hit him. (“Very handsome,” and “Bravo, Donnelly.”)
14.—For “big ones,” more smashing rounds might have been expected.
Oliver put in a mugger that made Donnelly stagger a little; but he
returned to the attack till he got Oliver down.
15.—Donnelly gave some hits that made Oliver reel from his position,
and also followed him up with success. At the ropes some exchanges
occurred, till Oliver went down.
16.—Oliver made a tremendous blow at the body, which Donnelly
stopped well. This was altogether a sharp round, and in the close in
the corner of the ring the struggle was so severe that the men
became exhausted, and were nearly falling over the ropes upon some
of the members of the P. C., when the cry was, “Separate them,”
which was done by the seconds, and the round ended. (“Bravo!” and
“Well done, both.”)
17.—Some heavy hitting occurred on both sides. Donnelly, on the
alert, followed Oliver all over the ring. The latter bled profusely,
and, in closing, Donnelly fell with his knees upon Oliver. This
circumstance occasioned some loud cries of “Foul,” “Fair,” etc.; but
the umpires did not deem it worthy of notice.
18.—Both down at the ropes. Some remarks were made that Donnelly had
taken advantage of the situation over Oliver. The umpire observed,
in such close quarters it was impossible to discriminate to a
nicety; but, from what he saw, he thought Donnelly had behaved
perfectly correct.
19.—This was rather a sharp round; in fact, Oliver received so much
beating that in going down he fell upon his face. Donnelly also fell
on his back.
20.—This round Donnelly faced his opponent with much dexterity;
Oliver’s right eye got a severe hit, but he laughed, and nodded at
his opponent. The left hand of the Irish champion told severely
twice on his man’s mug, and both down, after a good deal of bustling
action, Donnelly undermost. (Loud shouting, and “Well done,
Oliver.”)
21.—It was not decisive fighting on either side: now and then a
sharp hit occurred, till Oliver fell, and Donnelly on him.
22.—A similar round; both down.
23.—The hitting in this round was rather singular. Both the
combatants made counter hits at the mouth of each other, and the
claret sprung out simultaneously. It was an electrifying shock to
both, but it seemed to affect Oliver most. They still kept up the
attack till both went down, Oliver undermost.
24.—This was a fighting round altogether, and the spectators began
to be intensely interested. Oliver kept hitting and getting away,
till he fought into a close. Donnelly broke from it, and the milling
was severe, till the Irish champion went down on his knees. (Loud
shouting, and “Now, Oliver, go to work, my boy, and you can’t lose
it!”)
25.—This round was also manfully contested. Donnelly appeared
bleeding at the scratch. Oliver put in a bodier and got away. Some
sharp exchanges took place, till both the combatants were glad to
resort to sparring for wind. In fact, for an instant they both stood
still and looked at each other. Donnelly at length made a hit, and
Oliver got away. Both men soon returned hard to work, when Donnelly
again went down from the severity of the milling. (Thunders of
applause, and Cribb vociferated, “I’ll bet a guinea to
half-a-crown.” Three to one was offered on Oliver; but two to one
was current betting.)
26.—Donnelly made a hit, but Oliver stopped it. The latter also put
in two nobbers, and got away laughing. This circumstance rather
irritated Donnelly, and, for the first time, he showed temper, by
running furiously after Oliver. Tom warded off the fury of the
attack, and ultimately again sent Donnelly down by his hitting.
(Another loud shout for Oliver, and “Five to one Oliver will win,”
was the general cry. Long faces were to be seen; hedging-off was now
the order of the day. The hitherto takers of the odds against Oliver
now loudly offered the odds upon the Westminster hero with the
fullest confidence.)
27.—Donnelly came up weak and out of wind, but his confidence had
not left him, and he gave Oliver a slight facer with his left hand.
In struggling, both down, Oliver undermost. Fifty minutes had
elapsed. Donnelly had received some heavy blows about the head and
neck; nevertheless, it was said by his seconds that he was not
distressed by the punishment he had received, but had drank too much
water. It is true that many of his backers changed their situations,
and went to different parts of the ring to get their money off.
28.—Great anxiety now prevailed among the partisans of Donnelly.
Some hits passed to the advantage of Oliver, when Donnelly went
down. (The odds were now upon Oliver all round the ring; but
Donnelly’s staunchest friends, having no reason to doubt his pluck,
took them in numerous instances.)
29.—The men were both upon their mettle, and this round was a good
one. The combatants closed, but broke away. Oliver made a hit on
Donnelly’s face, laughed, and jumped back. The Irish champion,
however, got a turn, and with his left hand planted a rum one on
Oliver’s mouth that sent him staggering away. Donnelly, however,
received a teazer; sharp exchanges till Donnelly fell, with Oliver
upon him.
30.—One hour had expired, and all bets upon that score were lost.
Oliver again bodied his opponent, but received a staggering hit on
his mug in return. Some exchanges took place till Oliver went down.
31.—The eye of Donnelly began to resume its former fire; his wind
appeared improved, and he rather took the lead in this round.
Donnelly hit Oliver down, but also fell from a slip; in fact from
the force of his own blow.
32.—The Irish champion had evidently got second wind, and, upon
Oliver’s receiving a hit on the mouth that sent him some yards from
his position, Randall offered to back Donnelly for a level £200.
After an exchange of hits, Shelton said, “It was no more use for
Donnelly to hit Oliver than a tree, for that Oliver was as hard as
iron.” “Nabocleish,” cried a Patlander; “it’s all right. Now, Dan,
show your opponent some play.” Some sharp hitting till both resorted
to sparring. The men fought into a close, and broke away. The
hitting was now so sharp that Oliver turned round to avoid the heavy
punishment with which he was assailed, and fell, and Donnelly also
slipped down. (“Bravo!” from all parts of the ring. “Well done,
Oliver!” “Go along, Donnelly!”)
33.—“Have you got a right hand?” said Tom Belcher to Donnelly; “we
must win it, Dan.” The Irish champion hit Oliver a terrible facer
that sent him away. “It’s all your own,” said Randall; “do it
again.” Donnelly did so with great force. “That’s the way, my boy,
echoed Belcher; “another!” Donnelly followed the advice of these
excellent tacticians, and he gave a third facer in succession
without receiving a return. After some exchanges passed, Oliver was
getting rather feeble, from the struggle in bringing Donnelly down,
and fell upon him with his knee on his throat. (“Do you call that
fair?” said Belcher. “If that circumstance had happened on our side,
you would have roared ‘foul’ for an hour.”)
34 and last.—Oliver hit Donnelly on the body. The latter set-to very
spiritedly, and nobbed his man. Sharp exchanges ensued, when, in
closing, Donnelly put in a dreadful hit under Oliver’s ear, and also
cross-buttocked him. Oliver, when picked up and put on his second’s
knee, was insensible, and his head hung upon his shoulders. “Time,
time,” was called, but the brave, the game, the unfortunate Oliver
heard not the sound, and victory was declared in favour of Donnelly.
Time, one hour and ten minutes. The latter walked out of the ring
amidst shouts of applause, arm-in-arm with Belcher and Randall, to
an adjoining farm house, where he was put to bed for a short period,
and bled. Oliver did not recover his sensibility for some minutes,
when he was also brought to the same house, bled, and put to bed in
the next room to Donnelly. The latter expressed great feeling and
uneasiness for fear anything serious should happen to Oliver; but
when he was informed it was all right, he was as cheerful as if he
had not been fighting at all. The Irish champion dressed himself
immediately, and, strange to say, Oliver, in the course of half an
hour, also recovered, and put his clothes on, lamenting that he had
lost the battle under such an unfortunate circumstance, as he was
then able to fight an hour. Oliver and Donnelly then shook hands,
and drank each other’s health, and the latter then went into a wagon
to see the fight between Lashbrook and Dowd. He afterwards left the
ground in a barouche and four, to sleep at Riddlesdown, the place
where he trained, and arrived at Mr. Dignam’s, the Red Lion,
Houghton Street, Clare Market. Oliver also arrived in town the same
day.
REMARKS.—Donnelly had now shown his capabilities to the admirers of
scientific pugilism in England, and the judgment pronounced upon his
merits was briefly this:—The Irish champion has not turned out so
good a fighter as was anticipated. To be more precise, he is not
that decisive, tremendous hitter with his right which was calculated
upon. In fact, he did not use his right hand at all; if he had, he
might in all probability have decided the battle full half an hour
sooner than it terminated. In game and coolness he is not wanting,
and for obtaining “a throw or a fall,” he will prove a dangerous
customer for any man on the list. Donnelly might have felt that sort
of embarrassment which hangs about a provincial actor who first
treads the London boards; and to use his own words upon the merits
of the battle, he said it was a bad fight, that he had acted like “a
wooden man,” and could not account for it. His next essay, he
thought, might prove altogether different from his defeat of Oliver.
Donnelly’s right hand was frequently open when he hit. His face
appeared, on leaving the ring, exempt from punishment, except some
scratches upon his lips. His right ear, however, was strongly
marked; but the principal punishment he sustained was upon the body.
Oliver was heavily hit about the throat and ears, and also on the
body. The latter by no means punished Donnelly as he did Neat; but
the heavy falls that Oliver received proved him thoroughly good in
nature, a game man, and one that would contend for victory while a
spark of animation was left. He never did, nor never will, say “No!”
It would be a violation of truth, if the above battle, under all the
circumstances, was not pronounced a bad fight, as regarded
scientific movements on both sides. The seconds on both sides were
on the alert to bring their men through the piece; and every person
was astonished to see the activity displayed by Tom Belcher in
picking up so heavy a man as Donnelly, and the industry used by
Randall. The conduct of the Champion of England was cool and manly
in the extreme; and Shelton never lost sight of a point that could
assist Oliver.
Dan was, like most of his countrymen, a bit of a humourist. On the day
previous to the mill a noble lord called upon Donnelly, at Riddlesdown,
about one o’clock, and rather slightingly observed, “That about that
time to-morrow he might expect a pretty head from the fist of Oliver.”
Donnelly (at all times facetious), looking the lordling full in the
face, replied, with an ironical expression, “That he was not born in a
wood, to be scared an owl!” The laugh went round against the noble
amateur, and by way of softening the thing, he betted Donnelly £15 to
£10 upon Oliver, which the Irish champion immediately accepted.
One trait of Donnelly is worthy of notice: on quitting his room to enter
the apartment of Oliver, he would not publicly wear the coloured
handkerchief of his fallen opponent, but concealed it by way of pad, in
the green handkerchief which he wore round his neck.
Soon after Donnelly arrived at Riddlesdown, Shelton, by desire of an
amateur, who offered to back him for £200, challenged the Irish
champion, to fight at his own time.
The sporting houses were crowded at an early hour in the evening by
persons anxious to know the result, and the Castle Tavern, Randall’s,
Welch’s, and Dignam’s, overflowed with the well-pleased countrymen of
Donnelly. The “Irish division” won large sums by this victory.
Notwithstanding Donnelly’s victory over Oliver, it appeared to be the
general opinion that his talents as a pugilist had been much over-rated.
Challenges, in consequence, flowed in fast, and a nobleman offered
Donnelly his choice out of Cooper, Shelton, Gregson, Sutton, Spring,
Carter, Neat, Richmond, and Painter, for £100 a-side. The following
document also appeared in the _Weekly Dispatch_, August 15, 1819.
“A CHALLENGE TO DAN DONNELLY, THE CONQUEROR OF OLIVER.
“I, the undersigned, do hereby offer to fight you for 1,000 guineas,
at any place, and at any time, which may be agreeable to you,
provided it be in England.
“ENOS COPE, _Innkeeper_.
“Witnesses, WM. BAXTER, C. PALMER, J. ALCOCK.
“_Macclesfield, July 23, 1819._”
Donnelly was now caressed in the most flattering manner by all ranks of
the fancy, but more particularly by his own countrymen; indeed, it might
be said that his days, if not a great part of his nights, were
completely occupied in taking his drops from one end of the Long Town to
the other with his numerous acquaintances. Time rolled on very
pleasantly, and it appears, by the way of “seeing a bit of life,” that
Dan was taken by some of his friends to view the sports of the West, not
forgetting those of some of the “hells” of St. James’s. Here Dan was
picked-up one night, and eased of £80 out of the £100 he won by
defeating Oliver. It was a “secret” at the time, and only “whispered”
all over London. Dan’s blunt was fast decreasing, and reduced to so low
an ebb as to remind him that a supply was necessary, and something must
be done; therefore, after Mr. Donnelly had shown his “better half” all
the fine places in and about London, he naturally felt anxious to return
once more to dear Dublin, where his presence might be turned to a good
account. It was accordingly agreed that his friends George Cooper and
Gregson should accompany him on a sparring tour to Donnybrook Fair. But
many things happen between the cup and the lip, and just as Donnelly had
taken his seat upon the stage coach, and was in the act of bidding
“Fare thee well; and if for ever,
Still for ever fare thee well,”
to his numerous friends, an acquaintance of Dan’s (a swell bum-bailiff)
appeared close to the vehicle, and, in the most gentlemanly manner, told
Donnelly he wished to speak to him. “And is it me you mane, Jemmy?”
replied Dan; “don’t be after joking with me now!” “Indeed I’m not;
here’s the writ for £18,” answered the officer. “And is it possible that
you want me at the suit of Carter? I don’t owe the blackguard one single
farthing. By de powers, it is the other way; Jack’s indebted to me.”
Expostulation, however, was useless. The coachman had his whip in his
hand, and the two evils before Dan only allowed him to make a momentary
decision. The choice left to him was, either to lose his fare to
Liverpool, which had been previously paid, and the advantages to result
from an exhibition of his talents at Donnybrook Fair (which admitted of
no delay), or to remain in London and be screwed up in a sponging house.
Donnelly, in a great rage, as the preferable alternative, instantly
discharged the writ and galloped off from the metropolis. It is true Dan
went off loaded with fame, but it is an equally undeniable fact that he
had only a £2 note left in his pocket-book, after all his great success
in London, to provide for him and Mrs. Donnelly on their route to the
land of Erin.
Thousands of persons assembled on the beach to hail the arrival of the
Irish champion on his native shore. Dan had scarcely shown his merry
mug, when his warm-hearted countrymen gave him one of the primest
fil-le-lus ever heard, and “Donnelly for ever!” resounded from one
extremity of the beach to the other. A horse was in readiness to carry
him, as so great a personage as “Sir Dan Donnelly” (who, it was
currently reported, had been knighted by the Prince Regent for his
bravery) could not be suffered to walk. The knight of the fives was
attended by the populace through all the principal districts of Dublin,
till he arrived at his house in Townshend Street. Dan took his leave
gratefully of the multitude, and after flourishing the symbol of the
above Order, for the honour of Ireland, and drinking their healths in a
“noggin of whiskey,” the crowd retired, highly gratified at the
dignified reception which the Irish milling chief had experienced on
setting his foot once more on the turf of Ould Ireland.
The sports of Donnybrook Fair, on August 27, 1819, were considerably
heightened by the presence of Donnelly, Cooper, and Gregson. They were
thus described in a contemporary Dublin newspaper, _Carrick’s Evening
Post_:—“Upon no former occasion have we witnessed more enticement to eye
or palate: booths of a superior and extensive nature were erected, in
which equestrian voltigeur tumbling, sleight of hand, serious and comic
singing, and other performances were exhibited. Donnelly, for some
reason we cannot account for, has no tent; but he has a booth, wherein
Cooper, Gregson, and the Irish champion exhibited sparring, to the great
amusement of an admiring audience. This booth was but hastily prepared,
but the persons who obtained admittance appeared much pleased with the
scientific display of these celebrated pugilists. An amateur of great
eminence from Liverpool, at a late hour in the evening, ascended the
platform (a ten feet enclosed ring), and encountered Gregson with the
gloves. He was evidently no novice in the milling school, and was much
applauded. Cooper exhibited superior science, and Gregson displayed the
remnant powers of a once first-rate superior man. Dan was thought by the
amateurs present to be much improved, but gave himself little trouble
else than to show how things ‘might be done;’ he was cheerful and
laughing during each ‘set-to.’ The whole passed off in the most regular
and quiet manner. The persons present seemed anxious to accord with the
expressed wish of the pugilists, that the public peace should be rigidly
preserved.” On Tuesday the crowds were greater than upon any previous
occasion. The itinerant vocalists were not wanting to contribute their
portion of harmony. A variety of songs were circulated, from which we
select the following crambonian lyric:—
“DONNYBROOK FAIR.
TUNE—_Robin Adair_.
“What made the town so dull?
Donnybrook Fair.
What made the tents so full?
Donnybrook Fair.
Where was the joyous ground,
Booth, tent, and merry-go-round?
Where was the festive sound?
Donnybrook Fair.
“Beef, mutton, lamb, and veal,
Donnybrook Fair.
Wine, cider, porter, ale,
Donnybrook Fair.
Whiskey, both choice and pure,
Men and maids most demure,
Dancing on the ground flure,
Donnybrook Fair.
“Where was the modest bow?
Donnybrook Fair.
Where was the friendly row?
Donnybrook Fair.
Where was the fun and sport?
Where was the gay resort?
Where Sir Dan held his Court—
Donnybrook Fair.”
The dispute between Carter and Donnelly, respecting the arrest of the
latter (whether right or wrong), was not calculated to do Carter good,
even in the eyes of the sporting world in England; but in Ireland, it
was certain to prejudice the character of the Lancashire hero in the
opinion of the fancy, Donnelly being their avowed hero, and so great a
favourite. However, with more courage than prudence, or conscious that
he had done nothing wrong, Carter[24] almost immediately followed
Donnelly to Dublin, and lost no time in parading Donnybrook Fair, going
from booth to booth.
In consequence of this, the Irish amateurs wishing not only to witness
their champion again exhibit his finishing talents on the Curragh, but
also to show they would not suffer him to be brow-beaten upon his own
soil, a meeting took place between the friends of both parties. Owing,
however, to some trifling delay in making the match, the following
challenge, answer, and articles of agreement appeared in the _Dublin
Journal_:—
“CHALLENGE TO DONNELLY.
“_To the Editor of the_ DUBLIN JOURNAL.
“SIR,—
“I beg leave, through the medium of your paper, to intimate that I
am ready and willing to fight Daniel Donnelly for £200, to be lodged
in proper hands, and I am induced to give him this public challenge,
in consequence of his having hitherto declined to give a decided
answer on a late occasion, when I staked 10 guineas in the hands of
a friend of his, who has neither covered nor returned the money, nor
given me any satisfaction whether he is willing to fight me or not.
“I am, sir, your obedient servant,
“JOHN CARTER.
“_September 18, 1819._”
“THE CHALLENGE RE-CHALLENGED AND REFUTED.
“DONNELLY AND CARTER.
“The committee of friends and supporters of Donnelly, the Irish
champion, have observed, with much surprise and regret, an
advertisement in the _Dublin Evening Post and Correspondent_ of
Saturday last, signed ‘John Carter.’ Their surprise was excited by
the statement of a public challenge to Donnelly, when, in fact, a
challenge had been previously exchanged and ratified. They regret
that any person placing himself before the public should so pervert
facts. As to the deposits and binding of the contract, the friends
of Donnelly have produced, and are still anxious to lodge, £200 in
his support. They have repeatedly signified this intention, and
appointed places for interview, at which neither Carter nor his
friends (if he has any) have attended. If the object of Carter’s
advertisement is to retract and regain his deposit (a pretty good
proof that no public challenge was necessary), although the sporting
world would decide against the refunding of the 10 guineas in
question, he shall cheerfully have it. The public will judge of his
motives; but if Carter, previous to his projected immediate trip to
Scotland, is not determined to shy the combat, Donnelly’s friends
are ready to lodge the £200 required, and only desire that Carter
may be serious and determined. The determination of Donnelly’s
friends is to support him to the extent his opponents require, or to
the amount of the original agreement, which was to fight for £500 in
six weeks, at the Curragh.
‘Let the galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung.’
“_Committee Room, 20, Fownes’ Street, September 20, 1819._”
A match between the above pugilists was at length made, and the
following were the articles:—
“_Dublin, September 20,1819._
“Mr. W. Dowling, on the one part, and Mr. L. Byrne, on the other
part. Mr. Dowling deposits £20 sterling, on behalf of John Carter,
and Mr. L. Byrne deposits, on the part of Daniel Donnelly, £20
sterling, into the hands of Mr. John Dooly; the parties to meet at
No. 20, Fownes Street, Dublin, on the 5th of October next, at two
o’clock on the said day precisely, to make the above sum £50 each.
The combatants to meet within thirty miles of Dublin, on the 25th of
November next, and then fight, at twelve o’clock in the day, the
place to be hereafter tossed for and named, for the sum of £200
sterling a-side. The whole of the stakes to be made good on the 23rd
of November, two days previous to fighting, when the place will be
appointed, or the £50 deposit money to be forfeited. To be a fair
stand-up fight, half-minute time, in a twenty-four feet ring. Also,
if the parties, or money for the said parties, according to this
article, do not meet on the 5th of October next, the present £20
stake must also be forfeited.
“JOHN CARTER.
“G. D——.
“W. DOWLING.
“L. BYRNE.
“Present, THOMAS BOYLAN, ROBERT GREGSON.”
To the mortification of the fancy, this match went off upon a frivolous
dispute as to the appointment of a stakeholder. Donnelly, in a
discussion with Cooper’s backers, said fairly, addressing himself to
Cooper, “When I defeated you, George, upon the Curragh, you got more
money than I did; but when I fought Oliver in England, upon proving the
conqueror, the whole of the money, 100 guineas, was presented to me. If
this plan is adopted in Ireland I have no objection to fight Carter.”
This proposition, however, from motives it is now impossible to
discover, was refused by Carter’s friends.
Donnelly’s public-house in Pill Lane was generally crowded. Carter also
took a house in Barrack Street, in opposition to the Irish champion; and
Bob Gregson opened a punch-house in Moor Street, Dublin. Milling topics
were, therefore, the order of the day in the “sweet city.”
Dan seemed now at the apex of popularity, with a prospect, backed by
common prudence, of attaining permanent prosperity. His house was
overflowing nightly with company, the blunt pouring rapidly into his
treasury, and his milling fame on the highest eminence; but, in the
midst of this laughing scene, the ugliest customer Dan had ever met with
introduced himself. Without any preliminary articles, or agreeing as to
time; nay, without even shaking fists, the Universal Leveller gave the
stout Sir Daniel such a body blow that all the wind was knocked out of
him in a twinkling; the “scratch” disappeared from his darkened optics,
and he went “to sleep” to wake only to the last call of “time!” In plain
prose, this renowned knight of fistic frays took sudden leave of his
friends, family, and the P.R., on the 18th of February, 1820, in
consequence of taking a copious draught of cold water, while in a state
of perspiration after an active game at “fives.” He was in the
thirty-second year of his age, and not a few of his best friends declare
that whiskey-punch, by over-heating his blood, hastened the catastrophe.
We shall here introduce a few random anecdotes from “Boxiana.”
Soon after Dan’s arrival in London, he met Cooper and Hall one evening
at the Castle Tavern, when, after inquiring after their health, he
facetiously asked them if they should like a little of Mr. Donnelly in
England, as they had stated fair play was not allowed to them in
Ireland. Silence got rid of the inquiry.
A General, well known in the sporting circles, in order to try the
milling capabilities of Donnelly (his countryman), soon after his
arrival in England, invited the Irish champion to his house, where he
set-to with a gentleman amateur, distinguished for his superior
knowledge of the art of self-defence. After some active manœuvring,
Donnelly put in such a tremendous facer, that for several minutes the
gentleman was in a state of stupor, whereon General B—— became a firm
backer of Sir Dan.
Pierce Egan finds fun in his hero’s worst failing. He tells us gleefully
that the severity of training did not accord with Donnelly’s
disposition. It was insufferable restraint to him. In fact, he did not
like going into training at all, and some difficulty occurred, nay, he
was almost coaxed to leave the metropolis. During his stay at
Riddlesdown, while training to fight Oliver, he was at table with some
gentlemen, when green peas were among the vegetables at dinner. One of
the company, distinguished for his knowledge of training, observed
Donnelly helping himself to the peas, and immediately stated to him that
peas were improper for a person training. Donnelly laughed heartily,
exclaiming, “And sure is it a pae that will hurt me? no, nor a drop of
the cratur neither,” tossing off a glass of brandy. He also enjoyed
himself during the afternoon in the same manner as the rest of the
company, till the time arrived for his going to work, _i.e._, walking
the distance of six miles. Donnelly on starting, said, “Now you shall
soon see how I’ll take the paes and liquor out of me!” and ascended with
great rapidity the high, steep hill in front of Wheeler’s door without
apparent fatigue. He returned to the company in a short time in a
violent state of perspiration, having performed the distance. Solitude,
however, was far from Dan’s delight: company was his passion. While his
friends remained with him at Riddlesdown it was all right; but when they
departed, it is said, he took a small drop of “stuff” with him to bed,
to prevent his lying awake. At other times he stole out in the dark to
poach for petticoats, and the preserves of Croydon, it seems, supplied
even more than his wants. This circumstance will, in a great degree,
account for his distressed and blown state during the battle with
Oliver.
It is a well-known fact that, immediately after his battle with Oliver,
it was not only discovered, but he acknowledged, that he had
unfortunately contracted a disease in the promiscuousness of his amours.
It is usual for pugilists during their training to have a companion to
look after them. It was not so with Donnelly; but if he had had such a
person, it would have been of little, if any, use, as Dan was beyond
control. It was, however, truly astonishing to view Donnelly’s fine
appearance on entering the ring to meet Cooper. When the Irish champion
fought Cooper on the Curragh of Kildare, it appears he had been trained
up to the highest pitch of excellence by Captain Kelly, and was strong
as a giant and active as a rope dancer. To the Captain, Donnelly yielded
implicit obedience; but he would not be dictated to by his
equals—indeed, he was totally unmanageable.
Donnelly was extremely fond of a joke; and upon a porter coming to him,
soon after his arrival in England, late one evening, at the Castle
Tavern, Holborn, informing Dan that his wife would be glad to see him at
the White Horse in Fetter Lane, as soon as possible, Donnelly asked,
with great eagerness, “What sort of a woman she was?” The porter,
surprised at the singularity of such a question, enquired, “What, sir,
don’t you know your own Wife?” The champion, smiling, replied, “Is she a
big woman? Well, never mind; tell her I’ll come and look, just to see if
I know her.”[25]
It should seem that Donnelly had a great aversion to be looked upon as a
prize-fighter. In the course of two or three evenings after his battle
with Oliver, Dignam’s long room was crowded with his countrymen, anxious
to congratulate him on his recent victory. Donnelly, who was dining with
some swells above stairs, was informed of the circumstance, and
solicited to go down and to walk through the room. To which Donnelly
replied, “Sure, now, do they take me for a baste, to be made a show of?
I’m no fighting man, and I won’t make a staring stock of myself to plase
anybody.” This was spoken angrily, and it required the utmost
persuasions of his friend Dignam to induce him to comply with so
reasonable a request. Dan at length conceded, and upon entering the room
he was received with the loudest cheers.
In short, poor Dan was a creature of the moment. He was most excellent
company, creating mirth and laughter all around him. His sayings were
droll in the extreme, and his behaviour was always decorous. Forethought
was no ingredient in his composition; “to-morrow,” with him, might or
might not be provided for: that never created any uneasiness in his
mind, and was left entirely to chance, or, as Dan would express it,
“Divil may care!” Such was the character of Donnelly. He was an Irishman
every inch of him—generous, good-natured, and highly grateful. As a
pugilist, it is true, he did not raise himself in the estimation of the
English amateurs by his battle with Oliver; nor did the Irish fancy in
London think so much of his capabilities as they had anticipated;
indeed, those gentlemen who came from Ireland to witness the battle
expressed themselves surprised at the deficiency of boxing talent
displayed by their favourite. This, however, will astonish no one who
has perused the few preceding paragraphs of his heedless conduct and
neglect of training. He was declared to be unlike the same man who
defeated Cooper. The fact is, that our Hibernian friends either
undervalue or thoughtlessly neglect those precautions, without which
strength, pluck, and skill must succumb to more ordinary physical
qualifications, if backed by temperance. In fact, the fight was won by
Donnelly by his wrestling superiority, rather than his hitting.
We now quit the living Sir Dan to note the public and literary honours
bestowed upon his decease. Foremost amongst these comes _Blackwood’s
Magazine_, for May, 1820, wherein twenty closely printed pages are
devoted to a most amusing collection of “solemn dirges,” letters of
condolence, lamentations, plaintive ballads, odes and songs, an eloquent
funeral oration, etc., and scraps of Hebrew, Greek, and Latin poems in
honour of the heroic deceased. The scholar will be delighted, and the
general reader amused, by the genuine humour and erudite pleasantry
therein displayed. Our space forbids us more than a selection of a few
of these serio-comic effusions of Christopher North and his coadjutors.
“Recollections of Sir Daniel Donnelly, Knt., P.C.I.[26]
“When green Erin laments for her hero, removed
From the isle where he flourished, the isle that he loved,
Where he entered so often the twenty-foot lists,
And, twinkling like meteors, he flourished his fists,
And gave to his foes more set-downs and toss-overs,
Than ever was done by the great philosophers,
In folio, in twelves, or in quarto.
“Majestic O’Donnelly! proud as thou art,
Like a cedar on top of Mount Hermon,
We lament that death shamelessly made thee depart,
With the gripes, like a blacksmith or chairman.
Oh! hadst thou been felled by Tom Cribb in the ring,
Or by Carter been milled to a jelly,
Oh! sure that had been a more dignified thing,
Than to “kick” for a pain in thy belly.
“A curse on the belly that robbed us of thee,
And the bowels unfit for their office;
A curse on the potheen you swallowed so free,
For a stomach complaint, all the doctors agree,
Far worse than a headache or cough is.
Death, who like a cruel and insolent bully, drubs
All those he thinks fit to attack,
Cried, ‘Dan, my tight lad, try a touch of my mulligrubs,’
Which laid him flat on his back.
“Great spirits of Broughton, Jem Belcher, and Fig,
Of Corcoran, Pearce, and Dutch Sam;
Whether ‘up stairs’ or ‘down,’ you kick up a rig,
And at intervals pause, your blue ruin to swig,
Or with grub your bread-basket to cram;
Or whether, for quiet, you’re placed all alone,
In some charming retired little heaven of your own,
Where the turf is elastic—in short, just the thing
That Bill Gibbons would choose when he’s forming a ring;
That, whenever you wander, you still may turn to,
And thrash, and be thrashed, till you’re black and blue;
Where your favourite enjoyments for ever are near,
And you eat and you drink, and you fight all the year;
Ah! receive, then, to join in your milling delight,
The shade of Sir Daniel Donnelly, Knight,
With whom a turn-up is no frolic;
His is no white or cold liver,
For he beat O-liver,
Challenged Carter, and—died of the colic!”
“Sorrow is Dry.
“A PLAINTIVE BALLAD.
“When to Peggy Bauldie’s daughter first I told Sir Daniel’s death,
Like a glass of soda-water, it took away her breath;
It took away your breath, my dear, and it sorely dimm’d your sight,
And aye ye let the salt, salt tear down fall for Erin’s knight;
For he was a knight of glory bright, the spur ne’er deck’d a bolder,
Great George’s blade itself was laid upon Sir Daniel’s shoulder.
Sing hey ho, the Sheddon, etc.
“I took a turn along the street, to breathe the Trongate air,
Carnegie’s lass I chanced to meet, with a bag of lemons fair;
Says I, ‘Gude Meg, ohone! ohone! you’ve heard of Dan’s disaster—
If I’m alive, I’ll come at five, and feed upon your master;—
A glass or two no harm will do to either saint or sinner.
