With pluck unflinching he was conqueror still;
With first-rate science dealt the unerring blow
Which from the sneezer made the claret flow;
Perplex’d the box of knowledge with a crack,
And cloth’d the ogles with a suit of black;
Forward his foeman fiercely to assail,
And shower his body blows as thick as hail?
Ah! what avails it? Dire disease at length
Blighted his laurels and subdued his strength,
Marking his features pale with Death’s cold stamp,
While faint and feeble burnt life’s flickering lamp,
’Till wasted, wan, and worn the pulses stopp’d.
The last sad scene was o’er, the curtain dropp’d.
But thou hast mark’d a course correct as clear,
By which the aspiring pugilist may steer.
Though fate decreed thou first shouldst breathe the air
Within the classic precincts of Rag Fair—
That region fam’d, as chronicles unfold,
Sacred to Sheenies and to garments old,
Owld coats, owld vests, to tempt the gazer’s view,
And tiles dresht up to look as goot as new;
But though in scenes like these Young Sam was nurs’d,
The bonds that cramp’d his youth he proudly burst,
And with ambition fired, and milling glow,
From rolls retreated, and discarded dough;
Cut Rosemary Lane, its sorrows and its joys,
And left dead men to other bakers’ boys!
What though awhile he ran a printing-race
At Charley Baldwin’s crib in Chatham Place?
For though to duty never disinclined,
’Twas _Caleb_ Baldwin’s deeds engrossed his mind;
The star of Westminster as tough, as bold,
Who cried _peccavi_ to Dutch Sam the old.
What though awhile, the public to amuse,
Through London streets he circulated news,
Doom’d for a time from East to West to trip,
And barter broadsheets for the ready tip?
“By heaven!” he cried, “to fighting fame I’ll soar,
And sporting journals I will vend no more,
Of adverse fate I’ll overleap the bar,
And follow to the Ring some milling star;
Consign all braggart pugilists to shame,
And show the Fancy Sam is thorough game!”
Thy spirit warmed by the exciting theme,
Nobly Dutch Sam thy pledge thou didst redeem,
And soon beneath Dick Curtis’ fostering wing,
Blaz’d like a meteor in the battle-ring.
Fortune upon thy hardy efforts smil’d,
And Victory hail’d thee as her favourite child.
Beneath thy prowess prime, which nought could quell,
The liveliest of the kids, Ned Stockman, fell;
Then ’twas thy luck, scarce injur’d, to destroy
The shine of Harry Jones, the Sailor Boy;
’Twas thine from Carroll Pat to strip the bays,
And serve out Cooper Tom in style at Grays,
Floor the swart Gipsy in time double-quick,
And settle the proud hash of Davis Dick;
The veteran Martin soon his colours struck,
And twice Ned Neale was down upon his luck;
And all his senses sent upon a cruise,
It was the luck of _Gaynor_ Tom to _lose_!
But vain are science, gluttony, and strength,
And Young Dutch Sam has met his match at length—
One whose sharp hits can ne’er be put aside,
And at the scratch will never be denied.
Brave man! we only mourn that thou art gone,
Well worthy to be dubb’d “Phenomenon.”
Sound be thy slumber in thy narrow cell,
While with a heavy heart we sigh farewell!
=M.=
CHAPTER IX.
TOM GAYNOR (“THE BATH CARPENTER”)—1824–1834.
It was said of Marshal Clairfait that, like a drum, he was only heard of
when he was beaten. Tom Gaynor, in somewhat like fashion, takes his
place among the celebrities of the Ring from the high fame of the men
against whom he had the ill luck to be opposed. Beginning rather late in
the London Ring, Gaynor’s first antagonist was Ned Neale (who had just
polished off in succession Deaf Davis, Bill Cribb, Miller, Hall, and
David Hudson), while his last (and too late) appearance in the Ring was
in combat with the Phenomenon, Young Dutch Sam, before whom he stood for
two hours and five minutes, at Andover, in the year 1834. This was proof
sufficient that Gaynor’s heart was in the right place, and that his
fistic skill was far above the mere “give and take” of second-rate
boxers.
The sobriquet of Gaynor assigns Bath for his birthplace, and there, on
the 22nd of April, 1799, the young Tom opened his eyes, as the son of a
respectable carpenter in that fashionable city. Tom used to tell his
friends, over a pipe at the “Red Horse,” Bond Street, of a wonderful
uncle of his, hight Tom Marshall, who was champion boxer of
“Zummerzetzhire,” and was never defeated. This uncle, who stood six feet
one and a half in his stockings, seems to have been the idol of his
nephew’s hero-worship, as another Tom [Carlyle] would phrase it. With
this uncle young Gaynor was placed at Taunton, and there, at thirteen
years old, was apprenticed. Here Tom’s skill with his “fives” was
acknowledged, and at about seventeen years of age he was what modern
times would call a “certificated pupil-teacher” in an “academy” of which
a local boxer was the chief professor of “the noble art.” One Turle, a
fiddler, had the reputation of being a dangerous opponent, but in a
turn-up with the young Carpenter he received such a taste of his quality
that he declined any further favours, and tacitly resigned his assumed
title of “champion of Taunton” to the “’prentice han’” of Gaynor.
[Illustration:
TOM GAYNOR (“THE BATH CARPENTER”).
]
These were the times of election saturnalia, and though (_testè_ Sir
Henry James) Taunton, in these days of ballot and household suffrage, is
no purer than it ought to be, in the times of borough-mongering it was
much worse. A little episode in young Tom’s history may illustrate this.
During a contested election for that riotous, thirsty, and by no means
immaculate borough, the true blue champion, whose colours young Tom
wore, had set abroach a hogshead of “raal Zummerzet soyder,” and to
ensure the just distribution of the same had entrusted it to the care of
a big rural rough, who churlishly denied young Gaynor a drop of the
cheering home-made. This unfair treatment considerably riled our hero;
but when the big bully threatened to add “a good hoidin’” to his
refusal, “unless young Chips made hisself skeerce,” the joke was carried
too far. The stripling stripped, and the countryman, consigning his
charge to a friend, desired him to “zee to the zwill, whoiles oi polish
off this yoong jackandapes.” But the battle was not to the strong, and
in three sharp rounds, occupying about fifteen minutes, the “rush” of
the yokel was so completely taken out of him by the cutting “props” and
the straight “nobbers” of the young ’un that the countryman cried,
“Enoo!” and went back to his tap, from which Tom and his friends drank
success to themselves and their candidate without further hindrance or
molestation.
Soon after Tom returned to his native city of Bath. Here he fought a
pitched battle with a recruiting sergeant of some boxing fame in
military circles. The soldier’s tactics, however, were of no avail
against the superior strategics of young Gaynor.
Gaynor’s eyes, although he followed his calling industriously, were
always cast towards the Metropolis with a longing gaze, and at the age
of twenty-four he made his way to town, and having already met that
professor in the provinces, he took up his quarters at the house of his
“brother chip,” the scientific Harry Holt, the “Cicero of the Ring,” who
then kept the “Golden Cross,” in Cross Lane, Long Acre. Here an accident
brought him into notice.
Josh Hudson being at Holt’s at a jollification, the conversation, of
course, was of “battles lost and won,” and in the course of “chaff” Tom
Gaynor was introduced with an eulogistic flourish from his Ciceronian
friend and brother-craftsman. This led to Josh, who was certainly not in
his “coolest state of collectedness,” expressing his willingness to put
on the mittens with the “young man from the country.” The result was
unfortunate. Josh lost his temper, and for some twenty-five minutes it
was very like a little glove-fight, in which “Tom was as good as his
master.” Of course, Holt’s friends put a stop to this; but it raised
Gaynor’s reputation.
Soon after, in a set-to with Ben Burn, Gaynor displayed such science and
resolution that he was highly applauded by the amateurs at the Fives
Court, and was hailed a clever “newcomer.”
Friends now came forward, and Tom was matched with Ned Neale, at whose
hands he experienced an honourable defeat, on the 25th May, 1824, in one
hour and six minutes. (See NEALE, Chapter V., _ante_.)
Gaynor, about this time, frequently appeared at public sparring
benefits, and was much esteemed, notwithstanding his defeat by so
practised and resolute a boxer as the Streatham Youth. At Epsom Races,
on the 20th of May, 1825, Gaynor was in attendance, with many of the
Fancy, when a subscription purse of fifty guineas was offered by the
amateurs. For this Gaynor presented himself as a candidate, and was met
by Jonathan Bissell (Young Gas). Gaynor was admitted to be sadly out of
condition, while Young Gas was in first-rate fettle. Gaynor was
compelled to give in, after a game battle of one hour and twenty-five
minutes.
In the early months of 1825 Gaynor advertised for a customer, offering
to fight any man of his weight—eleven stone and a half—in three months,
for £100 a-side. Nearly one year passed away in sparring, when Gaynor,
anxious for a job, challenged Reuben Martin for £50 a-side, in January,
1826. This, however, ended without an engagement.
Tom was at length matched for £50 a-side with Alec Reid (the Chelsea
Snob), and the men met on Tuesday, May 16th, 1826, at No Man’s Land,
three miles and a half to the right of St. Albans.
The Eton Montem, Greenwich, and Wandsworth Fairs, and other places of
attraction near the Metropolis, rendered the road to the scene of action
remarkably thin; indeed, so scarce were drags of every description that
the turnpike men declared it a holiday for their apron pockets, while
the roadside houses looked out in vain for a four-horse drag, or even a
Hampton van. Yet such a scientific display, with manliness united, as
the battle between Gaynor and Alec Reid, on the beautiful bit of turf
belonging to the ladies, on that Tuesday in May, has seldom rewarded a
journey of a hundred miles.
White-headed Bob was Gaynor’s principal patron, and like a good judge
sent out his boy to a prime training walk. Baldwin also backed Gaynor to
the amount of a £50 note—so high an opinion did the White-nobbed One
entertain of his quality. The Chelsea Champion was under the protection
of a Corinthian, and Richmond also looked after him. Both men did their
duty while training, and their appearance, on stripping, satisfied the
amateurs that they entered the ring in good condition. At one o’clock
Gaynor threw his hat into the ropes, attended by Jem Ward and
White-headed Bob, and a few minutes afterwards Reid repeated the token
of defiance, followed by Cannon and Richmond. Gaynor was the favourite,
at six and five to four; but the odds had previously been laid both
ways. In fact, Reid was viewed as decidedly the best fighter, and in
most instances was taken for choice. The colours, yellow for Gaynor,
were tied to the stakes by Bob, and crimson for Reid were fastened by
Richmond.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Gaynor was the bigger man on appearing at the scratch, and
having length and weight on his side were no trifling advantages in
his favour. Reid looked well; he was up to the mark, and confident
in the extreme. Some little caution was observed on both sides, both
of them ready to let fly upon the first opening. Gaynor endeavoured
to feel for the nob of his opponent, but the arms of Reid rendered
repeated attempts of no avail. Reid at length got a turn, and quick
as lightning he tapped the sensitive plant of Gaynor so roughly that
both his ogles were winking. (The Reidites gave a rare chevy,
thinking it a good omen.) The science of Reid was much admired; he
stopped two left-handed hits with the utmost ease; but in
counter-hitting he received a tremendous blow on his mouth, which
not only produced the claret, but almost displaced his ivories.
(“First blood!” cried Curtis and Josh Hudson.) Reid, with much good
nature, said to Gaynor, “That was a good hit.” The left hand of
Gaynor again told; nevertheless, Reid was busy, and in turn felt for
the upper works of Gaynor. The left peeper of the latter was
damaged. Some excellent stops on both sides, until a rally ensued,
when Gaynor fought resolutely until they were entangled—both down,
Gaynor undermost. (It was clearly seen that the length of Gaynor
made him a dangerous opponent, and he was decidedly the favourite at
six to four.)
2.—Reid, like an experienced boxer, now stopped Gaynor well, but the
latter would not be denied. He planted a heavy blow in Reid’s face,
and in closing sent him out of the ropes. (“You are sure to win it,
Gaynor,” observed his friends; and two to one was offered and
taken.)
