REMARKS.—This was one of the best and fa_Pugilistica: The History of British Boxing, Volume 2 (of 3) Containing Lives of the Most Celebrated Pugilists; Full Reports of Their Battles from Contemporary Newspapers, With Authentic Portraits, Personal Anecdotes, and Sketches of the Principal Patrons of the Prize Ring, Forming a Complete History of the Ring from Fig and Broughton, 1719-1740, to the Last Championship Battle Between King and Heenan, in December 1863

was throughout full of bustle and spirit. Reid, though not quite up

to the mark of former times, was all his friends had a right to

anticipate. He was active, vigorous, and quick, and never threw a

chance away, save on one or two occasions, when Perkins slipped down

intentionally, and when he might have been hit, but his opponent

generously withheld his blows. This added to his credit; but it is

due to say he suffered severely for his victory, and was heavily

punished in the counter-hitting. The Oxford man fully maintained his

fame, and although beaten fell gloriously before his superior in

strength and weight, if not much so in science. Such was the

equality of mischief in some of the latest struggles in the fight

that there was no certainty till the fiftieth round; and on two or

three occasions Perkins was the favourite with his friends, and

backed at odds. With the exception of going down too often on the

cautious system there was no fault to be found with the Oxford hero;

and even this, though not consistent with the idea of “stand-up

fighting,” was justifiable in point of good generalship. In fact, it

was impossible for a beaten man to have done more to deserve the

respect and approval of his backers.

About a week before the fight, Reid, in a foolhardy experiment to show

how he would muzzle his antagonist, struck his knuckles against a door,

and swelled up his hand; but from this piece of folly he sufficiently

recovered not to show its effects. On the night after the fight both men

showed at their respective headquarters at Oxford, and exhibited heavy

marks of the conflict of the morning. The University city was all bustle

and commotion, and both pleased and displeased had enough to say on the

subject

Tom Spring, Gully, Phil Sampson, Tom Gaynor, and several of the old

school of boxers were on the ground, and resolutely assisted in

preserving order.

This was Alec Reid’s last occasion of exhibiting as a principal in the

Ring. For some years he was a well-known exhibitor and teacher of the

art in the London schools. In his latter days, being afflicted with

paralysis in the left arm and side, he sunk into a sort of master of the

ceremonies at boxing benefits, his civility of manner and respectful

courtesy enabling him to earn a humble crust. For some years he was a

room manager at Nat Langham’s, old friends, who remembered his game

conduct and honest manliness, often lending him support in occasional

benefits. Reid died in comparative poverty and obscurity in 1875, in his

seventy-third year.

CHAPTER XI.

BISHOP SHARPE (“THE BOLD SMUGGLER”)—1818–1826.

Bishop Sharpe, once a seaman in His Majesty’s navy, and subsequently

known as a “long-shore man” in the neighbourhood of Woolwich, was as

tough a specimen of the material of which our “old salts” were made as

even Jack Scroggins himself.

Of the early career of Bishop Sharpe we have but little reliable

account. He beat two unknowns, named Lester and the “Deptford Carrier,”

and in his first recorded battle, on the 24th September, 1818, conquered

Bob Hall in forty-five rounds, occupying fifty-five minutes, at

Woolwich, after a determined contest. Battles with minor pugilists, in

all of which he was successful, spread his fame. These we shall pass

with a mere enumeration. On March 24th, 1819, he met, and defeated, on

Woolwich Marshes, Dick Prior in twenty-five rounds, thirty-five minutes,

for £25. In December, 1819, he beat John Street (an opponent of Josh

Hudson), in one hundred rounds, 105 minutes, near Charlton, Kent. In

February, 1820, John King surrendered to the Bishop in twenty-five

minutes, during which twenty-five sharp rounds were fought, for £25

a-side, at Plumstead.

The contest between the “Bold Smuggler” and the “Slashing Gipsy,” as

Jack Cooper was called, took place for £50 a-side, at the Old Maypole,

in Epping Forest, on Tuesday, June 17th, 1823. The patricians of the

West in the days of the Fourth George, as a general rule, were greatly

averse to a ride over the London stones to witness any fight in North

Kent or Essex. But the fame of the Gipsy, who had conquered every boxer

opposed to him—West Country Dick, O’Leary, Dent, Scroggins, and Cabbage

had succumbed—and the character for determination and lasting which had

run before the Bishop, had travelled westward, and proved such an

attraction that quite an aristocratic surrounding witnessed the merry

mill.

The Old Maypole, as we have already said, was the rallying point, and

the situation chosen to make the ring was delightfully picturesque. At a

few minutes past one Sharpe, in a white wrapper and a yellowman,

arm-in-arm with the John Bull Fighter, threw his beaver into the ring,

followed by Phil Sampson. The Gipsy shortly afterwards appeared, in a

blue coat, with a blue handkerchief round his neck, and repeated the

token of defiance. Spring and Richmond were seconds for Cooper, and

Hudson and Sampson officiated for Sharpe. Spring and Hudson tied the

colours to the stakes, and betting was five to four on the Gipsy. The

latter boxer, according to report, had the advantage in weight of eight

pounds.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Sharpe, immediately on shaking hands, appeared in a hurry

to go to work, and made play with his opponent. The left hand of

Sharpe told slightly. The Gipsy retreated. Some blows were

exchanged, when, in closing, a severe struggle took place; Sharpe

had the best of the throw, and the Gipsy was undermost. (Great

shouting for Sharpe.)