And a bowl with friends will make amends for a so-so sort of dinner.’
“I found Carnegie in his nook, upon the old settee,
And dark and dismal was his look, as black as black might be,
Then suddenly the blood did fly, and leave his face so pale,
That scarce I knew, in altered hue, the bard of Largo’s vale;
But Meg was winding up the Jack, so off flew all my pains,
For, large as cocks, two fat earocks I knew were hung in chains.
“Nevertheless, he did express his joy to see me there—
Meg laid the cloth, and, nothing loth, I soon pull’d in my chair;
The mutton broth and bouilli both came up in season due.
The grace is said, when Provan’s head at the door appears in view;
The bard at work, like any Turk, first nods an invitation,
For who so free as all the three from priggish botheration?
“Ere long the Towdies deck the board with a cod’s head and shoulders,
And the oyster sauce it surely was great joy to all beholders.
To George our king a jolly can of royal port is poured—
Our gracious king who knighted Dan with his own shining sword;
The next we sip with trembling lip—’tis of the claret clear—
To the hero dead that cup we shed, and mix it with a tear.
“’Tis now your servant’s turn to mix the nectar of the bowl;
Still on the ring our thoughts we fix, while round the goblets roll,
Great Jackson, Belcher, Scroggins, Gas, we celebrate in turns,
Each Christian, Jew, and Pagan, with the fancy’s flame that burns;
Carnegie’s finger on the board a mimic circle draws,
And, Egan-like, h’ expounds the rounds and pugilistic laws.
“’Tis thus that worth heroic is suitably lamented—
Great Daniel’s shade, I know it, dry grief had much resented.
What signify your tear and sigh? A bumper is the thing
Will gladden most the generous ghost of a champion of the king.
The tear and sigh, from voice and eye, must quickly pass away,
But the bumper good may be renewed until our dying day.”
“A Dirge over Sir Daniel Donnelly.
“TUNE—‘_Molly Astore_.’
“As down Exchequer Street[27] I strayed, a little time ago,
I chanced to meet an honest blade, his face brimful of woe;
I asked him why he seem’d so sad, or why he sigh’d so sore?
‘O Gramachree, och, Tom,’ says he, ‘Sir Daniel is no more!’
“With that he took me straight away, and pensively we went
To where poor Daniel’s body lay, in wooden waistcoat pent;
And many a yard before we reached the threshold of his door,
We heard the keeners, as they screeched, ‘Sir Daniel is no more!’
“We entered soft, for feelings sad were stirring in our breast,
To take our farewell of the lad who now was gone to rest;
We took a drop of Dan’s potheen,[28] and joined the piteous roar;
Oh, where shall be his fellow seen, since Daniel is no more?
“His was the fist, whose weighty dint did Oliver defeat,
His was the fist that gave the hint it need not oft repeat.
His was the fist that overthrew his rivals o’er and o’er;
But now we cry, in phillalu, ‘Sir Daniel is no more!’
“Cribb, Cooper, Carter, need not fear great Donnelly’s renown,
For at his wake we’re seated here, while he is lying down;
For Death, that primest swell of all, has laid him on the floor,
And left us here, alas! to bawl, ‘Sir Daniel is no more!’
“EPITAPH.
“Here lies Sir Daniel Donnelly, a pugilist of fame,
In Ireland bred and born was he, and he was genuine game;
Then if an Irishman you be, when you have read this o’er,
Go home and drink the memory of him who is no more.”
“Childe Daniel—A Lament.
“In Fancy-land there is a burst of woe,
The spirit’s tribute to the fallen; see
On each scarr’d front the cloud of sorrow glow,
Bloating its sprightly shine. But what is he
For whom grief s mighty butt is broach’d so free?
Were his brows shadow’d by the awful crown,
The bishop’s mitre, or high plumery
Of the mail’d warrior? Won he his renown
On pulpit, throne, or field, whom Death hath now struck down?
“He won it in the field, where arms are none,
Save those the mother gives to us. He was
A climbing star, which had not fully shone;
Yet promised, in his glory, to surpass
Our champion star ascendant: but, alas!
The sceptred shade that values early might,
And pow’r, and pith, and bottom, as the grass,
Gave with his fleshless fist a buffet slight—
· · · · ·
“’Tis done. Green-mantled Erin
May weep; her hopes of milling sway past by,
And Cribb, sublime, no lowlier rival fearing,
Before, sole Ammon of the fistic sky,
Concerted, quaffing his blue ruin high,
Till comes the swell that come to all men must,
By whose ‘foul blow’ Sir Daniel low doth lie,
Summons the champion to resign his trust,
And mingles his with kings’, slaves’, chieftains’, beggars’ dust!”
The Funeral.
On Sunday, February 27, 1820, the remains of this celebrated character
were borne, with all due pomp and solemnity, from his family residence
in Greek Street to the last asylum at Bully’s Acre, where his ancestors
lie quietly inurned. An immense concourse, some in carriages and some on
horseback, moving in slow and measured pace, formed part of the
procession. There was a strong muster of the fancy. The gloves were
carried on a cushion in front of the hearse, from which the horses had
been unyoked by the crowd, and multitudes contended for the honour of
assisting in drawing it. The procession took its route through the
leading streets of the city, and the numbers, as it passed, increased
until the body of the champion was lodged in its last resting-place. It
is for posterity to do justice to the prowess of Sir Daniel Donnelly.
Not the least remarkable feature in his eventful history is, that he was
the last person who received the honour of knighthood during the
regency: there might have been, and probably were, worse men among those
who received that honour before him. Although last, he did not deserve
to be held as least, among the knights of our day.
“What dire misfortune has our land o’erspread?
Our Irish Champion’s numbered with the dead;
And he who never did to mortal bend,
By Death’s cut short, and Ireland’s lost her friend.
Ah! cruel Death, why were you so unkind,
To take Sir Dan, and leave such trash behind
As Gregson, Cooper, Carter—such a clan
To leave behind, and take so great a man?
Oh! Erin’s daughters, come and shed your tears
On your bold Champion’s grave, whose shortened years
Have made Erin’s sons this day a day of sorrow—
Who have we now that will defend our Curragh?”
To the Blackwood collection we again resort for the proposed inscription
for an obelisk to Sir Daniel’s memory:—
“The Epitaph.
“Underneath this pillar high
Lies Sir Daniel Donnelly:
He was a stout and handy man,
And people called him ‘Buffing Dan;’
Knighthood he took from George’s sword,
And well he wore it, by my word!
He died at last, from forty-seven
Tumblers of punch he drank one even;
O’erthrown by punch unharmed by fist,
He died unbeaten pugilist!
Such a buffer as Donnelly,
Ireland never again will see.
“OBIIT XIII^o KAL. MARTII, MDCCCXX. ÆTAT SUÆ XXXII.”
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VIII.
JACK CARTER, “THE LANCASHIRE HERO”—1812–1832.[29]
The reputation of Jack Carter as a pugilist suffered unduly from two
causes. First, from ridiculously exaggerated press flourishes about his
prowess, skill, and formidable qualities by partizan scribes; and,
secondly, by a factious band of provincial supporters and adherents, who
spoilt their man by their indiscriminate support and attempts, by
clamour and intimidation, to carry their _protégé_ to the topmost
position, in despite of the interposition of better men. Poor Carter,
too, an unstable, self-conceited, and, when excited, an offensive and
bullying rough, was spoilt for his calling as well as for decent
society, by his injudicious “following.” Pierce Egan, who prematurely
dubs him in his first volume “the Lancashire hero(?)” furnishes us with
the only account of the early life of Bob Gregson’s _protégé_, which,
its magniloquence notwithstanding, reveals the secret that Jack Carter
was a mere “Lancashire rough,” and not a whit too courageous; nor, for
that matter, commonly honest; though Shakespeare says, “to be honest, as
this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.” In his
second and third volumes (for Carter figures in each) stubborn facts
reduce Carter’s dimensions and character as “a champion(?);” and in the
last Pierce prefaces his jeremiad over this perverted “navvy” by
misusing the Miltonic motto, “How are the mighty fallen!” though when or
how Carter was “mighty” is a puzzler. This he follows with an array of
gasconading advertisements, challenges, and thrasonical handbills. Here,
with some pruning of redundances, is the story of Jack’s early days as
detailed in “Boxiana”:—
“Carter was born at Manchester, September 13, 1789, of respectable
parents, who apprenticed him to a shoemaker, but being a strong, healthy
lad, and not liking the confinement of the trade, left it to give a
lending hand towards the improvement of his country, by commencing
navigator, and working upon the canals in that neighbourhood. It was
among those rough-hewn, hardy sons of the creation, that Carter began to
exhibit his feats of strength by milling several of the best considered
men in their whole phalanx. Jack was in height about five feet ten
inches and a half, and weighed about thirteen stone; and it was the
following droll and singular circumstance that brought him into notice,
both as a pedestrian and a pugilist. The navigators, in one of their
moments of hilarity, proposed a jackass race, and entered into
subscriptions for that purpose; the stakes were held by a Mr. Merryman,
belonging to a mountebank, who was then gammoning the flats in that part
of the country. Mr. Merryman was a good tumbler, full of fun, and could
fight a bit, and had rendered himself an attractive personage to the
numerous Johnny Raws by whom he was surrounded. Upon the day arriving
for the race to take place, no neddy was entered to run for the stakes,
except one belonging to Mr. Merryman. This circumstance created
surprise; in fact, much disappointment. Jack Carter instantly entered
himself as a jackass. At first, some little argument took place as to
the oddness of the attempt, but at length it was logically determined
that Carter was a jackass, and that he should be entered as such, upon
which they started. Away went neddy with all the fleetness of a prime
donkey, kicking and snorting over the ground; and the jackass set out in
fine style, amidst the shouts and laughs of the multitude, who now began
to bet in all manner of shapes—Christian against donkey, and neddy
against jackass. The distance was four miles, producing considerable
wagers and much diversion among the spectators. The jackass possessing
rather more knowledge than the neddy, made the best of his way, leaving
the donkey behind him, came in first and claimed the stakes. No jackass
was ever so much caressed before for winning a race. But Mr. Merryman
now treated it as only a joke, observing that he only let Carter run to
increase the sport, and disputed his claim as a jackass. It was certain
that all the words in Johnson’s Dictionary would not have satisfactorily
explained this knotty point; and there not being logicians enough
present to place the question in a proper point of view, a nearer road
was taken to settle the matter. Carter gave Mr. Merryman to understand
that, if he did not instantly hand over the stakes, that it should be
milled out of his carcass. Merryman received this threat with a smile of
contempt, entertaining an idea that as this jackass had been running
four miles, his wind could not be good for much, and agreed that the
fist should decide it. A ring being formed, Merryman was soon made to
laugh on the wrong side of his mouth; and he who had hitherto tumbled
for the pleasure of the crowd, was now, in spite of his antics, knocked
down often, and punished so severely that he was compelled, not only to
give in, but to give up the money.”
Carter’s fame as a boxer and racer was soon spread abroad, and he
entered the lists in a short time afterwards with a heavy strong man, a
navigator, at Preston, who had gained some good battles in his time. It
was a truly severe conflict, and occasioned considerable conversation in
Lancashire. He was matched in several races, in one of which he beat the
celebrated Abraham Wood, though, from Pierce Egan’s own showing, in
another page, this seems to have been not only after his coming to
London, but subsequently to his first fight with Boone, the soldier.
It was while working at the Highgate Tunnel that Bob Gregson first met
Carter. He was a Lancashire man, and that was enough to recommend him to
Bob, who we have proof sufficient was neither a good fighter himself nor
much of a judge of what constitutes one, like his modern double, Ben
Caunt. “Upon inquiry,” adds “Boxiana,” “it was found that Carter had
proved himself a trump!” and says, “all that he wanted was _experience_,
_science_(!), and introduction.” “He shall have that,” cried Bob, and
instantly, at his own expense, took care of Carter, and placed him under
the “Rolands” (whose distinguished skill in fencing and as pugilistic
teachers was then in its zenith). Pierce continues, “It is but justice
to Carter to observe that, under such tuition, he soon made considerable
progress in the art, and when it was judged a proper time to give
publicity to his attempt, Bob introduced him at the Fives Court.”
Carter’s appearance is thus flatteringly described in the _Morning
Advertiser_ of Wednesday, July 29, 1812:—
“SPARRING.—The last sparring exhibition took place yesterday at the
Fives Court, for the benefit of Power, a pugilist, who, as a professor
of the science, is inferior to none on the boxing list, but his
exhibitions have been rare. The greatest novelty on this occasion was an
exhibition between a trial-man of Gregson’s, named Carter, from
Lancashire, a candidate of first-rate weight for fighting fame, and
Fuller, a scientific pupil of Richmond’s. A ruffianing match took place,
and, not to give superiority to either, it was a match which afforded
much diversion, and it will cause a considerable sensation in the
sporting world. Gregson’s man, who is under the best tuition, will prove
a tremendous teazer, if he be gifted with the best of pugilistic
favours—game—which remains to be tried. He is a fine weighty left-handed
hitter, and, _if_ game be in him, he can beat anything now on the list.”
With such a character, though the “if” in respect to his “game” looks
very like a misgiving, Carter was matched against Boone, the soldier,
for an unknown stake. Boone (made Bone in “Boxiana”) has not a single
fight to his credit in “Fistiana,” except that with Crockey, a wretched
affair, four years after this exhibition. The battle came off on Friday,
September 18, 1812, near Ealing, Middlesex, when, after twelve rounds,
in seventeen minutes, Boone gave in. Egan says it was “a severe
contest,” and adds, “In this battle Carter’s patrons thought he had made
good his pretensions to milling, and looked forward anxiously to place
him nearly, if not quite, at the top of the boxing list.” They
accordingly matched him against Jack Power. (See POWER, in Appendix.)
The stake was the handsome sum of 200 guineas, subscribed by Gregson’s
friends, and on the 16th of November, 1812, the fight came off at
Rickmansworth, Herts. The battle will be found in the Life of POWER,
who, despite the recent rupture of a blood-vessel, and incapacity for
severe training, thrashed Carter in thirty-nine rounds, occupying one
hour and five minutes. “Boxiana” says, with edifying _naïvete_, “Carter
attributed the loss of this battle to his second (Isaac Bittoon) placing
a Belcher handkerchief over his mouth, which tended rather to deprive
him of his wind (query, courage) than to do anything to increase that
necessary _quality_ in a boxer.” He adds, “If Carter in his battle with
Power did not exhibit those traits of finished elegance which
characterise the skilful pugilist, he nevertheless portrayed that he was
not ignorant of the principles of boxing, and his patrons were perfectly
satisfied with the bottom which he manifested upon the occasion,” which
shows they were thankful for very small mercies, as Carter brought
youth, weight, length, and strength to the losing side.
After much cavilling a match was made between Carter and Molineaux. Poor
Molineaux, having been twice beaten by Cribb, was now on his downward
course (see vol. i., pp. 282–285, _ante_), yet, in this contest, which
took place at Remington, Gloucestershire, on Friday, the 2nd of April,
1813, Carter was disgracefully beaten by the once formidable nigger. Of
this affair, on which we have commented in the life of Molineaux, a
contemporary writes:—“It was the opinion of the most experienced
pugilists that such a set-to was never before witnessed; one ‘was
afraid, and the other dared not.’ Carter was the best man after the
battle began, and continued so throughout the fight. Molineaux was
wretched in the extreme, and at one time positively bolted from his
second. But to the great astonishment of all the spectators, when
Molineaux was dead beat, Carter fainted and dropped his head as he sat
on the knee of his second. All the exertions of Richmond could not
arouse Carter from his lethargic state, and he thus lost the battle.”
In the next paragraph we find “Boxiana” stating, “as a boxer, and even
as a scientific pugilist, Carter was entitled to considerable prominency
(whatever that may mean); and, if viewed as a fibber (was the historian
unconsciously writing autobiography?), it would be difficult to find a
better one. In point of hitting and getting away, he is little inferior,
if not equal, to Richmond, and very good and active upon his legs. With
his left hand he dealt out severe punishment; and although in his former
contests his right hand appeared but of little service to him, yet he
seemed to have rather improved in the use of it. One objection which had
been warmly argued against Carter by many of the fancy was, that he was
soft about the head, afraid of the coming blow, and shrank from
punishment; while, on the contrary, it was roundly asserted by the other
part that, if he behaved correctly, his game was unimpeachable.”
After his defeat by Molineaux, Carter exhibited the art of self-defence
in Ireland, Scotland, and most of the provincial towns in England, with
great success; and from his continual practice in those trials of skill,
aided by considerable intuitive knowledge upon the subject of boxing, he
returned to the metropolis an active and improved fighter. Upon his
arrival in London, Carter, without hesitation, declared himself ready to
enter the lists with any man in the kingdom; and this public challenge,
as might be supposed, was not suffered to remain long unanswered, and
Richmond, in consequence, catered a fine, strong, healthy black, of the
name of Joseph Stephenson, weighing upwards of fourteen stone, from
Havre de Grace, Maryland, in America, as a likely opponent.
The Pugilistic Club gave a purse of twenty-five guineas, and the
combatants put down twenty-five also a-side. On Tuesday, February 6,
1816, the above heroes(!) met at Coombe Warren. This battle excited
considerable interest throughout the pugilistic circles; and,
notwithstanding the torrents of rain that deluged the roads, from seven
in the morning till seven at night without intermission, thousands of
spectators braved the elements with the utmost _nonchalance_. The men
entered the ring about one o’clock; Cribb and Shelton acting as seconds
to Carter, and Richmond and Oliver for Stephenson. Two to one in many
instances upon Carter.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—On setting-to, Carter had scarcely placed himself in a
fighting position when, with much dexterity, he gave Stephenson a
desperate nobber. The man of colour seemed rather surprised at this
sudden attack, but he bored his way into a sharp rally. The pink
first appeared on Carter’s face. The latter, in closing, fibbed
Stephenson, but he was undermost when down. (Seven to four against
the Black.)
2.—Carter again commenced offensive operations with his left hand,
and the Black’s head was completely open to him. Some blows were
exchanged, and, in closing, Carter found his way to the ground.
3.—It was evident the man of colour was the strongest, and that
Carter might have come into the ring better prepared for action.
Stephenson endeavoured to put in some heavy blows, but the science
of Carter was too much for him. The latter hit and got away in good
style; but, in a sharp rally, the Black showed tolerable resolution.
In struggling to obtain the throw, both went down.
4.—Carter showed bad condition, and was much in want of wind; but
Stephenson did not appear to avail himself of this opportunity of
turning it to account. Carter, with great dexterity, not only nobbed
his opponent successfully with his left hand, without experiencing
any return, but made use of his right better than usual. The Black,
however, in closing, endeavoured to fib his adversary; but Carter
extricated himself with much adroitness, and went down. (Two to one
was now offered on Carter with great confidence.)
5.—Stephenson did not appear eager to commence the attack, and some
little sparring was also necessary, that Carter might recover his
wind. The Black knew more about receiving than any other part of the
science, and Carter milled him on the retreat with great _sang
froid_. Stephenson, rather passionate from this sort of treatment,
endeavoured to bore in upon his adversary, but Carter stopped short
upon him, and, measuring his distance well, the man of colour
measured his length on the grass in a twinkling.
6.—The strength of the Black at times gave him rather the advantage,
and, in finishing this round, Carter was thrown. (Seven to two on
the latter, but no takers.)
7.—Stephenson seemed almost tired of the battle, and got down in the
best manner he was able. (Any odds upon Carter.)
8.—Stephenson readied the scratch greatly distressed, and Carter
sent him down from a slight touch.
9.—The left hand of Carter was again in motion, but Stephenson
caught hold of it, and the word “stop,” it was understood, had
escaped from his lips. Carter instantly made his exit from the ring,
and upon his seconds preparing to follow him, Stephenson insisted it
was a mistake, and that he was determined to continue the contest.
Nearly half an hour had now elapsed, and Carter immediately resumed
offensive operations.
10.—Carter, somewhat angry at this disappointment, went to work in
sharp style, and the Black again felt the severity of his left hand.
In closing, both went down.
It would be superfluous to detail the succeeding rounds of this
battle. It was perfectly ridiculous on the part of Stephenson to
resume the fight, as not the slightest chance appeared to turn it to
his account. At the expiration of forty-four minutes, victory was
declared in favour of Carter. From the well-known science of the
latter, it was expected that he would have been able to dispose of
Stephenson in much less time; but Carter, it seemed, looked upon the
event so certain as to be indifferent respecting his appearance in
the ring in good condition. Stephenson had merely to boast of
strength; in other respects he was little better than a novice.
Three months had scarcely elapsed, when a formidable man of colour, of
the name of Robinson, who had acquired some celebrity from the execution
he had performed among second-rate boxers, and ambitiously eager to
achieve conquests of greater importance, agreed to enter the lists with
Carter, at Moulsey Hurst, on Wednesday, April 24, 1816, for a stake of
fifty guineas, and also a purse of twenty-five, given by the P. C., in a
twenty-feet roped ring. Vehicles of all descriptions were in requisition
at an early hour to reach the destined spot; and the curiosity of the
fancy was so strongly excited to witness this mill that, by twelve
o’clock, it might be fairly stated the Hurst contained little short of
20,000 people. Robinson was a fancied article, declared capable of
performing pugilistic wonders. He had beaten Crockey in prime twig,[30]
and Butcher he had also vanquished in decent style; and when the match
was first made between Robinson and Carter, the Black was rather the
favourite with those characters who are always eager for novelty, and
considerable bets were laid in his favour; and even some of the knowing
ones were doubtful on the subject. It cannot be denied that Carter never
stood A1 in the esteem of the fancy. They knew he did not want for
science; they knew he did not want for strength and activity; and they
also were acquainted that he could run and jump well, and that he was a
boxer above mediocrity. Still there was an inexpressible something that
seemed to pervade their opinions, which kept many from going that length
upon Carter they might otherwise have done; added to which, Robinson
talked confidently of his capabilities of sarving-out, which blinded the
too credulous as to the real state of things. But the flash side, upon
looking into the chances and comparing notes upon the subject, soon
became awake as to the issue likely to ensue, and previously to the
fight, six to four first came forward, five to three, and lastly seven
to four upon Carter. A few minutes before one the Black showed in the
ring, and tossed up his hat. Carter soon followed and did the same, and
immediately came up to Robinson and shook hands with him. Soon after
their seconds appeared—Paddington Jones and Dick Whale for Robinson, and
Painter and Harry Harmer for Carter—when they stripped and commenced
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Carter had scarcely set-to, when he gave Blacky a severe
facer with his left hand, and quick as lightning put in two more
tremendous hits upon the same cheek, and got away with much
dexterity before the man of colour was able to return. The Black, in
closing, got somewhat fibbed, and went down. (Seven to four
generally was offered, but no takers appeared. Two to one in many
places.)
2.—The Black’s nob was completely at Carter’s service, and the
latter put in five tremendous facers again with his left hand. The
Black, notwithstanding, bored in and got Carter against the ropes,
but did no execution, when, after an awkward struggle in a close,
Carter went down. (It was now ten to two against the man of colour.)
3.—The Black, at this early stage of the fight, seemed not only
damaged, but rather shy, and he sparred cautiously to recover his
wind. Carter again made the same successful use of his left hand, by
planting three more hits upon the old place. A short rally took
place, in which Blacky endeavoured to make a change in the
appearance of things, but without effect, and he ultimately went
down. The superiority of Carter appeared manifest in every round. In
fact, the Black was dead beat, and when on his second’s knee called
out for “brandy.”
4.—Carter hit short, but the Black gained nothing by it. In closing,
the punishment which Carter served out to his opponent was
tremendous in the extreme; he held the Black up with one arm, and
with the other fibbed him so severely that he went down quite
exhausted. The Black’s consequence as a first-rate miller was all
gone. His fanciers now began to look rather blue, and found, too
late, that their judgment had proved erroneous.
5.—The distressed state of the Black was conspicuous to all parties,
and he left his second’s knee in a tottering state. He, however,
endeavoured to make the best of it, and attacked Carter rather
furiously, but the latter soon spoiled his intention, and again
fibbed him down. (Five pounds to five shillings.)
6.—Carter, full of gaiety, smiled at the impotent efforts of his
opponent, and punished him with the utmost _sang froid_. Blacky put
in a body blow, but received such a staggerer in return that he was
quite abroad, and at length went down.
7.—The left hand of Carter was again busy with the mug of his
antagonist. However, the Black endeavoured to make something like a
rally, but he displayed more of desperation than judgment, and paid
dearly for his temerity by again going down. This was the best round
in the fight.
8.—The nob of the Black, from the severe punishment he had received,
now assumed a terrific aspect, and in his endeavour to plant a hit,
Carter stopped it dexterously, and returned so severe a facer that
Blacky’s pimple appeared to go round upon his shoulders, like the
movement of a harlequin; he went reeling away like a drunken man,
and fell.
9.—The Black reluctantly appeared at the mark, when Carter, as fresh
as a daisy, added more dreadful left-handed hits to his already
disfigured nob. In closing, both down, but Blacky undermost.
10.—It was almost up with the man of colour; he made a running hit
and fell. Some disapprobation now manifested itself.
11.—The game of the Black, if he ever had any, was now all
exhausted, and he went down from a mere push. It was thought rather
currish.
12 and last.—The Black, in a state bordering on frenzy, endeavoured
to follow Carter, but the latter punished him at every step, fibbed
him terribly, and, in closing, both down, but Blacky undermost. So
complete a finish in seventeen minutes and a half was scarcely to be
expected, from the high milling qualities the Black was said to
possess; and even the most knowing upon the subject offered to bet,
previous to the fight, that it continued upwards of forty minutes.
REMARKS.—Blacky, from the above display, lost ground in the opinion
of the amateurs; his strength was more prominent than any other
pugilistic quality. He left the ring apparently much distressed in
body and mind from the punishment he had experienced. Carter was in
good condition and in high spirits, and disposed of his opponent in
first-rate style, and positively retired from the contest without a
scratch, excepting upon his back, which, it is said, occurred either
from a bite or a pinch given him by the man of colour. Carter showed
himself evidently improved as a scientific pugilist: there was
nothing hurried in his manner of attack; he viewed his antagonist
with much fortitude, and scarcely made a hit without doing material
execution. He adopted the milling on the retreat system, and hit and
got away with all the celerity of Richmond. Two Blacks he has thus
completely vanquished; and it is generally considered to the above
might be added a third(?). It must certainly be admitted that Carter
gained a step or two on the pugilistic roll of fame from the above
contest, and perhaps removed many doubts that hitherto existed
respecting his pretensions as a first-rate boxer. An opinion was now
entertained that he had only to look well to himself, and something
higher was still within his reach.
Gregson now made a rather odd and suspicious match on behalf of Carter,
which “Boxiana” calls a “NOUVELLE feature in the Prize Ring, namely, A
MATCH AGAINST TIME!” This was, that Carter should beat Robinson within
half an hour.
Carter, who had vanquished this sombre hero in seventeen minutes,
laughed at this new experiment of his capabilities, and accepted the
challenge without the slightest reflection. On Wednesday, June 26, 1816,
at Coombe Warren, the above boxers met to decide this match, for twenty
guineas a-side; and, notwithstanding the badness of the weather, the
patrons of pugilism mustered strongly. Much sporting speculation
occurred, and they both entered the ring in good spirits. Six to four on
Carter. The latter was attended by Cribb and Harmer; Robinson had for
his seconds Oliver and Richmond.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Carter, as in the last fight, immediately upon setting-to
went quickly to work with his left hand and nobbed the Black in
style. Robinson was not able to make any return, and he received
four severe successive facers. Carter did as he pleased, hit and got
away with much dexterity. Two minutes elapsed before the round was
finished, when the man of colour went down.
2.—It seemed not to be the intention of Robinson to make any hits,
but merely to prolong the fight. He sparred with the utmost caution,
but he was not able to prevent Carter from nobbing him at almost
every step. The man of colour, however, was induced to make a sort
of rally, but he was at length hit down. This round lasted three
minutes.
3.—Carter, with the utmost activity, put in six severe blows on the
cheek of Robinson, and got cleanly away, without the least return. A
close took place, when Carter got the Black’s head under his arm,
and fibbed him so severely that he fell out of the ring, and Carter
upon him.
4.—The fighting was all on the side of Carter: he planted hits with
the utmost dexterity, and, had he not been fighting against time,
any odds must have been laid upon him as to proving the conqueror.
He again held Robinson up, and fibbed him till he went down.
5.—Carter kept hitting and getting away, till at length they closed,
when he got Robinson’s head under his arm, and the man of colour, to
prevent being fibbed, grasped tight hold of Carter’s hand; but the
round was finished by Blacky’s going down.
6.—The left hand of Carter was again three times in succession in
the Black’s face, without any return. Robinson kept cautiously
sparring and drawing himself back; and those blows he attempted to
make were out of all distance and lost their effect. Robinson was
again sent down.
7.—It was astonishing to see with what ease and facility Carter made
use of his left hand. He now put in with the utmost rapidity nine
severe facers, making Robinson’s head dance again, and experiencing
not the least return. In closing, they both went down, but the Black
undermost.
8.—The superiority of Carter over his opponent was visible in every
movement; he not only gave six more facers with the utmost
dexterity, and put in a body blow, but most severely fibbed Robinson
down. The Lancashire hero was much distressed.
9.—Carter again felt for the Black’s nob; but from the slippery
state of the grass, he got off his balance and went down from a
slight hit or trip, but he was up again in an instant.
10.—Notwithstanding the numerous severe facers Robinson had
received, there was no confusion about him, and he was always ready
to time. It appeared now that, if Carter won the battle, he must go
in and do considerable execution, as the half hour was rapidly
advancing, and the Black was not to be licked by merely nobbing him.
Robinson endeavoured to make a change in his favour, by attacking
Carter and following him up, but at length he was sent down.
11.—This was a tolerably good round, and the Black showed himself a
different man altogether from what he appeared in his late combat
with Carter. His mug seemed a little changed, and Carter kept
repeating upon the punished places. Robinson went down from a hit.
12.—The Black set-to with much resolution, and seemed very unlike an
almost finished man. His face was again severely milled, but it was
very doubtful whether Carter had the best of this round. The Black
was sent down.
13 and last.—Time was growing very short, and Carter to win must
almost perform wonders. He again put in two nobbers, and some other
hits, when Robinson fell down from a sort of slip, tumbling forwards
between Carter’s legs. Carter immediately threw up both his arms,
and declared the man of colour had dropped without a blow. The outer
ring was instantly broken, and some confusion took place. “Foul,
foul!” and “Fair, fair!” was loudly vociferated by both parties, and
on all sides. Twenty-eight minutes and a half had expired. It was
urged that Robinson had fell once before without a blow, which had
not been noticed. Upon this termination some demur occurred; but it
was decided by the umpires that Carter was entitled to the money,
and it was given up to him accordingly.
REMARKS.—In the eighth round Carter was evidently distressed, and
showed he was much out of condition. He had been living freely, and
his milling capabilities must have experienced a drawback, by his
having a very painful and inflamed leg. In fact, it was rather a
surprise match, and the money hastily deposited on the part of
Carter when he was not in the most temperate state of understanding.