3.—Reid found out that he had a much more troublesome customer than
he had anticipated. Gaynor got away from a heavy blow; a pause, and
both on the look-out for squalls. Some sharp blows exchanged. The
left hand of Gaynor told twice severely on Reid’s mug. A rally
ensued, and Tom went down rather weak.
4.—This was a capital round; and the mode of fighting adopted by
Reid delighted his backers. He went to work with much determination,
and Gaynor napped considerable punishment. In closing, Reid fibbed
his opponent severely, until a severe struggle put an end to the
round, and both down. (“What a capital fight—both good ones; it is
worth coming 100 miles to see! We have not had such a fight for
these two years past!” were the general observations all round the
ring.)
5.—The face of Gaynor was materially altered, and his right ogle in
“Queer Street.” The mug of Reid was likewise damaged—his nose had
increased in size; he had also received some heavy body blows. Good
stopping on both sides; and Reid, in the estimation of his backers,
put in some beautiful facers. In closing, Reid went down.
6.—A small change had taken place in favour of the “man of wax;” and
he had now made his opponent a piper. The seconds of Reid and all
his friends called to him to go to work; but Gaynor was not to be
beaten off his guard—he sparred for wind till he recovered from his
distress. Reid, however, got the lead, and milled away, till in
closing at the ropes he was thrown, and had a bad fall. Reid was now
backed as favourite.
7.—Gaynor was much distressed; and Reid, like a skilful general,
never lost sight of the advantage. In closing at the ropes, Gaynor
went down exhausted. (“Reid for £100!” and uproarious shouts of
applause.)
8.—Reid, most certainly, at this period of the fight, was the hero
of the tale; he tipped it to Gaynor at every turn, till the latter
boxer went down. (Rounds of applause for Reid.)
9.—A more manly round was never witnessed in any battle whatever—it
was hit for hit, the claret following almost every blow. Both men
stood up to each other like bricks, and appeared regardless of the
punishment they received. Both down. (“Here’s a fight—this battle
will bring the Ring round! Reid’s a fine fellow, but he is
overmatched.”)
10.—This was also a capital round; but whenever Reid made a hit
Gaynor returned upon him. The length of the latter boxer enabled him
to do this; and also in several instances his left hand did much
execution, without being stopped by the Snob. Both down, and summat
the matter on each side.
11.—Reid had the worst of it in this round; he received three
jobbers, which made his nob dance again; but his courage never
forsook him. In closing, the head of the Snob, in going down, went
against the stakes, enough to have taken the fight out of most men,
but he was too game to notice it.
12.—The changes were frequent, and at times it was anybody’s battle.
Reid was never at a loss, and he fought at every point to obtain
victory. In struggling Reid was thrown, and Gaynor fell on him.
13.—The left hand of Gaynor committed desperate havoc on Reid’s
face; nevertheless, the former napped sharp ones in turn. In
struggling, Reid went down.
14.—The appearance of Gaynor was now against him; and strangers to
the Ring might fairly have entertained an opinion that he could not
have stood up for a couple more rounds. Reid took the lead for a
short time, but the round was finished by Reid being thrown.
15.—Nothing of consequence. Short, and both on the turf.
16.—This round was a fine display of science in favour of Reid. He
punished Gaynor all over the ground, and floored him by a heavy
facer. The Reidites were now uproarious, and applauded their man to
the echo.
17.—Both men exhibited symptoms of distress. After an exchange of
hits they staggered against each other, and went down. (“What a
brave fight! Jack is as good as his master!”)
18.—Gaynor, although in distress, made some good hits; he also
nobbed Reid, and fell heavily upon his opponent.
19.—This was a short round. Reid was exceedingly weak, and went
down—Gaynor quite as bad, staggering over his man.
20.—Reid came to the scratch full of pluck, but he received two
jobbers. Both down, Reid undermost.
21.—The falls were decidedly against Reid; and in this round he
received shaking enough to have put an end to the battle, Reid went
down, and Gaynor fell on his head.
22.—The oldest and best judges of the Ring still stuck to Reid, and
made him the favourite. He commenced the rounds well, but in
general, as in this instance, he was thrown.
23.—Gaynor now appeared getting rather better; but his mouth was
open, and so were his hands. (The friends of Reid advised Gaynor to
leave off, as he was a married man, and had a family; “It don’t suit
me,” said Gaynor. “Hold your tongue,” said Ward; “it is six to
one—sixty to one, I meant, in your favour—ain’t it, Bob?” “Yes,”
replied the White-headed One; “it is a horse to a hen.”) Reid fell
weak.
24.—Reid, like a good one, showed fight, and put in a nobber, but
his strength could not second his science, and he was heavily
thrown. Still Reid was offered as the favourite for five pounds, but
no taker.
25.—It really was astonishing to view the high courage displayed on
both sides, and the firmness and spirit with which they opposed each
other’s efforts. In finishing this round, Reid went down, and Gaynor
fell on him.
26.—This was a very good round, and the determined spirit displayed
by Reid astonished every spectator. Counter-hits. Gaynor tried to
escape punishment, and in retreating fell down. (“He’s going; you
have won it, Reid.”)
27.—Gaynor’s face was badly battered, and the index of Reid was
little better; but no complaints were made, and when time was called
both appeared at the scratch with alacrity. Reid was busy and
troublesome, till he was thrown. Another bad fall against him—worse
than ten hits.
28.—Reid down; but he contended every inch of ground like a
Wellington—a better little man is not to be met with, and the
courage and good fighting he displayed this day delighted his
backers.
29.—Gaynor was evidently the stronger man, although “bad was the
best.” Reid was getting very weak, missed his blows, and went down
on his knees.
30.—The change was now decidedly in favour of Gaynor; and in closing
he gave Reid a severe cross-buttock. (“It’s all up,” was the cry.
“I’ll give you,” said Josh, “a chest of tools if you win it.” “I
have promised him,” said Tom Oliver, “Somerset House—but he can’t
lose it.”)
31.—Reid got away from a heavy nobber, with much more activity than
could have been expected by a man in his truly distressed state.
Reid down.
32.—Gaynor pursued Reid to the ropes, where the latter fought with
fine spirit and resolution, till he was sent out of them by Gaynor.
33.—Several persons were yet of opinion that Reid would win; in
truth, the battle was never safe to either until it was over. Reid
went down distressed.
34, and last.—Reid still showed fight, and an exchange of blows took
place; but in closing, Gaynor in obtaining the throw fell heavily
upon him. Reid’s head came violently against the ground, and when
picked up by his second he was insensible. Gaynor was declared the
conqueror. The battle occupied one hour and ten minutes.
REMARKS.—It was a near thing after all; and Reid, although in
defeat, raised himself in the estimation of the Fancy. He fought
up-hill against weight and length, and was likewise opposed to a man
of science and a game boxer. Reid, it is said, weighed ten stone
four pounds, and Gaynor eleven stone six pounds—but Gaynor declared,
at the Tennis Court, on the Wednesday following, that he was under
eleven stone. A better fight, in every point of view, has not been
seen for many years. Gaynor received most punishment; but his
conduct throughout the whole of the battle was cool and
praiseworthy.
Gaynor was matched for a second battle with Young Gas, for £100 a side,
to take place on the 5th of September. The stakes were made good, but
owing to a misunderstanding the match went off.
In consequence of Gaynor having proved the conqueror with Reid, he was
considered an excellent opponent for Bishop Sharpe, and his friends
backed him against Sharpe for £50 a-side. This battle was decided also
at No Man’s Land, on Tuesday, December 5th, 1826. Sharpe won the fight,
after a very hard battle of one hour and ten minutes, Gaynor showing
fight to the last. (See BISHOP SHARPE, Chapter XI., _post_.)
Gaynor’s defeat by the Bold Smuggler did not diminish the number of
friends made by his general good conduct and excellent demeanour to his
patrons and backers. But despite his readiness for a match, it was more
than a year before one could be satisfactorily arranged. His challenge
was then accepted by Charles Gybletts, whose reputation as a slashing
hitter and well-scienced boxer was established by his defeats of Rasher,
Phil Sampson (see _post_, Chapter XIII.), Robin Rough, and Harry Jones,
and who had lately fought a draw with Reuben Martin.
Gybletts was the favourite, at six to four, and the stakes (£100) being
made good, the men met on the 18th of May, 1828, at Shere Mere,
Bedfordshire, on the borders of Herts. At this fight, Tom Oliver, who
had received the true blue ropes and stakes of the Pugilistic Club, by
order of Mr. John Jackson, its president, first appeared as
Commissary-General of the P.R., and displayed that tact in the formation
of an inner square and an outer circle which we so well remember, and so
oft commended in long after years. Gaynor, who trained at Shirley’s, at
Staines, came over on Monday to the “Blue Boar,” at St. Albans, Gybletts
at the same time reaching the “Cross Keys,” Oldaker’s, at Harpenden.
Both men were in the highest spirits, and in first-rate condition.
Gaynor, joined by some Corinthian patrons, came on the ground in a
well-appointed four-in-hand, decorated with his colours, a bright
orange, and accompanied by a Kent bugle player, to the enlivenment of
the road and scene. Gybletts was driven to the ring in a less
ostentatious conveyance, a high, red-wheeled, yellow, one-horse “shay,”
of the then “commercial” pattern, but was none the less heartily greeted
by his admirers.
The day was brilliantly fine, and the attendance of the right sort, who
are always orderly. Gybletts, waited on by Dick Curtis and Josh Hudson,
first threw his castor into the ring. Gaynor, esquired by Harry Holt and
Tom Oliver, quickly answered the challenge, and Oliver won for him the
choice of corners. Gaynor’s weight was stated at twelve stone,
Gybletts’s at eleven stone seven pounds. The odds were, however, still
on Gybletts, and no takers.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—On throwing themselves into attitude, each man showed his
judgment in keeping the vulnerable points well covered. Gaynor
manœuvred with his hands well up, and Gybletts played in and out,
seeking an opening for a left-hand delivery. After some cautious
movements, Gaynor broke ground, trying his right at Gybletts’s body,
but he was cleverly stopped, and Gybletts jumped away nimbly. His
left at the nob was also stopped, but in a second trial with the
right Gaynor got home on his adversary’s cheek. Gybletts now went in
to fight, and caught Gaynor a smack on the mouth with the right,
Gaynor striking the centre stake with his heel in retreating. He
recovered himself, however, and rushed to a rally, delivering right
and left on his opponent’s frontispiece. Gybletts fought with him
until they closed, when, after a sharp struggle, Gaynor threw him a
heavy back fall, and tumbled on him. On getting up a tinge of blood
was visible on the face of each, and the first event was undecided.
2.—Gaynor, first to fight, delivered his right on Gybletts’s body,
who got away actively, and propped Gaynor as he came in. Gaynor
again tried his right at Gybletts’s ribs, but was stopped. He got
on, however, one, two, on Gybletts’s head, cutting his left cheek.
In the close Gybletts struggled hard for the fall, but Gaynor,
dexterously shifting his leg, got the inner lock, and threw Gybletts
head over heels, amidst the cheers of his friends. Odds still six to
four on Gybletts.
3.—A good scientific round; hitting, stopping getting away, in
pretty stand-up style. Each got it on the body and pimple in turn,
but the out-fighting was certainly in favour of Gaynor, who had the
reach of his opponent. In the close, Gybletts got the fall, and the
cheering of the last round was returned.
4.—Good stopping by both. Charley missed his right at the body, and
received a heavy smack on the left cheek from Gaynor’s right, which
sounded all over the ring, and imprinted a blood-mark on the spot.
Charley was puzzled, but good counter-hits were exchanged. Gybletts
stepped back, wiped his hands, and did not seem to know how to get
at his long-armed, round-shouldered opponent. Caution the order of
the day, and some excellent stops on both sides. Gybletts swung in
his right on the body, but got it on the jaw. The men closed,
Gybletts pegging away at Gaynor’s ribs, Gaynor at Gybletts’s
head-piece; Gaynor threw his man heavily. (Even on Gaynor.)