It was a ridiculous wager altogether, and such a man as Robinson
appeared to be in this last fight with Carter, would require the
tremendous finishing hits of a Cribb to beat the man of colour with
anything like a certainty in thirty minutes. The face of Robinson,
never an Adonis, was a little spoilt as to its former character, but
the light was far from being taken out of him, and in the tenth,
eleventh, and twelfth rounds he changed his mode, with an appearance
of going to work in earnest. He is not to be vanquished by nobbing
hits alone. Could Carter use his right hand in any manner to second
his left, few men, it is urged, would be able to stand any length of
time before him. He appeared not the least hurt from the conflict in
which he had been so recently engaged; and Robinson also was in a
wagon viewing the fight between Curtis and Lazarus, with all the
indifference of a mere spectator.
The Lancashire and Carlisle friends of Carter now rallied round him, and
he was at length matched with Oliver. In the metropolis Oliver was
everything; and Carter, in opposition to him, only named with derision
and contempt. But time, which proveth all things, thus narrates this
milling event:—
This contest was decided on the estate of Sir James Maxwell, in an
enclosed field of Mr. Johnson, inn-keeper (and within 150 yards of the
blacksmith’s shop, so celebrated in the Lovers’ Cabinet for the dispatch
of business), at Gretna Green, four miles from Longtown, and fourteen
from Carlisle, on Friday, the 4th of October, 1816, for 100 guineas
a-side, in a twenty-four feet roped ring, in the presence of 30,000
spectators. The sporting world was much interested, yet so confident as
to the termination of the event, that three to one was considered as
correct betting. Oliver had risen progressively into fame. Not so with
his opponent: he was “anything but a good one.” During the day on which
the fight took place the streets and houses of Carlisle and its vicinity
were drained of the male population, and a horse, chaise, cart, or any
sort of vehicle whatever, was not to be procured at any price. The
fanciers of the metropolis, it seems, were not so numerous as usual upon
great milling occasions, and a few of the “highest flight” only were
recognized upon the ground. Mr. Jackson was not at Carlisle, and it was
observed that the losing man was not the better for his absence. The
concourse of people was so great that it was deemed necessary to form an
outer rope ring, in order to prevent unpleasant consequences from the
pressure of so vast a multitude. The fight had nearly been prevented, as
officers, sent by George Blamire, Esq., the Mayor of Carlisle, and the
Rev. Dr. Lowry and Dr. Heysham, two other magistrates, were on the
look-out to bind the parties over to keep the peace.
Oliver arrived at the Bush Tavern, Carlisle, accompanied by Captain
Barclay, on Wednesday morning, at eleven o’clock, and he had scarcely
entered the room when the officers inquired for him. Some person,
suspecting their errand, introduced them to the brother of Oliver, when
Tom took the hint and quietly withdrew, not being known to them. At
nineteen minutes before one the battle commenced. The umpires were the
Marquis of Queensberry and Captain Barclay. Carter first entered the
ring with his seconds, Painter and Harmer, and the usual defiance of the
castor was exhibited by him. Oliver instantly followed with his
assistants, Cribb and Cooper. On stripping, the condition of Oliver
appeared equal to any one that ever entered the ring; but Carter, it was
thought, might have been better. The ceremony of friendship was then
performed, and ten to four was loudly vociferated upon Oliver.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—The odds being so decidedly against Carter, the greatest
anxiety was manifested by the spectators upon their setting-to, and
the combatants seemed equally alive to the importance of obtaining
the first advantage, by their deliberate mode of attack. Oliver
endeavoured to plant a tremendous blow with his right hand, which
Carter stopped in a scientific style, and returned a severe
left-handed hit on the right eye of Oliver, that produced the claret
in a twinkling. A good rally took place. Carter closed upon his
adversary, fibbed him terribly, and ultimately threw him. Oliver
bled profusely from his temple and his nose. It is impossible to
describe the shouts of the populace upon Carter’s obtaining this
superiority. It was like a salute of artillery. (The odds had
completely vanished, and even betting was now the true feature of
the ring.)
2.—This burst of applause seemed to operate much upon the feelings
of Oliver, and he determined if possible to get the turn in his
favour by going furiously to work. Carter, partial to the left hand
mode, aimed at his opponent’s nob, which Oliver prevented, and
fought his way into a rally. Considerable hammering took place, and
Carter got his man on the ropes. Here the truth began to be told to
the sceptics: the superiority of strength most completely manifested
itself upon the side of Carter, who again threw his opponent. (Great
shouting. It was all up with any more offering of three to one.)
3.—Oliver gave Carter a severe blow on the head, but the latter
would not be stopped, and again bored his man to the ropes, punished
him dreadfully, and brought him down, Oliver bleeding copiously.
4.—Oliver was now convinced that he had formed an erroneous opinion
of the boxing powers of his antagonist. Carter turned out a better
man in every point of view than he had expected, and was not to be
disposed of in that easy manner which he had flattered himself must
be the case, and in which his friends had so fatally confirmed the
error. Several heavy blows passed between them, but to the advantage
of Carter. The latter received a severe facer; but, notwithstanding,
he drove his man to the ropes, and, in closing, both went down. The
head of Oliver was much punished, and his back excoriated by Carter
hugging him on the ropes. (Six to four upon Carter generally, and
more in many places. It was at the close of this round that Carter
first showed blood.)
5.—Oliver seemed at a loss how to cope, with any sort of success,
against his scientific antagonist, and resorted to his game
qualities of going in to smash this hitting and getting away boxer,
if possible. Oliver was no stranger that Carter always preferred
giving to taking punishment, and drew an inference that his opponent
had some fears in this respect, and that to insure victory the fight
must be taken out of him by close and determined attacks. Oliver, in
consequence, felt severely in this round for Carter’s body, but the
latter returned desperately on his opponent’s head. They were again
struggling at the ropes, and both went down.
6.—Some heavy blows were exchanged in a rally, and Carter was
floored at the ropes.
7.—Oliver was bleeding in all directions, and, in closing, went
down.
8 to 20.—The description of these rounds would be superfluous. The
gameness of Oliver, his manliness of boxing, and his determination
to succeed, if possible, perfectly satisfied the most sanguine of
his partizans, and at intervals he met with partial success; but, in
justice to Carter it must be stated, that the advantages were
decisively upon his side: he hit and got away with his usual _sang
froid_; his right hand was also conspicuously effective, and,
whenever it appeared expedient to finish the round, he closed at
pleasure upon his adversary with the most eminent superiority.
Oliver gained nothing in fighting for length; and when going in he
was opposed with the most determined opposition. In truth, the
spectators were convinced in the above rounds that the science, the
strength, and smiling confidence of victory were on the side of
Carter; and that his adversary had not only been most dreadfully
punished, but quite abroad as to his usual system of tactics,
throwing away a number of blows by repeatedly hitting short; while,
on the contrary, the Lancashire hero did not exhibit any very
prominent marks of severe milling, and was quite in possession of
himself.
21.—In this round Oliver showed himself off in a conspicuous manner,
and put in so tremendous a hit in the wind of Carter, that he
measured his length on the ground instantaneously. It appeared, from
its severity, a complete finisher. The friends of Oliver thought
Carter would not be able to come to time, if at all; and the
Lancastrians looked rather blue as to its ultimate effects. (The
betting, notwithstanding, varied but little.)
22.—The expected change did not take place; although Carter appeared
at the scratch very much distressed, and almost gaping for breath he
contrived to get himself down in the best manner he was able. No
blows passed in this round.
23.—Much the same as the preceding, but in struggling Oliver was
thrown.
24.—Carter was now “himself again:” his wind had returned, and he
resumed the contest in the most decisive style. Oliver, like a lion,
rushed forward in the most gallant manner. The hitting, in a rally,
was terrible; both the combatants seemed totally to disregard
punishment. The fine game of Oliver was opposed by the bottom of
Carter, and this essential quality toward victory in pugilists, so
much doubted to be possessed in the latter, was now found not to be
wanting in the Lancashire hero. Oliver’s head was disfigured, and
Carter’s nob was a little altered from its originality. It was the
most desperate round in the fight; the closing of it at the ropes
was to the disadvantage of Oliver, and his friends were now
satisfied he could not win.
25.—It was astonishing to witness the courage of Oliver; he appeared
determined to conquer or perish in the attempt. One eye was
completely in the dark, and the other was rapidly closing. His
strength was also fast leaving him; nevertheless, he contested this
round in the most manly manner. He was ultimately thrown, and Carter
fell heavily upon him. (Ten to one upon Carter.)
26 to 32 and last.—The die was cast, and the brave Oliver, like
heroes of old, could not control his fate. Nature had been pushed to
the farthest extremity that the human frame could bear. Defeat
seemed to operate so much upon his mind that he fought till his
pulse was scarcely found to vibrate; and in the last six rounds,
during which he had not the least shadow of a chance, he persevered
till all recollection of the scene in which he had been so actively
engaged had totally left him. In the thirty-second round he was
taken out of the ring in a state of stupor, and completely deprived
of vision. The swelled appearance of his head beggared all
description; his body and back were shockingly lacerated all over
from his struggling so much upon the ropes; and, in point of fact,
much as fighting men may have suffered in former battles, the
situation to which Oliver was reduced, it appears, exceeded them
all. The battle lasted forty-six minutes. He was taken and put to
bed at Longtown, four miles from the ring, and in consequence of the
vast quantity of blood he had lost in the contest, added to his
exhausted state, the surgeons who were called in to attend upon him
deemed it dangerous that he should be bled.
REMARKS.—Oliver felt confident that he should prove the conqueror,
and exerted every means in his power to insure victory. He came into
the ring in high condition, weighing about twelve stone eight
pounds; but the chance was completely against him, either at in or
off fighting, excepting the twenty-first round. Oliver tried to beat
Carter after the manner he had vanquished Painter, by determined
in-fighting; but the left hand of Carter always met the head of his
adversary before he got to his length, when Oliver, finding the
great danger of this mode of attack, endeavoured to render it
useless by throwing his head back to avoid the coming blow, at the
same time it gave Carter a full opportunity of striking down with
his right hand, which he never failed to do. It was always in the
power of Carter to close upon his adversary, and bore him to the
ropes whenever he thought proper. In short, there was no comparison
between the combatants respecting scientific fighting; and the
character of Oliver, as a good man, was more valued than his
capabilities as a boxer considered. The high patronage, too, of
Captain Barclay had dazzled the minds of the fancy—individual or
cool judgment was out of the question, and three to one was betted
without why or wherefore. Calculation was completely against such
betting, and it was a sort of overwhelming preference. Too much
prejudice had existed against Carter; and it was sneeringly observed
that he was without game, at best a mere flipper with his left hand,
and whenever he was placed against a good one he would soon be found
out. Comment upon that head is now rendered unnecessary, as facts
are stubborn things. A better or a braver man than his fallen
opponent is not to be found upon the list of boxers; and, although
defeated, he is entitled to the highest consideration of the
sporting world. Carter weighed about thirteen stone seven pounds,
smiled frequently during the fight, and treated the efforts of his
adversary with the most perfect indifference. There was some cry
about a foul blow, but the umpires did not notice it. Carter
returned to Carlisle in the evening, and was seen walking about the
streets with his friends. So much was Carter the object of
pugilistic admiration at this place that, at the White Hart Inn, a
subscription was proposed among several amateurs, that he should
fight the Champion of England for 500 guineas. It was also observed,
as Richmond was walking round the ring during the fight, that Carter
had beat all the blacks. “No; all but one,” was the reply; when
Richmond said he would fight Carter for 200 guineas. Great praise is
due to Painter for the care and attention he paid to Carter during
his training.
The backers of Carter presented him with fifty guineas in addition to
the battle-money. Oliver and Carter, a few days after the fight, met at
Hawick, and received each other in the style of true courage.
Carter’s pedestrian feats may here find a place. Pierce Egan says, “As a
runner, the qualifications of Carter were far above mediocrity. He could
run a mile in little more than five minutes; and out of fourteen races
and walking matches, he won them all excepting two.
“In the spring of 1812 Carter ran a match against time, on Sunbury
Common, when, to the astonishment of every one present, he performed two
miles in a few seconds over eleven minutes without any training.
“Carter, from the celebrity he had gained through the performance of the
above match, was backed for a considerable sum against Abraham Wood, of
Lancashire, for two miles. The latter was to give Carter 100 yards; but
his friends deemed it prudent to pay forfeit. However, a new match was
made off-hand, condition not being considered. Wood was now to give 150
yards out of two miles. This race was decided on Saturday, the 26th of
December, 1812, on the Lea Bridge Road, near London, Gregson acting as
umpire for Carter, and Captain Hinton for Wood. They started at two
o’clock, Carter having taken 150 yards in advance. Both of the racers
seemed to fly, they got over the ground with such speed. When at the end
of the first mile, Wood had gained upon Carter sixty yards, and in the
next half mile Wood had made greater progress; but when within a quarter
of a mile of the winning-post, he was within twenty yards of Carter. The
latter had now recovered second wind, and ran the last quarter of a mile
with speed at the rate of a mile in five minutes, and won by about six
yards. It was even betting at starting, but Carter for choice.
“Carter had some other pretensions to public notice, independent of
prize-fighting. He was a good dancer, and could perform the
clog-hornpipe with considerable talent, and, after the manner of an
expert clown, stand upon his head and drink off several glasses of ale
in that position.”
The friends of the Lancashire hero, from the improved capabilities he
had so recently displayed, were now anxious to produce a meeting between
him and the champion. Much conversation in consequence took place, and
even personal challenges passed between the above pugilists, but no
deposit was put down to make a match. Cribb offered to fight any man in
the kingdom for £1,000, and not less than £300; but Carter, it seems,
could not be backed for either of those sums, therefore the match was
off altogether. It ought, however, to be mentioned that the latter was
ready to accommodate any man for £50; and, although no decision ever
occurred respecting his claim to that enviable title, yet Carter assumed
the appellation of champion from the following circumstance:—A bet of
£200 a-side, £50 forfeit, was made between Sir William Maxwell and the
Marquis of Queensberry, immediately after the defeat of Oliver by
Carter, at Carlisle Races, October, 1816, challenging all England, the
Marquis to produce a man to enter the lists against the latter at the
above races in 1817. Twelve months having elapsed and no competitor
making his appearance at the appointed place, the £50 was forfeited, and
Carter received the same (it is said) at Dumfries.
In the newspapers our hero again publicly challenged anything alive in
the shape of a man, adding that his friends were ready to back him,
regardless of colour, observing “that blue, black, white, or yellow,
would be equally acceptable to him.” In his printed handbills, at the
Shrewsbury Races, 1817, he thus vain-gloriously described himself:—
“BOXING.—The art of self-defence will be scientifically displayed by
Mr. John Carter (the Champion of England), Mr. Gregson, and others,
at the Turf Inn, Shrewsbury, every race morning, precisely at eleven
o’clock, and in a spacious booth on the race ground between each
heat.
“⁂ Gregson, who is Carter’s trainer, is taking him down into the
north of England to contend with Donnelly, the Irishman, at the
ensuing Carlisle Races. Private lessons given.”
For three years Carter lived upon the fame of his victory over Oliver,
travelling through the provinces, after the manner of more modern quack
champions, exhibiting “the art,” and never ceasing to assert the
falsehood that Cribb had refused to fight him, whereas Carter always
limited his proposal, when pressed, to the stake of £50, a mere absurd
subterfuge.
At length his career of boasting received an unexpected check. Cribb
argued that his “boy,” Tom Spring (although beaten by Ned Painter in
August, 1818), was good enough to lower the pretensions of “the
Lancashire hero.” Carter’s friends made the match for £50 a-side, and a
purse of £50 for the winner was added by the Pugilistic Club. Two to one
was offered by the north countrymen. The battle was fought on Crawley
Downs, May 4, 1819. The result will be found in the Life of SPRING,
where the report does scant justice to the latter. The infatuation of
Carter’s admirers found expression in the following letters addressed to
_Bell’s Weekly Dispatch_:—
“_Carlisle, May 12, 1819._
“SIR,—
“You will oblige the Cumberland fancy by giving insertion to the
following paragraph in your next paper.
“Your obedient servant,
“H. P.
“The gentlemen of the Cumberland fancy have held a meeting after
reading an account of the battle between Spring and Carter contained
in your paper, and from other sources of information, and were
unanimously of opinion that Carter made a cross of the battle. They
have, therefore, come to the resolution of withdrawing all support
from him in future: they will not back him, even if he were matched
to fight an orange boy. All bets upon the battle have been declared
void in the North.”
This nonsense elicited the following reply:—
“SIR,—
“In reply to a letter, signed H. P., from the Cumberland fancy,
which appeared in your journal of May 16, I shall briefly observe
that the gentlemen who acted as umpires at the battle between Carter
and Spring are well known as men of honour and integrity, and had
they detected anything like a cross, would have immediately made
such a circumstance public. The battle-money was paid without
hesitation. The noble lord who backed Carter also discharged his
bets upon demand; and no refusal has been made in the sporting world
to pay, that has come within the writer’s knowledge.
“Respecting the fight, sir, it was most certainly a bad one—a
pully-hauly encounter; in fact, it was nearly the same as the battle
between Carter and Oliver, at Carlisle, but with this difference—the
left hand of Carter was foiled, and Spring also proved the stronger
man at the ropes. The Lancashire hero having thus lost the two only
points for which he was distinguished, led to his defeat. Spring
behaved like a man, and did not appear to have any hugging
pretensions about him, had he not been dragged to the ropes. Carter
was beaten against his will.
“In giving insertion to the above letter, to prevent any improper
allusions going abroad, you will much oblige
“AN OLD SPORTSMAN.
“_Tattersall’s, Hyde Park Corner, May 28, 1819._”
There is a volume contained in this. Carter beat Oliver—despite the
flowing account in “Boxiana,” written up by a person _not present_ at
the battle—by hugging and squeezing his man, who was less in weight and
stature than himself, upon the ropes, after the fashion of a recent
American champion. Foiled in this by Spring’s length, steadiness, and
left-handed skill, he was abroad. That he was beaten against his will,
no impartial spectator could doubt.
Carter made his appearance, on the Friday after his battle with Spring,
at Mr. Jackson’s rooms in Bond Street. His crest was lowered, his former
high tone quite subdued, and he acknowledged, with some touches of
grief, that he could not tell how he lost the battle. Thirty pounds were
collected on the ground for him, including the donation of ten from his
backer.
On losing his popularity, he left London for Ireland, in which his stay
was rather short, when he returned to England accompanied by the Irish
champion. A quarrel, however, took place between Carter and Donnelly,
when the former followed the Irish champion to Dublin, opened a
public-house, and challenged Dan. See the memoir of Donnelly in Chapter
VII.
Carter, who arrived from Ireland on Tuesday, February 1, 1820, being
anxious to make a match with Sutton, for 100 guineas a-side, previous to
his again returning thither, called in at a sporting house in Oxenden
Street, for the purpose of making his intention known, and on being
admitted into a room where a private party were assembled, insulted
several, and ultimately threw a glass of wine in the face of one of
those present, part of which alighted on Tom Cribb. This insult was not
to be borne by the champion, who, although rather the worse for the
juice of the grape at the time, immediately grappled with Carter. It was
an up and down contest, but the champion made such good use of his time
that his opponent received a severe thrashing in the space of one
minute, and begged in a piteous manner that Cribb might be taken away
from him, or he should be killed.
Carter once more left London, sparring his way to Dublin, in which he
was assisted by Reynolds and Sutton.
On his return a few months afterwards, being in company with Shelton at
a sporting dinner at the Brown Bear, Bow Street, July 10, 1821, he spoke
disparagingly of Shelton’s capabilities, when, after some discussion,
£20 were posted for a fight instanter, and the result was that Shelton
beat him to a stand-still in three rounds only. Carter afterwards
challenged Jem Ward to fight for £100 a-side, but when the time came for
making the match, was unable to raise that sum. In this dilemma he
proposed to back himself for £50 a-side, and trust to fortune to get the
money. This was refused by Ward; but, being hard pressed by Carter, who
entreated him as a favour to oblige him, at length consented, and it was
agreed they should fight for £50 a-side, on May 17, 1828, within one
hundred miles of London, which came off at Shepperton Range, when Carter
was defeated in sixteen rounds, occupying thirty-two minutes. (See
Memoir of WARD, Chapter I., Period VI.)
Carter was next matched with Deaf Burke for £100 a-side, by whom he was
defeated, at the Barge House, Woolwich, on the 8th of May, 1832, in
eleven rounds, occupying twenty-five minutes. (See DEAF BURKE, _post_.)
Although he survived this defeat twelve years, it was his last
appearance in the prize ring. He died at Thames Street, Manchester, May
27, 1844.
APPENDIX TO PERIOD V.
HARRY SUTTON, THE BLACK—1816–1819.
From the time of Molineaux no sable champion had achieved so great a
name as Sutton, and that, too, in a brief period. A native of Baltimore,
he ran his slavery and worked, with an industry unusual in niggers, as a
corn-runner in the Deptford granaries. Led by curiosity to see two of
his own colour, Robinson and Stephenson, display their tactics in the
ring, he repaired to Coombe Wood, May 28, 1816. While here as a
spectator, Sutton, who was a tall athletic man, was asked by a gentleman
what he thought of meeting another black who had challenged for a purse
to be given on the ground. Sutton, who was as brave a fellow as ever
sported a black suit of nature’s livery, consented readily, and another
“black job” was soon started. Richmond and Harmer seconded Sutton;
Cropley and Paddington Jones taking the other black under their most
especial care, who was inferior in every point of view—in height,
strength, make, look, and age—to Sutton. The set-to was something new
and amusing.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—The long arms of Sutton looked formidable, and though he
began in a hurry, Cropley’s black seemed equally eager to meet him.
Such a term as science was not to be mentioned. It was slinging,
wild hitting, dodging, and turning round, till at last they came to
a violent hug, when much pummelling took place. They, however, broke
away from this close embrace, and made a complete stand-still of it,
looking at each other and panting for breath. Cropley’s black now
folded his arms, nodded his head, and began to point his finger,
laughing at his opponent. This so enraged Sutton that he rushed in
and planted a chopping hit, which made Cropley’s beauty dance again.
It was now a comic scene, and new tricks were introduced at every
step. Sutton, in making a blow at his opponent’s nob, hit his cap
off, and his bald pate appearing, the spectators were in roars of
laughter; yet, notwithstanding the variety of ludicrous postures
exhibited by these black Quixotes, some heavy milling took place.
Four minutes and a half had passed, amid the most uproarious shouts
and applause, when Sutton put an end to this singular round,
grappled his opponent and brought him down.
2.—On setting-to some hornpipe steps were jigged by Cropley’s black.
The arms of Sutton trembled astonishingly, and his frame seemed much
agitated. He made use of the chopping blow, and whenever his
distance proved correct, his hits were tremendous. Some few blows
passed, when Cropley’s black was thrown.
3.—Cropley’s man did not seem to like it; and perhaps, had it not
been for the charms of a purse, he would have bolted. In fact, he
was no match for his opponent. He hopped about and hit at random.
Sutton chopped at his opponent. Some few blows were exchanged, when
Cropley’s black fell, and refused to come again. Thus finished this
caricature on milling.
On June 4, 1816, at a benefit for Eales and Johnson at the Fives Court,
Sutton mounted the stage to contend with the powerful Tom Oliver. Sutton
appeared rather diffident. His sparring, however, was far from
contemptible, and, as a novice, he achieved more than could have been
expected. Oliver had very little the best of him, and it was observed
that Tom took the gloves off first. George Cooper (the late competitor
of Donnelly in Ireland, and who was reported to be dead) made his
appearance and also had a set-to with Sutton. Cooper put in several
heavy facers, and showed considerable science; but Sutton, no way
dismayed, stood well up to him, and, in a sharp rally, returned some
heavy hits and exchanged blows advantageously. Upon the whole, the new
man of colour received much applause. Cooper, like Oliver, it was also
remarked, took off the gloves first.
The milling qualities of Sutton being now better understood, he was
matched with Robinson; and these men of colour met at Doncaster Races,
September 25, 1816. The fight took place in a paddock (where each
spectator was charged three shillings as the price of admission), in a
twenty feet roped ring, for a subscription purse. Robinson, who had
twice fought with Carter, and defeated Stephenson, Butcher, etc., was
seconded by Crouch and Saunders, and, in consequence of his boxing
notoriety, five to four was betted upon him, in the metropolis, and six
to four upon his setting-to in the ring. Sutton was attended by Richmond
and Harmer. At half past twelve the signal was given, and offensive
operations commenced without farther ceremony. It appears in the first
round that Robinson sustained so severe a hit from his opponent that it
quite spoiled him as to any vigorous exertion afterwards. An appeal was
made to the umpires upon this momentous point, on which the fate of the
battle hung; but these rustic arbiters of milling, not ignorant of the
precedents of Moulsey, or the practice at Coombe Warren, and not wishing
to make a chancery suit of it, instantly ordered the fight to proceed.
The long arms of Sutton not only took great liberties with the upper
works of Robinson, but soon put the wind of the latter out of order, and
ultimately made him measure his length upon the ground. The betting now
rapidly changed, and Sutton became the favourite, with odds upon him. It
was all up with Robinson, and during twenty-five rounds he had no
opportunity of turning the battle in his favour; and in thirty-six
minutes, after receiving a severe milling, he was compelled to
acknowledge that he had had “enough!” It is but fair to state that he
was out of condition, never had any training, was overturned in the
coach, and entered the ring within a very few hours after his journey
from London. But the knowing ones asserted Sutton could beat him at any
time, and that he would soon look out for a customer much higher on the
boxing list than ever Robinson stood. Sutton was scarcely hurt, and gave
visible proof of the great improvement he had made. Sutton by the above
battle gained little more than the honour of proving a conqueror.
From the capabilities displayed by Sutton in this fight he rose in the
estimation of the patrons of scientific boxing, and was judged an able
competitor for the game Ned Painter. A match was accordingly made
between them, for 25 guineas a-side and a P. C. purse, and they entered
the lists at Moulsey Hurst on July 23, 1817.
Painter at this time had been the victor in two battles, over Coyne, the
Irishman, and Alexander, the gamekeeper; but he had two defeats, _per
contra_, with Tom Oliver (then in his best day), and with the gigantic
Shaw, the Life-guardsman, a defeat without disgrace. The betting on the
day was six to four on Painter.
Painter showed himself near the ring sitting on a basket a considerable
time before the Black appeared in sight. In fact, he was sent for by the
Commander-in-chief.[31] Sutton at length came forward with his second
and threw his hat in the ring, which was soon followed by his opponent
performing the same act of defiance. During the time Painter was taking
off his clothes Sutton never took his eyes off his person. Cribb and
Harmer seconded Painter; Tom Oliver and Paddington Jones waited upon
Sutton. The anxious moment had now arrived (ten minutes after one); the
combatants and seconds shook hands, and the battle commenced. Both men
appeared in good condition, but Painter looked somewhat thin. Five to
four upon Sutton.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Some trifling sparring occurred. Sutton’s long arm stood
out like a pole, and upon the whole his frame looked tremendous.
Painter hit first, but not effectively, when they got to hammering
each other, and arrived at the ropes. Here Ned fibbed his opponent
severely, until the strength of Sutton enabled him to break away.
The Black now returned to the attack impetuously, but without
judgment, and got nobbed preciously for his fury. Painter went down
from a slight hit or a slip.
2.—The men were now both upon their mettle, and the tremors of a
first round had subsided. Notwithstanding the Black’s long arm the
science of Painter prevailed to that extent upon Sutton’s upper
works that he seemed to possess a body without a head. It was almost
a question if he knew whether he was in or out of the ring. A
desperate rally occurred, and, in closing, Painter endeavoured again
to fib his opponent. The Black caught hold of his hand to avoid
punishment, and ultimately Painter was down.
3.—It is impossible to describe the execution which took place on
both sides during this round. If one was bold, the other was
fearless: it was hit for hit, in the most finished style of boxing;
in fact, it was truly tremendous, and the amateurs were now
convinced that the man of colour possessed “devil” enough for
anything. At length Painter planted a body blow with so much
severity that the Black was missing in a twinkling, and seen gasping
for breath on the ground. (The uproarious applause that took place
was like a fire of artillery, the confusion of tongues immense.
“That’s the way to win my boy!” and two to one all round the ring
upon Painter.)
4.—It is true the Black was brought to the scratch, but his breath
escaped from his lips like a pair of bellows in full blow. This was
a trying round for both parties, and Painter seemed to have
out-fought his strength. They almost tumbled against each other, so
much were they exhausted, till they again got into determined
milling. Here Painter gave Sutton such a tremendous pimpler that his
head seemed to rotate on his shoulders with the rapid twirl of a
Bologna. In closing, Painter exerted himself in fibbing his
opponent; but Sutton resolutely disengaged himself and threw his
adversary.
5.—Painter now appeared bleeding, and half a minute time was too
short for the men to appear anything like themselves, so furiously
had the battle raged in this early period of the fight. This round,
however, was decidedly in favour of Painter, and he stopped the
rashness of his opponent in a scientific manner. He gave Sutton
three such heavy facers, that the nob of the Black did not seem to
belong to him, and gallantly finished this round by sending him
down. (The applause here was a tumult of joy, and in the ecstasy of
the moment five to one was offered. It was now the expressed opinion
that Ned would win the battle in a canter.)
6.—The fight must have been finished in this round, or at least he
would have rendered it certain, had Painter possessed sufficient
strength. The Black could scarcely leave his second’s knee, and had
it not been for the skill of Tom Oliver he would not have been in
time to meet his opponent at the scratch. They both stared at each
other, and appeared fit for anything but milling. However, they went
at it pell mell, and Painter received so sharp a blow on his left
eye that the claret run down. The Black also got such a nobber that
he was quite abroad, and moved his hands like a puppet pulled with
strings. It was all chance work, and Painter went down.
7.—Painter again “faced” the Black, and had the best of the round,
but he went down.
8.—The Black endeavoured to bore in, but he was stopped in fine
style. Painter milled him in every direction, planted three facers
with ease, and finished the round by levelling Sutton. (Great
shouting.)
9.—Both extremely distressed; and notwithstanding the many nobbers
the Black had received, all Painter’s work in point of appearance
went for nothing. Sutton’s frontispiece seemed to defy all hitting.
Painter was bored to the ropes, where, in struggling, both fell.
10.—Sutton floored his opponent by a tremendous hit in the chest.
The partizans of Sutton here manifested their approbation.
11.—Painter’s exertions in this round were astonishing. He had it
all his own way. He nobbed the Black so repeatedly that his arms
were of no use to him, as he could not place himself in a position,
and Sutton fell from exhaustion.
12.—Some blows were exchanged, materially to the advantage of
Painter. His exertions, however, were more than his strength could
support, and he ultimately went down.
13.—Sutton had been so much beaten about the head, that he seemed in
a state of stupor, and “time” might have been vociferated in vain
had not his attendant roused him into action. He was literally
pushed forward to meet his opponent, when Painter kept paying away
till he went down from weakness. Painter planted eight facers
without return.
14 to 17.—In the first three rounds Painter went down; but in the
last, notwithstanding his bad state of vision, he milled the Black
so successfully that Sutton measured his length on the grass. (Loud
shouting, and “Painter will yet win,” was frequently asserted.)
18.—In this distressed state a rally occurred, and Painter was
floored.
19.—This was a most singular round: it was anybody’s battle. Both
the men were dead beat. The Black turned away from Painter on his
making a hit; and soon afterwards Painter turned from him, and went
down. (Two to one on Sutton.)
20.—Painter not only made some good hits, but, in closing, he fibbed
Sutton sharply, and dropped him.
21 to 23.—Painter was down in all these rounds, although he had the
best of the hitting. He was distressed beyond description.
24.—Painter seemed to have revived a little, and made a desperate
hit on the nose of Sutton that floored him upon his back, and his
legs rebounded from the earth. It appeared a finisher, and he was
got upon the knee of his second with considerable difficulty. (The
odds now changed again in favour of Painter.)
25 to 31.—It was astonishing to witness the desperation with which
many of these rounds were contested. Painter showed most science,
but the Black’s strength was more than could be reduced, and the
former was down almost every time from sheer exhaustion.
32 to 40 and last.—Painter was almost blind and destitute of
strength, yet he contended up to the last moment for victory. He was
so far gone, in some instances, that he almost tried to lie down;
and it was owing to his extreme weakness that Sutton was enabled to
recover his strength, and brought him the smiles of victory. It was
strength alone that won it. It is due to Sutton to state that a
fairer fighter never entered the ring; but it is more pleasure to
assert that no prejudice was expressed as to his colour—impartiality
was the order of the day. Painter was led out of the ring, while
Sutton walked from the scene of action without his clothes. The
battle lasted forty-eight minutes and a half. A liberal subscription
was gathered for Painter by Mr. Jackson on the ground. He returned
to Belcher’s in the evening, where the most considerate attention
was paid to him. He experienced no body blows of consequence, but
his head and arms were terribly beaten.
REMARKS.—Painter, although defeated, has not fallen in the
estimation of his friends. His courage was equal to the task he had
to accomplish. In point of science he was far superior to his
opponent; but in strength he was materially deficient. It was a
complete sporting fight, and the odds were continually changing. Two
better men never had a meeting; and a more determined battle could
not be witnessed. Sutton has raised himself in the opinion of the
amateurs, and he is considered to have evinced as much pluck, if not
more, than any man of colour that has yet exhibited. Though his
exterior did not show much punishment, yet his cheeks had a
“rainbow” appearance. He is not likely to remain long in a state of
inactivity, and will certainly prove a desperate customer to any one
who dares contend with him. His prodigious length of arm is of great
advantage; and he is pronounced by the best informed upon this
subject to be the hardest hitter on the present list of boxers.
Sutton owed his success greatly to the management and prompt
determination of his second, Tom Oliver. Painter never fought so
well before. He stopped fifty blows at least with his right hand,
and also punished Sutton severely about the body. Upon the whole, it
was one of the evenest contended battles that had been viewed for a
long time, until the last seven rounds, when, during some of these
Painter strained every effort to turn the chance in his favour. What
the human frame could perform towards obtaining conquest this
determined boxer attempted. He actually fought till nature refused
to move. So much regret was never expressed upon the defeat of any
pugilist as upon this occasion, owing to Painter’s inoffensive
disposition and respectful behaviour in society at all times.
The sporting amateurs of Norwich desiring a fight in their vicinity,
had, it seems, subscribed the sum of £100, £80 to the winner and £20 to
the losing man, and Painter having challenged Sutton, to a second trial,
they were offered a premium to bring off the affair at Bungay Common,
Suffolk, the day appointed being the 16th of December, 1817. The battle
was truly tremendous, and after fifteen rounds, all fighting, in one
hour and forty-two minutes, Sutton was carried from the ring. (_See_
PAINTER, _ante_ p. 79.)
The no-fight between Shelton and Oliver which took the fancy on a wild
goose chase to Blindlow Heath and Copthorne, on the tempestuous 23rd of
December, 1819, led to another black job for Massa Sutton. Kendrick, the
black, had come down that day, determined, he said, to fight anybody,
should there be a purse, after the “big affair,” and resolved, moreover,
to have “a bit of beef for his Christmas dinner.” Fifteen guineas were
collected, when Sutton, considering it an easy prize, offered himself
for a game at “black and all black.” At three o’clock the men faced each
other, Randall looking after Kendrick, and Jack Martin attending upon
Sutton.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Kendrick hit short with his left hand, and delivered his
right well home on Sutton’s head, but his hand was open and it did
no mischief. Sutton rushed in, closed, and threw Kendrick a heavy
fall.
2.—Sutton delivered a straight and well-directed blow with his left
hand in Kendrick’s bread-basket, which made him cry “Hem!” and drove
him back two yards. Sutton, going in to follow up his success, was
met in the middle of the head, when a rally commenced. Some blows
exchanged, and Kendrick was thrown. It was evident here Sutton was
too strong for him.
3.—Sutton put in another left-handed doubler, and followed with his
right on Kendrick’s eye, which floored him as if shot. Kendrick bled
freely from his nose and mouth.
Nine other rounds were fought, in which Sutton had it all his own
way, and Kendrick received some heavy blows and falls. In the
twelfth round Sutton hit him with the left hand in the mark, and
caught him on the head with the right as he was going down, which so
knocked the wind and senses out of Kendrick that he could not be
moved from his second’s knee. The fight lasted seventeen minutes.
Sutton was scarcely marked, his condition being very superior to
that of poor Kendrick, who was severely punished. A liberal
subscription was made for him through the exertions of Mr. Jackson,
and sympathy was expressed as it was his third defeat in succession,
and he was “out of luck.”
REMARKS.—Kendrick’s weakness was visible early in the fight; but,
without taking that into consideration, he could not in his best
trim conquer Sutton. Though without a chance of winning the purse,
he showed himself a game man. He received a tremendous hit on the
right eye, and also complained of a severe stomacher, that puffed
the wind out of his empty frame like a pair of bellows; Sutton also
fell upon him heavily. A gentleman very humanely gave up an inside
place, and rode outside a coach, in order that poor Kendrick might
be brought to London comfortably and free of expense; he also paid
other attentions to his wants. Several gentlemen proposed that
Kendrick should be sent into training, and that they would back him
against the Gas-light Man for 25 guineas a-side. With patronage and
training, Kendrick, it was thought, might become as it were a new
man.
Sutton, although he attended the Fives Court and every benefit and
sparring match and prize fight, could not find a customer. His thirteen
stone nine pounds, and six feet and half an inch in height, were too
great odds for middle weights, and the big ones wanted larger figures
than Harry could get backed for. He was, however, matched with Larkin,
the guardsman, to fight on the 4th of November, 1819, and 20 guineas
posted; but in this he was disappointed, for Larkin was ordered off by
his colonel, and Sutton’s only consolation was the twenty yellow boys.
Sutton now went on a sparring tour with Jack Carter through Lancashire
and to Ireland, as may be seen in Carter’s life. As from this period
Sutton merely appears as a sparring exhibitor, we here close his
pugilistic career.
BILL ABBOT—1818–1832.
Bill Abbot, whose victories over Hares, Dolly Smith, the renowned Tom
Oliver, and Phil. Sampson, give him a claim to a niche in the Walhalla
of pugilism, was a Westminster lad and a disciple of Caleb Baldwin. He
stood five feet eight inches, and weighed eleven stone seven pounds. His
first battle of any note was with a man of the name of Jones, at
Wimbledon Common, whom he defeated in good style.
Abbot next fought Dick Hares on Wimbledon Common, on June 16, 1818,
after Randall and Burke had left the ring. Hares displayed his usual
good fighting and game qualities; but he was compelled to surrender to
Abbot. Hares was over-weighted.
Abbot was matched against Dolly Smith for twenty guineas a-side, and
this battle took place near the Barge House, in Essex, on Tuesday,
February 2, 1819, on which day the amateurs, heedless of rain, left the
metropolis and mustered numerously on the ground. Mr. Soares was chosen
umpire. Dolly was well known to the ring, from his combats with Hares,
Scroggins, and Cannon, though these were all defeats. Abbot, from
defeating Hares and Jones, was considered a rising boxer. At half past
one Smith threw up his hat in the ring, accompanied by his seconds,
Randall and Owen; and Abbot followed by Oliver and Shelton. There was
also an outer ring. The ceremony of shaking hands took place, when the
men set to. Five to four on Abbot.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—The men appeared in good condition, Abbot the best. They
were more cautious than was expected, and some long sparring
occurred. If Smith had not hit first, Abbot, in all probability,
would have remained on the defensive. Dolly, with his right hand,
put in a sharp bodier, which, had it been a little higher, must have
floored his opponent. Abbot returned short. Dolly hit and got away,
when, after some exchanges, they closed. Smith went down, and the
claret was seen on his right eye.
2.—The caution of Abbot astonished the amateurs. Dolly again hit and
got away. Some blows were exchanged. In closing, Dolly again went
down bleeding.
3.—Dolly meant to punish his opponent, and went to work with his
right hand, but it was out of distance, and he was again on the
ground.
4.—Dolly was too short to get at Abbot; he could not nob him, and
was always compelled to hit first. They closed, and some sharp
fibbing occurred, when both went down, Dolly undermost. (Six to four
on Abbot; the confident betters roared out two to one.)
5.—The short arms of Dolly frequently failed in planting a blow.
This was a tolerable round, and Smith received a severe hit that
sent him staggering away, but he recovered himself. In closing,
Dolly paid away, but went down bleeding copiously.
6.—Abbot made some feints, when, after a short round, Dolly was hit
down. (Bravo, and loud shouting.)
7.—Dolly came quite fresh to the scratch, but he received a heavy
body hit that floored him. (“Well done, Abbot!”)
8.—A sharp round, and both down.
9.—Both hit short. Long sparring. In closing, some fibbing occurred,
when Dolly broke away. More sparring. Abbot hit short. In closing at
the ropes, Abbot hit Dolly down. (Shouting, and “Bravo, Abbot!”)
10.—The expected smashing forte of Abbot was not seen, and he kept
retreating till Dolly hit first, when he then let fly frequently to
advantage. Both down.
11.—Dolly’s mug was painted in every direction, while Abbot had not
received a scratch. Some sharp fibbing, and Dolly the worst of it,
and down.
12.—Abbot never tried to take the lead, although he generally got
the best of the round. He was the best at in-fighting; and Dolly now
bled copiously, till both went down.
13.—Both down.
14.—Dolly gave a good bodier; and, after some hard hitting, both
again down.
15.—Dolly put in a snorter that made Abbot’s pimple rattle again.
(“Such another pretty Dolly,” roared out Tom Owen, “is not to be
seen in the kingdom.”) After some sharp exchanges, Dolly was hit
down on the right side of his head.
16.—The punishment on Dolly’s mug was conspicuous. Both down.
17.—The right eye of Dolly was nearly closed. Some sharp work in a
close, but Dolly down. Thirty-three minutes.
18.—This was a good round, but the left hand of Dolly appeared of no
use to him, while Abbot’s right seemed tied to his shoulder. The
latter waited with the greatest patience for the attacks of Dolly,
which did not at all times shield him from heavy blows on the side
of his neck and one of his jaws. In closing, some severe fibbing
occurred, when Dolly extricated himself with some talent. Two sharp
counter-hits. Dolly received a facer which put him in a dancing
attitude, and he performed some new steps without the aid of music;
but he at length recovered himself, returned to the charge like a
Waterloo trump, and made so formidable a stand that Abbot resorted
to some long sparring. Dolly, however, got the worst of it, and was
floored. (Shouting on both sides of the ring. Smith shared the
applause with his opponent.)
19 to 24.—In some of these rounds, when Dolly was breaking away,
Abbot made several chops at him, but without doing any material
execution. In the last round Smith began to fight with both his
hands, and the ear and neck of Abbot exhibited marks of heavy
hitting. Both down.
25.—Dolly was cleanly hit down. (“Well done, my cabbage-cutter;
that’s the way to finish it.”)
26.—The dose was repeated by Abbot, and the claret from Dolly’s mug
was copious.
27 to 32.—Dolly never could effect any change. Abbot was patiently
waiting every round for Smith. The head of the latter was terrific.
33.—Dolly had decidedly the best of this round. Both down.
34.—Smith was down; but the ground was in a most wretched slippery
state. (A guinea to a shilling was offered, but this was thought
more bravado than judgment.)
35 to 39.—Long sparring, and the partizans of Abbot roaring out for
him to “go in,” “No, no,” says Owen; “he knows the advantage of
keeping his distance better. D’ye mind me, he’s what I call a
distance cove. By the Lord Mayor we shall win it now. Go along, my
boy, with your left mauley, and his nob will be of no service to
him.” In spite, however, of all the encouragement of his lively
second, Dolly was ultimately floored.
40 to 69.—To detail the minutiæ of these rounds would be
superfluous. Dolly at times made some sharp hits, but there was no
alteration in his favour.
70 to 127.—The rain came down in torrents, but the mill went on with
all the regularity of sunshine. Abbot showed nothing like a decisive
fighter; and there was once or twice he did not like the nobbers he
had received. Dolly, in the majority of these rounds, went down.
128 to 138 and last.—It appeared Dolly entertained an opinion that
he could not lose it; and even after two hours and a quarter had
passed, he nodded satisfactorily to his friends that his confidence
had not deserted him. There was nothing interesting in the whole of
these rounds to amateurs; and Dolly endeavoured to tire out his
adversary by going down, but without effect, when he at last said he
could fight no more. Two hours and fifty-five minutes had elapsed.
REMARKS.—Abbot is by no means a first-rate fighter, or he ought to
have beat Dolly off-hand. He was all caution, and his strength
enabled him to last the longest. He was very glad when Dolly said
“No.” It was a most fatiguing fight; and, owing to the pitiless,
pelting shower, and the amateurs having to stand up to their knees
in mud, the ring was almost deserted before the fight was ended. It
was only the out-and-outers that remained. To describe the pitiful
appearance of the amateurs would have required the pencil of a
Hogarth—they had not a dry thread about them. Abbot had scarcely a
scratch upon his face; but was much distressed towards the end, and
led out of the ring. Smith was put to bed at the Barge House. Little
betting occurred. Owing to the bad state of the weather, no
collection was made for Smith, but he had a benefit given to him,
under the patronage of some spirited amateurs.
Abbot was defeated by West Country Dick in a turn-up on March 2, 1819.
(See vol. i., pp. 478, 479.)
Abbot fought with a knight of the last, to make up a fourth battle, for
a small purse, on Hounslow Heath, on Tuesday, June 1, 1819; it served
the amateurs to laugh at. Abbot had been sacrificing too freely at the
shrine of Bacchus either to stand upright or to make a hit, and the
“translator of soles” seemed also to have too much respect for his hide
to encounter even his reeling opponent. “Master Waxy” gave in upon his
pins, after jumping about in the most ridiculous postures for twenty
minutes, without having a mark to show.
The sporting world felt great disappointment on Friday, February 18,
1820, in consequence of the severe illness of Spring preventing the
combat which had been fixed for the above day. The ring was formed on
Epsom Downs, and at half past twelve o’clock Ben Burn threw his hat up,
and loudly declared he was ready to fight Spring. (See _ante_, p. 9.)
Richmond also came forward and asked if any gentleman present appeared
on the part of Spring, but no answer was given. The man of colour told
Burn not to be in any hurry, as a fight could be made up in the interim.
A purse of twelve guineas was collected upon the ground, and Abbot
entered the lists with a raw countryman from Streatham, who appeared
anxious for milling honours. Abbot was seconded by the Guardsman and
Hopping Ned; the “yokel” was attended by Richmond and Clark. At two
o’clock the men set to.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Johnny Raw, who was quite a novice in the ring (in fact it
was his first appearance), went to work pell mell; but the science
and experience of Abbot gave him the best of it, and after a few
hard blows he put in a hit upon the throat of the countryman that
floored him like a shot. For the instant Johnny was quite senseless,
and upon Richmond’s picking him up, he asked, “Who done that? What’s
that for? Where am I?” Richmond, with a smile upon his mug,
observed, “Why you are in the Court of Chancery; and, let me say,
you are not the first man that has been bothered by its practice.”
2 to 4.—Abbot had the best of these rounds, and he explained to the
countryman the term pepper.
5.—The clumsy hitting of Johnny Raw gave him a turn, and Abbot
received a tremendous floorer; and, notwithstanding the chevying of
the lads to daunt the countryman, it was seven to four in his
favour.
6 to 30.—It was a sort of reciprocal milling during all the rounds;
many hard blows passed between them. Abbot showed the first blood,
and was also the worst punished.
31.—Abbot got his opponent at the ropes; but with all his endeavours
to fib the poor countryman’s nob, he failed.
32 to 40 and last.—It was never exactly safe to Abbot till in this
round, when he again floored Johnny by a tremendous blow on the
throat. Johnny was now quite senseless, and all attempts to bring
him up to time were useless. Water was thrown on his face; but Abbot
was pronounced the conqueror after one hour and twenty minutes had
elapsed. Abbot was by far the worst punished. On Johnny’s recovering
his recollection, he observed, “Who done that? Dang it, have I been
in the Court of Chancery again? I don’t like that place; it makes a
body so stupid. But I am ready to take another turn.”
Abbot entered the lists with a sturdy navigator, at the close of Hampton
Races, 1820, for a small subscription purse. Abbot was seconded by
Purcell and Brown, and the navigator by Shelton and West Country Dick.
It was a good battle, and the navigator proved himself a very
troublesome, dangerous customer. He stood over Abbot, and was also very
strong, game, and would not be denied; but the superior science of our
hero enabled him to win it cleverly in forty-five minutes.
Abbot, in a turn-up in Harper’s Fields, Marylebone, on Monday, June 5,
1820, defeated a Birmingham man of the name of Bennyflood, for a small
purse, in the course of a few minutes, without a scratch upon his face.
Abbot fought Pitman for £5 a-side and a small purse, on Wimbledon
Common, immediately after Brown and Curtis had left the ring, on Monday,
August 28, 1820. The former was seconded by Randall and Callus, and the
latter by Bill Cropley and Joe Norton. This was a hammering fight for
thirty minutes, occupying twenty-seven rounds. Pitman was a game man,
and reminded the spectators of Pearce, denominated the Game Chicken, but
it was only in appearance. Pitman was beat to a stand-still. Abbot
retired from the contest with a slight scratch under his left eye, but
received some ugly thumps upon his head.
We now come to Abbot’s most remarkable ring exploit. A dispute with Tom
Oliver led to a hasty match, in which ten guineas a-side were posted;
but it was thought absurd, and a forfeit on the part of Abbot fully
expected. But time rolled on and the day fixed, Tuesday, November 6,
1821, came, with both men in the same mind; and the fancy received the
intimation that Moulsey was the chosen _champ clos_. At one o’clock,
Oliver, attended by Ben Burn and Bill Gibbons, threw in his hat; and
shortly afterwards, Abbot, attended by Scroggins and Tom Jones, answered
the signal of defiance. Seven to four, two to one, and in some instances
three to one on Oliver were called out, without takers. The colours—dark
blue for Oliver, light blue for Abbot—were tied to the stake, and the
men stood up.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—On shaking hands it was expected that Oliver would
immediately go to work and spoil his opponent; but, instead of that,
Oliver thought he had a mere plaything in opposition to him, and did
nothing. Some attempts at hitting were made on both sides, but
without effect, when Abbot ran in and Oliver held him in his arms
and got him down. (Shouting for joy, and Oliver for any odds.)
2.—Abbot trembled very much on placing himself in attitude at the
scratch. Oliver planted a slight nobber and got away. A pause. Abbot
received another small taste, when he rushed in and pulled Tom down.
(Shouting and laughing, “It can’t last long.”)
3.—Abbot still shaking, yet he tried to plant his right on Oliver’s
nob, but the latter got away. Oliver hit short. In closing, Abbot
hung on the ropes; but Oliver seemed wanting in strength to do
execution. Abbot at length broke away and showed fight, till they
both went down, Oliver uppermost. (Six to one, but no takers.
“Oliver can’t lose it,” was the general expression round the ring.)
4.—Whether it was owing to the recollection of what Oliver had once
been in the prize ring could alone be answered by Abbot himself, but
his nervous trepidation was evident. Abbot, however, made a heavy
right-handed hit on his opponent’s mouth which produced the claret.
Some slight exchanges occurred, and, in a struggle for the throw,
Oliver fell on Abbot in rather an awkward manner; but not wishing
his opponent should entertain a bad opinion, Oliver said, “I beg
your pardon; I could not help it.” “Book that,” said one of the
time-keepers to the writer of this article, “as it serves to show
the fancy it is a gentlemanly fight.”
5.—Oliver got away from a hit. A pause. “Go to work,” said
Paddington Jones: “What are ye both about?” Abbot planted a bodier,
and not a light one. Oliver gave a facer, and followed his opponent
to the ropes, where they endeavoured to hold each other’s hands to
prevent fibbing, when Abbot got down. Oliver seemed to smile with
contempt on his adversary, as much as to say, “There was a time that
such an opponent could not have stood before me for five minutes.”
6.—A scuffle, and both down. While Oliver was sitting on the knee of
his second, the Gas, with a grin upon his mug, sarcastically
observed, “Why this is a lark, ain’t it, Tom? Surely you don’t call
this fighting.”
7.—Oliver got away, when Abbot, in following him, hit short and napt
a facer in return. They followed each other to the ropes, when the
wretched condition of Oliver was evident to all the ring, for
instead of fibbing Abbot, he literally pushed him away, gasping for
wind; but Tom was so much the favourite of the amateurs, that they
were completely blind to his defects. Abbot went down, and the
shouting was loud in Oliver’s behalf.
8.—Some little milling took place. Abbot was sent out of the ring,
and Oliver fell from weakness. “The Sprig of Myrtle” stepped up to
Abbot and told him it was all right. “We are sure to win it,”
answered Scroggins.
9.—Oliver appeared to view Abbot in the light of a plaything; still
his blows did not do any mischief. Abbot threw Oliver and fell
heavily on him.
10.—Oliver threw his opponent right away from him. (Thunders of
applause.) In fact, at every movement that Oliver made, either good
or bad, he was cheered by the surrounding spectators.
11.—This round was decidedly in favour of Oliver. Abbot turned
completely round from a hit, when Oliver took advantage of this
circumstance, planted a nobber, and sent Abbot down. (The
costermongers were now cheering to the echo, and Ned Turner offered
£10 to £1, but no person would have it.)
12.—This was also a tidy round; Oliver best, but both down.
13.—If Oliver had gone up to the nob of Abbot he might have spoiled
his “mitre;” but he was more intent on getting away from the blows
of his opponent than punishing him. Abbot went down from a hit.
(Loud shouting.) The time-keeper stated twenty-two minutes had
elapsed, which floored the bets on time, that Oliver won it in
twenty minutes.
14.—Abbot went sharply to work, and made a severe body hit. A pause.
Oliver planted a header, smiling, but put down his hands as if
tired. The right hand of Abbot, which went home on Oliver’s mouth,
sent him staggering, and the claret flowed profusely. At the ropes a
sharp struggle took place, when Oliver threw his opponent. (“Well
done, Tom; go to work and finish it.” Oliver for any odds.)
15.—The right ear of Abbot appeared slightly tinged with blood; but
in other respects the blows of Oliver had scarcely left a mark.
Abbot was sent out of the ring.
16.—Oliver had the best of this round; and Abbot was again under the
ropes.
17.—Oliver, instead of going to work, sparred away his time; but, in
an exchange of blows, Abbot went down, and Oliver fell on him. (“Go
along, Tommy; it will soon be over.”)
18.—The face of Oliver was the most punished, but he had the best of
this round. In following his opponent he caught him at the ropes,
when Abbot would have gone down, but Oliver held him up with one
hand and fibbed him with the other till he was exhausted, when Tom
dropped him. (A roar of artillery. Oliver for any odds.)
19.—On coming to the scratch the face of Abbot did not betray the
severe punishment which might have been expected, which was a
sufficient proof, as the flash term is, that Oliver could scarcely
“hit a hole in a pound of butter.” Abbot tried to obtain a turn in
his favour, and went boldly up to Oliver, but more passionately than
collected; he, however, put in some severe hits, which did Oliver no
good. The latter in return, hit Abbot down. (Great applause for
Oliver.)
20.—If it had been any other boxer than Oliver, that is to say, not
so old a favourite as Tom, the exertions of Abbot would not have
been treated so slightly. He is a strong young man, not a novice in
the prize ring, with a fist as hard as iron; and whenever he planted
his right-handed hit, Oliver felt it, and more than once severely;
yet the feelings of the amateurs were that Tom must win. After some
exchanges, Abbot rushed in. Oliver stopped his opponent skilfully,
and endeavoured to fib him as he went down at the ropes. (Lots of
applause for Oliver.)
21.—In point of punishment, this was the worst round in the fight
for Abbot. The latter went in right and left, but Oliver stopped his
efforts, milled him, and, in struggling, threw him down so violently
on his back that the claret gushed from his nose. (“It’s all your
own now, Tom, to a certainty.”)
22.—Abbot made a hit, which Oliver stopped. The pause was now so
long that Tom Jones roared out, “If you mean to fight, do, or I
shall leave the ring.” A scuffle, and both down.
23.—Abbot planted a heavy right-handed hit on Oliver’s ribs, and was
going to work in a sharp manner, when he received so straight a
stopper on the throat that he went down in a twinkling. This was the
first clean knock-down blow. (Oliver’s friends were quite elated,
and the cheers were very loud.)
24.—Abbot showed that he was not destitute of science, and made some
good stops. He also gave Oliver a facer, but ultimately went down.
(Disapprobation. Indeed, Abbot did not appear to have many good
wishers, except the Sprig of Myrtle, who often came to the ropes to
cheer him up, as did also the Sprig’s father.)
25.—Oliver napt a facer, and appeared to get weak; but his friends
were so sanguine that they would not have it for a moment that
anything was the matter. Abbot fought well this round; but, on going
down, Oliver fell severely on him.
26.—On setting-to, Randall exclaimed, “Tom, my dear fellow, don’t
lose your fame; never be licked by such a man as Abbot. Only go to
work, and you must win it easy.” Abbot seemed (if a man’s thoughts
can be judged) as if a doubt existed in his mind about winning it,
and retreated from Oliver. The latter held him up at the ropes, and
kept fibbing him till he was exhausted, and dropped him as before.
No favourite actor in a theatre ever received more applause than
Oliver.
27.—Abbot, on putting up his hand, laughed, and planted a body hit.
A long pause, the men looking at each other. This was one of
Oliver’s great faults: instead of commencing fighting, Oliver was
getting away from hits. Oliver went down from a slight hit, owing to
the slippery state of the ring.
28.—Abbot rushed in to mill Oliver; but he got the worst of it, and
napped a severe nobber that sent him down. (Tremendous shouting.)
Abbot, on being placed on his second’s knee, dropped his head, and
it was thought all was over.
29.—Abbot wanted to make this round as short as he could by going
down, but Oliver caught him at the ropes and administered some
little punishment. (“Bravo, Tom, you behave handsome.” Ben Burn
offered twenty guineas to five, but of no avail.)
30.—This was a fine fighting round; some severe exchanges took
place, and Abbot, at the close of the round, planted such a
tremendous right-handed hit on Oliver’s ear that he went down like a
shot. It was on the spot where Painter, Neat, and “the Gas” had done
so much execution. Oliver seemed stunned: he was all abroad, and was
lifted from the ground like a sack of sand. Randall, Sampson, Josh.
Hudson, etc., with all their vociferation, could scarcely restore
him to his senses to be in readiness to the call of “time.” It is
impossible to describe the agitation of the ring, not on account of
their losses—for there were scarce any takers—but the sorrow felt at
witnessing this lamentable tie-up of a brave man. (Five to one
against Oliver.)
31.—Oliver was brought to the scratch, but no sailor three sheets in
the wind was half so groggy. Abbot went up to him like a bull dog,
milled him in all directions, and floored him like a log. Hogarth’s
pictures were fools to the mugs of the amateurs—the brave Oliver to
be sent out of the ring by a “wooden man,” as Abbot had been
previously termed.
32.—The old fanciers were deeply hurt in their minds at this reverse
of fortune, and not a Westminster boy, or a costermonger, but almost
felt for their “wipes” to dry up their moistened “ogles;” “but who
can rule the uncertain chance of war?” Oliver put up his arms to
avoid the punishment, and went down once more like a log of wood. (A
guinea to a shilling, but it was of no use.) Oliver was in chancery,
and completely at the mercy of his opponent; he was sent down by a
push.
33 and last.—Oliver was brought up, but it was useless. He would not
say “No.” Abbot went in and gave Oliver the _coup de grace_, and he
measured his length, insensible to the call of time. The fight
occupied fifty-three minutes and thirty-eight seconds.
REMARKS.—Not a man on the Hurst but lamented this sad finish of Tom
Oliver, who once aspired to the championship. He was slow as a top,
and nature deserted him. He was still brave in idea, but he did not
possess strength or wind to second his wishes. Oliver treated Abbot
too cheaply; in fact, he gave the battle away from this
circumstance. The smashing of Oliver was all out of the question. He
was no more like that Oliver who fought with Painter at Shepperton,
“the Gas,” and Spring, than “I to Hercules.” It is true that the
partiality of the ring towards an old favourite made them anxious
that he should not lose his once high fame, and be licked by an
outside boxer, and every movement that he made was construed in his
favour. Oliver ought to have won; if he had gone in and fought
first, he could hardly have lost. Abbot gave his head, and several
opportunities occurred, but Tom played with the chance, laughed at
his opponent, and held him too cheap. For the first four rounds
Abbot trembled, and the name of Oliver seemed a terror to him. He,
however, put in some hard hits, and had none of the worst of the
fighting. Oliver was punished about the nob; while, on the contrary,
his blows, although planted on the face of Abbot, did not appear to
make an impression. Still the amateurs were all in favour of Oliver,
as an old one, and thought he could not lose it. Abbot went down
several times, and the word “cur” escaped from the lips of several
of the spectators. This epithet arose more from ill-nature than the
fact. Abbot, however, was frightened at first, or else he could have
won it in a short time, from the bad condition of Oliver. Oliver was
terribly beaten: he was some time before he recovered himself, and
was able to leave the ring. Abbot then shook hands with Oliver.
Sampson immediately threw up his hat in, the ring, and offered to
fight Abbot for £25, £50, or £100.
A winning man does not want friends, and Abbot was immediately matched
with Sampson for £50 a-side. On Tuesday, December 18, 1821, Moulsey
Hurst was again the scene of attraction, and the day being extremely
fine, a strong muster of the fancy assembled on the above spot. When the
office was given to cross the water, the pressure of the crowd was so
great, and the lads so eager to get upon the Hurst, that some of the
boats were nearly upset, so many persons rushed into them, in spite of
all the entreaties of the watermen. The large flat-bottomed ferry-boat,
which conveys the horses and carriages across, capable of holding
between four and five hundred persons, was so overladen with passengers
that it was ten to one this motley group did not bathe in Old Father
Thames; indeed, it was only prevented by the great exertions and skill
of the waterman. The wind was so high as to drive this prime cargo of
the fancy a considerable way down the river before they had any chance
of landing, and then it was only accomplished by the principal part of
the passengers wading up to their knees in water before they could sport
a toe on the Hurst. On the return of this boat to the shore at Hampton,
the rush of persons to obtain a place in it was equally violent,
although the danger and folly of such conduct had been so recently
witnessed. A first-rate swell, who was extremely eager to get on board,
lost his foot, and went head over tip into the water, to the no small
amusement of the crowd.
The Birmingham Youth was the favourite, six and seven to four, an idea
being entertained that his good fighting would bring him through the
piece, more especially as a report had gone forth that Abbot had trained
under the auspices of “Mr. Lushington.” At a quarter past one Abbot
appeared on the ground, with a blue bird’s eye round his neck, and threw
his hat into the ring. His countenance indicated perfect confidence. He
was attended by Spring and Shelton. The Birmingham Youth, followed by
Randall and Tom Jones, also shied his “castor” with a confident air,
with Randall’s colours, green, round his neck.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—On stripping, the appearance of Abbot altogether reminded
the spectators of Tom Cribb in his early fighting days: it was
evident a little punishment would not reduce his strength. The
Birmingham Youth was in excellent condition; indeed, he asserted he
was never so well in his life before. On placing themselves in
attitude some pause occurred; but they soon after rushed into a
close, and from the eagerness displayed, no mischief took place, and
they were both down.