5.—Charley got in his left on Gaynor’s neck, and followed it by a
body blow. Exchanges, in which Gaynor’s length of arm told, Gaynor
getting home on Gybletts’s forehead and mouth, Gybletts on his
opponent’s ribs and ear. A close for the fall. After a short
struggle Gaynor threw his man cleverly.
6.—Gaynor again caught a blow on the neck from Charley’s left, but
the latter missed his body blow. Stopping in good style; at length
Gybletts went in, delivering his right heavily. Gaynor turned round,
and in getting away fell on his hands and knees by a slip. Loud
cheers for Gybletts, and two to one offered by his friends, though
both out and in fighting were in Gaynor’s favour.
7.—Gybletts got another sharp one on his wounded cheek. He
retreated, but Gaynor followed, forced the fighting, and threw him.
8.—On coming to the scratch Gybletts’s shoe was down at heel. Dick
Curtis came forward and busied himself in getting it up, Gaynor
quietly looking at him. Tom Oliver made an appeal of “Foul,” but the
umpires said they had nothing to remark, except that Gaynor was at
liberty to get to work, as “time” had been called. During the
discussion the heel was put to rights, and the men stood up. Gaynor
got his right on to Gybletts’s body, Gybletts returned short, when
Gaynor jobbed him twice on the head, and in the close both were
down.
9.—Gaynor, first to fight, put in one, two, and closed; both down at
the ropes.
10.—Good counter-hitting; both men stood bravely to the scratch. In
the close, after a struggle, both fell, Gybletts on his head.
11.—Both men rushed to a close, and after a violent effort for the
fall Gaynor grassed his man, falling on him.
12.—Good science on both sides. Alternate hits and stops. Gybletts
had discovered that closing was not to his advantage, and kept out.
In the exchanges he caught a heavy foreheader from Gaynor’s left,
and was finally thrown.
13.—Gybletts cautious, but Gaynor would not wait his convenience; he
went in right and left, and Gybletts dropped.
14.—Mutual exchanges and good stops. Gybletts again visited on his
olfactory organ. Both down harmlessly in a scramble.
15.—Gaynor delivered a right-handed chop, and Charley, in return,
caught him in the ribs with the right. A close at the ropes, and
both down.
16.—A slashing round; hit away on both sides until Gybletts was
floored.
17.—Gybletts came up remarkably cheerful, considering the last bout.
He got a good hit in on Gaynor’s mouth, which bled freely. Gaynor
returned, and went down in the exchanges.
18.—Both cautious. Gybletts sent in a teaser with his left on
Gaynor’s mouth. Gaynor, a little surprised, rushed to a close.
Charley got Gaynor cleverly in his arms, lifted him from the ground,
and backheeled him, falling on him heavily. (Shouts of “That’s the
way, Charley!”)
19.—Wild fighting on both sides. Gaynor rattled away, hit or miss.
Gybletts returned at random; in the exchanges Gybletts slipped, and
was on his knees, when Gaynor knocked him over.
20.—Forty-five minutes had now elapsed. The knuckles of Gybletts’s
right hand were much puffed by repeated contact with the point of
Gaynor’s elbow, which he dropped to protect his ribs from the
unpleasant visitations of his adversary. Yet Charley was still the
favourite, from his known gameness, and his friends maintained he
must wear Gaynor out. Gybletts delivered his right at the body, and
Gaynor closed for in-fighting. In the close, Gybletts got Gaynor
down.
21.—Gybletts crept in, got in a blow on Gaynor’s proboscis, and was
uppermost in the close.
22.—A good weaving round. Gybletts had it left and right, and was
thrown unmistakably.
23.—Gaynor made a right-handed job, closed, and threw his man.
24.—Gybletts applied to the brandy bottle. He went up, sparred a
little, tried at the body, missed, and was thrown.
25, 26, 27.—Gybletts fighting an up-hill game, but contending
manfully, hit for hit. In the 26th round Gaynor caught his man on
the nose, cutting the cartilage, the wound bleeding profusely. In
the last round both were down.
28, 29.—Gaynor first to fight. Gybletts down.
30.—Gybletts got home sharply with his left in Gaynor’s left eye.
Gaynor cautious. At length he let fly, but Gybletts ducked his head,
thus saving it from a smasher. He then caught Gaynor heavily on the
mouth, and drew the claret from that organ as well as the nose.
Gaynor returned, but slipped down on his knees.
31.—One hour and five minutes had passed. Charley succeeded in
planting a “snorter,” but Gaynor gave him a _quid pro quo_. Gybletts
once again visited his adversary’s masticators, when Gaynor went in
hand over hand, drove him to the ropes, hit up, and threw him.
32.—Gaynor took the lead in fighting. Charley drew back, putting in
slightly on the nose. He got it in return on the mouth, and went
down, Gaynor also falling back on the ropes, but quickly recovering
his perpendicular.
33.—Gybletts came up cheerful, and after a few feints and parries
went in for close quarters. After a stiff struggle Gybletts was
thrown completely over the ropes out of the ring; Gaynor went over
the ropes with him, with his heels in the air and his head on his
man’s body.
34.—Gybletts, though piping, seemed strong on his legs. He stood
well to his man, and it was hit for hit with no decided advantage,
till, in the close, both were on the grass.
35.—Gaynor went in, and Charley jobbed him on the nose. Tom shook
his head, and went at Gybletts with the right. Exchanges, a rally,
and a heavy cross-counter; both men were on the ropes. Gaynor in an
awkward position, when he got down. (Cheering for Gybletts.)
36.—One hour and a quarter had elapsed, and the odds were still on
Gybletts, notwithstanding Gaynor’s out-fighting and wrestling were
superior. Tom, first to fight, got in a mugger, and received a
rib-roaster in return. Merry milling for a turn. In the close Gaynor
got the fall.
37.—Gybletts stopped Gaynor’s left neatly, and got away; Gaynor
followed. Both missed in the exchanges, closed, and Gybletts gained
the throw.
38.—Gybletts, amazingly active on his pins, missed a right-hander;
exchanges with the left, and a cross-counter. Gybletts went in
wildly, but was heavily thrown.
39.—From this to the 45th round the men fought spiritedly; Gaynor,
getting better, generally had Gybletts down at the ropes. In the
46th round Gybletts’s right hand was seen to have given way, and he
had his left only to depend on as a weapon of offence. In the 48th
and 49th Gaynor fought Gybletts down, and in the 50th threw him
heavily.
51, and last.—When Gybletts showed at the scratch, Harry Holt called
upon Gaynor to “finish the fight,” but Tom was so “bothered” he
could do nothing with precision. He missed with the right, got hold
of his man and turned him round, when both fell together, Gybletts
pegging away at Gaynor’s back. Time, one hour and fifty-three
minutes. An attempt was made to bring Gybletts to “time,” but in
vain. The game fellow had swooned, and Gaynor was hailed the victor.
Gybletts was bled by a medical man on the ground, and quickly came
to. Gaynor, after a few minutes, walked to his carriage, saluted by
“See, the Conquering Hero Comes,” from the keyed bugle.
REMARKS.—Gybletts’s friends had no reason to complain of their
reliance on the gameness of their man, although their underestimate
of his adversary’s powers led to his defeat. Gaynor’s superior
length, and his wrestling capabilities, in which he has few
superiors in the Ring, turned the scale in his favour—added to
which, his endurance in receiving punishment, and skill in hitting
and stopping, proved also to be superior to those of his brave
adversary. The battle, as a whole, did honour to both victor and
vanquished.
Gaynor took a benefit at the Tennis Court on the ensuing Thursday, when
Tom Oliver and Ben Burn, Young Dutch Sam and Ned Brown (Sprig of
Myrtle), were the leading couples. Gaynor returned thanks to his
friends, and in reply to an expressed wish of Gybletts for another
trial, said he hoped to be shortly in a position to retire from the Ring
altogether; if not his friend Charley should be accommodated. The stakes
were given up to Gaynor on the same evening, after a dinner at Harry
Holt’s, when his backers presented him not only with the stakes he had
won, but the sums they had put down for him.
So high did this victory place Gaynor in his own and his admirers’
estimation that it was considered a new trial with his old opponent of
six years previously might lead to a reversal of the verdict then given.
Accordingly Ned Neale was sounded; but that now eminent boxer having his
hands full, the matter was perforce postponed, and it was only in the
latter part of 1830 that a match could be made with Neale and Gaynor, to
come off after the former boxer’s contest with Young Dutch Sam, as
already narrated in this volume.
The terms were that Neale should fight Gaynor, £300 to £200, on the 15th
of March, 1831, eight weeks subsequent to Neale’s fight with Sam.
Notwithstanding Neale’s defeat by “the Young Phenomenon,” he was the
favourite at five to four, and these odds increased when information
from Neale’s training quarters in the Isle of Wight asserted that the
Streatham man was “never better in his life.” Gaynor was declared
“stale.” He had for more than two years led the life of a publican, and
was said to be “gone by.” His more intimate acquaintance did not share
this opinion, as Tom was always steady, regular, and never a hard
drinker.
Gaynor took his exercise at his old friend Shirley’s, at Staines, as on
former occasions, and having won the toss for choice of place, Warfield,
in Berkshire, was named by his party as the field of arms.
Soon after twelve on the appointed day Neale, who had arrived at Ripley
the day before, came on the ground in a barouche and four, with numerous
equestrian and pedestrian followers. Gaynor, in a similar turn-out, soon
after put in an appearance. He had for his seconds Harry Holt and Ned
Stockman—Neale, Tom Spring and his late opponent, Young Dutch Sam. The
men shook hands good-humouredly, and commenced “peeling,” six to four
being eagerly offered on Neale. Both men looked serious, and Gaynor’s
skin was sallow. As for Neale, he looked bright and clear, and was
generally fancied by the spectators. Gaynor’s weight was declared to be
11st. 2lb., while Neale’s was 12st. 3lb., Gaynor’s age being thirty-two
and Neale’s twenty-seven. The advantage, therefore, seemed greatly on
the side of Tom’s former conqueror, and so thought most persons, except
Gaynor himself. All preliminaries having been adjusted the men were
delivered at the scratch, the seconds retired to their corners, and at
twelve minutes after one began
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Each man held up his hands as if waiting the other’s
attack, and this determination being mutual they stood eyeing each
other steadily for two or three minutes, doing nothing. Gaynor at
length made a little dodge with his left, but Neale was wary,
shifted a little, and would not be drawn out. More waiting, more
dodging, when, at the expiry of nine minutes, Gaynor sent out his
right at Ned’s body, who contented himself by stopping it with his
elbow. Gaynor stepped back and wiped his hands on his drawers.
Mutual feints, both cautious—the spectators becoming impatient.
(“Wake him up,” said Stockman, “he’s taking a nap.”) After twenty
minutes of manœuvring Gaynor planted his right on Neale’s mazzard.
(Cheers, and cries of, “Now go to work.”) Neale would not break
ground, and Gaynor could not get at him. More tedious manœuvring.
Forty minutes had now elapsed (the same time as in Neale’s first
round with Nicholls), when Neale went in, Gaynor retreating to the
corner of the ring. (“Now’s your time,” cried Young Sam.) Ned went
in with the right, Gaynor countered, and a scrambling rally
followed. A few ill-directed blows were exchanged, a close, and some
fibbing; then a struggle at the ropes, when Gaynor was uppermost.
The round lasted forty-five minutes.
2.—On coming to the scratch Neale showed a small swelling over the
left eye, and his face was somewhat flushed. (“Now,” cried Stockman,
“you have broken the ice; cut away.”) Neale crept in on his man, who
retreated, and shifted with a good defence. Neale let go his right
at Gaynor’s listener, but missed, and at it the men went in a
rattling rally. Gaynor hit up with his right, catching Neale on the
jaw; while Ned gave Gaynor a heavy one on the cheek-bone, raising a
very visible “mouse.” In the close fibbing was again the order of
the day; at length Gaynor got his man down.