2.—Abbot held his arms high in order to protect his nob from the
handy-work of his opponent. This manœuvre had the desired effect,
and the Birmingham Youth did not show off in his usual style. This
round was similar to the first, nothing material. Sampson went down
from a slight hit.
3.—Sampson on the look-out to plant, but the firm guard of Abbot was
not to be broken. The latter put in a left-handed hit on the throat
of Sampson that sent him staggering; he, however, returned to the
charge, when a long pause ensued. Abbot rushed and administered some
pepper. Sampson exchanged a hit or two, but went down. Abbot also
fell from a slip. (The odds had now changed seven to four on Abbot.)
4.—This was a short round. After a struggle at the ropes, Abbot got
his man down, and, in falling, his knees came heavily on the
“Youth’s” body. (The Westminster division again chevying, offering
two to one.)
5.—Abbot commenced fighting, and planted one or two heavy hits. The
Birmingham Youth showed fight, but he went down from a blow in the
middle of his head. (Loud shouting, and in the ecstasy of the moment
the cabbage-plant heroes offered five to one “the Birmingham ware
must soon be disposed of.”)
6.—Abbot went to work without delay, and the result was that Sampson
received a hit on his face, and dropped on his knees. (“It’s all up;
he’s going.” Two to one current betting.)
7 to 20.—To detail these rounds would be uninteresting. It is true
that the Birmingham commenced several rounds well, but Abbot always
finished them in his favour.
21 to 30.—In the twenty-seventh round it was so much in favour of
Abbot, that a distinguished sporting man from Newmarket offered a
guinea to a bottle of beer, but no taker appeared.
31 to 33.—Sampson did all he could to reduce the strength of his
opponent, but in vain. He now and then put in a good nobber, but in
general he napped it in return.
34.—Sampson was much distressed; but he came to the scratch like a
man, and endeavoured to take the lead. Several of his friends near
the ring told him “hit and get away.” Sampson was not unmindful of
their advice, and evinced a knowledge of the art; but it was a
matter of considerable surprise to the judges of milling that he did
not administer pepper to the body of his opponent, which was left
unprotected, as the principal aim of Abbot appeared to be in holding
his guard very high to keep his knowledge-box safe, the nob in
general of all his adversaries being the object of his attack. After
some exchanges the Birmingham Youth received a blow near the temple
which produced the claret profusely, and he fell on his knees.
(Spring offered ten guineas to two on Abbot.)
35.—The countenance of Sampson appeared dejected; he nevertheless
exerted himself to produce a change in his favour, although without
effect. He was floored by a severe right-handed hit. (Loud cheering
by the lads from the neighbourhood of the Abbey in favour of Abbot.)
36.—It was evident to every unbiassed spectator that Sampson could
not win; and although some of his shifts were well planned, they did
not in the least reduce the strength of Abbot. The Birmingham Youth
was on the totter when he came to the scratch, yet Abbot did not
commence fighting. Shelton said, “What are you shilly-shallying
about? go right up to his head and win it.” Abbot followed his
instructions without delay, and the result was, Sampson was floored.
“I told you so,” cried Shelton; “another or two and the blunt will
be in your pocket.”
37.—Sampson went down from a heavy blow on the side of his head.
(“He can’t come again.”)
38.—The Birmingham Youth smiled on meeting his adversary, put in one
or two nobbers, and made a struggle at the ropes. Sampson was again
hit down. (“It’s all over.” Any odds.)
39.—Singular to remark, Sampson, as a last and desperate effort,
made play, had the best of the round, and sent Abbot down. (Thunders
of applause, and “Well done, Sampson.”)
40.—The punishment Sampson now received was sharp and severe. Abbot
determined to put an end to the battle, showed fight the instant
Sampson appeared at the scratch, and, with a right-handed blow in
the middle of the nob, floored him. (Ten to one.)
41.—The Birmingham Youth scarcely put up his hands, when a severe
blow repeated on the same place floored him a twinkling.
42.—Abbot now proved himself the better man, and grassed poor
Sampson with ease.
43.—One must lose. A tremendous hit in the middle of Sampson’s head
took all the fight out of him, and he measured his length on the
ground. For a short period after time was called Sampson remained in
a state of stupor; he, however, recovered, and, with the assistance
of Randall, walked out of the ring. The mill lasted forty-seven
minutes.
REMARKS.—If it was perceived that Abbot was only a half-bred one,
yet it would take a good man and a heavy hitter to beat him. In but
one round (the 39th) had Sampson the best of it, although he exerted
himself to the utmost to obtain victory; indeed, after the second
round it was decidedly in favour of Abbot. It is rather singular
that, except with Dolly Smith, the Birmingham Youth has hitherto
lost every battle; while, on the contrary, conquest has crowned the
efforts of Abbot. The latter possesses a tolerable knowledge of the
science, and left the ring with only a mark under his left eye. The
Birmingham Youth was severely punished; but although he has proved
so unfortunate, it is the general opinion of the fancy that, in all
his battles, he has shown himself a game man, a lively, active
fighter, and done everything in his power to win for his backers.
The battle had scarcely been over a minute, when the fancy were beat to
a stand-still, except a few who endeavoured to bolt, but could not get
away, from the effects of the “pitiless pelting storm.” Hundreds were
seen scampering to get under the wagons to avoid the hail-stones, and
flooring each other to obtain an inch of shelter. Lots looked like
drowning rats, their clothes sticking to their bodies as if they had
been pasted on; while a few of the “Corinthians” in post-chaises were
laughing at the ludicrous scene, and blessing their happy stars for the
comfort and advantages derived from the possession of “blunt.” At length
the fancy rallied, showed game, and took their places to witness another
battle.
Abbot did not refuse to meet the “John Bull fighter” when called upon,
as appears by the following letter, addressed to the editor of the
_Weekly Dispatch_.
“CHALLENGE TO JOSH. HUDSON.
“SIR,—
“In consequence of your challenge to me a few months ago, and my
fight with Oliver being off, I now wish to inform you that I am
ready to fight you once in eight weeks for 50 guineas a-side. If
this meets your approbation, my friends will meet you at any time or
place you may appoint, and make a deposit of £10 or £20 a-side.
“W. ABBOT.
“_5th July, 1822._”
These challenges, however, ended in smoke. At length Abbot was matched
with Jem Ward, for £50 a-side, and they met, October 22, 1822. Jem had
beaten Acton, and was fast rising into fame. The particulars of this
cross will be found in the Memoir of Ward, opening the next Period.
Larkins, the Cambridge champion, was matched with Abbot for £35. The
fight took place at Fidgett Hall, near Newmarket, on Monday, November
28, 1826. Abbot was here beaten in fourteen rounds, thirty-three
minutes, with five to four betted upon him. From this time Abbot figures
as a second and bottle holder, until 1832, when, a purse having been
collected, he entered the ring with one Search, whom he disposed of in
seven rounds, at Old Oak Common, on the 28th of June in that year. The
career of Abbot has no further ring interest.
DAVID HUDSON, BROTHER OF THE RENOWNED “JOHN BULL FIGHTER”—1818–1827.
David Hudson, a younger brother of the renowned Josh., made his
appearance about two years after his celebrated senior, namely, in July,
1818; Josh’s first battle with Jack Payne dating in 1816. He was a smart
two-handed fighter, of the inconvenient middle weight and height, which
is too much for the light ones, and not enough for the big ’uns, namely,
ten stone ten pounds, and five feet seven inches and a half in height.
He was born in Rotherhithe in 1798, and in 1817, when in his 19th year,
defeated Pat. Connelly, a reputed good man. His first regular battle was
with Richard West (West Country Dick), for 50 guineas a-side. It was the
second fight following the defeat of Tom Oliver by Neat, of Bristol, at
Rickmansworth, on Friday, July 10, 1818. Randall and Tom Jones were
seconds to Dick; Painter and Hall for Hudson. Dick was the favourite,
seven to four and two to one.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—This was a good round. The combatants soon closed, but
broke away. A sharp rally succeeded, and Dick was thrown.
2.—Sharp fighting. Reciprocal nobbers. A smart rally, and both down.
3.—Dick put in two facers. Some exchanges, when, in struggling for
the throw, in going down Hudson was uppermost.
4.—This was all in Dick’s favour. He planted some heavy hits; and
both going down, they rolled over each other.
5.—Hudson’s ear was bleeding, and Dick threw him.
6.—This was an active round; and in the corner of the ring Hudson
fibbed Dick till he fell out of the ropes, (Applause. “Bravo,
Hudson.”)
7.—Both of them went to work, and some sharp exchanges occurred,
till both down.
8.—This appeared a severe round, and Dick got a hit on his ribs and
went down.
9.—When time was called, Dick tried to leave the knee of his second;
but on getting up seemed as if bent double, and pointed to his ribs,
when Hudson was declared the conqueror. This sudden termination of
the fight electrified the amateurs, and the backers of Dick were
chapfallen indeed. Great murmuring prevailed that “all was not
right;” but Dick declared, that in falling against the stakes he had
hurt his ribs so severely that he was not able to stand upright. The
battle was over in fourteen minutes and five seconds.
David fought with Ballard for a trifling stake, on Wednesday, April 15,
1819, on Kennington Common. Purcell and West Country Dick seconded
Hudson, and Ballard was waited upon by Holt and Hares. It was a most
determined battle on both sides; and one hour and three-quarters had
elapsed before Ballard was compelled to acknowledge himself defeated. He
was punished severely. Hudson also did not escape without considerable
beating. The science and game he displayed on this occasion gave him a
lift among the amateurs.
After the battle between Turner and Cy. Davis at Wallingham Common, on
Friday, June 18, 1819, there was an interval of upwards of an hour,
during which time the ring was filled with amateurs, endeavouring to get
up another contest between some of the “good ones.” Sutton offered to
fight Carter, but the latter boxer pleaded want of “condition.” Hall was
also called, Martin, etc., but objections were made, when at length
Harry Holt threw up his hat, which was immediately answered by David
Hudson. Randall and O’Donnell seconded Holt and Tom Owen and Josh.
Hudson waited upon David. It was for a purse of 20 guineas. Holt was the
favourite, five to four.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—The game of Holt had been ascertained upon more than one
occasion, and his character stood well as a “pretty, scientific
boxer.” He was not very well, and had walked all the way from London
down to the fight. Hudson, nothing else but a “good one,” was also
out of condition; in fact, he had only been discharged a week from
the doctor’s hands for the jaundice, and, on stripping, his frame
had a yellow appearance. They set-to with much spirit, when Holt
rather took the lead. It was all fighting, and Hudson was nobbed
down.
2.—Reciprocal facers; sharp hitting, full of work; milling the order
of the round. Both down, but Holt undermost. (“Bravo! this will be a
good fight;” and the amateurs were much interested.)
3.—Holt stopped in fine style, and planted same heavy hits. Both
down.
4.—Sparring. Both offering and eager to hit, but awake to each
other’s intention, and dodging. This round was really a treat to the
lovers of science. Holt was hit down in the corner of the ring.
(Even betting.)
5.—More science was displayed, when Owen began to sing “Tol de rol,”
and said it was all right; that Hudson, of his weight, was the best
little man in the kingdom, and that he should have nothing to do but
merely look on. Hudson took the lead, followed his opponent over the
ring till Holt was hit down.
6 to 24.—To speak impartially, it would be almost impossible to say
which had the best of the majority of these rounds. Holt repeatedly
nobbed Hudson so severely that his head went back; but he still
returned to the charge unconcerned. In the last round Holt got
Hudson on the ropes, where the latter was hanging almost on the
balance; but he threw up his arms and walked away, amidst the shouts
of the ring. (“This is true courage,” exclaimed a Briton.)
29 to 49.—All these rounds were contested with the utmost determined
resolution and science on both sides. But Hudson was now the
favourite, and Tom Owen offered ten to one. He also placed the white
topper on his head; but would not let his knee-string, which was
loose, be tied, for fear it should change his luck.
50 to 64.—Holt continued as game as a pebble, and nobbed Hudson
desperately; but he could not take the fight out of him. (The odds
were now decidedly against Holt, and cries of “Take him away.”)
65 to 83.—Both of their nobs were terribly punished, particularly
Holt; but he had not the slightest intention to resign, though
persuaded so to do by his friends and backers. It was thought Holt
had lost it, from going down without a blow. (“Never mind,” said
Owen, “we’ll give them that in; we can’t lose it.”)
84 to 89 and last.—Holt continued to fight, but he could not stand
up to receive the hitting of Hudson, and went down repeatedly;
while, on the contrary, Hudson seemed to be getting fresher, and he
often ran and jumped to get in at Holt. The latter would not give
in, and he was taken out of the ring by the desire of a noble lord
and other amateurs. It occupied an hour and three-quarters.
REMARKS.—This was a capital fight on both sides: the men covered
themselves with pugilistic glory. Holt was rather too stale for his
opponent; he had also some of his teeth dislodged. Hudson promises
to be conspicuous in the ring: a better bit of stuff cannot be
found. A handsome subscription was made for Holt.
Hudson had now got so greatly into favour with the amateurs that he was
backed against the fearless Scroggins for 50 guineas a-side. The battle
took place on Monday, March 13, 1820, at Dagenham Breach, Essex, about
eleven miles from London.
The road exhibited much bustle about ten o’clock in the morning, and the
distance being short, the amateurs arrived at the destined spot rather
earlier than usual. However, owing to neglect somewhere, to the great
chagrin of the fancy, Scroggins had not been made acquainted with the
scene of action, and it was two to one whether he appeared at all. The
“hardy hero,” somehow, at length reached the Ship and Shovel, and waived
all impediments like a truly game man.
At half past one o’clock, Hudson, attended by his brother Josh. and Tom
Owen, threw his hat up in the ring. Scroggins, followed by Oliver and
Randall, repeated the token of defiance. The odds were both ways in the
course of a few minutes; and, from the remembrance of what Scroggins had
once been, the old fanciers rather took the latter for choice. Tom Owen,
to give an air of importance to his _protégé_, graced the ring with his
hair curled and powdered, to the no small merriment of the multitude.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—On stripping, the fine condition of Hudson astonished the
spectators, and to give him a showy appearance, he sported silk
stockings. Scroggins did not look well; but it was observed he was
not so bad as had been represented. The combatants sparred for
upwards of two minutes, when Scroggins let fly with his left hand,
slightly touching his opponent’s eye. In attempting to make another
hit, Hudson got away. More sparring. Scroggins now went to work in
his usual heavy style, and drove Hudson to the ropes, when, after
some exchanges, Hudson went down, receiving a heavy hit on his ear.
(The shouting was loud; and “Well done, my old boy, you can’t lose
it. The stale one for £100.”)
2.—Hudson did not wish to be idle, and went up to his man and fought
with him, when a rally ensued, in which Scroggins had rather the
best of it. The men separated, and Hudson put in a severe facer that
brought the claret. In struggling, both went down.
3.—The men were on their mettle, and fighting was the order of this
round. Scroggins received a jobber in the front of his nob; but he
returned to the charge with vigour, till he went down from a slight
hit. (“Go along, Davy! a young one against an old one any time.”)
4.—Scroggins received a sharp hit in the body; he, nevertheless,
went boldly in to his opponent, and put in three nobbers. In
struggling for the throw, Hudson undermost. (“Bravo, Scroggy!”)
5.—The face of Scroggins was much pinked, and one of his eyes rather
damaged. Some good exchanges, till Scroggins was undermost.
(Shouting for Hudson.)
6.—Hudson stopped the hits of his adversary well, and went again to
the nobbing system till both down.
7.—This was a terrible round. It was all fighting; and the struggle
at the ropes was desperate in the extreme, till Scroggins found
himself on the ground, undermost. The applause on both sides was
liberally dealt out, and the combatants were pronounced good men all
round the ring.
8.—Scroggins began to pipe, and symptoms of a worn out constitution
could not be concealed from his adversary. The advantages of youth
were evident to every spectator, and Scroggins went down.
9.—Well contested on both sides; but although Scroggins repeatedly
hit his opponent in the face, he did no damage to him. Both down.
10.—In this round a faint ray of the original quality of Scroggins
was conspicuous: he put in a severe hit under Hudson’s right ear,
and also bored him down. (Six to four was, however, offered on the
latter.)
11.—Sharp exchanges; but Scroggins went down so weak that Tom Owen
offered four to one.
12 to 15.—Scroggins had rather the best of some of these rounds, but
never the best of the battle. He, however, threw Hudson over the
ropes.
16 to 18.—The first of these was the sharpest round in the fight.
The men exchanged hits like game cocks, struggled for the throw at
the ropes, broke away, fought at the ropes again, till both down.
19 to 23.—It was evident the once terrific Scroggins was gone by;
his milling period was over. He took like a glutton of the first
appetite, but could not give as heretofore. (Six to one was current
against him.)
24 to 28.—In some of these rounds Hudson held up his opponent, and
punished him down. (Owen, in the exultation of the moment, offered
ten to one, and said he should go home, as his man did not want any
more seconding.)
29 to 33.—In the last round Scroggins turned his head away from the
severe punishment he had received, and went down.
34 and last.—Scroggins attempted to hit, but it was all up, as he
was quite exhausted. Forty minutes and three seconds had elapsed.
Hudson had scarcely a scratch.
REMARKS.—It is a standing proverb among good judges that youth must
be served, and a clearer demonstration of the proposition was never
witnessed in the P.R. The constitution of Scroggins was gone, and no
training could restore it. It is, however, singular to remark, that
a knock-down blow did not occur throughout the fight. Hudson, gay as
a lark, confident, and a boxer that can stay a good while, is not a
hard hitter. In Scroggins’s day a different tale must have been
told; but his once terrible mode of hitting had left him, and, as a
boxer, he was a shadow of his former self. It is, however, but
common justice to state that Scroggins never exerted himself upon
any occasion more to win than he did in contending against the young
one. His gluttony astonished all present.
Hudson and Scroggins meeting at Chelmsford Races, on Thursday, July 27,
1820, the amateurs made a subscription purse of £20. It was suggested by
the seconds that Hudson and Scroggins should divide the purse; but the
latter boxer refused, saying, he would win if he could. It was a sharp,
good fight; but Scroggins, being very much out of condition, was again
defeated in twenty-five minutes.
Hudson had risen so high in the estimation of the amateurs, that he was
backed against Jack Martin; nay, more, his friends said that he must
win, and nothing else. This battle came off at Moulsey Hurst, October
24, 1820. Martin had beaten David’s brother Josh. the year previous. The
event proved that Davy’s backers were too confident; it was soon seen he
was overmatched, and he was signally defeated. (See vol. i., p. 406.)
On Thursday, January 11, 1821, David Hudson and Green fought in a barn
at Chelmsford, at eleven o’clock at night, for £10 a-side. This fight
had been a long time “hatching up,” particularly on the part of
Green’s[32] friends, and, from every appearance, he had been in training
on the sly; while Hudson was never in such bad condition before.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Green soon let fly with his right hand, which Hudson
stopped with his left. He then went to work till Green was floored.
2.—A determined rally, in which Hudson met his adversary well, till
Green was again down.
3.—Cautious sparring. Green, however, went in without ceremony and
napt two muzzlers, right and left, for his temerity. The claret
appeared in profusion, and Green again down.
4 to 7.—The men were now extremely weak. Hudson received a
tremendous hit on his right eye, and he was blind for a few seconds,
having lost the sight of his left eye since he fought with Martin.
(“Go along, Green, it’s all your own; you can’t lose it;” and five
to four offered.)
8.—Hudson’s right hand made a dent on Green’s side; and with his
left Davy put in such a conker that not only produced the claret in
profusion, but he was quite abroad, and went down. These “Pepper
Alley” touches brought it to even betting, and Hudson for choice.
9 to 13.—The pepper-box was again administered by Hudson, who caught
Green under his right arm, and with his left he fibbed him so
severely that Green called out “Foul,” and said he would not fight
any longer. The umpires were appealed to, and decided Hudson’s
conduct to be fair, and “a bit of good truth.”
14.—Green, determined to try every move on the board, went sharply
to work, but Hudson stopped his efforts with the utmost ease. (Seven
to four on Hudson, but no takers.)
15 to 17.—Davy came to the scratch as fresh as his out-and-out
badger, and hit Green all to pieces. By way of finishing the round,
if not the fight, he cross-buttocked his opponent so severely that
it was twenty to one he did not come again. Green said he would not
fight any more while sitting upon the knee of his second. Hudson
then went up to Green and shook hands with him, observing at the
same time, “You are not half so good a man as I expected, from the
chaffing there has been about you; nevertheless, I will give you
half a guinea.” The friends of Green thought he could have won the
fight if it had been in a ring; but Hudson’s backers were so
confident of his success, that they immediately put down £50 to £80
for Davy to fight him in a ring in any part of Essex. The partisans
of Green wished it to take place in the same ring as Oliver and
Spring. This money was drawn, to the great disappointment of
Hudson’s party. The Essex friends of the latter offered to back him
at any time for £100. The battle lasted forty-five minutes.
One Jack Steadman, a big one, and a good fighter, was beat off-hand by
David, to the astonishment of the spectators; Steadman standing over
“little David” like another Goliah of Gath, and weighing thirteen stone.
David now became a publican at Chelmsford, where his house was well
frequented by sporting men. In February, 1820, we find him exhibiting
sparring, having taken the Chelmsford Theatre for the purpose.
Hudson’s old antagonist, Green, seems to have by no means been convinced
by his first defeat, and, after much cavilling, a second match was made
for 50 guineas, which came off, by desire of the London patrons of Davy,
at Old Marsh Gate, Essex, about eleven miles of turnpike from town, on
Tuesday, the 27th of February, 1821. Hudson having made Chelmsford his
place of residence, and a bit of a favourite in that part of the world
among the sporting men, they were anxious that he should again exhibit.
He was backed by Mr. Thomas Belcher, of the Castle Tavern. It was
reported Hudson was upwards of twelve stone, having increased so much
during his training. This operated against him in the opinion of the
amateurs. At one o’clock Hudson, dressed in a white great coat,
appeared, and threw his hat into the ring, attended by Oliver and his
brother Josh. Green shortly afterwards entered the ropes, with Randall
and Martin. The “President of the Daffies”[33] was appointed the
time-keeper. Five to four on Hudson.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—On stripping, Green appeared in the highest state of
condition, but it was thought that Hudson was much too fat. The
combatants, on placing themselves in attitude, stood looking at each
other’s eyes for upwards of four minutes, without making the least
offer to hit. Green made a trifling offer to put in a blow, when
Hudson got away, and they dodged each other over the ring till they
made another complete stand-still. Green made a hit, but Hudson
parried it. Both the men seemed under orders, that is to say, not to
go to work too quickly. Green got away neatly; and Hudson also
stopped a severe left-handed hit of Green’s. The latter then put in
a body blow, when David returned. The battle had now commenced.
Green put in a facer, when Davy stood to no repairs, and tried to
slaughter his opponent, till they got into a struggle, when they
both went down side by side. (Loud shouting from the “over-the-water
boys,” the Chelmsford fanciers, and the Jews, who all united in
backing Davy for anything.) This round occupied nearly fifteen
minutes.
2.—This round was altogether short. They both complimented each
other upon the nob _sans cérémonie_, and “Pepper Alley” was the
feature, till Green went down undermost. (Six to four on Hudson.)
The mouth of Davy showed claret.
3.—Not quite so fast as before, and some little science necessary.
Hudson undermost.
4.—The claret was now running from the cheek of Green. Both
combatants appeared a little distressed. In struggling, Hudson was
again undermost. These were two tie rounds; but some of the
spectators thought Green had the best of them.
5.—Hudson took the lead gaily. Some severe exchanges took place,
when Green was hit down. (Loud shouting, “Davy, repeat that, and
it’s all safe to you.”)
6.—Hudson got away well, and nobbed Green, who followed him. Some
heavy blows passed between them till both down.
7.—This round spoilt Green. The latter, with good courage, gave hit
for hit with his opponent; but Davy, in finishing the round, had the
best of the blows, threw Green, and fell so heavily upon him that
the claret gushed from his nose, the shock was so violent. (The
East-enders were now uproarious, and two and three to one were
offered on Davy.)
8.—David fell on Green again.
9.—Almost the same, as well as the best of the hitting.
10.—It was really a capital fight, and Green fought like a trump. He
could not, however, change the battle in his favour. Hudson
undermost.
11.—Green experienced another dreadful fall. (Four to one against
him current.)
12.—Hudson now endeavoured to take the fight out of Green, and
planted four facers in succession that Green went staggering from
the hits; he, nevertheless, made several returns, till both down.
(Five to one.)
13, 14.—In the first round a most determined rally; but in the
second Green was hit down on his knee. (“You can’t lose it, Davy.”)
15.—Hudson fell heavily on Green, and nearly knocked the wind out of
him. (“It’s all up.” Any odds.)
16.—The nob of Green was now terribly punished, and the left side of
his throat much swelled. He was quite abroad, hit open-handed, and
went down exhausted. (“Go along, Davy; it will be over in another
round.”)
17.—Green repeatedly jobbed Hudson in the face; but none of the
blows were to be seen—they did not leave a mark. As Green was
falling from a hit, Hudson caught him in the face with a
right-handed blow that almost sent him to sleep.
18.—“Look here,” said Oliver, “my man has not a mark upon his face.”
Green came up to the scratch much distressed. He, however, fought
like a man; and at the ropes Hudson again fell upon him. The claret
was running down in profusion.
19.—Green still showed fight, and put in several facers. Hudson went
away staggering from one of them; but the latter followed Green up
so hard and fast that he could not keep his legs, and went down.
(The poundage was here offered, but no takers. “Take him away; he
has no chance.”)
20 and last.—Green behaved like a man, and he stood up and fought in
a rally till he went down quite done up. When time was called he
could not come to the scratch, and Hudson was proclaimed the
conqueror. It was over in forty minutes.
REMARKS.—Davy, either fat or lean, out or in condition, is not to be
beaten easily. A strong novice must not attempt it; and a good
commoner will be puzzled, and most likely lose in the trial. There
is a great deal of gaiety about Hudson’s fighting: he will always be
with his man. He has a good notion of throwing, and also of
finishing a round. Green was not destitute of courage, and it was
not a little milling that took the fight out of him. He endeavoured
to win while a chance remained; in fact, till he could fight no
longer; but he is too slow for Hudson. It was an excellent battle,
and the amateurs expressed themselves well satisfied. One of
Hudson’s eyes is defective since he fought with Martin, which
operates as a great drawback to his execution, particularly in
judging his distances; but nothing can abate his courage. Both the
Hudsons stand so high in the opinion of the amateurs as out-and-out
bottom men, that they are designated the “John Bull” boxers. They
increase in flesh rather too fast; and, from being “light ones” when
they first appeared in the prize ring, they are now termed “Big
Chaps.”
This was Dav. Hudson’s last victory. We find it noted, incidentally, in
the remarks on the above fight that the sight of one of David’s eyes was
defective. Under these circumstances, it was indeed unfortunate to match
him against the “Streatham Youth,” Ned Neale. It is true that Ned’s
wonderful fighting qualities were then comparatively unknown. He had
defeated Deaf Davis (a slow man, but a hard hitter), one Bill Cribb
(called “the Brighton Champion”), and Miller (the “Pea-soup Gardener”);
but these, as well as Bill Hall, were looked upon as mere stale men or
“roughs.” The defeat of Hudson (September 23, 1823), on the
appropriately named Blindlow Heath, will be found in the Memoir of NED
NEALE, Period VI., Chapter V.
David’s last appearance in the prize ring was with an Irishman, Mike
Larkins,[34] who had beaten Simon Byrne in Ireland, in 1825. The battle
took place at Bulphen Farm, Essex, May 8, 1827, when “One-eyed Davy” was
defeated in twenty-eight fast rounds, occupying twenty minutes. David,
in his latter days, assisted “brother Josh.” at Leadenhall; and when the
latter died, in Milton Street, Finsbury, in October, 1835, David lost
his best friend. He was already in ill health, and survived his brother
but six weeks, his death taking place November 27, 1835, in the London
Hospital.
PERIOD VI.—1824–1835.
FROM THE RETIREMENT OF TOM SPRING TO THE APPEARANCE OF BENDIGO.
CHAPTER I.
JEM WARD (CHAMPION).—1822–1831.
Albeit this period does not mark any change in the “school,” or style,
nor in the rules which govern the practice of public boxing, there are
reasons to be found for a division, in the more copious, accurate, and
systematic reports of the prize-fights of this and the following
periods, due greatly to the exertions and ability of the late Vincent
George Dowling, Esq., of the _Morning Chronicle_, the editor, founder,
and establisher of _Bell’s Life in London_, for many years afterwards
“the Oracle of the Ring,” a title and function now well-nigh abdicated.
About this time, too, other able pens lent their aid. George Daniels,
Esq. (the D—— G——, whose criticisms on the drama lent large value to the
series known as “Cumberland’s Plays,” and who was for a time editor of
the _Weekly Dispatch_), was among the number. That journal also had the
services of George Kent (an enthusiastic milling reporter, whose son and
grandson yet wield the _stylus_ of manifold writers for the daily and
weekly press),[35] and of Mr. Smith, during the period of his
editorship. “Paling its ineffectual fire” before the rising glories of
_Bell’s Life_, and having lost its best writers, a late Old Bailey
attorney and alderman, finding the _Dispatch_ had lost caste with the
sporting community, turned his coat, and betook himself with the zeal
and virulence of a renegade to revile and slander the sports by which
his journal had grown and prospered. But this is by the way. From the
period we have mentioned the chronicles of pugilism have been more
accurate and minute, and therefore more worthy of preservation; hence
the greater bulk and volume of this portion of our history.
On the retirement of Spring, which that boxer announced shortly after
his second battle with Langan, the public attention was occupied with
discussing the worthiest candidate for the vacated belt. In the first
instance Langan was spoken of as the “coming man;” but though there was
some correspondence, as already noticed, with Tom Shelton and Ward, the
Irish champion suddenly retired without making a match, and went into
business at Liverpool. The champion was now to be looked for elsewhere.
Three men had at this time their respective admirers and partisans—Tom
Cannon (the great gun of Windsor), Josh. Hudson (the John Bull fighter),
and Jem Ward (the Black Diamond). The friends of Josh. urged his claim,
on the ground that he had defeated Ward on the 11th of December, 1823;
but then a fortnight after the second fight of Spring and Langan (on
June 23rd, 1824), Tom Cannon had beaten Hudson in twenty minutes and
seventeen rounds, and again (see Memoir of CANNON) in the November
following, in sixteen rounds, twenty minutes. This led to Cannon’s
challenging Ward for the championship, the details and results of which
we shall notice in due course. We now return to the biography of Ward.
Jem Ward, the eldest of seven children of Nat. Ward, a tradesman in the
vicinity of Ratcliff Highway, was born December 26th, 1800, the day of
all days of the year, known as “boxing day,” and at an early age
exhibited the talents of a boxer and wrestler, which afterwards won him
fame. At the age of sixteen, his father having failed in business as a
butcher, Jem was put to the then lucrative, but heavily laborious
calling of a coal-whipper. Jem soon became the lion of a sparring club
held at Bromley New Town, where he dimmed the shine of those who were
ambitious of a turn with “the Black Diamond,” and was never loth to
accommodate any customer, regardless of weight or strength. Ward’s fame
spread, and it was resolved by his admirers and friends that he should
quit the narrow circle of his triumphs, and give the general public the
opportunity of judging of his qualifications. Accordingly, on Tuesday,
January 22nd, 1822, on the occasion of the benefit of Sutton and
Gybletts, at the Fives Court, Jem was introduced to the aristocratic
patrons of pugilism. His appearance is thus recorded in the “Annals of
Sporting” for that month. “The principal novelty was the introduction of
a new Black Diamond, and although a little bit in the rough, yet now and
again his shining qualities so far peeped out that curiosity asked, ‘Who
is he?’ ‘Where does he come from?’ ‘Is he a novice?’ The replies were
‘His name is Ward; he is an East-ender; he has put the quilt on all who
have tried him; he is a sharp one in a turn-up, but what he may do in
the ring is another matter. However, he can be backed against anything
of his weight (twelve stone) barring the Gas (Tom Hickman).’ Ward was
pitted with Spencer. Like most newcomers, he displayed too much
eagerness, and more milling than steady science. He received good
encouragement from the amateurs present, and his nob was pronounced to
be a fighting one.”
[Illustration:
JEM WARD (CHAMPION).
_From a Painting by_ PATTEN, 1826.
]
The fancy were not slow in discussing the merits of Ward, and a purse
was immediately raised for the purpose of testing his capabilities. Dick
Acton,[36] considered a resolute boxer, was named as Ward’s opponent,
and on Wednesday, June 12, 1822, the battle came off on Moulsey Hurst.
Josh. Hudson (soon after to meet and vanquish his principal) seconded
Ward, assisted by Tom Jones. Acton was waited upon by Tom Spring and
Eales. The fight is thus reported in the _Dispatch_:—
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Acton on the defensive, as if wishing to ascertain what
novelties in the art he was likely to be that day treated to by
Ward. The latter, after a little dodging about, let fly with his
left, but was short. Acton likewise missed; he, however, followed
Ward, who kept breaking ground and retreating. Acton tried it on,
but some exchanges followed without effect. The Diamond suddenly put
in a straight one on Acton’s nob, and got away smiling. Acton
followed him to the ropes, where he got a sharp blow on the cheek;
Ward making good use of his legs and getting out of the corner; nor
was he long before he planted a heavy blow on the right side of
Acton’s conk, which drew the claret. (“That’s as good as a pinch of
snuff to him,” cried Josh.) A pause. Ward’s left hand now took
liberties with the other side of Acton’s nose, and the pink
followed. Ward got away. (“Mind and keep your hand closed,” said
Josh.) Some more blows passed, when Ward again got away. Acton
already seemed tired and slow; indeed he had been following the new
one to a very poor purpose. Ward put in a heavy hit under Acton’s
right eye that produced the claret, then closed, and after some
hitting both were down, Ward undermost. This round occupied eight
minutes and a half, evidently to the disadvantage of Acton. (Eleven
to four on Ward offered.)
2.—Acton could not stop Ward’s left. The latter put in several
facers, and got away without receiving any return. In closing, Acton
pummelled away, and both went down, Ward again undermost.
3.—Acton made play and put in a heavy one on Ward’s mug, but on
endeavouring to repeat it, Ward stopped him neatly. Acton bored his
opponent to the ropes, and, after a sharp struggle to obtain the
throw, Ward got Acton down. (Shouts of applause for the new man.)
4.—This round decided the fight. Acton seemed to depend more on
stopping than hitting, and Ward had it comparatively all his own
way. He made a good right-handed hit, and again got away laughing.
Acton also got nobbed right and left; but Ward following him to
force the fighting, received some heavy hits that drew the claret
from his nose. A pause, the men looking at each other. Ward made
play and put in so severe a body blow as to make Acton drop his
arms. In the close, Ward had also the best of it, and in going down
Acton was undermost. (“It’s nearly over,” was the cry.)
5.—Acton came to the scratch staring. Ward put in two or three
nobbers, and ran Acton to the ropes; but in the fall Ward was
undermost.
6 and last.—Heavy counter-hits. Ward planted a severe blow on
Acton’s left eye that made him wink again. The left hand of the
former was repeatedly at work, and by a sharp blow on the left ear
Acton was finally floored. When “Time” was called, he was deaf to
it, and three or four minutes elapsed before he was able to get out
of the ring. Time, fourteen minutes and a half.
REMARKS.—The science, activity, and quick hitting exhibited by Ward
satisfied his backers, that, with a little more experience, he was
calculated to make a noise in the milling world. Acton was too slow
for his opponent.
Ward, who was now anxious to do business, challenged Jack Martin for
£150; and in order to keep the game alive, after Josh. Hudson had
defeated Barlow, at Harpenden Common, on the 10th of September, 1822, a
subscription purse was entered into to give Ward another chance of
showing off with Burke, of Woolwich, brother to the pugilist who fought
with Jack Randall. After he had put on his clothes, Hudson went round
the ring with his hat, and collected the needful. This fight lasted only
seven minutes, it being rather a display of wrestling than milling on
the part of Burke. The Woolwich hero was seconded by Tom Oliver and
Abbot; Ward by Tom Shelton and Harry Holt. It was a mere gift to Jem.
Some meetings were afterwards held between the parties as to the weight
of Ward, and he was eventually backed to fight Bill Abbot, for £50
a-side. And here it devolves upon us, as faithful biographers, to detail
a circumstance in the life of our hero, over which we would fain draw a
veil. In order that we may not identify ourselves with any party, we
prefer giving the account of the matter as it was published at the time,
leaving our readers to decide for themselves:—
Pugilism between Ward, the Black Diamond, and Abbot, the conqueror of
Oliver, for £50 a-side, at Moulsey Hurst, on Tuesday, October 22, 1822.
An unusual degree of interest had been excited throughout the fancy,
respecting the event of this battle, in consequence of the superior
milling talents displayed by Ward in his fight with Acton, and also in
his various exhibitions at the Fives Court, but more particularly in his
set-to with Cy. Davis. At one o’clock, Abbot threw his hat into the
ring, followed by Richmond and Josh. Hudson, as his seconds; and, in a
few minutes afterwards, Ward attended by Eales and Tom Jones, made his
appearance.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Both men appeared in fine condition; and a minute or two
elapsed, when Ward hit short with his left hand; but he soon
rectified this mistake, by nobbing his opponent, getting away, and
laughing at him. In a close, both went down, but Ward had the throw.
2.—It was already seen that Abbot was a plaything in the hands of
Ward, for he not only nobbed him with the utmost ease, but put in so
severe a hit on the body that Abbot went back three yards,
staggering, and must have fallen, had not the ropes prevented him.
Abbot, however, returned to the charge, when the round was finished
by Ward hitting him down. (Seven to four.)
3.—Ward, from his tapping, light play, was denominated the Chinaman;
nevertheless, the head of his opponent was so much at his service
that he kept pinking without getting any return. Abbot was severely
thrown.
4.—The backers of Ward were in high glee—it was all right; and Abbot
received another fall ready to burst him.
5.—Abbot received a severe hit, and fell on his knees.
6 to 8.—In all these rounds Abbot appeared perfectly stupid from the
repeated conkers he received, and the severe falls he experienced.
(Five and six to one.)
9 to 12.—Abbot was so much at a loss that his blows were thrown
away; in fact, he had not the shadow of a chance. In the last round
he received a tremendous cross-buttock.
13 to 17.—The whole of the minds of the amateurs were so much made
up in consequence of the superior talents displayed by Ward, who did
as he liked with his opponent, that ten to one was offered, but no
takers.
18.—Abbot hit down, and the battle was considered all but over; so
much so that Belcher left the ring to get his pigeon to convey the
intelligence to town of the defeat of Abbot. On crossing the river
at Hampton, the first party he met in a boat he asked who had won
the battle. “Abbot,” was the reply. “Impossible!” said Belcher. He
also inquired of another party. “Abbot,” was the answer. “It can’t
be—you certainly must be mistaken,” rejoined the hero of the Castle.
In the third boat he saw Abbot and his second, when he repeated his
inquiries; and on being informed that Abbot was the winner, Tom
replied, “I’m now satisfied,” and immediately sent up the pigeon,
with Abbot’s name attached to it instead of Ward’s.
19.—At the conclusion of this round, Eales, observing something
wrong in his man, called out to Ward’s backer, who immediately
stepped into the ring, when Eales, with much indignation, observed,
“Ward says he means to cut it this round, he shall lose it.” “No,”
replied his backer.
20.—Ward now endeavoured to drop fighting, in order to give Abbot a
chance; and actually, in an under tone, said to Abbot, “Now hit me.”
When Eales remonstrated with him for such conduct, he observed, “I
know my orders—I must not win it.” (A hundred to one on Ward.)
21.—Ward gave his opponent all the opportunity he could; but Abbot
was so distressed that he could scarcely knock a fly off a leaf.
Ward took care to go down.
22 and last.—Ward went down after a slight skirmish, and on being
picked up and placed on his second’s knee, he smiled, but
recollecting “his orders,” and for fear that Abbot should give in,
he went off in a swoon, and when “Time” was called, he would not
notice it till he thought proper to come to, and quit the ring.
REMARKS.—It is impossible to describe the consternation, as well as
the indignation, expressed by the amateurs; so bare-faced a robbery
was never before witnessed in the annals of pugilism. The umpire,
when asked his opinion, replied, “He could not swear it was a cross;
but he was quite satisfied there was wrong conduct somewhere.” The
most honourable part of the sporting people declared they would not
pay at present; and several gentlemen who had lost heavy stakes
agreed to meet next evening at the One Tan, in Jermyn Street, in
order to investigate the matter. Ward, on recovering from his swoon,
made his way out of the ring, and in his eagerness to get across the
water to Hampton, jumped with the utmost ease over some ropes.
Thus far the ring-reporter of the day. On Wednesday evening, October
23rd, a numerous meeting of sporting men took place at the One Tun,
Jermyn Street, to investigate the suspicious circumstances connected
with this affair, when, after hearing evidence, all bets were declared
off, and a second meeting appointed at Tattersall’s, on Monday, November
4, 1822; on this occasion, after a great deal of chaffing and murmuring
amongst the betters, the president of the Daffy Club, who held the
stakes, offered the £50 a-side to each of the backers, but they refused
the offer, and the president put the £100 into his pocket, and left the
meeting. It was ultimately agreed that the matter should be laid before
the Pugilistic Club and Mr. Jackson, and that their decision should be
final; however, after considerable disputes upon the subject, the stakes
were drawn, and the backers of Ward and Abbot agreed to receive £50
each.
We cannot help remarking here, that although it was proved beyond a
doubt that Ward committed the cross above alluded to, there was also
sufficient evidence to prove that it was more an error of the head than
of the heart; for, on his being called upon for an explanation, at the
meeting at the One Tun, in Jermyn Street, he burst into tears, hung down
his head, and admitted it was a cross. He further stated that he had
been instigated to commit it by his backer, who promised him £100 if he
lost the fight. Eales, the second to Ward, also stated, “that towards
the conclusion of the battle, he wished him to go in and win it, but was
greatly surprised to hear Ward say he had his orders, and must _not_ win
the battle.” Towards the conclusion of the meeting, Tom Cribb came
forward, and in a very animated manner said, that he had never done
wrong in his life; that Ward was a deluded and ignorant young man; that
he believed he had been led away, and that he had told the truth; as a
proof of his opinion he should make him a present of a sovereign, which
he did, several gentlemen present following his example.
Ward also addressed the following letter, publicly confessing his
fault:—
“_To the Editor of the_ WEEKLY DISPATCH.
“SIR,
“I trust you will excuse my obtruding upon you in requesting the
insertion of a letter from me, whom I hope the sporting world will
consider as much sinned against as sinning. My late fight with Abbot
having given rise to much, I may say much merited animadversion, I
hope in extenuation some consideration may be made for my
inexperience in the world, and a too great reliance on those who
have seduced and deceived me. Had I taken the advice of my trainer,
in lieu of lending a too ready credence to the apparent friendly
promises of my backer, I should not have to deplore the commitment
of an act which has caused me the most bitter regret. I should be
most happy, by way of retrieving in some degree the credit I have
lost, to fight Abbot again for the present stakes. If I ask for too
much in this, I am willing to meet him in the same ring with Hudson
and Shelton, on the 19th instant, for a purse, or even for love.
“I am, Sir, with the greatest respect,
“Your obliged servant
“JAMES WARD.
“_November 12, 1827._”
At this time Ward was considered completely defunct in the milling
world; the P.C. expelled Jem from the use of their ropes, and it was the
general opinion that he would never again be permitted to enter the
prize ring. In fact, so strong was the feeling entertained against Ward,
that, on a proposal being made shortly afterwards to back him for £100
against Barlow, the friends of the latter scouted the proposition, and
said that he should not disgrace himself by contending with a man who
had been expelled the P.C. ropes.
Ward now remained quiet for a short time, expressed his sorrow for his
misconduct, and promised his friends to do all in his power to gain the
confidence of the sporting world. It was not long before an event
occurred which brought Ward again before the fancy, and which tended
greatly to do away with the ill-feeling which existed against him. After
the fight between Hall and Wynnes, at Wimbledon Common, on Tuesday,
February 4, 1823, he entered the ring for a subscription prize of the
value of £5. His opponent was White-headed Bob, then unknown to the
London ring, but by no means a novice. This was a good battle, Ward
finishing his man in twenty rounds, nineteen minutes.
The judges now pronounced Ward the best twelve stone man in the ring;
and he, in order to reinstate himself in the good opinion of the
amateurs, inserted three separate challenges in the _Weekly Dispatch_;
but that not having the desired effect, he determined to rusticate for a
few months. He therefore started on a sparring tour with two or three of
his pals. Bath races was the first object. There a match was made
between Rickens, a Bath man, and Jem Ward, for £20 a-side, and a
subscription purse. The battle took place at Lansdown, on Friday, July
2, 1823, Ward winning it without a scratch on his face or body.
Jem and his pals pursued their excursion, and now determined upon
astonishing the natives at Portsdown Fair. A sparring-booth was soon
knocked up for the edification and instruction of the yokels, and the
amusement of the younger branches of the “Green” family, who had never
had an opportunity of witnessing a bout at the Fives Court, in which his
companions gave their assistance. The Black Diamond (who showed himself
a brilliant of the first water) did all he could to accommodate the
numerous customers who wished for a taste of the mufflers. Much mirth
was excited by a “Knight of the Rainbow,” whose length, weight, and
vanity, led him to believe he could polish the Diamond. Jem’s mawley was
constantly rap, tap, tapping on Johnny Trot’s frontispiece, and
occasionally rung the bell of his ear, until poor Trot did not know
whether he had his own hair or a wig on. “Why don’t you look?” says Jem;
“and not wink your peepers in that way.” “Because,” says Sir Rainbow,
“you play so sharp, and I’ll have no more on’t.”
Ward next went to Southampton races to fight a man of the name of
Johnson, _alias_ Jemmy the Black. The battle took place on Shirley
Common, August 24, 1823, and Johnson was beaten to a stand-still in
three rounds—time, seventeen minutes.
These victories induced our hero to think that he might now venture to
show with a good grace in London; accordingly, at the Fives Court, in
September, he informed the amateurs that a nobleman would back him
against Josh. Hudson for £100 a-side. The match was made to take place
at Moulsey Hurst. Ward’s peace was now considered to have been made with
the fancy in general, who were anxious to witness the fine fighting of
our hero, opposed to one of the highest-couraged boxers upon the list;
but, unfortunately for Ward, on November 11, 1823, in the course of
fifteen rounds, occupying thirty-five minutes, he was obliged to strike
his colours to resolute Josh. (See Life of HUDSON).
This defeat was attributed by many to mere want of condition, and his
friends readily came forward to back him for £100 a-side against Phil.
Sampson, the Birmingham Youth.[37] On this occasion Sampson weighed
twelve stone three pounds, height five feet ten and a-half inches; and
Jem weighed but three pounds more, and was of equal stature. The match
was therefore in these respects even. The battle took place on the 21st
of June, at Colnbrook, in the same ring as that in which Barney Aaron
and Arthur Mathewson had just decided their differences. Aby Belasco and
Harry Harmer waited on Sampson: Tom Oliver and Tom Owen esquired Ward.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Ward stood with the left arm extended, and Sampson ready
with both hands. Five minutes passed in sparring—attitudes of both
beautiful. Sampson backed to the ropes. Ward threw out for a draw.
Sampson returned and hit short. Sampson dropped, from a slip. No
mischief.
2.—Sparring again. Sampson evidently afraid of his man. Ward let
fly—stopped; again at the body—stopped. Sampson countered, and
slipped half down. Ward stood over, made up to hit as he rose; but
at the moment Sampson put his hand to the ground and saved his
bones.
3.—Sampson began left and right. Ward broke away in gallant style,
then countered upon him, and tapped the wine-vat. Sampson followed.
Ward met him again. Sampson rolled down. (Three to one on Ward.)
4.—Sampson backed to the ropes, and made up for counter-hitting.
Ward showed fine science to get at him. Sampson let fly; Ward
stopped it, went to work, but Sampson dropped on his knees to avoid
Ward’s wrestling.
5.—Ward closed on him, and played left and right on his head. He
seemed to lay Sampson across his right hip, while he jobbed him with
the left hand until Sampson slipped away and went down.
6.—Sampson made play, and got one hand on Ward’s left eye. Ward hit,
and Sampson stopped well, and tried his long shots, but he could not
make them tell; he then dropped. It was easy to tell how all this
was to end.
7.—Ward made play—whack on the head at both sides, then at the wind.
(“Well stopped, Sampson.”) Ward then hitting out plump, he knocked
him down.
8.—Sampson, furious from punishment, was kept writhing, from the
rapidity of Ward’s blows, up and down. Ward chopped him on the ear,
under the chin, and as he pleased, the blood flowing in a broad
stream. Sampson went down.
9.—Ward broke away from a desperate hit, and Sampson followed,
giving the chance away. Ward met him, and closed for a fall, but
Sampson again dropped. (Six to one on Ward.)
10.—Ward caught him in the wind. Sampson went away nearly doubled. A
good rally. Ward unwise to stand it. Sampson made his right hand
tell a trifle. A close, and open fighting again. Ward’s hand,
darting like a viper’s tongue, scarified Sampson’s face all over.
Ward aimed a settler. Sampson ducked and dropped.
11.—Ward chopped him over his guard on the ear, and then bang on the
nose. Sampson, all blood and bluster, followed him like a savage.
Ward played with him and dropped him easy.
12.—Ward hit him left and right. Sampson down in an instant.
13.—Sampson had no chance. Ward put all his fine fighting aside.
14.—Sampson got Ward into a wild rally. (“Softly, Ward. What are you
at?”) A round hit sent him under, but he jumped up merrily without
his second’s aid.
15.—Sampson made play, but Ward met him and knocked him clean down.
16.—This round was all in favour of Ward.
17.—Ward closed Sampson’s left eye, which blinked a little, and
chopped his ear, while the blood flowed profusely. Sampson all
abroad, looking sick and sorrowful. Down he goes again.
18.—Ward got away from some desperate body blows. Sparring a little.
(“Fight, Jem!” on all sides.) Jem did fight, and threw his man like
a plaything.
19.—Sampson hit out well, but Ward, all coolness, stopped him and
dropped him.
20.—Sampson made play, but was at once felled by Ward.
21.—Sampson down again. Ward without a mark.
22.—Ward began—one, two, both on the head; three on the ribs.
Sampson, nearly up, rushed for a chance. Ward stopped a mill from
him.
For the next three rounds Sampson was brought up but to receive, and
in the twenty-fifth round he gave in, after fighting fifty minutes.
REMARKS.—It was delightful to witness the fine tactics of Ward, who
reminded the spectators of the renowned Jem Belcher. His winning so
easily against a skilful boxer and hard hitter like Sampson was a
great feather in his cap. He won his battle in a style seldom
witnessed, without a scratch. Another report simply adds to its
description, “Ward may be champion if he does the right thing. He is
far the best big man out, as a natural fighter.”
Shortly after this Cannon beat Josh. Hudson (June 23rd, 1824), and as
Josh, engaged Cannon for a second trial, Jem issued a challenge to fight
Langan for £300 a-side. This was not accepted, and Ward put forth
another challenge for the championship, in which we read,—“Having
observed in the sporting journals a great deal about who is entitled to
the championship—some saying it is Langan (who has retired), others that
it belongs to Shelton; while Hudson and Cannon, who are about to fight a
second time, have intimated that the winner of their battle will claim
it,—I beg to inform the public that I will fight any man in England,
Ireland, or Scotland, for £300 a-side; and if I do not meet with a
customer in a month, I shall lay claim to the title myself.” This offer
was not accepted; but his old antagonist, Phil. Sampson, soliciting a
second meeting for £100 a-side, Ward cheerfully closed with the
proposition, and a match was made to come off December 28th, 1824. In
the interim Tom Cannon and Josh. Hudson had fought a second time, and
Cannon had utterly crushed up his brave and broad-bottomed antagonist.
The second mill of Jem Ward and Sampson came off at Perry Lodge, on the
estate of the Duke of Grafton, about four miles beyond Stony Stratford.
The attendance of the London division was not large, but from the
neighbouring counties the muster was numerous. The total of the whole
assemblage is estimated by a contemporary chronicler at 5,000 at the
least; and although heavy rain fell throughout the day, every spectator
remained till the conclusion of the interesting contest. The men arrived
upon the ground about half-past twelve; Paddington Jones again attended
upon Ward, and had upon the same side, as his brother second, Tom
Oliver, known till our own time as the Commissary of the P.R. Peter
Crawley and a Birmingham Friend (not a Quaker) picked up Sampson. Both
men were in excellent condition; Sampson, whose weight was nearly
thirteen stone, is praised for “looking better than in their former
encounter;” we suspect the lack of physiological judgment in the
reporter here, and should say “there was too much of him.” Ward was
twelve stone seven pounds. The betting was anything but brisk—Ward, the
favourite; but his partisans were lukewarm, and the “hardware lads”
wanted long odds.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—The men were brought to the scratch at a quarter to one,
and instantly threw themselves into position. Sampson’s manner was
firm and imposing, and his looks betokened a determination to do his
best. Ward gathered himself into as narrow a compass as possible,
and, throwing his head and shoulders back, worked about his terrific
left hand with an evident intention to bring it into action as
speedily as circumstances would admit, while with his right he kept
a steady guard. Sparring for a short time. Ward let fly his left,
but was stopped. Sampson countered, but was stopped also. Sampson
broke ground, but was again stopped, when Ward rushed to fight, and
caught Sampson on the pudding-trap, rattling his grinders in a very
musical manner. Sampson returned very slightly, and in a close, Ward
was thrown, Sampson on him. Ward picked himself up and laughed.
2.—On coming to the scratch, Sampson showed first paint, from the
larboard corner of his muzzle, but he was still firm and cheerful.
Ward came up steady, and after a short manœuvre threw another
chattering smack on Sampson’s gob with his right. Sampson rushed in
to fight, but was well stopped. In the close, Sampson fell, and Ward
close to him.
3.—All doubts of Ward’s meaning to win had now passed away, and two
to one was offered freely upon him, but no takers. Sampson, anxious
to go in, hit out at Ward’s nob, and caught him slightly. Ward was
with him, and returned with interest. Sampson, not dismayed, went at
him again, and caught him on the face. Ward fell from the slippery
state of the ground, and the force of the blow.
4.—Ward stood for no ceremony, but delivered right and left on
Sampson’s canister. Sampson rushed to a rally, but Ward got away
with his customary activity. Ward then jumped in, was stopped at
first, but repeating his effort, he hit Sampson on the auricular,
and then dropped him by a blow on his frontispiece.
5.—Sampson came up rather open-mouthed, and a little worse for the
paintbrush. Ward commenced fighting, hit out with his left, rather
out of distance, and slipped. Sampson, anxious to take off Ward as
he rose, rushed in. Ward, however, was quickly on his pins, and met
his determined antagonist with a slight tap on his victualling
office. Sampson, in getting away, fell outside the ropes. Ward stood
up fresh and full of spirits.
6.—Good stops on both sides. An excellent rally followed, in which
nozzlers were interchanged. Sampson, in getting away, fell on his
nether end.
7.—Ward came up merry, and Sampson was not a whit less disposed for
mischief. Sampson bored in, but Ward got away. The men came again to
close quarters, when Sampson delivered a slight compliment on Ward’s
snuffler. Ward fell on his knees.
8.—Ward delivered another unpleasant compliment on Sampson’s mouth.
Sampson returned quickly. Ward rushed to in-fighting, when hits were
interchanged, and Ward again fell on his knees. As this latter fall
was supposed to have originated in the desire of Ward to escape
punishment, there were some slight marks of disapprobation.
9.—Sampson came up game, although rather in the piping order. Ward,
after a flourish, once more tapped him on the mouth, and got away.
Sampson followed him up, and on going to in-fighting, Ward again
slipped down.
10.—Ward busy rapping at Sampson’s ivories. Sampson rushed to rally,
but two well-intentioned visitations to Ward’s nob were stopped, and
Ward catching him round the neck, fibbed him severely. It was a
ratti-tat-tat. Sampson fell, and Ward also slipped.
11.—Sampson came up blowing like Boreas. He was determined not to be
idle, and went in right and left. Ward, cautious, caught the blows
on his wrists as they were given, and, in retreating, Sampson
dropped, through the slippery state of the ground.
12.—Ward again took the lead, and hit Sampson a terrific blow on the
nose, which immediately entered into co-partnership with his mouth,
in the claret line. Short sparring. A rally, in which blows were
interchanged, and Ward fell, through a slip.
13.—Oliver was now in the highest spirits, and exclaimed he would
lay ten to one that Ward would not get a black eye. Sampson came to
work a little the worse for wear, and went in manfully to fight, but
Ward stopped him with inimitable skill, and then rushing in,
delivered facers left and right. Sampson fell on his back, and Ward
fell on him.
14.—Sparring for a short time, when Ward again went to work with his
left, and napped it slightly himself on the mouth from Sampson’s
right. A spirited rally followed, in which Sampson received three
flush hits on the nose and lips. Sampson received with the courage
of a lion, and returned on Ward’s head; but Ward was with him again,
and hit him down with a tremendous gobster.
15.—Sampson still preserved his game, and attempted to plant a
left-handed lunge on Ward’s head. Ward parried the blow, rushed in,
and delivered three times in succession on Sampson’s now
disorganized physog. He then jumped away, followed by Sampson, who,
on receiving another tap, went down.
16.—It was now manifest that, however well disposed Sampson might be
to punish his man, he was unable to get at him, and his blows left
but little impression, although we observed a slight tinge of claret
from Ward’s proboscis. This was a short round; Ward, endeavouring to
put in a body blow, over-reached himself, and fell on his hands and
knees.
17.—Sampson put in a slight blow on the side of Ward’s head. Ward
jumped back, but again returned to the charge, hit Sampson on the
sore spot, threw him heavily, and fell upon him.
18.—Ward planted a severe blow on Sampson’s wind, again caught him a
rap on the nose, closed, and threw him, adding his own weight to the
impetus of the fall.
19.—Sampson came up boldly, although more cautious than heretofore.
At last, on coming in, Ward hit him a terrific right-handed whack on
his face, and floored him, in a twinkling.
20.—Sampson rather more on the standoff, from a deficiency of wind,
and a consciousness that he was getting the worst of the
in-fighting. Ward, not disposed to let him remain long in suspense,
rushed and peppered his mug with great severity; and at length
catching him round the neck, fibbed him with effect on the
nut-crackers, and grassed him.
21.—Ward scarcely bore marks of the effects of his engagement,
“And had everything now, as Bill Gibbons would say—
Like the bull in the china-shop—all his own way.”
Two to one was offered on Ward, but no takers; and the Brummagem,
though no counterfeit, was evidently fast on the wane. Still he came
up manfully, and in no way inclined to cry “enough.” Ward, with his
customary caution, met Sampson as he came in, and fought at him with
vigour; when Sampson fell, Ward on the top of him.
22.—Sampson came up groggy. Ward saw his situation, and rushed in.
Sampson fell weak, Ward again on him.
23.—Sampson, although unsteady on his supporters, again went boldly
up, when Ward floored him with a heavy spank on the throttle.
24.—Ward, as fresh as at the commencement, came up cool and
collected. Sampson was almost stupefied. Ward tapped him on the
snuff-box, and again downed him, falling upon him. It was thought it
was all over, and Ward went to shake hands with his friends at the
side of the ring. To the surprise of all, however, Phil. came again.
25.—Sampson tried a rush, and just reached Ward’s head. The latter
laughed and popped in a right-hander on the body, when down went
Sampson. Two more rounds took place, but they were all one way.
Sampson, although the spirit was willing, had not the strength to
carry out his intention, and at length, at the end of twenty-seven
rounds, and thirty-seven minutes and a half, his friends took him
away.
REMARKS.—The reporter adds: Ward, by the result of this battle, and
the manner in which he conducted himself throughout, entitled
himself to the approbation of the fancy, and we trust he will not
now find any difficulty in obtaining backers against a more worthy
opponent. We believe him to be the best fighter in the ring, and we
know not with whom his chance of success would not be equal to his
merits. With regard to Sampson, we should be unjust if we were not
to say that he fought with a bravery and determination worthy of a
better result. His confidence was certainly mistaken; but having
done his best, his backers have nothing with which to charge him. He
is a good man, though somewhat slow, and there are many men in the
ring with whom he may be fairly matched; but with Ward, it was “Mr.
Justice Burroughs’ wig to a farthing rushlight” against him.
This last conquest placed Ward upon “the topmost round of Fortune’s
ladder.” He at once proposed to try his weight of metal and accuracy of
aim against the “Great Gun of Windsor,” Tom Cannon, and thus he framed
his—
“CHALLENGE FOR ONE THOUSAND POUNDS TO THOMAS CANNON.
“SIR,
“I am happy to inform you that my friends possess so much confidence
in me that they have asked me, unsolicited on my part, to have ‘a
shy’ for the championship of England. In consequence of this
unexpected and very liberal support of my backers, I am enabled to
dispute your self-elected right to the above title. My heart is in
its proper place on the subject; my hands are ready to support my
claim; and my legs are on the alert to perform their office, when
called upon, in the hour of battle. It now only remains for you, Tom
Cannon, to name your day to make a deposit; also the time when it
will be most convenient for you to peel, and I to strip; and
likewise the sum you will put down, to set the thing a-going. In
order to show you that it is no bounce upon my part, and that the
sporting world may not be baulked as to a mill between us, to obtain
that pugilistic honour which Tom Cribb so nobly maintained for many
years, Pierce Egan has authority from my friends to make a match on
my behalf for £1,000. A letter addressed to P. E., 113, Strand,
respecting your answer, the blunt will be fobbed out in a twinkling.
“Now, Tom, having made myself perfectly agreeable as to the terms of
your challenge, and which I am sure, must also prove agreeable to
your feelings (as I am well assured you fancy me as a customer), I
have only to add that I sincerely wish you in good health, and
likewise success in all your undertakings, except obtaining the
honour of the championship. On that head I profess myself your
rival; but if the chance of war should prove you the better man, the
£1,000 will be awarded to you, without any grumbling on my part, and
the proud title of champion into the bargain. Till then, Tom, I
remain, with a couple of hands at your service,
“JAMES WARD.
“_February 20, 1825._”
Ward felt highly delighted when the match was made between him and
Cannon for £500 a-side.
We have now arrived at the mill which decided definitively Ward’s right
to the championship. On the 26th of May, 1825, Tom Spring took a
farewell benefit at the Fives Court, when he finally retired from the
ring. After some excellent setting-to, Spring addressed the company, and
took his leave of them in the character of a boxer; and in his address,
he impressed, upon his brother pugilists the importance of integrity. He
said this was the key-stone to their success, and without it they would
find it impossible to preserve the respect or support of their patrons.