3.—Great shouting. The “Queen’s Head” for choice. Neale’s face was
flushed, and he panted a little. Gaynor was as pale as a parsnip,
barring the black mouse on his cheek. Gaynor made pretty play with
the right, but was neatly stopped, and Neale did the same for his
opponent. Gaynor tried his left, but Neale merely threw up his
guard, and Gaynor desisted. Neale let fly and got home on Gaynor’s
ivories, but had a sharp return on his left eye. Gaynor planted his
right on Ned’s ribs, and got away. Caution on both sides. Neale
crept nearer to his work, and Gaynor retreated to his corner; at
last Neale went in, and a slight bungling rally followed. A sharp
struggle for the throw, which Gaynor got, and rolled over his man.
(Loud cheers for Gaynor. On the men getting to their seconds’ knees,
Spring claimed “first blood” for Neale, from Gaynor’s mouth, which
was allowed.)
4.—A new dodge was here discernible. Stockman, to prevent Neale
holding his man, had greased Gaynor’s neck, the grease being very
visible at the roots of his hair. Neale broke ground and began the
fighting; Gaynor was ready, and fought with him. Neale was hit in
the body and on the nose and brow, Gaynor on the jaw and cheek. In a
loose rally Ned went down in the hitting. (Cannon claimed this as
“first knock-down” for Gaynor. It was allowed; but there was not a
clear knock-down in the fight.)
5.—On rising Neale showed marks of hitting on the left eye and nose.
After a little cautious sparring Ned rushed in wild, and the men
wrestled together. Both down, Gaynor uppermost.
6.—Neale steady. No great harm done on either side. Gaynor hit short
with his left, then threw in his right with the rapidity of
lightning. Both attempts were beautifully stopped. Gaynor laughed,
but Neale put a stop to his hilarity by a sharp lunging right-hander
on the mouth, which Gaynor returned with a smart smack on Ned’s
proboscis. Another wrestling match, and Neale thrown. (On rising
Neale showed blood over the right eye, and Holt renewed the disputed
point by claiming it for Gaynor.)
7.—Neale stole a march, and popped in his left cleverly on Gaynor’s
nose. Gaynor returned with the right; Ned rattled in, caught Gaynor
so tightly round the waist that he could not extricate himself,
then, with the back-heel, threw him on his back on the ground,
adding his weight to the force of the fall. This was a smasher, and
Gaynor’s nose sent forth a crimson stream.
8.—Gaynor on the piping order, and cautious. Ned again visited his
snuff-box with his left. Neale fought into a close, and again threw
Gaynor a burster. (Ned was now a strong favourite, at six and seven
to four.)
9.—Gaynor was cheerful, and there was some good counter-hitting with
the right. Neale napped it on his already swollen eye, which began
to bleed, as did an old wound on Gaynor’s cheek-bone. In the close,
Gaynor was thrown for the third time. He got up slowly, and seemed
the worse for wear.
10.—Neale, still cautious, stopped a right-hander, but missed his
return. Gaynor went in for the throw, and after a sharp struggle got
his man down.
11.—Gaynor much distressed and groggy. Nevertheless, he planted his
right on Neale’s damaged eye, which was fast putting up the shutter.
Ned missed a vicious lunge at Gaynor’s ear, and Gaynor returned
nastily on Ned’s nose, who rushed in, and seizing Tom, lifted him
from _terra firma_, flung him heavily on his shoulder, and fell on
him.
12.—Gaynor came up astonishingly steady, though bleeding from mouth,
nose, and cheek. He hit short at the body with his right, then tried
his left at the nob, but Ned frustrated his intentions. Gaynor swung
out his right viciously, but Neale jumped back and escaped. Neale
then went in for the throw, and a severe struggle followed, Ned
chopping and fibbing; but at last Gaynor got the lock, and over went
poor Ned, with Gaynor on top of him, a most audible thud.
13.—Gaynor piping. Ned planted his right hand on the body; he then
closed. A long struggle for the throw, and both down.
14.—Gaynor, game as a pebble, went in to fight, but Ned got away,
and Gaynor went down in the attempt to close.
15.—Ned made play, but was open-handed. Gaynor retreated to the
ropes, where a struggle took place. Gaynor got Ned under, and hung
on him on the ropes, until Ned fell outside them, Gaynor inside.
16.—The fight had now lasted one hour and thirteen minutes. A wild
and scrambling round. Both down.
17–20.—Gaynor, game and ready, always came to the scratch; though
much distressed, he never shirked his work. In the 20th round he
seemed “abroad,” and fell, Neale falling over him on his head.
21.—Gaynor on the totter. Ned ran in at him, bored him to the ropes,
caught him in his arms, and sent him a “Catherine wheel” in the air.
(Ned’s friends all alive. Three to one on Ned, and no takers.)
22 and 23.—In both these rounds Gaynor was down, and Neale supposed
to be winning in a canter—any odds.
24.—Ned the fresher and stronger man, apparently. Exchanges, when
Gaynor rushed in and threw him. (“Not safe yet,” cried the knowing
ones.)
25.—Gaynor went to in-fighting, closed, and threw Neale.
26.—Neale went in first, but Gaynor fought for a few seconds on the
defensive, then closed, put on the crook, and threw Neale.
(“Pro-di-gi-ous!” exclaimed Frosty-faced Fogo, after the manner of
Liston’s Dominie Sampson.)
27.—Gaynor, though sorely punished, smiled confidently. Neale tried
his left; Gaynor missed his right over Ned’s shoulder. Ned closed
for the fall, but Gaynor again got it. (The odds at a stand-still.
“Neale has to win it yet.”)
28.—Ned made another effort and won the fall, throwing Gaynor
heavily.
29–31.—Neale cautious. Half-arm hitting and scrambling rallies. Both
men tired, and little execution done.
32.—A wild round in the corner; Neale fell outside the ropes, and
Gaynor inside.
33.—Neale walked firmly to the scratch; Gaynor was led up by his
seconds. Neale fought in to a close, and heavy hits were exchanged.
Gaynor fell on his knees, but was up in a second. Ned caught hold of
the ropes, Gaynor closed, and Neale canted him completely over his
head.
34.—Neale forced a rally. Gaynor waited for him and hit up. Neale
closed, but seeing he was likely to get the worst of it, slipped
down, amid cries of disapprobation, and “Take him away!”
35.—Curtis called out to Young Sam, “Six to four on Gaynor. Ned has
cut it!” Neale in reply walked to the scratch. Gaynor ran in, seized
Neale, and threw him with a swing. Shouts for Gaynor.
36.—Gaynor seemed getting second wind, and became steadier on his
pins. Hits exchanged. Neale got the throw.
37.—Gaynor short at the body with his right. Neale nailed him with
the left on the ribs. A rally in the corner, when Neale slipped to
avoid. (Disapprobation.)
38–43.—Nothing remarkable except the men’s perseverance. Each round
began with some mutual stops and misses, resolved itself into a
rally, and ended by one or both down alternately.
44.—Gaynor seemed to rally all his energies, and forced the
fighting; hits were exchanged, and Gaynor tried for the close, but
Neale went down. Gaynor pointed at him as he lay on the ground.
(Cheers from Gaynor’s friends. “We’ll illuminate the ‘Queen’s Head’
to-night!”)
45, and last.—Gaynor seemed to begin with new vigour. His spirits
were roused by the cheers of his friends, and he went manfully to
the scratch. Neale faced him with apparent alacrity, but was clearly
down on his luck, and showed heavy marks of punishment. Gaynor went
at him with the right, and planted a blow. Neale fought with him to
a close, when Gaynor threw him and fell across him. There was
nothing to indicate that all was over, but when “time” was called,
Neale’s head fell back, and though Young Sam shook it and shouted,
Ned was “deaf” to the call. Gaynor was accordingly proclaimed the
victor amidst vociferous acclamations. The supporters of Neale were
amazed and dumbfounded. Gaynor threw up his arms and cut a very
feeble caper before walking off to his carriage, which displayed the
orange flag of victory, and where he quickly dressed himself. Neale
was some time before he recovered, and was then conveyed to Staines,
and put to bed.
REMARKS.—It is difficult to account for Neale’s falling-off, as ten
rounds before the close he was evidently the stronger and fresher
man. We can only attribute it to the repetition of prolonged
exertion and of punishment at an interval too short for the entire
recuperation of his bodily and mental powers after such a defeat as
that he experienced at the hands of Young Sam only eight weeks
before. Indeed, we cannot but think the match was ill advised and
imprudent, and the odds of £300 to £200 in the battle-money
presumptuous. It was, however, brave and honourable in Neale to try
the “wager of battle,” in which his too partial backers had engaged
him. As to Gaynor, but one opinion can be formed of his courage,
game, endurance, and fortitude, all of which were conspicuous in
this contest with his superior in weight, youth, and the character
of the boxers he had met and conquered.
On the following Thursday Gaynor took a benefit at the Hanover Assembly
Rooms, Long Acre.[54] Here he was greeted with all the honours that wait
upon success, and the best men of the Ring—Tom Spring, Oliver, Young
Sam, Reuben Martin, Stockman, Reidie, &c.—put on the mittens. On Friday
the stakes were given up at Tom’s own crib, the “Queen’s Head,” Duke’s
Court, Bow Street, after a sporting “spread.”
Tom’s defeat of the redoubtable Streatham Youth led to a challenge from
Young Dutch Sam. The circumstances of this defeat may be read in Chapter
VIII., in the Life of that skilful boxer.
This was the last appearance in the twenty-four foot of either Sam or
Gaynor. The latter, who was a civil, unassuming, and obliging man,
attended to his calling, and died in the month of November, 1834, in
Grosvenor Street, Bond Street, at the early age of thirty-five, of a
chronic complaint of several years’ standing.
CHAPTER X.
ALEC REID (“THE CHELSEA SNOB”)—1821–1830.
The pedigree of Alec Reid showed that he came of a “fighting family.”
His father was a Chelsea veteran, for many years in a snug berth on Nell
Gwynne’s glorious foundation, and in receipt, as we have seen in the
books of that institution, of a “good service allowance of two shillings
and fivepence-halfpenny a day.” Let not the reader smile superciliously.
Alec, the son of a humble but heroic Alexander, once demonstrated the
facts to the writer with honest filial pride, and moreover laid stress
upon the fact that while his papa was in garrison at Guernsey, awaiting
orders to sail with his regiment for the West Indies, his mamma, on the
30th of October, 1802, presented him with a thumping boy, the seventh
pledge of her affection, who was in due time baptized Alexander, and was
the subject of this memoir. At the age of fourteen, Alec’s father being
then invalided, and “the big wars over,” the young ’un was apprenticed
to his father’s trade, that of a shoemaker, and hence his pugilistic
patronymic of “the Chelsea Snob.”
His first recorded display was with one Finch, a local celebrity who, to
the advantages of height and a stone in weight, added three or four
years in age. Mr. Finch, in two rounds, occupying ten minutes, was so
satisfied of the young Snob’s superiority that he “caved in,” and
quitted the “Five Fields” (now covered by the mansions of Belgravia),
never again to show in combat with the “Young Soldier,” as Alec was then
nicknamed by his companions.
[Illustration:
ALEC REID.
]
Reid now purchased two pairs of gloves, expensive articles in those
days, and started a series of sparring _soirées_ at the “Turk’s Head,”
in Jews’ Row, near the Military Hospital. His fame spread, and finding
himself on Wimbledon Common, attracted thereto by a mill between Fleming
and Curwen, two London boxers, and a purse being subscribed for a second
battle, young Alec boldly threw his nob-cover within the ropes. His
challenge was answered by Sam Abbott, a cousin of the once-renowned
Bill, who beat Phil Sampson, and made a draw with Jem Ward. Young Abbott
proved himself game and resolute, but notwithstanding the advice and
nursing of his clever namesake, Alec punished his nob so severely that
in twenty-five minutes his cousin threw up the hat, Abbott being quite
blind. Alec raised himself immensely by this victory; and when, after
the battle between Ward and Abbott, on Moulsey Hurst, October 22nd,
1822, a big fellow named Hearn claimed a purse of twenty-five guineas
subscribed for a second fight, Alec disputed his claim. Hearn was
disposed of in fifteen minutes, the big ’un being so out-fought that he
put on his coat, declaring “it wasn’t worth a fellow’s while to go on
without getting a crack in now and then.”
Alec now frequently showed at the Tennis Court, in the Haymarket, and
Bob Yandell, a clever sparrer, who had defeated Crayfer and Dudley
Downs, having expressed a disparaging opinion of Alec’s talents, a
challenge resulted, and the men met on the 14th of January, 1823, in
Battersea Fields. After a battle of one hour and a half Yandell was
carried from the ground thoroughly beaten, while Alec showed in Chelsea
the same evening but slightly the worse for wear.
On the 20th of March, 1823, after the fight between Gipsy Cooper and
Cabbage, the Gardener, Alec joined fists with Paddy O’Rafferty, an Irish
candidate for fistic honours, but in thirty-one rounds, occupying
sixty-three minutes, the Chelsea hero polished off Misther O’Rafferty so
completely that he made no further appearance in the Ring.
Dick Defoe having declared himself anxious to meet any eleven stone man,
a gentleman who had a high opinion of Alec’s abilities offered to match
Reid against him. Alec consented, and the men met on Tuesday, June 17th,
1823, in Epping Forest. After thirteen rounds, Reid’s backer,
considering him to be overmatched, humanely interposed, and ordered Reid
to be taken away. Many were of opinion that Reid would have pulled
through had he been allowed to continue. Reid lost no reputation by this
defeat.
Reid’s next opponent was Harris, the Waterman, who had beaten Bill
Gould, Youna de Costa, and with the exception of this defeat at the
hands of Alec, never lost a fight. They met at Moulsey Hurst, on the
12th of August, 1823, entering the ring after Peace Inglis had defeated
George Curtis. On the ropes being cleared Alec, in high spirits and fine
condition, threw in his castor, a white one, and waited on by his late
opponent Dick Defoe and Tom Callas, proceeded to make his toilet;
Harris, from the opposite side, answered his token of defiance, and
esquired by Josh Hudson and Harry Holt, advanced to make friendly
greeting. The ceremony over, the men stood up, Harris the favourite, at
five and six to four.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Reid, with the advantage of youth, looked fresh and full of
activity, Harris, though a few pounds the heavier man, looking
leaner and more angular. Reid, after a few feints, bustled in to
work, and planted a sharp right-hander on Harris’s ribs. The
Waterman found he must lose no time, so he rattled in for exchanges,
and Reid went on his knees from a slip. (“Bravo! here will be
another good battle!”) Even betting.
2.—Reid came up gay as a lark, and made play like a good one. The
claret was now visible on both sides, and hit for hit till Reid was
again down.
3.—Harris met Reid well on his going in; but the Translator would
not be kept out, and poor Harris went against the stake from a
severe blow. Nothing else but fighting, till both were down. Reid
for choice.
4.—Sparring was out of the question, yet good science was witnessed
on both sides. Harris napped pepper, but not without returning the
compliment. Both down.
5.—Reid took the lead so decisively in this round that he became the
favourite, two to one. Harris went down piping.
6.—Reid got punished severely. Harris held him with his right hand,
and whopped him with the other all over the ring. The Chelsea man at
length rescued himself from his perilous situation, and by way of
changing the scene fibbed the Waterman down. Anybody’s battle.
7.—Harris commenced this round with some fine fighting, and had the
best of it for a short period, till Reid put in a straight nobber,
when Harris found himself on his latter end, looking about with
surprise, as much as to say, “How came I here?”
8.—Nothing else but milling. Harris repeatedly nobbed his opponent,
but he would not be denied. A heavy rally occurred, and Harris,
being near the stakes, struck his hand against the post. Harris down
like a shot.
9.—Youth must be served. Harris fought like a brave man, but the
punishment he received was too heavy for him. Down in this round.
10.—Harris could not reduce the strength of Reid. The Waterman
possessed the best science, but the blows of Reid were most
effective. It was a manly fight. Both down.
11–12.—Equally good as the former rounds. Two to one on Reid.
13.—Harris jobbed his opponent frequently, but Reid always finished
the round to his own advantage. In the last round he fell on Harris
in the close. (“Take him away; he’s a good old ’un, but too stale
for the Snob!”) Any odds.
14, and last.—Reid went up to his man and hit him one, two; Harris
did not return. He seemed all abroad. Reid bustled him down, and
Josh threw up the sponge in token of defeat. The fight lasted only
fifteen minutes.
REMARKS.—A better fight, while it lasted, has not been lately seen.
Harris was not only stale, but was stated to be a little “off” in
condition and health. Harris was not disgraced, though defeated by
youth, backed by resolution and strength.
Only two months after this victory Alec was at Chatham, teaching “the
art of self-defence,” when a rough and ready fisherman named Joe
Underhill found local friends to subscribe a purse of £25, and £5 for
the loser. For this, then, “the Chatham champion” proposed to meet the
“London professor.” Underhill’s friends had miscalculated both their
man’s skill and Alec’s science, for in the short space of nineteen
minutes the fisherman’s chance was more than “fishy,” and at the end of
the eighth and last round the Snob had so completely sewn him up and
welted him that he cried, “Enough!” and refused to face his man. This
battle took place on Chatham Lines, October 21st, 1823.
At the farewell benefit of the game Bob Purcell, at the Fives Court,
February 15th, 1824, Reid set to with Gipsy Cooper, and gave the rushing
Bohemian such a glove-punishing as led to a match. Cooper, however,
forfeited a small deposit. A second match was made on Tuesday, April
13th, 1824; this, however, was prevented by magisterial interference,
and the stakes were drawn.
An opportunity, however, soon offered itself, proving the truth of the
adage that “where there’s a will there’s a way.” On the very next
Tuesday, April 20th, 1824, both men found themselves (of course by
accident) at Colnbrook, when and where Peace Inglis defeated Ned Turner.
Twenty pounds were quickly subscribed for a second battle, and Alec
having tossed his beaver into the ropes was answered by the Gipsy. Both
men were in first-rate condition, and both equally confident. Josh
Hudson and Dick Curtis, two of the ablest of seconds, looked after
Cooper; the accomplished Harry Holt and the veteran Tom Jones, of
Paddington, seconded Reid.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Cooper commenced the mill furiously, and his blows told
heavily. Flattered with success, he went to work hand over head,
throwing aside a number of blows. Reid could scarcely be quick
enough for his opponent; but he stopped and shifted cleverly. A
short pause, when the Gipsy again plunged in and drew first blood.
In closing, both down. No harm done.
2.—The lip of the Gipsy was bleeding when he appeared at the
scratch. He lashed out, neck or nothing. Reid put in two nobbing
hits and threw Cooper.
3.—The Gipsy was furious indeed; he did not look at his man, to take
any sort of aim, yet Reid was bustled about, and received a random
shot or two on the body. In a rally he clinched the Gipsy and gave
him a cross-buttock.
4.—This was a fine fighting round; the Gipsy appeared as if he meant
to win and nothing else. The hitting was sharp on both sides. Reid
was floored. (“The Gipsy will win!” and several now took him for
choice.)
5.—The Gipsy was so desperate that he bored Reid down. Nothing.
6.—Cooper was amazingly active; he hit in all directions;
nevertheless he retreated from Reid when the latter stepped in to
exchange. In closing the Gipsy put in a heavy blow as they were both
going down.
7.—The Gipsy had it his own way this round. Reid napped terribly,
and was also milled down. (“Cooper will win in a canter. If he had
fought like this with Bishop Sharpe we must have won our money,”
from several losers on that mill.)
8.—The hitting of the Gipsy was tremendous; and if he had not thrown
so many blows away, he might have been able to have given a better
account of the battle. Reid went down heavily hit. (The cry was,
“The Gipsy is sure to win it!”)
9.—Reid nobbed his adversary twice neatly, and kept him out, but the
Gipsy bored in and both were down.
10.—The Gipsy had been so very busy that Reid had had scarcely time
for a moment’s tactics. He, however, now showed the Gipsy that a
dangerous customer stood before him—a boxer that would make him
fight, and not let him get out of his reach at pleasure. The Gipsy
napped two nobbers that made him reel; he returned and tripped up
Reid.
11.—Severe counter-hitting, and Reid received such a swingeing hit
that he reeled about and went down. (“Come, no tumbledown tricks,”
cried Josh.)
12.—This was the best round in the fight. The men fought into a
rally, and broke away. A pause necessary on both sides. The Gipsy
slashing out hand over head, both were down, Cooper undermost. The
Gipsy, quite frantic, struck Holt, who, he said, had acted “foul”
towards him; but Harry very prudently did not return it, or the
fight must have been spoilt.
13.—Reid was positively run down, without harm done.
14.—The Gipsy was so fast that the spectators had scarcely an
opportunity of appreciating the clever defence displayed by Reid.
Cooper violent as before, and Reid down smiling.
15.—Reid got hold of Cooper; fibbing at the ropes till both down.
16.—Reid would make the Gipsy fight, although the latter retreated
from him. Reid was thrown in the close.
17.—In this round Cooper was not quite so fast, and Reid put in a
stopper or two on his nob, that produced the claret. Reid also put
in a clean back-handed hit on the Gipsy’s proboscis. Both down; Reid
fell out of the ropes.
18.—Reid reminded the amateurs of Randall’s neatness of style. The
Gipsy could not get away from his returns. The latter, however,
fought desperately, and Reid went down.
19, and last.—The spectators did not apprehend the fight was so
nearly over. Reid took the lead in great style, and by a heavy blow
hit the Gipsy clean through the ropes. Cooper’s head rebounded as he
rolled over, and when time was called the Gipsy had not awoke from
his trance. Reid of course was declared the winner. Twenty-nine
minutes.
REMARKS.—Reid to all appearance was little the worse for his battle,
except a swelled cheek. The Gipsy is always dangerous from his
lunging hits; but he trusts so much to chance that he is almost a
“gift” to a steady and bold boxer. He does not look his man full in
the face. Reid fought like a winning man, and showed excellent
points.
What is the use of going out for a spree without making “a day of it?”
say the jolly ones. Here is a case in point. It occurred, somehow or
other, no matter, that a turn-up took place between Maurice Delay and
Alec Reid, on the road home from the fight, after Stockman had defeated
the Sailor Boy, on Tuesday, September 21st, 1824, near the “Coach and
Horses,” at Ilford. Notwithstanding the disparity between the men as to
size and weight, it was stated in the papers of the day that Reid had
none the worst of it with his ponderous antagonist during two rounds,
after which they were parted. Half-an-hour after Bill Savage offered
himself to Reid’s notice for a £5 note which an amateur had offered for
“a wind-up” to the day. A ring was formed near the Temple Mills, Essex,
Harry Holt and Jem Burn waiting on Reid, and Savage seconded by his
brother and George Weston. Darkness coming on a “draw” was declared
after thirty-seven minutes, and the money divided. Reid, although out of
condition, was said to have had the best of it.
Alec was now matched for £50 a-side against the renowned Bishop Sharpe,
and a gallant fight was anticipated. Bishop Sharpe was well known as
nothing else but a good man; he had beaten all his opponents, the
tremendous Gipsy Cooper three times. Nevertheless, in the opinion of the
judges of boxing, the Bishop did not rank as a scientific fighter; he,
however, was the favourite, five and six to four. Reid stood well in the
sporting world; nay, so much so that it was expected that Alec would
prove a second Jack Randall.
On Thursday, December 11th, 1824, a long procession of London travellers
crossed the ferry at Hampton, and the ring was formed on the classic
Hurst of Moulsey. The Commissary-General, with the ropes and stakes,
made a pretty twenty-four feet inner square, and a spacious circular
enclosure marked the outer ring. The combatants peeled, the colours were
tied to the stakes, a bird’s eye on a red ground for Reid, a yellowman
for Sharpe. Oliver and Ben Burn attended upon Reid, Josh Hudson and Dick
Curtis on Sharpe. The men shook hands, and then came
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Reid was in fine condition, and Sharpe looked hardy and
well. Scarcely, however, had the men held up their hands, than
surprise was expressed at the careless style of Reid. He stood so
slovenly and with so open a guard that Sharpe at once went in and
hit him slightly, when Reid stepped back and went down suspiciously.