In the course of the evening Tom Cannon, after a set-to with Tom Oliver,
came forward and said that he could be backed to fight Jem Ward, who had
challenged him, and would make the match for £500 a-side. He had
promised Mr. Hayne, his backer, that he would never more enter the P.R.,
but that gentleman finding he was extremely anxious to fight Ward, had
not only absolved him from his promise, but, as on former occasions, had
consented to post the coal on his behalf. This declaration on behalf of
Cannon was received with acclamations, and a friend of Ward’s at once
intimated that he would attend at Tom Cribb’s, and make the match.
During the same evening, Peter Crawley also advanced to the edge of the
stage, and said he had intended to challenge Ward, but as Cannon had
been beforehand with him, he would only put forward his claim to fight
the winner. At the meeting at Old Tom Cribb’s, in Panton Street,
articles were duly signed, and the men were sent into training, Cannon
to Henley-on-Thames, and Ward to York. The meeting was fixed for the
19th July, 1825. As the day of battle approached, Cannon removed to
Marlborough, and Ward to Stony Stratford. With regard to weight there
was little difference, Cannon being twelve stone eight pounds, and Ward
twelve stone three pounds.
The celebrity of the battle, combined with a second treat—between Dick
Curtis and Warren—produced many competitors for the honour and profit of
fixing the scene of action, and at length the inhabitants of Leamington
and Warwick wrote and made a liberal offer to the men, if they would
fight in their district. Freedom from interruption was guaranteed, and
the combatants had the choice of the race-course, or an enclosed ground
adjoining a factory, which would contain 10,000 persons, and to which no
person could obtain admission without leave. The latter spot was fixed
upon, and the bustle on the road and in the town was fully equal to that
which was witnessed on the occasion of Cannon’s last fight with Josh.
Hudson. Cannon, accompanied by Mr. Hayne, and some friends, arrived at
Leamington on Sunday evening, but being refused admission to the
principal hotel there, they adjourned to Warwick, from whence, after
dinner, they moved to Stratford-on-Avon. Ward arrived at Warwick the
same evening, and took up his quarters at the Hare and Hounds.
Preparations commenced early on Monday morning, but before they had
proceeded far, the Mayor of Warwick intimated an intention of spoiling
the sport. He said it would be too much to permit two mills during one
mayoralty in his bailiwick, or he would be called the “Fighting Mayor.”
On enquiry it turned out he was influenced in his determination by the
clamours of certain spoilers of sport who are always busy on such
occasions. It was known that his worship was fond of the art pugilistic,
and would not interfere of his own free will. It was represented to him
that the fact of the mill coming off at Warwick would materially benefit
the tradespeople of the town, and other good reasons for
non-interference were also brought forward, but in vain, and at length
it was determined, in order to be on the safe side, that two stages
should be erected, one in the factory-yard originally selected, and one
on a spot not far distant, which was beyond the jurisdiction of the
mayor; and as it was still thought that his worship would not, in
reality, prove “rumbunctious,” it was ordered that the men should meet
at first in the factory-yard, and only resort to the second stage in the
event of necessity.
The bustle in Warwick on Monday night was something extraordinary; every
house in the town was crammed to suffocation. Some of the fancy, who had
been to Stratford, returned with the intelligence that Cannon was in the
highest condition and spirits, but still they were shy of backing him.
What little was done was at five to four on Ward.
On the morning of fighting both stages were complete, and around that in
the meadow beyond the jurisdiction of the mayor, wagons were placed for
the spectators. These vehicles were not required in the factory-yard, in
which there was ample accommodation for every one to see without
difficulty. At ten o’clock the mayor, accompanied by other magistrates,
intimated his final resolution that no fight should take place in the
borough, and consequently there was no alternative but to take advantage
of the second stage. Mr. Hayne arrived in the town at twelve o’clock,
and with the friends of Ward, proceeded to choose umpires and a referee.
Sir John Radford and Mr. Mann officiated in the former capacity, while
Mr. Osbaldeston, “the Old Squire,” obligingly accepted the office of
referee. After this ceremony, a little more betting occurred, at five to
four on Ward, and then a general move took place to the scene of action,
which was about a mile from the town, on the Birmingham road. By the
time the men arrived, there were about 12,000 persons present, including
an unusual number of the patrician class. The heat was intense, the
thermometer standing at 91 degrees in the shade. By half-past twelve the
men were on the ground; they were in first-rate condition, but both were
affected by the heat. They quickly mounted the stage, which was similar
in form to that on which Spring and Langan fought at Chichester. Cannon
was seconded by Tom Spring and Tom Cribb, while Ward was valeted by Tom
Oliver and Jack Randall. On peeling, both seemed thin, and Cannon
appeared to have aged considerably since his last encounter, at least
there was not that ruddy plumpness observable on former occasions. Ward
was fair and sleek as a greyhound, but there was a slight rash on his
body, produced, no doubt, by the heat. He smiled, and had an air of
confidence, which put his friends in high spirits. The toss for corners
was won by Cannon, who was, of course, placed with his back to the sun.
At the moment of setting-to, there was a general bustle, and some
confusion in the crowd, but order was soon restored, and all eyes were
fixed on the stage. The men were brought to the scratch at five minutes
to one, and the seconds and bottle-holders retired to their corners.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Cannon came up as if determined to lose no time in going to
work. The position of Ward was firm; he seemed armed at all points
for defence. Cannon advanced towards his man, broke ground, and hit
right and left. Ward stopped him, retreated, and smiled. Cannon
followed him, when Ward let fly with his right, and caught Cannon
over the eye, and drew first blood. Cannon still busy, came in, but
was stopped with a left-handed hit in the throat, and a ruby tinge
was again visible. A sharp rally followed, Ward retreating,
stopping, and nobbing his man as he came in. At length they closed
and, after a short struggle, went down together. (Cheers for Ward,
who decidedly had the best of the round.)
2.—Cannon came up on the bustling system, and tried for an opening.
Ward stopped him right and left, and, stepping backward a pace,
jobbed him as he approached, with his right hand, over the left eye.
Cannon, not dismayed, took this compliment kindly, and returned
slightly on Jem’s cheek. A sharp rally followed, in which Cannon
bustled to his man, and got to a close. Ward twisted his leg between
the legs of Cannon, and threw him heavily, adding his own weight to
the severity of the fall.
3.—On coming to the scratch, Ward let fly with his left; it was
cleverly stopped by Cannon. Cannon then bored in, and Ward retired
fighting. As he retreated he succeeded in putting in two facers, but
was at length bored down at the rails, and Cannon fell over him.
Ward had a lucky escape from his head coming in contact with the
board which skirted the stage, in this round. Had this accident
happened, in all probability his fate would have been decided. The
chance of such injuries forms one of the strongest objections to
stage-fighting.
4.—On coming up it was seen that Ward had not received a blow which
left a mark. He smiled, and stood to his guard, while Cannon, all
energy, rushed to the attack. Cannon made a right-handed hit, but
Ward was awake, stopped it, and drew back. Cannon immediately rushed
in, and after a short struggle both fell, Ward under.
5.—Cannon again endeavoured to take the lead, but Ward was too
quick, and delivered several facers. Cannon, not discouraged,
continued his assault in gallant style, and finally Ward, in
endeavouring to escape a right-handed blow, slipped down on his
hands. This was claimed by Spring as the first knock-down blow, but
we did not view it in that light.
6.—Cannon renewed the bustling system, but fought wildly, and was
evidently exhausting himself by his own exertions. He missed several
well-intentioned blows, and as he followed his man he was met with a
nozzler. A sharp rally followed, in which Ward received a severe
blow on the side of the occiput, and finally slipped down close to
the posts.
7.—Both came to the scratch panting. Cannon hit out right and left
with great wildness. Ward retreated to the corner of the stage, and
Cannon closed in to him. Ward met him as he advanced with a facer,
but was unable to break away. In this situation they both stood for
a few seconds. Ward fibbed slightly; when at length Cannon threw him
heavily. (Shouts for Cannon; and a bet of £15 to £10 was taken by a
good judge.)
8.—Both men were the worse for their efforts in the last round. The
excessive heat of the sun seemed to oppress them, and, on coming to
the scratch, Cannon, for the first time, sparred cautiously, while
Ward waited for him open-mouthed. At last Cannon broke ground, and
hit Ward under the ear. Jem retreated, but Cannon fought to a rally.
In a close Ward put in a severe muzzler, threw Cannon a heavy fall,
and at the same time dropped upon him.
9.—On Cannon being lifted to his second’s knee, the mischievous
effects of the last fall were obvious; he appeared quite groggy, and
was evidently much exhausted. On time being called, however, he came
up to the scratch with his accustomed game. He lost no time in
rushing to his man, but Ward stopped him with a tremendous blow on
the side of his nut. Ward then retreated to a corner of the ring.
Cannon followed him, and as it were fell into his arms. In this
state they stood for some seconds, and both were apparently
exhausted. Ward smiled, and attempted to fib, but his hand fell
almost powerless. At length Cannon dropped nearly senseless, and
Ward, unable to stand, fell upon him. It was now clear that the game
was nearly up, and five to one was offered on Ward, but not taken.
10.—Cribb and Spring both exerted themselves to restore their man to
animation, but he seemed quite stupefied, and came up reeling as if
tipsy. Ward saw his advantage, and instantly came up, hit him right
and left, on each side of the head, and on the nose, and the poor
fellow dropped to rise no more. He was immediately lifted on his
second’s knee, but was deaf to all encouragement. His head dropped
powerless on his shoulder, and the carmine was seen trickling from
his nose and mouth. Loud shouts of congratulation burst from Ward’s
friends, and he walked to the side of the stage and shook hands with
several of them. He afterwards approached Cannon, and took him by
the hand, but the latter was insensible to his kindly feeling. Ward
then descended from the stage, and mounting his straw tile, he was
placed on a grey pony, and was conducted out of the ring in triumph.
A surgeon who was on the ground mounted the stage and attended to
Cannon, but a full half hour elapsed before his senses were
restored, and he was then so weak that it became necessary to lift
him into the carriage of Mr. Hayne, which was drawn up at the side
of the stage to receive him. The fight lasted but ten minutes, and
the amount of money which changed hands upon the result was immense.
REMARKS.—This battle afforded but little scope for observation, and
still less in the way of a pugilistic treat to the amateurs who were
present. Cannon, from the outset, pursued his bustling system, and
seemed to think that upon that alone depended his chance of success.
By his exertions in this way, however, from the excessive heat of
the day, he only tended to expedite his defeat; and we have no
hesitation in saying that his final overthrow was more occasioned by
exhaustion than by punishment. In fact, on looking at him while in a
senseless state, there appeared to be no very great severity in the
blows which he had received. His principal injuries were to be
attributed to his falls, which were certainly very heavy. Ward
fought throughout with great steadiness, presence of mind, and
caution, and may be said to have won without a scratch; but, like
Cannon, we do not think he could have stood up much longer,
notwithstanding the excellence of his condition. He had two severe
falls, but received only one blow of any importance, which was under
the left ear.
The friends of Ward, in the course of the evening, sent up a message to
Mr. Hayne, at the Swan Hotel, that Ward should fight any man in England
for £500 a-side. Spring, being present, immediately waited on Ward’s
backers, at the Warwick Arms, and said Brown should fight Ward for the
sum mentioned; but Brown was objected to on account of his weight.
Spring then said he would fight Ward for £500 a-side, and come within a
stone of Ward’s weight, and he would put down immediately a hundred
sovereigns to make a deposit. This challenge was not accepted; when
Spring observed, Langan should fight Ward for £500 a-side. However,
after some conversation on the subject, the parties retired without
making any match.
Harry Holt took a benefit at the Fives Court, on Friday, the 22nd of
July, when Ward was introduced. Jem ascended the stage amidst loud
approbation, followed by Harry Holt, who, in a neat, appropriate speech,
introduced the belt, which was put round the body of Ward by Oliver. The
belt consisted of the blue and crimson colours worn at the late fight,
bound with the skin of a tiger. The clasp or buckle was made of
highly-polished steel, encircled with emblematical designs, and in the
middle of the clasp was a heart, worked with gold, on which was engraved
the following inscription:—“This belt was presented to James Ward, at
the Fives Court, St. Martin’s Street, Leicester Fields, on the 22nd of
July, in commemoration of his scientific and manly conquest of Thomas
Cannon, at Stanfield Park, Warwick, on the 19th of July, 1825. This
battle, at the present time, entitles him to the high and distinguished
appellation of the British Champion.” Ward had scarcely got the belt on,
when he said to a friend with a smile, “I have got it, and I mean to
keep it.” Ward, on meeting with Cannon, shook hands with him, and asked
him how he felt himself. “Very well,” was the reply; “the heat licked
me, Jem, and not the blows. The hits that passed between us could
neither hurt you nor me, Jem.” “I feel rather stiffish,” observed Ward:
“it was hot, indeed; and at one time I had no power to strike. They all
talk of fighting me now; but I shall not enter the ring for twelve
months. Let some of the big ones fight—Peter Crawley and Brown; but,
Cannon, if you wish to fight me again, I will fight you when you like.”
“I am very much obliged to you, Jem, for the preference; and if I can
raise the blunt, you may depend upon it I will make another match.”
Harry Holt returned thanks on the conclusion of his set-to with Ward;
and the court was cleared.
A great muster of the heavy betters took place at Tattersall’s, on
Monday, July 25, to receive and pay on the above milling event.
Considerable surprise was manifested throughout the circle, when the
following letters were read by the stakeholder:—
“DEAR SIR,—
“Mr. Hayne has desired me to request you will not deliver up the
stakes of the fight between Cannon and Ward until the umpires and
referee meet to decide the fairness of the battle.
“Yours, etc.
“W. A. CARTER.
“_Furnival’s Inn, July 25, 1825._”
* * * * *
“_Furnival’s Inn, July 25, 1825._
“SIR,—
“In consequence of serious doubts expressed by Mr. Hayne of the
character of the late fight between Thomas Cannon and James Ward,
and those doubts having been confirmed by others, I feel it my duty
as umpire on the part of Cannon, both for the sake of Mr. Hayne and
the sporting world, to request that you will retain in your hands
the stakes until a meeting shall have taken place between the umpire
of Ward, the referee (Mr. Osbaldeston), and myself. The articles
specify, ‘that the stakes are to be given up according to the award
of the umpires and referee;’ and no award having been made on the
spot, I am perhaps justified in begging this short delay. In the
interim I shall expect that any evidence which can be produced to
sustain Mr. Hayne’s doubts will be brought forward. By Monday next
our decision will, no doubt, be accomplished.
“I have the honour to be, etc.
“J. R.”
The delay required, “as to something wrong,” was objected to by almost
every amateur present; it being asserted there was no necessity for
time, as it was the general opinion that a squarer fight had never taken
place in the annals of boxing. After some little argument in the
subscription room on the subject, it was decided that, as the umpires
and referee made no objection at the conclusion of the battle, Ward was
entitled to the stakes, and the stakeholder had a right to give up the
£1,000 to the backers of Ward. Cannon was present, and stated that he
had lost the battle against his will; and, as he went £200 in the
battle-money, he desired, at all events, that sum might be given up to
Ward. An indemnity was offered to the stakeholder, should any legal
proceedings be brought against him. The stakeholder, with much
promptness, immediately gave up the stakes, to the satisfaction of all
sporting men. In consequence of the decision of the stakeholder, some
thousands of pounds changed masters in the course of an hour. The
conduct of the stakeholder prevented shuffling in any part of the
kingdom.
It was generally expected that Jem’s easy conquest of Tom Cannon would
at once bring forward Peter Crawley, to redeem the promise he had made
in print to make a match with the winner. Peter, however, remained
silent; nor did he make any response when Ward issued a challenge to
fight “any man in the world” for £200 or £300 a-side. It was at one time
thought that a match would be made between Ward and Tom Spring—a “tiff”
having taken place between the champions,—but when the thing was
proposed Spring stated that he would not re-enter the ring, and Ward
said he would not fight Spring unless the latter would confine himself
to thirteen stone. No other claimant at this juncture appeared to
dispute Ward’s title to the championship. Wishing to enjoy some
retirement from milling, and, like a star belonging to another stage, to
make good benefits in the provinces, he issued the following notice of
his future intentions:—
“_To the Editor of_ ‘PIERCE EGAN’S LIFE IN LONDON.’
“SIR,—
“It is my intention to start on a sparring tour for a few months. I
beg you will do me the favour, through the medium of your journal,
to inform those who have a wish to meet me in the P.R., that I shall
not be at leisure for seven or eight months. In the interim, the
various aspirants to the championship may contend with each other,
and I shall be happy, at the expiration of the time specified, to
accommodate the winner of the main.
“I am, Sir, yours respectfully,
“JAMES WARD.
“_Mulberry Tree, Commercial Road, July 26, 1825._”
In _Bell’s Life_ of the 2nd of July, 1826, the turn-up with Sampson is
stated to have been the result of a quarrel as to the division of the
proceeds of some sparring exhibition given by the erewhile rivals at
Norwich and elsewhere. It says: “Ten determined rounds were fought, in
which as much mischief was done as in many of those fights which have
cost a hundred miles trot to witness. The superiority of Ward was,
however, conspicuous throughout. He met Sampson’s fierce rushes with
coolness and scientific precision, drew his cork, and floored him in
every assault. Sampson succeeded in planting some heavy facers, and was
even with Ward in the claret way; but still he was overmatched, and
although he proved himself no mean opponent, he was constrained, as he
had been before, to knock under to one who may be fairly pronounced the
most accomplished boxer of the age.”
In the same paper, of the following week, a letter from Sampson appears,
denying the accuracy of the above account, and stating that it was not
caused by a quarrel, but was the result of a mutual agreement to see
which was the better man, and that it took place, with the gloves, at
York. Sampson further affirmed that he had the best of it throughout,
and that he intended again to enter the ring with Ward, when the public
would have an opportunity of judging which was entitled to pre-eminence.
This intention, luckily for the “Birmingham Youth,” he never carried
out, for in two months after he made a match with Ned Neale, the
Streatham Youth, an inferior boxer to Ward, by whom he was defeated in
eleven rounds, occupying sixty-six minutes. (See Life of NED NEALE).
Seventeen months had elapsed, notwithstanding all his challenges and
industry to get a job, before Ward met a customer in the person of Peter
Crawley. During this period Jem was viewed as champion of England. The
backers of Ward having consented that he should fight for £100 a-side, a
match was made between them; and on Tuesday, January 2, 1827, the battle
was decided upon Royston Heath, Cambridgeshire. In twenty-six minutes,
occupying eleven rounds, the title of champion passed to Peter Crawley,
as will be found in the memoir of Peter. The backers of Ward were so
satisfied with his brave conduct, although in defeat, that at Holt’s
benefit, two days after the fight, at the Tennis Court, they offered to
make another match for £1,000. Peter, however, refused, said he would
not fight any more, and left the championship open to those boxers who
wished to fight for it.
In the same paper with the speech of Crawley at the Tennis Court appears
a letter from Ward, in which, after regretting that Peter would not give
him another chance, and declaring that to the accidental blow in the
second round his defeat was attributable, he says, his friends will back
him against any man in England for £200 to £300 a-side. He concludes by
saying, “I still hold the champion’s belt, and certainly shall not
resign it to any man who will not fight for it.”
On Tuesday, the 6th of January, 1827, Ward took a benefit at the Tennis
Court, which was crowded by his patrons, who then bore testimony to
their approbation of his manly conduct in his fight with Peter Crawley.
Ward was anxious to get up a fight with Brown, of Bridgnorth, but as the
latter would not come to the scratch under £500, for the present the
match went off, Ward’s friends not being strong in the shiners to that
extent. The challenge, however, was again sent by Brown, and accepted at
the price by Ward, in May, but went off after much dispute on the point
of fighting on a stage, Brown declining to fight on turf. To this Ward’s
backers would not allow him to agree. Their objection was that a stage
fight with so big a man would be such a manifest disadvantage to Ward,
that it would be throwing away too great a chance. Brown, they urged,
would fight all fifteen stone, while Ward would be twelve stone four
pounds to twelve stone seven pounds; and it must be obvious that on a
stage a heavier body propelled against a lighter must increase the
danger to the latter, as the chances were that the lesser man would more
frequently come in contact with the rails, planks, or skirting boards,
and thus suffer twofold punishment from blows and contusions. At a
meeting at Tom Cribb’s, in April, 1827, they said, “It was true that
Ward himself had no objection to the stage, that he would as soon fight
Brown there, or even in a saw-pit, and it was only to be lamented that
Brown did not show a similar spirit. It was their duty to curb the
natural and courageous impulses of Ward’s heart, and to mix up, on his
behalf, prudence with valour. The stake to be fought for was not only
great in a pecuniary point of view, but great in point of glory, for the
winner would be champion of England. This was a prize of too much
magnitude to be treated lightly, or to be risked without due foresight,
and without equality in point of advantage.” Cribb, on the part of
Brown, could not make the match except on the terms authorised by Brown
himself, and therefore nothing was done. A long angry correspondence,
not worth preserving, ensued, in the course of which Brown offered to
stake £320 to Ward’s £300, if Ward would fight on a stage. Ward, on the
other hand, offered to fight for £100 a-side on a stage, or for £300, or
even £1,000 a-side, on turf. This was declined by Brown. Finally, the
question of superiority was decided in another way. Phil. Sampson
(thrice defeated by Ward), challenged Brown, and beat him, April 28,
1828, after forty-two hard-fought rounds in forty-nine minutes. This, in
the judgment of those who can get “a line” by the comparison of
performances, set at rest the question of the respective merits of Brown
and Ward.
_Bell’s Life_ remarks on this fight: “Brown turned out a blank in the
wheel of fortune. His main dependence seems to be on bodily strength and
a terrific hit with the right hand. These requisites may be fearful when
opposed to a novice, but with a scientific professor they prove of
little avail.” These remarks must convince any one that the big man of
Bridgnorth would have proved a chopping-block for the skilful and ready
Jem Ward.
An accident happened at this period which had nearly deprived the ring
of Jem’s services. On the day after the battle on which Ned Neale (see
Life of NEALE) a second time conquered Jem Burn (November 13, 1827), the
defeated man took a benefit at the Tennis Court, Windmill Street. The
principal sparring bout was between Ward and the gigantic Bob Burn. The
fine science of Jem was greatly admired, and he jumped in and out,
nobbing the big one with both hands till Bob was so hit to a stand-still
as to hold on the rail for support. Another round was called for, when
Jem drove Burn, hitting away rapidly; Burn’s back came forcibly against
the rail of the stage, which broke, and he fell backwards to the floor
of the Court. Jem, who was in the act of delivering, pitched after him
head foremost, and every spectator feared a disastrous result. Jem, who
was lying partly upon Burn, was first picked up. He was partially
stunned by the fall, but soon recovered, and said that, except a
sprained feeling in the back of his neck, and a barking of his shins
over the lower rail which added to the ugliness of his descent, he was
scarcely hurt. Burn escaped with even less injury—“a surprising fact,”
says the reporter, “seeing he weighs sixteen stone. That neither man was
killed, or had broken bones, is astonishing.”
We have seen Jem engaged in all sorts of correspondence with leading
pugilists, especially Simon Byrne and Big Brown, when, at the beginning
of 1828, a challenge appeared from the once-renowned Jack Carter, the
“Lancashire Champion,” a former opponent of Tom Spring. Jem had been on
a tour in Lancashire, and his Liverpool patrons testified their esteem
by giving him a bumper-benefit at the Gothic Rooms, at the close of the
year, and he, together with Dick Curtis, Young Dutch Sam, and Stockman,
reaped a rare harvest in that metropolis of the north at the
commencement of 1828. Being now in capital feather and high favour, he
returned to London, and on Friday, the 28th of February, 1828, a strong
muster of the fancy took place at the Castle Tavern, to witness the
arrangements for the match between him and Jack Carter. Jem, who had
come up from Liverpool to answer Carter’s challenge in person, and who
looked extremely well, was early at the scratch, and was soon after
joined by Carter. Jem said he was ready to post the pony forthwith,
according to Carter’s proposition, to fight for a hundred; but Jack’s
friend having, on reflection, backed out of his original pledge, and all
of a sudden discovered that he liked Ward too well to lay his money
against him, poor Jack was thrown on his beam end. In this dilemma he
proposed to match himself for £50, and trust to fortune to enable him to
get the goldfinches. Ward objected to fight for so small a sum, on the
ground of its letting him down from that station in the ring which he
had hitherto maintained. When being hard pressed, however, and entreated
as a particular favour to oblige his customer, his good nature would not
permit him to resist, and, to the satisfaction of all present, articles
were drawn up and signed, by which it was agreed that the men should
fight for £50 a-side, in a twenty-four feet roped ring, half-minute
time, on the 27th of May, within a hundred miles of London. Ward then
offered to fight Simon Byrne, of Glasgow, who had been “chaffy,” for
£250 to £200, and after this took his departure for Liverpool, where he
had at this period many staunch friends.
Carter had not fought since his battle with Spring, in 1819, and, at the
time of his present match, was thirty-eight years of age. In this
respect of course Ward had an immense advantage, his years only
numbering twenty-seven. In height and weight Carter had the advantage,
in the proportions of five feet eleven inches, and thirteen stone six
pounds, against five feet nine inches and a half, and twelve stone seven
pounds. In science Ward was known to be A1, and of course the odds in
his favour were very considerable. The fight took place on Shepperton
Range, on the 27th of May, 1828, in the presence of a large muster of
the fancy. Ward was seconded by Phil. Sampson and Dick Curtis, and
Carter by Tom Oliver and Young Dutch Sam. On stripping, Ward was in fine
condition. Carter also was in robust health, but his corporation partook
a little too much of civic importance.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Both men looked “unutterable things,” and each approached
the other as if perfectly conscious he had his work to do. Ward
worked his guard, and poised himself on his toes in his customary
form, ready to let fly as an opportunity might offer. Carter stood
erect, hands back on his breast, rather on the defensive than
otherwise. Some time elapsed in mutual caution, Carter getting away,
and keeping out of distance. At last, after nearly four minutes had
elapsed, Carter threw out his left, but Ward was awake and stopped
him. The blow was too short for effect. Twice did Carter try the
same manœuvre, with as little success. Ward now crept in, and caught
Carter with his right on the side of the head. Another little pause,
when Ward again got in, and hit left and right. Carter now fought to
a rally, but hit wildly, while Ward showed great quickness and tact
in in-fighting, planting a heavy blow on Carter’s mouth with his
left. Carter returned slightly on Ward’s cheek with his left, and in
the close was thrown.
2.—More caution on the part of Carter, while Ward worked his left
for a shy. Carter hit out with his left, but it was short, and
stopped, as was another trial of the same sort. Ward now got within
distance, planted his one, two, and three, and catching Carter round
the neck with his left, hit up with fearful precision, gave him
another deep cut on the lip, and floored him. (Five to one on Ward.)
3.—Carter came up bleeding from the lip, and flushed in the face.
Jem was ready, and all on the tip-toe for mischief. Carter again
tried his favourite left hand, but was prettily stopped. Jem made a
feint; but, although Carter left himself open, he did not go in.
Carter kept away for a time, and got away from a well-intentioned
smack from Ward’s left, and smiled. At last Jem stood on no
ceremony, but rushed in right and left, jobbing well on Carter’s
nob. Carter fought with him, but wildly, and received a fresh
visitation to his mouth. In the close for the fall, Carter was
thrown over on his head.
4.—Each stopped a left-handed compliment. Carter at length went in
left and right, in rather a scrambling manner and open-handed. Jem
drew back and jobbed him severely on the mug. Carter caught him
round the neck, but Jem was alive to his opportunity, and his
in-fighting was excellent; he hit up well, and in the close threw
Carter a beautiful cross-buttock, falling heavily upon him.
5.—Carter stopped Jem’s left with great quickness. Jem neatly rushed
in with his one, two, and then drawing back, hit up in admirable
style. Carter broke away, but Jem was with him, and counter-hits
were exchanged. Jem now made himself up for execution, and having
tried his right at Carter’s body, got to a rally, hammering away
with all his might. Carter stood manfully to him, and popped in a
good left-hander on the side of the nose. This roused Jem’s choler;
he rattled in, delivering left and right, and hitting up. A long
struggle ensued for the fall, during which Jem fibbed with great
quickness. Carter got down, Ward falling easily upon him.
6.—Carter hit short at the body, and stopped Jem’s right and left
with excellent precision. He then planted a slight blow on Jem’s
nob. Jem, all alive, saw his opening, and hit away left and right
with the rapidity of lightning, and the activity of a two-year old.
His execution was wonderful, and Carter’s left eye was puffed to a
close; still Jem peppered away, until at last Carter fell on his
knees somewhat groggy.
7.—Carter came up game, but Jem gave him no time for reflection. He
at once rushed to work, delivering with terrific precision, left and
right. Carter was wild in his returns, and on closing was dropped.
8.—(Thirty to one on Ward.) Jem jobbed severely with his right, and
then with his left, drawing more crimson. Carter fought manfully
with him, but without precision. Jem was busy at in-fighting, and in
getting away fell on his back, while Carter remained standing.
9.—Carter stopped Ward’s left and right with good science, but Ward
was quick upon him, made a good left-handed job, and was ready to
let fly, but Carter kept his distance. Carter made a good stop with
his right, but left himself open, and Ward, alive at every point,
went in to work left and right, and again hit up with wonderful
rapidity. Carter fell on his knees, the claret visible from all
parts of his face, his left eye completely dark.
10.—Carter came up strong on his legs, though winded, and stopped
Jem’s left. Jem then closed for in-fighting, and hit as he liked
with telling effect, and Carter was grassed without a hope.
11.—All in favour of Ward, who had it his own way and dropped his
man, after he had hung for a short time on the ropes.
12.—Carter was not to be stalled off; he hit short with his left.
Ward stopped a well-intentioned delivery, but in a second attempt he
was not so successful, as he caught Carter’s left on the nose, and a
slight effusion of blood followed. Jem now rushed in, and catching
Carter round the neck, jobbed and hit up repeatedly. Carter’s arm
got entangled in the ropes, and he tried to grapple Jem; but Jem was
too leary, and continued to pepper him in the face till he fell.
13.—There was now a general cry for Carter to be taken away; but he
would not have it, and again came up strong on his legs. He bored in
wildly, and Ward jobbed him left and right in every direction. The
deliveries were dreadful, and at length poor Jack was hit down.
14.—Carter came up in a melancholy plight. (Cries of “Take him
away.”) Ward went in to finish, hitting left and right, and cutting
away without leaving Carter the shadow of a shade of a chance.
Carter down.
15.—(Renewed cries of “Take him away.”) Carter came up, and was
immediately dropped.
16.—Jem delivered right and left, and hit Carter down weak and
groggy.
17.—Spring and Peter Crawley, who were time-keepers, now entered the
ring, and entreated Carter to give in, but he would not, and having
received additional punishment, was dropped by a flush hit in the
face. It was now clear that to prolong the fight would be
inexcusable, and the referee entreated Carter to desist, as there
was no chance in his favour. “Oh!” said the gallant fellow, “I can
foight longer yet; there’s nought the matter with me.” The _primâ
facie_ evidence of the contrary was so obvious, however, that his
seconds being convinced it would be inhuman to suffer him to be
further exposed to the severity of Ward’s hitting, gave in for him,
to the general satisfaction of the spectators, who, although they
could not but admire Carter’s game, felt that the seconds performed
their duty in the humane course they had adopted. The fight lasted
thirty-two minutes, and Ward, on shaking hands with his vanquished
opponent, generously forewent a claim to a purse of £5 3_s._ 6_d._,
which had been collected previous to the fight. Such was the
favourable impression which Carter’s conduct had made in the ring,
too, that a further subscription was made, which increased the
original sum to £16.