Opinions that “Mr. Barney” was not far off were freely expressed,
Reid’s style was so unlike his former displays.
2.—Oliver said to his man as he went up, “If you don’t mean to
fight, say so, and I’ll leave the ring.” Reid laughed and manœuvred
about. Sharpe again forced the fighting. A few exchanges took place,
to the advantage of Sharpe, and Reid was again on the grass. While
sitting on his second’s knee Reid complained of sickness. “He’s
coming it,” said Curtis. “No,” said Reid, “no such thing.” Ben Burn
angrily said “he would not be second in a cross,” and left the ring.
3.—“Why don’t you fight?” asked Oliver. Reid could not or would not.
He received a flush hit in the mouth, and first blood was claimed.
Reid down, and the ring broken in. Oliver left the roped enclosure.
4, and last.—Reid came up at the call of “time,” amidst great
confusion. There were a few exchanges, and again Reid went down in
his own corner. “You have won,” cried Sharpe’s backers. “Don’t leave
the ring yet,” said Josh Hudson to Sharpe.
REMARKS.—A curious conclusion was come to. Reid declared he was
ready to go on, but his seconds had deserted him. At Hampton he
maintained that he had no idea of fighting “a cross,” and that no
one had even dared to propose such a thing to him. Our opinion is,
in the absence of all direct evidence, that Reid was “hocussed,” by
whom was never ascertained (he himself always asserted this to be
the case), and that his temporary stupefaction went off before his
arrival at Hampton. The referee not having been appealed to on the
ground there was no decision. Accordingly, Tom Cribb, who was
stakeholder, returned the money to the backers of each man, and all
bets were drawn. Pierce Egan has half-a-dozen pages of incoherent
persiflage upon this mysterious affair, cut from his own paper, from
which little definite can be gathered.
Reid was now certainly under a cloud of dark suspicion. Yet a few
friends were found who matched him for £100 against Jubb (the Cheltenham
Champion), a boxer who had recently beaten Price (the Oxford Champion)
in off-hand style, and whose friends were anxious to measure him with a
London pugilist. The men met accordingly in Worcestershire, near
Stow-on-the-Wold, on the 4th of June, 1825.
Benford, in Oxfordshire, seventy-one miles from London, was the place
named, but on the morning bills were posted in the town signed by the
magistrates of three counties, Oxford, Berks, and Gloucester, warning
all persons against attending any fight within those counties, and
ordering all constables, &c., to take the principals and seconds into
custody as contemplating a breach of the peace. Worcestershire now
seemed the only open point, and off went all hands to Icombe, a village
on the borders, two miles from Stow-on-the-Wold, and ten or so from
Benford. At half-past two in the afternoon Reid skied his beaver, Jack
Randall and the Laureate Fogo acting as his esquires. Jubb soon
followed, attended by Bill Eales, the scientific, and a provincial
friend named Collier. On stripping both men looked well. Jubb had the
advantage in weight, length of reach, and height, yet the London
division laid odds on Reid at five to four when the countrymen would not
take evens.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Jubb stood somewhat over Reid, with his hands well out, but
somewhat awkward in position. He made play at Reid’s head, but was
stopped neatly. Reid smiled and nodded, and broke ground actively.
Jubb tried it again, but was again parried, and the Chelsea cobbler
popped in such a cutting right-hander in return just over the left
eye that Jubb’s optic flashed fire and he seemed all abroad, winking
like an owl in the sunshine. The London division delighted. Reid
bustled Jubb down.
2.—Reid treated Jubb’s attempts lightly. He followed him all over
the ring, and after a heavy hit on his left eye, closed and threw
him, amidst general cheering.
3.—Jubb, who somewhat fancied himself as a wrestler, seemed all
abroad; he tried to catch Reid in his arms, but Alec hit up, caught
him under the chin a rattler, and fell on his knees from the force
of his own blow. Reid complained that he had no nails in his shoes.
4.—All the hitting came from Reid’s side. Jubb could only stop with
his ribs or head. Reid down, the Cheltenham lads grumbling, “He
dropped without a blow.” It was not so; many blows were exchanged.
5–7.—Similar in character. Jubb wild, Reid steady, and always ready
as his man came in.
8.—In a rally Jubb caught Reid a swinging hit in the throat, which
almost turned him round. The Jubbites cheered, but Reid returned to
the rally, and the Cheltenham champion was floored.
Ten more rounds, in which Jubb was, with unimportant exceptions,
receiver-general.
18, and last.—Jubb came up in the doldrums. He was hit in all
directions, but was too game to go down. His backers humanely
interfered, and desired his seconds to take him away. It was all
over in twenty-three minutes and a half, and when Reid put on his
clothes there was scarcely a mark perceptible on his face.
REMARKS.—Jubb did not avail himself of his height. On the contrary,
he stooped to a level with the eye of Reid. Jubb is a game man, and
would beat any countryman who merely relied on strength and going
in. Reid fought with him whenever he attempted to force the
fighting, and got on to him almost how and where he pleased,
stopping his attack and turning it to his own advantage. Reid won
first blood, first knock-down blow, and the battle, his backers
drawing upon all three events.
Reid, on his return to town, addressed letters to the sporting papers
challenging Bishop Sharpe, West Country Dick, or Aaron, for £100, and
undertaking to weigh no more than 10st. 4lbs. on the day of fighting.
As there were difficulties in the way with Bishop Sharpe Reid’s friends
matched him against Tom Gaynor, a man certainly his overmatch by a stone
in weight and three inches in height. The fight, which took place May
16th, 1826, and in which Alec suffered defeat after a game contest of
one hour and ten minutes, will be found in Chapter IX., _ante_, page 403
of this volume.
At length preliminaries were settled between Alec and his former
opponent Bishop Sharpe, for £50 a-side. The battle took place on the 6th
of September, 1826, at No Man’s Land, in Hertfordshire. It was anybody’s
fight for the first twenty-five minutes, when Alec received what might
be termed a chance blow in the pit of the stomach, from which he never
recovered, and victory was declared for the Bold Smuggler.
Shortly after this (October 27th, 1826) Reid got into trouble for having
acted in the capacity of second to a man of the name of Crow, in a
pugilistic contest at Old Oak Common, with one Samuel Beard. The jury
found Beard, Reid, and Michael Curtis guilty, and sentenced them, Beard
to seven days’ imprisonment in Newgate, and the seconds to fourteen
days, and to be held in recognisances “to keep the peace for twelve
months towards all His Majesty’s subjects.”
Poor Alec, having done his term in “the donjon’s dreary keep,” and lived
out his recognisances to keep the peace, was once again matched with his
old opponent Bishop Sharpe for £100. Little preface is necessary to the
detail of the battle between these men, which was one of the best that
had been witnessed for many years, even when downright milling and
upstanding rallies were far more common than they became in the
succeeding years, which marked the decline and fall of the P.R. They had
fought twice before, in both of which instances Reid was unsuccessful.
As soon as the match was made they went into training, and thus all
gradually ripened for sport. On Sunday Sharpe took his departure for St.
Albans, and took up his quarters at the “Blue Boar,” and on the next
evening, after a benefit at the Tennis Court, Reid followed his example,
pitching his tent at the “Red Lion.” Tuesday morning (July 15th, 1828)
was unfavourable, nevertheless the roads were thronged at an early hour.
Both men were visited in the town; both spoke well of their condition,
and with modest confidence of success; Reid saying “he had everything at
stake, for if he lost he was bowled out for ever, whereas if he won he
was made a man of.” Sharpe soberly said he was “to win to-day,” and his
shoemaker had already booked the event as certain by inscribing on the
soles of his high-lows, “These are the shoes that are to win;” a
prophecy which was unfortunately trodden under foot in more ways than
one, for he was for the first time in his life forced to confess he was
fairly conquered, after a long career previously unchequered by defeat.
The odds during the morning were five and six to four on Sharpe.
As the hour for business approached the crowd increased, till the word
was given to march, and all toddled to the scene of action, where Tom
Oliver had previously pitched the ropes and stakes, and collected an
outer ring of wagons.
Shortly before one o’clock the Smuggler bore down for the ring attended
by Josh Hudson and Dick Curtis, and having thrown in his castor, entered
himself. The Snob was soon with him, under the auspices of Tom Spring
and the Lively Kid (Ned Stockman). After shaking hands, the Snob said he
had four sovereigns, to which he was desirous of taking odds of six to
four. This was at once laid him by Dick Curtis, and staked, and the
operation of peeling commenced. On stripping, weight and muscle were
evidently in favour of the Bishop. He looked fresher in the mug, too,
although it was said he had been imprudently attending as the host of a
canvas tavern at Woolwich Races and Fairlop Fair, where he dispensed the
“real thing” in large quantities. Reid looked light and thin, but was in
good spirits, and seemed confident.
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Sharpe, as usual, came forward right foot foremost,
measuring his man with a keen and searching eye. Alec was on the
alert, both hands well up, and his right ready for a drop to save
his bread-basket from the Smuggler’s favourite lunge. At last Sharpe
broke ground, and planted his left slightly on Reid’s ribs. Reid
instantly hit with him, right and left, at the nob, and Sharpe
returned with his left in similar style. Both were rather wild, but,
in the close, the Bishop was thrown. On rising to his second’s knee,
there was a cry of “first blood” from Sharpe’s mouth, but at the
same moment a similar tinge was seen from the Snob’s muzzle, so that
on this point there was no advantage, and a tie was acknowledged.
2.—Alec ready, and the Smuggler looking for a run upon his starboard
quarter. At last Alec planted his right in Sharpe’s mouth a second
time. The Bishop instantly fought to a rally, and jobbing hits were
exchanged with great rapidity, Sharpe again napping it in the mouth,
and the Snob on the dexter ogle. Both showed more claret. In the
close, the Snob was thrown, the Smuggler upon him.
3.—Sharpe now popped in his favourite left, but not in the right
place, being on the ribs instead of the mark. Alec hit with him,
right and left, in pretty style, and floored him with a right-hand
muzzler. First knock-down blow for Reid.
4.—The Bishop’s mouth showed two incisions, which bled profusely.
He, however, came up smiling, and delivered with his left on Alec’s
jaw. Alec returned in good style. The Bishop then bored in wildly,
and, in the close, both went down, Alec fibbing as he resisted
Sharpe’s effort for the fall.
5.—Sharpe’s nose now began to show the weight of Alec’s fibbing, and
claret streamed profusely. He, however, rushed in wildly, trying for
the Snob’s body. The Snob got away, and, in a second trial of the
same sort, he met the Bishop with a flush hit on the forehead, and,
on repeating the dose, the Bishop bored in. The Snob again met him
right and left, and floored him, hitting him severely as he was
falling.
6.—Sharpe again hit short at the body with his left, and Alec,
always ready, met him right and left, and, repeating the experiment,
hit him down with a flush smack on the ivories.
7.—Alec waited with great judgment, and, as the Bishop came in,
stopped his left, and returned heavily with his right. The Bishop
would not be denied, but caught Alec a nasty one on the temple. Both
broke away, but on Sharpe again rushing in, Alec met him right and
left on the head, and then hit him heavily with the right on the
ribs, and dropped him. (Shouts of “It’s all your own, Reid!”)
8.—The Bishop’s head the worse for bad usage, his left eye puffed,
and a cut on each cheek. He, however, went in as game as a pebble to
hit with his left. Alec was again away. Sharpe followed him up, but
Alec, stepping back, met him twice on the frontispiece. He had then
reached the ropes, and the Bishop became desperate. Alec went down
to avoid, showing the tact of a good general.
9.—The Bishop rattled in and planted his left on Alec’s eye, but
received severely right and left in return, and in the end went
down.
10.—The Bishop bored in open-handed. Alec retreated a little before
him, but then jumped in and met him with two flush hits, right and
left, on the head. The Bishop closed for a rally, and desperate hits
were exchanged. In the close, both down.
11.—The Bishop capsized with a straight visitation on the smeller
from Alec’s left.
12.—2 to 1 on Reid. Sharpe bored in wildly, and Alec went down.
13.—The Bishop again bored in. Alec retreated, and tried his right
and left, but missed. The Bishop, in returning, fell on his knees.
14.—Sharpe came in manfully, but Alec was ready, stopped his left,
returned right and left on his canister, and then hit him down
beautifully with a right-handed smack on his ribs.
15.—Counter-hits. The Bishop planted his left well on the Snob’s
conk, and again had him on the body. Alec stepped back, and on the
Bishop again coming in to make play, met him with a snorter with his
right, and dropped him.
16.—Counter-hits with the left, and Sharpe hit away left and right
with great spirit. Alec was not idle, but returned the compliments
with quickness. Bishop closed for the fall, when Alec fibbed
actively, though not effectively. Both down, Bishop under.
17.—The Bishop came up as bold as brass. Alec ready, waited for him
and, on rushing in, he met him right and left on the face. Bishop
retreated, but, on again rushing in, Alec dropped him with another
touch on the nob.
18.—Bishop, first to fight, planted his left. Alec was with him, but
Sharpe would not be denied, and closing, he threw the Snob a heavy
fall, and dropped on him.
19.—Bishop rushed in open-handed, in wild style. Alec drew back,
poising himself on his hind leg. Sharpe followed, and as usual,
napped it left and right, and was floored.
20.—Bishop again pressed in (he saw he had no chance at
out-fighting), when he was met as before, with great precision,
right and left. A spirited rally followed. Good hits were exchanged,
and in the close, Bishop was thrown heavily.
21.—The Bishop, in rushing in, was hit down by a right-handed job.
22.—A good manly rally, with equal advantage, hit for hit. Alec
down.
23.—Counter-hitting with the left. Sharpe dropped his right on
Alec’s smeller, and drew his cork. Alec at him again, and, after a
severe rally, hit him down.
24.—Bishop bored in. Alec withdrew for the jobbing hit, but the
Bishop fell on his face.
25.—On Sharpe coming in, Alec again met him with a facer, and
followed this up with a tremendous body hit with his right, and
dropped him.
26.—Bishop bored in wildly. Alec, as before, on the retreating
system, met him with a facer, as he came in. Sharpe closed, and had
the fall. Not much harm done on either side.
27.—A severe punishing round for Bishop. Alec jobbed right and left
several times, and, in the close, floored him with great force,
rolling him over from the impetus of the fall.
28.—Alec on the waiting system. Bishop rushed in with unshaken game,
but, on delivering his left on Alec’s nob, he received a terrific
hit on the ribs from the Snob’s right, close under his left arm,
which again dropped him.
29.—Bishop again bored in, and was met, with great judgment, by
another delivery from Alec’s right. Both away, and some good
out-fighting. Alec jobbed well. A close, and both down, the Bishop
under.
30.—Alec waiting steadily. Bishop the first to go to work. Alec
stepped back, and Bishop fell forward on his hands and knees.
31.—Alec popped in his favourite hit on the side, but received in
return on the head. Alec then retired, Sharpe after him, hitting
wildly and short. Alec watched his points, and, after stopping with
his right, hit Bishop down with a blow on the throat with his left.
32.—Good out-fighting. Bishop still strong; at last he rushed in,
according to his old system, when Reid had him in the side with his
right. Bishop rushed to a close, and pulled Alec down.
33.—Alec delivered his right and left as Sharpe came in, and got
away. The Bishop, after him, would not flinch, and was again floored
with a stupefying hit on the temple.
34.—Bishop again at work, delivered with his left, but in return was
hit down by a straight facer.
35.—Bishop rushed in wildly, but Alec was on his guard. Good
counter-hitting, and a manly rally. In the close, Alec was thrown.
Shouts for Bishop, and his friends still in spirits.
36.—Sharpe came in wildly, but Alec was steady and cautious. His
right was again familiar with Bishop’s ribs, and his right and left
were once more in contact with his phiz. In the end, Sharpe was
floored heavily.
37.—Alec had it in the right eye, but returned with interest,
catching the Bishop twice on the mug, and Sharpe went down weak.
38.—Bishop on the boring system; Alec away. Sharpe caught him on the
body slightly, and received on the head in return. A merry rally,
hit for hit. Both down.
39.—The Bishop made his run, Alec met him with a job. Both away, and
at it again. Alec pursued the same system of jobbing, but had a
nasty one on the right eye, and went down.
40.—Again did Alec meet Bishop right and left. Sharpe caught him on
the nozzle, and drew claret in a stream. Alec, merry, at him again,
and down went the Smuggler.
41.—Alec met Sharpe right and left on the head, but received a heavy
blow on the nob in return. In the close, both down, Bishop under.
42.—Alec met Bishop with a flush hit on the throat, and floored him.
43.—Sharpe caught Alec a terrific blow on the side of the
knowledge-box, but had three for one in return, and Alec fell.
44.—Alec ready, but his physog. strangely out of shape, and as
tender as a chicken; he could scarcely bear to wash his mouth.
Bishop rushed in, but was hit down by a right-hander.
45.—Sharpe’s left ogle closed for the day; still he came up game,
but Alec, ready, met him in the face. Bishop missed his left-handed
lunge at the body and fell.
46.—Sharpe wild, was jobbed on the head, and fell.
47.—Bishop, still staunch, the first to mill. Alec waited, jobbed,
and got away. Bishop followed him up, hit with his left at the body,
closed, and threw Alec a burster, falling heavily on him.
48.—Alec, still awake, met Bishop right and left, and dropped him.
49.—Bishop again hit down with a heavy blow on the left ribs.
50.—Sharpe hit down from a left-hander on the nob.
51.—Again was Bishop hit down.
52.—Bishop charged. Alec retreated, but meeting Sharpe, dropped a
heavy one on the body with his right. In closing, Alec hit the
Bishop up terrifically with his right, on the smeller, and grassed
him.
53.—Bishop hit down right and left.
54 to 60.—All in favour of Alec, who hit his man down every round,
either from blows on the head or body.
61.—The Bishop went down without a blow. Cries of “foul,” but no
decision.
62.—Bishop gathered all his strength, and came up in good force. He
hit Alec with the left, but was jobbed down right and left.
63.—Bishop again hit down.
64.—Counter-hits. Sharpe went boldly to his man, but was dropped.
65.—Curtis now began to use all his tact to encourage his man,
chaffed the Snob, and doffed his own shirt to be more at ease. Alec
hit Bishop right and left, and he went down.
66.—Alec drank out of the bottle himself, and winked to his friends,
as much as to say, “It’s all right.” Alec stopped his man with his
left, and hit him down as he came in.
67 to 71.—All in favour of Alec, and Bishop went down every round.
72.—Bishop gathered himself for mischief, and tried his favourite
left-handed body hit, but it fell short, and he caught it right and
left and went down.
73.—Bishop attempted to hit, but went down without a blow.
74.—Alec jobbed with his left, and caught Bishop on the dexter ogle,
which began to swell, and he went down.
75.—Sharpe hit down.
76.—The Bishop hit with his left at Alec’s mark, but it was without
effect. Alec rushed at him to hit, but Bishop dropped, on the saving
system.
77.—Again did Bishop try his left, and his friends still hoped he
would pop it in the right place, but no go, he was jobbed down.
78.—The Bishop, in going in, went down without a blow. (Hisses, and
cries of “foul.”)
79.—The Bishop went in wild, and fell. Cries of “Take him away.”
80.—Bishop again bored in, neck or nothing. Alec got away, and
Sharpe fell.
81.—Similar to the last. Alec missed a tremendous up-hit, or all
would have been over.
82.—Bishop jobbed down with the left, but both distressed, and
severely punished in the head.
83.—Bishop hit down.
84 to 87.—The Bishop, dreadfully jobbed and hit in the body with the
right, down every round. The crisis was now approaching. Alec had it
all his own way, and nothing but a lucky lunge could change the
aspect of affairs, and for this Bishop’s friends still anxiously
sought.
88.—Sharpe came up wild, and was hit down.
89.—Bishop hit down again with a body blow.
90.—Alec saw the sore point. The Bishop winced, and he gave him
another appalling body blow, which resounded through the ring, and
felled him.
91, and last.—Poor Bishop got up to receive the finisher, and was
floored by a tremendous hit with the left. All was now over; Sharpe
was insensible, and, on time being called, his seconds gave in. The
hat of victory was instantly thrown up, and the shouts of the
crimson heroes proclaimed the success of their favourite, in one
hour and twenty-seven minutes. Alec made a slight bound, and, after
a short pause, was conducted to his carriage. He was so exhausted
that some time elapsed before he could be dressed, after which he
was borne off to St. Albans, with flying colours. Poor Sharpe
remained for some time insensible to his fate.
REMARKS.—This was decidedly as game and determined a battle as was
ever witnessed. Each man seemed deeply to feel the stake at issue.
Fame and fortune were alike involved, and the contest was
proportionally severe. The scientific style in which Reid fought was
the admiration of the ring. His attack and defence were alike
judicious. Aware of the dangerous left-handed lunge of the Bishop,
by which he had before been robbed of victory when within his grasp,
he took especial care not only to cover his vulnerable point, but to
counteract Sharpe’s plan by a move of the same sort himself. Thus we
find him constantly pinking Bishop’s body with his right, and so
simultaneous were these efforts on both sides, that Alec’s right
hand often met Bishop’s half-way. Alec’s caution, his waiting for
Bishop’s rush, his judicious retreat, and rapid execution, right and
left, when Bishop left his body unguarded, were beautiful; and our
only surprise was, that, after such apparent mischief, Bishop was
enabled to come up so steady and strong. Sharpe fought as brave as a
lion, but his judgment was inferior when compared with Reid’s. He
fought wildly, and without discretion, although in the end, when he
found the chances were against him, he had recourse to every
manœuvre to regain strength, and plant his favourite hit. His
deliveries on Alec’s nose with his left were very heavy, as was
sufficiently visible, and Alec no doubt felt their weight, for his
head presented a dreadful spectacle on that side where the blows
told, and his mouth and eye were much swollen; indeed, so distressed
did he appear towards the end of the fight, that Sharpe’s friends to
the last considered he had a chance, and the odds of three to one
were offered with singular caution. It was not till Nature had
deserted Bishop altogether that he struck, and his backers, though
mortified, candidly confessed he could not have done more.
The conquest of the gallant but stale Dick Curtis by Perkins, the Oxford
Pet, had rankled long in the minds of the London Fancy, although poor
King Dick had fallen, not ingloriously, before superior weight, length,
strength, and youth. It was thought that Alec would be a better match
for him, and accordingly articles were signed for £100 a-side, and the
day fixed for the 25th May, 1830.
As a short notice of Perkins, and a detailed report of his victory over
Curtis, will appear in the appendix of this Period, we shall not further
dwell on his Ring career. Perkins had trained at Chipping Norton, and
Reid paid every attention to getting himself fit at Burford, in Surrey;
and so favourable were the accounts of his condition that he was freely
backed at six to four by his old friends.
On the Monday before the battle the ’Varsity city was full of bustle and
activity. The “Red Lion” and the “Anchor” were crowded by visitors
anxious to get the “tip” as to the whereabouts. This was found to be the
“Four-shire Stone,” seven miles from Chipping Norton, at a point where
the counties of Oxford, Warwick, Worcester, and Berks are conterminous.
We may here note that on this occasion Reid fought under the _alias_ of
“Jack O’Brien,” owing to his being held to bail for a period then
unexpired, for being present at a mill in the neighbourhood of London.
The battle is reported in _Bell’s Life_ as between “Perkins and Jack
O’Brien.”