REMARKS.—Few remarks are necessary where the moves were all one way.
Ward had the lead throughout, and may be said to have won without a
scratch; in fact, we do not think he ever had an easier, but we must
add, a gamer customer. Youth and science completely served age, and
poor Jack showed that in matching himself with such a man as Ward he
had suffered his imagination to get the better of his judgment. His
punishment was entirely about the head, and he walked from the ring
with great firmness, being still quite steady on his legs, a proof
that he had paid every attention to his training.
Some few months after his defeat of Carter, Simon Byrne, then “Irish
Champion,” challenged Ward to fight upon a stage. To this Ward’s friends
could not consent, contending that a champion was not bound to grant any
unusual terms to his challengers, and that the modern and fairest
practice was to fight on turf. After some correspondence, Ward gave way,
and a match was made, to come off on the 8th of September, but went off
by a default of Simon’s backers, who forfeited £50 to Ward. A second
match was made at Tom Spring’s, on the 1st of October, to fight on a
stage for £150 a-side, on the first Tuesday in February, 1829. This also
went off, and a third was made for £100, to be decided on March 10,
1829, Byrne consenting to Ward’s terms. This event proved another shadow
on Jem’s career, which, were we not honest chroniclers, we would have
omitted, as other biographers have done. By this _suppressio veri_,
however, men’s lives cease to “point a moral,” however they may “adorn a
tale.”
The 10th of March, 1829, arrived in due course, being nearly one year
from the first challenge. We will not trust our own pen on this
occasion, but rather give the account fresh and fiery as it came forth
at that period.[38] It is headed thus:—
“HOAX UPON THE FANCY.—JEM WARD AND SIMON BYRNE.—DISGRACEFUL SCENE AT
LEICESTER.
“Our readers are all aware that the fight between Jem Ward (the
champion of England) and Simon Byrne (the champion of Ireland,
although acting under Scotch auspices, for he was generously backed
by certain liberals at Greenock) was fixed to take place on Tuesday
last, at the Cricket Ground, Leicester. It would be tedious to
recall to the recollection of our readers all the ‘fine spun’
correspondence which preceded this match, or to reiterate the terms
of abuse in which each man addressed his opponent. It ought not to
be forgotten that Ward, or his friends for him, assumed the title of
‘Champion of England,’ and that the would-be Champion of England—the
most accomplished boxer of the age, and the darling of the East—was
publicly charged by Irish Byrne with being a coward! To the honour
of the British ring this could not be endured, and, at last, out
came Ward’s friends to back him for £150. We pass by the
disinclination of the Wardites to go towards Glasgow, and the spirit
with which Byrne conceded, and agreed to fight within a hundred
miles of London; but we cannot forget the avidity with which Ward’s
friends grasped a forfeit of £50, because Byrne’s deposit came a day
too late, nor avoid contrasting the conduct of the northern fancy
with that of those of the south, by reminding our readers that the
distinct request of Byrne’s friends was, that no such advantage
should be taken of Ward. Suffice it to say that, after the forfeit
of £50, the match was renewed for £100 a-side, and that Jem went
into training, determined, as he said, and his real friends
anticipated, on taking ample vengeance on the bouncing Patlander,
who had dared to brand him with the epithet of coward. Indeed, so
strong was the provocation that, many of Ward’s admirers looked on
nothing more certain than that, in the very first round, Byrne would
have been burst like a mealy potato.
“The morning of Monday was ushered in by much bustle at Leicester.
The Fair Play Club, Tom Oliver, the commissary of the ring and his
_suite_, the _élite_ of the fancy, and the most distinguished
amateurs thronged the streets. Other matches were made, and all
appeared in high spirits; ‘but,’ says Mr. Vincent Dowling, ‘during
all these scenes, we were surprised to observe the apathy which
prevailed in the betting circles: scarcely a bet was offered, and
nothing less than five to two on Ward would be taken, while few
seemed disposed to risk such odds. There was, in truth, a mysterious
backwardness on all hands, which we could not comprehend.’
“The morning of Tuesday at last broke, and a finer day was never
witnessed at this season of the year. Every hour brought fresh
accessions to the visitors in the town, and horsemen and carriages
came rattling in from every point of the compass. Among the former
were most of the distinguished members of the hunts in the
neighbourhood of Melton Mowbray, whose scarlet costume and
high-mettled cattle as they dashed through the streets gave a
sporting feature to the assemblage peculiarly in character. The
bustle and crowd in Leicester increased to a ferment: hundreds were
assembled in front of the sporting houses. All calculated on a
glorious day’s sport, and in turn ventured an opinion on the merits
of the combatants; but still scarcely a betting man would open his
mouth, either to offer or take the odds on the event.
“The Fair Play Club’s ropes and stakes were pitched by Tom Oliver,
and a capital ring formed in the cricket ground. Anxiety now
prevailed for the arrival of the men; that on the part of Ward was
soon dissipated by his entering from a gate at the lower end of the
ground in a carriage drawn by four horses. He alighted amidst the
congratulations of his friends, and was conducted to the house of a
private gentleman, which opened by a back way to the cricket ground.
Simon Byrne arrived at an early hour in a fly with Tom Reynolds, and
was soon attended by Tom Spring, who had agreed to act as his
second.
“An interference on the part of the magistrates disturbed at this
time the arrangements of the ring, and Tom Oliver took up the stakes
and toddled to Humberston, within ten miles of Leicester. At the
same time that Oliver received his directions, the post-boys of
Ward’s carriage were also desired to draw up to the door, for the
purpose of taking him to the ground. So far not a hint had escaped
that any impediment existed to the fair decision of the fight
according to the articles.
“During all these arrangements a number of gentlemen, and several
persons connected with the betting circles, were congregated as a
sort of council in a garden behind the house in which Ward was. In
this garden was a privy, and to this privy Ward was seen to proceed,
attended by Peter Crawley, who seemed to keep a steady eye on his
motions. We spoke to him as he came out: he said he was very well,
and again returned to the house. Shortly after this Crawley came
forth by himself, and a consultation of a private nature took place
between him, the gentleman who brought Ward down, and one or two
other persons, which ended in Spring, the stakeholder, and the
reporters of the London papers, being called into a private room.
Peter Crawley now said he could no longer withhold the fact that
Ward was unfit to fight, and had determined not to enter the ring
that day. Had a thunder-bolt burst among the auditors it could not
have produced more astonishment or dismay than this declaration.
Crawley went on to say that Ward had told him he had passed a pint
of blood on his last visit to the garden. To this all were
disinclined to give credit, and Crawley, who saw he was on tender
ground, did not persevere in this assertion, but remarked he was
sure something was wrong, and that, in fact, Ward could not win the
fight on the one hand, and would not lose it on the other, from a
sense of duty to those gentlemen who had behaved so kindly to him.
He then talked of some message which Ward had received on the
previous day, the nature of which he did not know, and in fact spoke
so undecidedly that no clear understanding could be formed on the
subject. Ward was then called in and interrogated, when he repeated
Crawley’s story of the blood, and said he was not fit to fight for
twopence. He denied having received or having been promised any
money to lose the fight, but said he knew some of his friends would
lose thousands by the result, and he thought it was better not to
put either his backers on the one hand, or those who had taken the
odds on the other, in jeopardy. It was in vain to endeavour to
elicit more: all he added was, that ‘he could not win, and would not
lose.’ As the only alternative, it was then determined by his
backers that he should forfeit the money down.
“Thus ended this extraordinary bubble. Ward was left to the
enjoyment of his brandy and water; and those who had an interest in
the remaining sports of the day set out for the ring, around which
twelve or fourteen thousand persons of all degrees had already
assembled, including at least two thousand horsemen, all of whom,
being ignorant of Ward’s conduct, were anxiously awaiting his
arrival. Upon this affair observation would be superfluous, as all
must agree that it admits of no apology, although Ward, having got
himself into the hobble, perhaps did that which, under the
circumstances, was best. It was a question with him, too, whether he
would have been permitted to lose the fight, for there was a party
present who were backing him, and who, their suspicions being
aroused, would not have failed to manifest their feelings by acts of
violence.”
Thus far the leading sporting paper of the time. Heavy was the
visitation on Ward for his misconduct from all quarters. His backers
left him, his friends forsook him, the Fair Play Club expunged his name
from their list, and the supporters of the ring, to a man, turned their
backs upon him. His name was never heard until the August of the same
year, when a gentleman proposed to back an anonymous person against
Byrne for £500 a-side. The challenge was accepted by Byrne’s friends,
but they barred Ward; and as the party alluded to turned out to be Ward,
the challenge went off amidst groans and hootings. Byrne, however, got
“chaffy,” and offered to have a turn-up with Ward wherever he met him,
for love, not for money. Ward, in reply, insisted on fighting for a sum,
and Byrne retorted by an historical sketch of Ward’s conduct and
character, not in the brightest colours, concluding with a threat to
“treat him as a street ruffian” whenever he met him.
This nettled Jem so excessively that he answered in a letter from
Southampton, and offered to fight guineas to pounds, and as Byrne
objected to meet him in the ring, he said, in conclusion, “I will fight
him in a saw-pit or on the outside of a coach.” More letters of the same
kind followed in their turn, Byrne still taunting Ward, but declining to
meet him in the ring. Ward now found a strong advocate in a party who
wrote under the signature of an “Old Patron of the Ring,” and public
opinion took a slight turn in his favour.
On St. Patrick’s day, 1830, Simon Byrne had a benefit at the Tennis
Court, and took the opportunity, being in high spirits and excellent
humour, to propose a fight with Ward. The challenge was eagerly
accepted, and the men met the next evening at the Castle to “post the
coal” and settle the preliminaries. Ward and Byrne shook hands and took
a drop together to make things right, after which it was agreed that the
match should be made for £200 a-side. A previous battle between Byrne
and M’Kay coming in the way, it was agreed that Jem and Simon should
have their grand turn-up four months afterwards. The second deposit was
made good on the Friday following, when Ward expressed great anxiety to
prove, by his conduct in this contest, his wish to secure the respect
and confidence of the sporting world.
The fatal fight between M’Kay and Simon Byrne came off on Wednesday, the
2nd of June, and terminated in the defeat and death of poor Sandy M’Kay,
and the consequent arrest of Byrne. The following Wednesday had been
appointed for making the third deposit on the match between Ward and
Byrne. The friends of both parties attended with the money, but Simon’s
backers suggested that the stakes should be drawn, as it was not decent
to carry on arrangements for another fight while one pugilist was lying
dead, and the victor, a party to the present match, in prison on a
charge of manslaughter. Ward’s friend, however, claimed forfeit if the
cash was not put down, and Simon’s party thereupon paid up the deposit,
the match still standing for October the 5th. Ward, however, in the next
week, despite his greedy adviser, agreed to withdraw the stakes,
receiving £10 for his trouble, and the match was altogether off,
thereby, as was said at the time, obtaining by his conduct the
approbation of every honest man. Simon Byrne stood his trial, was
acquitted, and duly feasted and dinnered by the sporting world. Ward
renewed the challenge immediately for £100, but £200 was required by
Byrne, and much ink-shedding, but no battle, ensued. Pugilistic
protocols again passed between the parties, but still, as Byrne wanted
£200, and Ward could not get it, the fight was as far off as ever, and
thus ended the year 1830, Ward having now rested three years without a
round.
At last, however, but not without another preliminary misunderstanding,
the match which “_did_ come off” was made at the Castle, Holborn, on
Tuesday, March 17, 1831 (St. Patrick’s Day). The tin was posted, the
articles formulated and signed, and the whereabouts fixed. Ward was to
fight Byrne in a twenty-four feet ring, half-minute time, for £200
a-side, on Tuesday, the 12th of July, within a hundred miles of London,
on the road to Liverpool. There was a clause, that if any money should
be offered for the honour of the combat it should be equally divided
between the men. Such an offer was made from Warwick to the amount of
£60, and accepted; and, in consequence, the men received orders to shape
their course in that direction—Ward from Liverpool, where he had taken
his exercise, and Byrne from Norwood, where, under the surveillance of
Ned Neale, he had taken some degree of training. That he had not done
sufficient work, the following remarks, taken from _Bell’s Life in
London_, will sufficiently show:—
“Both men were far beyond their weight when the match was made, topping,
perhaps, not less than fifteen stone each, and to the reduction of this
Ward immediately applied himself, by constant exercise; while Byrne
remained in Ireland till within six weeks of the day of action, without
taking any steps to qualify himself for the important task he had in
view, and at that time arrived in London with all his work before him.
That this was imprudent no judge will deny, and the consequence was,
that a week before fighting he was full a stone heavier than he ought to
have been; and even on the Thursday previous to entering the ring he
took a sweat, which reduced the strength he then possessed and gave a
shock to his system which common prudence should have induced him to
avoid. On Sunday also he got drenched to the skin in a shower of rain,
and caught a cold, from the effects of which he laboured on entering the
ring. Ward, on the contrary, neglected nothing which either sense or
judgment could dictate, and could not have been in better trim. We state
these things as matters of fact, forming some apology in the minds of
Byrne’s friends for his defeat; but we have no hesitation in saying, had
he been as well as skill and strict training could make him, he would
have had no chance against the matchless tactics of his antagonist, who
fully realized the high opinion that had been formed of him.”
It being known that Warwick was the fixture, an extraordinary number of
patrons of milling betook themselves to that celebrated fistic locality
several days before that appointed for the contest. On the Saturday,
however, a meeting of “beaks” took place, at which it was resolved to
stay proceedings, either in the town or county, and a polite justice
called upon Tom Spring, who was in attendance on Byrne, to inform him of
the determination of those in authority. It being clear that their
worships were in earnest, a council of war was held, when it was
determined that as the inhabitants of Warwick had given the men £60, the
affair should be settled as near as possible to the town, without
infringing upon the bailiwick of those who had interfered. Accordingly
the neighbourhood of Stratford-on-Avon, a very few miles distant, was
selected, and in a field at Willeycutt an admirable ring was formed by
Tom Oliver and his then assistant, the renowned Frosty-faced Fogo. There
was a good gate to the field, at which a considerable sum was collected.
As it was not known in London and elsewhere that Warwick had been
tabooed, that town, despite the officiousness of the “blues,” reaped
considerable benefit from the mill, since almost all the cognoscenti
betook themselves thither on the Saturday and Monday, and sojourned
there until the morning of fighting. This was exceedingly fortunate for
the inhabitants, who were thus in some degree enabled to repay
themselves the sum they had disbursed to induce the men to come into
their district. The interest was not quite so strong as it had been on
the occasion of the fights between Cannon and Hudson, and Ward and
Cannon, but still the muster was very great, and on the morning there
was such a demand for vehicles as far exceeded the supply; in fact so
great was it that poor Simon Byrne was compelled to proceed to the
ground in a mourning coach, which was looked upon by the superstitious
as a most decided ill omen. The morning was anything but favourable for
milling: the rain descended in torrents from an early hour until twelve
o’clock, soaking many of the “toddlers” to the skin. Happily, however,
at this period the clouds disappeared, and left the sky free from speck,
a change which had an immediate effect in raising the spirits of the
company.
At five minutes past one o’clock, Ward, attended by Harry Holt and Peter
Crawley, flung his castor into the ring amidst the deafening cheers of
his friends. The brave Irishman was not long after him, and on entering
the arena, attended by Spring and Tom Reynolds, he also received a warm
welcome. The betting at this time was £300 to £200 on Ward. On the
latter being completely unshelled, he looked in admirable condition. His
countenance was clear and healthful, and his eye bright and playful; his
deep chest and broad shoulders gave him the appearance of prodigious
strength, while the general symmetry of his person presented a fine
study for the anatomist. He had evidently paid great attention to his
training, for, despite the immense reduction he had undergone—from
fifteen stone to twelve stone eight pounds—his vigour and muscle were
unimpaired.
On turning to Byrne there was a wide contrast. He was heavier than Ward
by a stone; but this bulk was more to his prejudice than in his favour,
for it threw a shade of sluggishness over his form that forbad the
impression of active vigour: the fat hung in loose collops over his
drawers, and his full habit of body showed that he was not the thing;
still he assumed an air of confidence, and prepared for action with a
smiling mug.
The men and their seconds having crossed mawleys, and umpires and a
referee having been selected, the heroes were left at the scratch to
commence—
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Both men stood on their guard, eyeing each other with
steadiness, and each waiting for the other to commence. Byrne made a
slight dodge with his left, but Ward was prepared. Byrne held his
right low, and his left ready for a counter-hit. Ward made a feint
with his left; Byrne drew back alarmed. Ward now covered his man in
good style, and gradually drove him back to the corner of the ring.
Byrne was ready for the assault, when Ward, quickly playing with his
right and left, rushed in to hit. Byrne stopped the blows and
closed, when both tried the fibbing system. Byrne hit up slightly,
and Ward caught him on the mouth. In the close and try for the fall
both went down, and on rising Byrne showed first blood from a slight
scratch under the nether lip. Shouts for Ward, who showed a slight
flush on the chin and right ear.
2.—Ward came up all life and smiling. Byrne steady on his guard, his
right still low, and his left ready for countering. Jem made play to
try his man. Byrne again gradually retreated to the corner, when Jem
made himself up for mischief, rattled in, and planted his left on
Byrne’s mouth. A short rally followed, in which Ward had the
advantage; and in the close Byrne went down to avoid in-fighting.
3.—No great harm done on either side. The friends of Ward on the
chaffing system, and exclamations of “We want no Irishman for
champion.” Byrne’s friends called on him to be leary; he smiled, and
said, “don’t bother me.” Ward stretched out his left and nearly
reached Byrne’s face, but Byrne still kept his right down. “He’ll
stand it,” cried Dick Curtis, when counters were exchanged from the
left. Ward stopped Simon’s blow, but popped in his own. A short
rally, in which Ward stopped beautifully, and closed. Byrne would
not have it, and got down.
4.—Ward made a feint with his left. Byrne steady on his guard, but
made no attempt to commence fighting. Ward again made play, left and
right, and darting in, planted his left on Byrne’s mug. In the
counter-hitting which followed, Byrne was too short, and his right
no use. He caught it again on his muzzle, and fell on his knees.
Ward hit up with his right as he was going down, and Byrne showed
more claret from his mouth.
5.—Cheers for Ward, who evidently out-fought his man; and Byrne gave
symptoms of timidity, his legs trembling under him. Ward again made
a feint with his left, and Byrne drew back. Ward smiled. Byrne tried
his left, but was stopped with great precision. He then hit round
with his right, but Ward caught it on his shoulder, and got away
laughing. Counter-hits with the left, Ward getting home first, and
drawing more blood from Simon’s mouth. Byrne’s left was short of its
mark. Ward again planted his left and rushed to in-fighting. Byrne
was confused, and went down amidst cries of “Stand up and fight like
a man.”
6.—Jem exhibited his generalship in fine style, and Byrne could make
nothing of him. Again did Ward pop in his left on Byrne’s nose, and
got away. A sharp rally, in which both stopped well. In getting
away, Ward fell on his knees, but was up in a moment and at it
again; popped in his left twice in succession on the old spot. Byrne
weak on his legs; Ward all alive. In the close, Byrne down, amidst
renewed cries of “Cur!” Byrne saw he had no chance in the close, and
was coming the cautious.
7.—It was clear Byrne could not hit his man, who was always so well
covered as to render assault dangerous. Byrne looked bothered, and
was evidently alarmed for the result. The ruby was flowing from his
nose and mouth. He stopped Ward’s left cleverly, and tried his right
on Ward’s canister, but Ward caught it on his shoulder, which he
threw up so as to cover his lug. Jem jobbed twice in succession with
his left. Byrne’s left, in attempting to counter, fell short. Jem
stopped right and left. Byrne open-mouthed. Jem again busy with his
left. A rally, in which slight hits were exchanged right and left,
and Jem fell on his inexpressibles. The first knock-down blow was
here claimed for Byrne, but disputed. The referee, we understand,
pronounced it a knock-down.
8.—At the commencement of this round a wag let go a crow from a bag,
which flew across the ring. Some cried “a pigeon,” others “a crow,”
and a Hibernian praty-dealer exclaimed, “Oh, by Jabers, you’re not
going to _crow_ over us neither.” Loud laughter from all parts of
the ring. Ward stopped a left-handed compliment, and smiled; he then
popped in a left-handed snorter; but Byrne, in return, caught him a
heavy body blow with his right. Ward popped in his left twice in
smashing style, and in a third visitation of the same sort hit Byrne
down. This was proclaimed a decided knock-down blow.
9.—Byrne weak, and bleeding profusely. Ward jobbed him with his left
several times in succession with great severity. Byrne, still game,
tried to plant his left and right, but was beautifully stopped. A
rally, in which Ward, busy as a bee, planted right and left, hit up
with his left, and, as Byrne was going down, caught him across the
throat with his right, and dropped him on his seat of honour.
10.—The fight had now lasted twenty-eight minutes, and Jem had not a
mark visible, save on the chin, and a trifling effusion of blood
from the gums. Byrne tried his right, but Jem up shoulder and
stopped him. Jem now made play, and in went his left at the mouth
and nose and no mistake. Byrne tried to return, but was stopped, and
in the close Byrne went down weak.
11.—Jem walked strong from his second’s knee. Byrne tried his right
at the mark, but Jem caught it on his elbow, and Byrne having
dropped his head, he caught him cleverly an upper-cut as he
recovered himself. Byrne was broken-hearted from the scientific way
in which he was stopped, but again tried a rally, in which he
received pepper left and right, and in the close went down weak.
(Cries of “Byrne, you’re a game fellow, but you haven’t a chance.”)
This was obvious, but still Byrne’s friends looked forward to Ward
becoming weak.
12.—The punishment had been heretofore all on Byrne’s mouth and
nose, and they continued to bleed freely. Ward caught a visitation
on his mouth, amidst cries of “Well done, Byrne.” A rally, in which
Byrne missed his hits, but received on the nose, and went down by
the ropes.
13.—Ward ready, and determined not to throw a chance away. Byrne
tried a body blow, but was stopped, receiving in return a smasher on
the nose—more claret. Jem’s shoulder again shielded his lug from a
visitation. Counter-hits: Ward’s told first, and Byrne’s was
stopped. Byrne rushed in; Ward hit up heavily, but missed, and Byrne
went down.
14.—Thirty-three minutes had now elapsed, and Jem showed slight
symptoms of fatigue. (“Take your time,” cried his seconds, “the day
is long, and you must win without a scratch.”) Byrne appeared to
have got his second wind, and went in with spirit, but was stopped
right and left. Ward was busy with his left, and again stopped a
right-hander with his shoulder. A short rally, in which Byrne was
unable to plant a blow, but was hit down with a flush hit from the
left. (Twenty to one on Ward, which Neale offered to take, but no
go.)
15.—Ward made a feint with his left, and the next instant popped it
in in good earnest. Counter-hitting. Byrne could not get home, and
had it smartly on his mouth. Several left-handed jobs, and a
dreadful upper-cut from Jem, when Byrne went down groggy.
16.—Byrne tried, the left at the body, but missed, and went down
without a blow.
17.—Jem jobbed twice with his left, and got away. Byrne’s hits were
well meant, but out of distance. Byrne received an upper-cut from
the left, and went down.
18.—Ward, all confidence, had recovered his temporary weakness.
Byrne tried his left, but was stopped. Jem, after his feint, popped
in his left three times, and Byrne was dropped.
19.—Counter-hitting with the left. Ward’s blows told, but Byrne’s
were short. Jem stopped right and left, and got away. Byrne was
completely puzzled, and did not know what to be at. Jem tipped him a
left-hander. Byrne once more tried the right, but Jem’s shoulder was
in the way, and he laughed at the impotent attempt. A rally, which
ended in Byrne being hit down by Ward’s right.
20.—One hour had now elapsed. Ward was as fresh as a kitten,
completely belying the rumour that he could not stand forty-five
minutes. Poor Byrne received several severe jobbers, and went down.
21.—Things were now apparently fast drawing to a close. Ward did as
he liked, hitting left and right. Byrne down.
22.—It was now admitted on all sides that Byrne showed game. He
would not be taken away; and after receiving additional jobbers, was
hit down, catching the upper-cut as he fell. (“Take him away,” was
the general cry.)
23.—Byrne made a bold effort to get a turn in his favour, and rushed
to a rally, but his opponent was too good a general, stopping him at
all points, and returning with great severity; in the end hitting
him down with a sweeping blow from the left.
24.—Jem tapped his man with his left. Byrne nodded, showing that he
was still in hopes. Byrne made play with unexpected vigour, but Jem
out-generalled him, popped in his left-hand teazer, and dropped him.
25.—A guinea to sixpence on Ward. Byrne made a desperate effort, and
left-handed counters were exchanged, Byrne catching Ward on the
throat. (Cheers for Byrne, and the Wardites astonished.) Byrne
fought away, and gave Ward his work to stop him. He at last fell
from a left-handed nobber.
26.—Byrne rather exhausted by his exertions in the last round, but
still determined to do his best. Hits were exchanged—slight on the
part of Byrne, but heavy from Ward; and in going down, poor Byrne
received a heavy upper-cut.
27.—Ward’s friends again up in the stirrups, twenty to one going a
begging. Ward ready at all points and full of confidence. Byrne a
heavy receiver, and hit down with a flush tap in the mouth.
28.—Ward, fresh and jolly, hit with his left twice. Byrne bored in,
and tumbled Ward down at the ropes, falling upon him.
29.—One hour and ten minutes had now elapsed, and Ward, instead of
getting weaker, gained strength, showing the excellence of his
condition. Byrne got away from a left-handed finisher. In a new
attempt he was caught. He popped in his left at Ward’s bread-basket,
but as he went down had a left-handed upper-cut.
30.—Counter-hits with the left on the mouth; both told, and were
allowed to be the best exchanges yet made, all before being on the
side of Ward. Byrne went down, but Ward caught him as he fell with a
left-handed muzzler.
31.—A slaughtering round for poor Byrne, who had it repeatedly on
the mouth with the left, and in going down received the upper-cut
from Ward, who was never astray.
32.—Byrne greatly distressed. Ward went in to finish; planted his
left three times. Byrne down.
33 and last.—Byrne now came up to make his last effort, but he was
too far gone to make a change, and this more from exhaustion than
hard hitting, for the blows were not delivered in dangerous places;
still he was constantly receiving, and now again he had pepper in
abundance, without being able to make any adequate return. In going
down, Ward made a desperate back-handed offer with his right, but
missed. It was clear to Spring and Reynolds that their man had no
chance, and they prudently acknowledged Ward to be the better man.
Jem immediately gave an active bound, shook hands with his fallen
foe and his friends, and quitted the ring amidst loud cheers. The
fight lasted one hour and seventeen minutes.
REMARKS.—Thus ended Ward’s last battle for the championship of
England, to which it may now be said Byrne had not the slightest
pretensions. He had the vanity to hold his antagonist too cheap,
and, unfortunately, deceived his friends, who followed his example.
Ward, throughout, proved himself a consummate general, and never
gave his opponent a chance, nor did he himself throw a chance away.
He fought skilfully and scientifically, and has fulfilled that high
character of his talents which was never doubted. Byrne proved
himself an easy customer: he was clearly not in tip-top-condition;
but it was never in his nature to beat a man like Jem Ward. He must
now look for a second-rate customer, and profit by experience. That
he is a game man at receiving, no one will doubt; but he was clearly
afraid of his opponent after the first few rounds. It puzzled his
friends to account for his never trying to stop Ward’s left, nor to
rush to a ruffianing fight; but the fact was, his spirit was broken,
and he had not his wits about him. He says, after the third round
his arms felt as heavy as lead, and that he never was so
transmogrified before. It is a singular fact that neither of the men
had a black eye; neither had an external cut worth mentioning; nor
was there a single good fall or cross-buttock throughout the fight.
Byrne was beaten solely by exhaustion and repeated slaps on the nose
and mouth, which would not have prevented his coming again had such
a step been wise.
The men reached London on Wednesday night, Ward without a scratch, and
Byrne only exhibiting a swollen mouth and nose, rather a surprising
state of his phiz considering the repetition of Ward’s left-handed jobs.
On the Thursday following the fight Jem Ward was presented with a second
champion’s belt by Tom Spring, at the Tennis Court, Windmill Street, on
the occasion of Reuben Martin’s benefit; and on the following evening,
when the battle-money was given up, he (Ward) offered to make a match to
fight any man in the world for any sum from £100 to £500 a-side. This
challenge was not accepted. Young Dutch Sam, however, offered to fight
Ward if the latter would confine himself to twelve stone, and stake
odds; but of course, as Ward could not so far reduce himself, the offer
was not accepted. On the 25th of June, 1832, Jem wrote a letter to the
editor of _Bell’s Life in London_, in which he stated that he had taken
the Belt public-house at Liverpool, that it was his intention to retire
from the ring, and to hand over the champion’s belt to the first man who
proved himself worthy of it. Several challenges were subsequently issued
to Ward, but none of them ever led to any meeting, and Jem adhered to
his intention of not again entering the prize ring. He carried on
business as a tavern keeper, first at the Star and then at the York
Hotel, Williamson Square, Liverpool. In 1853, Ward removed to London,
and became host of the Rose, in Jermyn Street. This speculation proving
unsuccessful, his friends placed him in business at the Three Tuns, in
Oxford Street, renamed the Champion’s Stores. Thence Jem Ward removed to
his native locality, the east end of London, becoming landlord of the
George, in Ratcliff Highway. The generation, however, who knew Jem as
“the Black Diamond,” had passed away, and Ward once again migrated
westward, this time opening the theatrical house, opposite Old Drury,
known by various signs, and then as the Sir John Falstaff, in Brydges
Street, a name now merged in Catherine Street, of which it is a
continuation. We last saw Jem at the ring-side, looking, as a daily
paper observed, “like a grey-moustached half-pay major,” at the wretched
burlesque of a championship-fight, performed by Jem Mace and Joe Goss,
at Farningham, Kent, on the 17th of May, 1866.
We must not omit to note that Ward possessed an inborn gift of artistic
talent. His favourite pursuit was the wielding of the painter’s brush
and maulstick. On several occasions Ward’s pictures were received with
credit at the Liverpool Exhibition, and were mentioned approvingly by
the public journals as displaying a remarkable degree of natural talent;
so much so that an art critic wrote, “had Ward devoted himself to the
study and practice of painting in his earlier years he would doubtless
have attained eminence.” The writer, on his visit many years ago to
Williamson Square, inspected in Jem’s studio, paintings (some sea-pieces
especially) which bore marks of peculiar talent and no mean skill in
manipulation. At this time too (she has retired from professional life),
Miss Eleanor Ward, a pupil of Sir Julius Benedict, was fast rising in
public esteem to the first ranks of pianoforte performers in the best of
our concert-rooms. Ward’s hobbies, painting and music, adopted late in
life, we fear injured his worldly calling as a sporting boniface, and,
after several failures, he retired, by the assistance and votes of his
friends, into that admirable institution, the Licensed Victuallers’
Asylum, in the Old Kent Road; in the parlour of one of the snug separate
dwellings of which we conversed with him, still cheery and animated, in
the month of June of this present year, 1880, in his 80th year; Jem
dating his birth, as we have already stated, from “Boxing Day” in the
last twelvemonth of the last century.
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