By eleven o’clock Commissary Oliver and his lieutenant, “Fogo of the
Frosty Face,” had pitched the ring at the appointed rendezvous—it being
surrounded by numerous undergrads, who had given the slip to “bulldogs”
and “proctors” to attend the demonstration of craniology and the
practical essay on “bumps” which Messrs. Reid and Perkins had prepared
for their edification. At a little before twelve the Chelsea hero
showed, waited on by Young Dutch Sam and Dick Curtis, the Oxonian
quickly following, esquired by Harry Jones and Ned Stockman. Each man
was heartily cheered. The colours, green with a crimson spot for Reid,
and a fancy pink silk fogle for the Oxford Pet, were tied to the stakes.
The whip-bearers of the “Fair Play Club” preserved an unbroken ring, and
everything was arranged with regularity and order. The toss for choice
of position was won for Perkins. The men shook hands, the seconds and
bottle-holders retired to their respective corners, and the men, toeing
the scratch, threw up their daddies and began
THE FIGHT.
Round 1.—Both appeared in excellent condition, but Reid had the
advantage in weight, being 10st. 7lb., while Perkins was 10st. 3lb.
This difference was not so obvious as they stood opposed to each
other, although it might tell in the end; indeed, a more equal match
as to size could scarce be imagined. A manly firmness sat on the
brow of each, and everything like personal animosity seemed banished
from their minds. No sooner had the seconds and bottle-holders
retired than the Snob showed his determination to lose not a moment
in bringing the enemy to action. Covering his points well, he
advanced, and made slight play left and right; the Pet, awake,
stopped these efforts with great neatness. The Snob tried the same
manœuvre a second time; but the Pet again stopped and got away. He
had not much time to deliberate, however, before Reid popped in his
left on the “mark;” he tried his right at the nob at the same time,
but it was “no go.” A bustling, active rally followed, good stopping
was observable on both sides, and slight exchanges took place. In
the end the Snob caught the Pet on the jowl with his left, and
dropped him, although the blow was not delivered with decisive
force; still, this was booked as the first knock-down, and Reid was
loudly cheered.
2.—The Chelsea hero again all activity, the Pet cautious. The Snob’s
first one two stopped, but his left was once more at the victualling
office. In return, the Pet caught his opponent a nasty one on the
muzzle, swelling his lips, and leading to a cry of “first blood;”
but it was so slight, if at all to be seen, that he contrived to
hide it from observation. A slashing rally followed, and the
left-handed counters were beautiful—both “napping it” with
considerable force. Reid had rather the advantage in the onslaught,
but in following up his man the Pet went down, amidst cheers from
his friends.
3.—The Snob first to fight, and all bustle in his operations; the
Pet, cautious, stopped his one two. Perkins received a clinker on
the left ear, and first blood was visible beneath, while the ear was
puffed; this was declared as unequivocal of the second event for the
Snob. The Oxonian, all alive, met the Snob’s attack, stopping his
right, but catching his left slap in the muzzle, the Snob had it in
return with equal force. The Snob put in a left-hand body hit, and
got away. Returning again to the charge, he found the Pet armed at
all points. The Pet retreated, stopping Reid’s right and left with
admirable precision, and ultimately going down without a blow, upon
the cautious system.
4.—Reid, first to fight, popped in a left-handed job on the potato
trap, ditto on the ogle. The Pet saw the defensive would not do, and
fought a spirited rally; the exchanges were quick and effectual—hit
followed hit with electric rapidity, and each dropped claret—the Pet
from the mouth, Reid from the conk. The scientific stopping on both
sides during this rally was first-rate. The Snob tried his body hit
with the left, but was short; the Pet smiled and got away. Reid
would not be denied, but went merrily to his man; there was no
getting away, and to it they went “ding-dong.” The counter-hits were
numerous, and the stops equally so. The Pet put in a body hit with
his right—but with both men most punishment was given with the left,
and neither spared his opponent. In the end Perkins went down
hitting, Reid smiling defiance.
5.—Good stopping right and left by both; the Snob stuck to his work,
and countering was the order of the day. Perkins retreated, followed
closely by Reid, who kept hitting away, when Perkins dropped on one
knee, and put up his hand; Reid withheld a falling blow, though
entitled to hit, and retired amidst the cheers of his friends.
6.—The Chelsea champion put in his left on the Oxford man’s nozzle,
which was uncorked. He then went in boldly to punish, but the Pet
dropped and smiled. (Cries of “Stand up!” and “Foul!”)
7.—The Snob; all alive, went to work, and put in a left-handed
muzzler. The Pet returned the compliment. Heavy hits exchanged, but
the Pet had the worst of it, and again went down amidst the
grumbling of the Snob’s friends. (Ten pounds to five on Reid.)
8.—The Snob made play right and left—the first stopped, the second
successful. Perkins returned heavily with his left; good
counter-hitting, the science of both exciting general admiration.
Perkins rather cautious, but Reid would be at work, and rattled in;
more fine counter-hitting, and a spirited rally—the hitting was
slashing. The Pet was hit down with a slinging hit over the right
eye, which exhibited a gaping wound, but the Snob had it almost as
heavily on the smeller, and fell on his hands and knees; both
bleeding.
9.—Good fighting on both sides, but Reid had the advantage of
strength. The Pet retreated before him, stopping, but caught it
again on the right eye and on the cheek beneath, where an old wound
was opened. Reid put in his favourite left-handed bodier, but caught
a nose-ender in return. Perkins retreated, but was all alive, and
popped in a jobbing hit with his left, and threw in his right on the
Snob’s neck. The Chelsea man returned fiercely, hitting right and
left, when the Pet fell on his hands and knees.
10.—Reid, all alive, planted his left on the body; counter-hits on
the mazzard, and neat stopping. Perkins went down on his knees.
(More grumbling from Reid’s friends.)
11.—Both showed strong marks of punishment. The Snob went to work,
and cut away in good style; Perkins popped in his right at the body,
but had it in return on the nob. Spirited rally. Reid again tapped
at the victualling office of the Pet, and after good counter-hitting
Perkins, on the retreat, went down.
12.—Perkins put in a right-hander on the throat of Reid, and stopped
a counter-hit with his left; left-hand exchanges; the Pet went down.
(Cries of “Shame!” from the friends of Reid.)
13.—The Pet cautious, and on the defensive; Reid went to him; good
scientific stops right and left; excellent counter-hitting; the
Londoner had it heavy on the grinders. (Shouts for Oxford.) A pretty
active rally, hits _pro_ and _con._, and Perkins slipped down.
14.—Perkins made play; Reid, ready at all points, tried to bring his
man to a rally, but the Pet, after stopping some severe hits, went
down on one hand and knee.
15.—Sharp jobbing right and left on both sides; heavy deliveries
right and left from the Snob; claret in abundance; hit and hit;
Perkins down; but the Snob, though vexed at his man dropping,
stepped away, and smiled.
16.—A fine, manly rally; blows followed blows in quick succession,
and both received pepper. In the end Perkins down, Reid, for the
first time, upon him.
17.—The Pet still strong and confident. Reid delivered his left at
the carcass, and got away. A rally; Perkins went down stopping.
18.—Fine fighting; Perkins on the retreat, Alec with him in good
style. Severe exchanges, Perkins down—both distilling the purple
fluid.
19.—Severe deliveries from Reid, and some neat returns. The Snob had
the best of the fighting; the Pet down.
20.—Stopping at starting, but Reid would not be denied—fought with
quickness. The Pet, retreating, was down, after some pretty returns,
but he had the worst of the game, and was somewhat on the piping
order.
21.—The Chelsea hero hit his man down with the left in good style,
and became more jolly.
22.—Reid, all activity, planted his left on the body and broke away.
Perkins went to work, and the fighting was beautiful while it
lasted; but Perkins went down on both knees. His opponent withheld
his falling blow, and looked mortified at this cautious system.
23.—Heavy jobbing; both received and returned, and were the worse
for their work; Perkins floored.
24.—Merry milling, good countering; Perkins retreated. Reid bored
him to the ropes, hit away, and fell upon him.
25.—The Pet’s left cheek cut with a slashing hit—claret in a stream.
Perkins did not flinch, fought to a rally, but was dropped.
26.—Reid showed symptoms of fatigue, but still merry. Hit left and
right, the Pet down.
27, 28, 29.—Good fighting rounds, heavy exchanges, but Perkins down
in every round.
30.—Reid planted his left and right with great force; Perkins made a
neat return with his left on Alec’s muzzle, but was hit down with a
left-handed teazer. Reid smiled, and clapped him on the back as he
was on his knees.
31.—Perkins was again hit down. (A heavy shower of rain now came on,
during which there was a little confusion from a supposition that
certain constables were breaking into the ring to save the Pet from
defeat, but this proved to be a false alarm. The men in the interim
fought with great spirit, and the hitting and stopping was kept up
with great vigour, with pretty equal advantage. The Pet, however,
was always down.)
37.—Tremendous rally. The deliveries on both sides perfect shakers,
and the Pet rather the best of the hitting. (Shouts from the
Gownsmen, and betting rather in favour among Perkins’s friends, but
little done.)
38.—Reid again took the lead, but was courageously met. After a
sharp rally, the Pet was hit down with a left-handed smack in the
throttle. (Loud applause from the Londoners, and the odds again firm
in Reid’s favour.)
39.—Both distressed, but game as lions. Hit away right and left, no
mistake as to intention. Perkins floored with a left-handed job.
40.—Reid all life and confidence, the Pet “nothing loth.” Hit for
hit left and right at the nobs. Perkins rushed to in-fighting,
napped it as he came in, but gave the upper-cut. Reid down. (Renewed
cheers from the “Gownsmen,” and Perkins’s friends still confident.)
41.—Science well exhibited by both. The stopping excellent.
Counter-hitting. The Pet down. (The referee cautioned Perkins to
make “a stand-up fight,” when he exclaimed “the grass was so
slippery he could not help going down.” At this time, from the heavy
rain, which had now subsided, there was some cause for the excuse.)
42.—Reid was again busy with the Pet’s bread-basket with his left. A
slashing rally; good exchanges. In a close Perkins down, Reid on top
of him.
43.—Reid, all gaiety, though woefully disfigured in the mug, went to
his man, popped in left and right, and in the end Perkins, after a
few exchanges, went down.
44.—No time wasted—good stand-up fighting, but the Pet getting weak.
(“Take him away!” said the “Gownsmen.” “No,” said Sam, “he does not
often dine at an ordinary; let him have a skinful.”) The Pet down.
45 and 46.—The mischief pretty equal, and the fighting excellent.
Perkins down in both rounds.
47.—A desperate rally; both did their best; the Pet hit down, but
Reid also fell on his hands and knees, rather weak.
48.—Perkins’s right eye was now completely closed, and his left
looked queer. Reid went in to finish, but was manfully met; still
Perkins had the worst of the fighting, and was hit down.
49.—Reid all gaiety, and again fresh; the Pet steady, but dreadfully
punished in the phiz. The Londoner made play, and hit away right and
left, the latter on the body. Perkins met him on the nose with his
left, but in the return was hit down with a left-handed job.
50.—Reid was now the favourite at long odds, but the Pet’s game did
not desert him; his heart was still in the right place, and he made
a desperate effort to redeem his falling fortune. Reid, however, was
too strong, and dropped him with a left-handed touch in the physog.
The Pet fell forward on his face weak.
51, 52, and 53.—All in favour of Reid, though Perkins did wonders,
and fought with unshrinking courage. In the last round he fell on
his knees, resting on his adversary’s shoulder. Reid smiled, patted
him on the shoulder, and walked away. (Cries of “Take him away!”)
54, and last.—The Oxford man came up to make a last effort, but it
was evidently all over. Still he did his best—made some weak returns
to slashing hits, and at last received the _coup de grace_; he fell,
but gloriously, and his seconds, thinking he had had enough, gave in
for him, the fight having lasted exactly an hour. Both men were
heavily punished. Reid walked to his carriage amidst the cheers of
his “pals,” and Perkins, having recovered from his temporary doze,
rose soon after and followed his example, terribly mortified in
spirit as well as altered in frontispiece.