2.—The right eye of Cooper was winking from a slight hit. Sharpe was

confident, and the Gipsy retreated from him; the latter, at length,

made himself up, and with a right-handed lunging hit he made Sharpe

stagger, and he also went down on one knee, but jumped up again

immediately. (“Well done, Cooper!”)

3.—Both ready—both offering—the Gipsy retreating, and Sharpe

following. In closing, the Gipsy got the throw.

4 to 7.—A very small tinge of the claret appeared on the Gipsy’s

lips. Sharpe rushed in, bored the Gipsy to the ropes, and threw him.

8 to 13.—Their blows did no execution—at least, they did not appear

effective. It was bloodless up to the close of this round.

14.—Cooper showed off a little in his usual style in this round; he

nobbed Sharpe, and also gave him a severe cross-buttock. (“It is of

no use,” cried Josh. “I have seconded Bishop seven times, and none

of the coves could ever make a mark upon him.”)

15 and 16.—Sharpe received a heavy blow under his listener, and went

down.

17 to 26.—In the 25th round, Sharpe napped pepper, and the claret

trickled down his face. (“I have fetched it at last,” said Cooper to

Sharpe, laughing; “and plenty more will soon follow.” “Don’t be too

fast,” replied Sharpe, putting in at the same time a severe blow on

the Gipsy’s throat. The latter, however, bored Sharpe down.)

27 to 37.—The friends of the Gipsy felt quite at ease that he would

win the battle; and the partisans of Sharpe were equally confident,

asserting that “he could not lose it.” Yet the Gipsy did not make

use of his severe right-handed hit, and kept always retreating from

his opponent. The superiority of Sharpe in this round was so

decisive, and his conduct so generous and manly, as to receive

thunders of applause from every spectator round the ring. Sharpe hit

the Gipsy so severely that the latter in retreating got between the

ropes. Sharpe disdained to take advantage of this opportunity (what

Randall would have termed giving a chance away), and walked back

into the middle of the ring, beckoning with his hand for Cooper to

follow him. Some exchanges took place, and the Gipsy received a

heavy fall.

38 to 44.—Sometimes Sharpe had the best of it; at other times Cooper

kept his friends in good humour; but nothing decisive appeared on

either side as to victory; and several of the old ring-goers

murmured that so little execution had been done, either by the

tremendous hitting Gipsy or the heavy punishing Sharpe.

45, 46, 47.—In these rounds certain symptoms appeared that the Gipsy

was going off, or, in plain terms, that he had had the worst of it;

five to two, by way of chaffing, was offered against Cooper. Martin

came up to the Gipsy while sitting on his second’s knee, and told

him, if he won it, he should have £50, at the same time offering to

back Cooper for £50.

48, 49, 50.—In the last round the Gipsy was bored to the ropes by

the hitting of Sharpe, and also thrown heavily. (“It is all your own

way, Sharpe; go in and finish him.”)

51.—A severe struggle at the ropes, and Sharpe went down.

52.—The Gipsy was hit down. The Sharpites outrageous in their

applause and gestures. (“It is as safe as the day.”)

53.—The hitting of the Gipsy was gone, and his right hand appeared

of no use to him. Here Spring whispered to Cooper “to use his right

hand, and he must win it.” “I cannot use it,” replied the Gipsy; “I

have hurt my shoulder.” The Gipsy fibbed down at the ropes. Another

tremendous shout for Sharpe.

54.—The nob of the Gipsy appeared punished severely, and his right

eye was cut. Both down.

55.—Sharpe now took great liberties with the head of his opponent,

and fell upon him so heavily as nearly to shake the wind out of him.

56, and last.—This was short and sweet to Sharpe; he hit Cooper

down, and when time was called victory was declared in favour of

Bishop Sharpe. The battle occupied one hour twenty-five minutes.

REMARKS.—The judges called the above mill a bad fight—a long

innings, and but little to show for it. The face of Sharpe had

scarcely a mark upon it; and the Gipsy said “he was not hurt.” A

medical man on the ground examined the shoulder of the Gipsy, and he

pronounced “the clavicle to be fractured.” (Of course, this sounded

more learned than to say “the collar-bone was broken.”) This

fracture prevented the Gipsy from lifting his arm without

experiencing a grinding of the bones, producing great pain. If the

Gipsy had taken the lead instead of retreating from his adversary,

it was thought he must have won it. Cooper missed several blows, and

at various times did not follow up his success. This was observable

in the tenth round, the ninth being a guinea to a shilling in his

favour.

A second match with Jack Cooper was fought by Sharpe at Harpenden

Common, on the 5th of August, 1823, with the like result, Sharpe proving

conqueror in thirty-nine minutes, during which Cooper fought thirty

rushing rounds. The two battles were so similar that a reprint would be

mere repetition. At Blackheath Sharpe and Cooper met a third time, on

November 14th, in the same year, for £100, and fought a draw, daylight

closing in on the undecided contest.

On the 10th of May, 1825, Sharpe, after an absence of some twelve months

in his seafaring occupation, got on a match for £25 a-side with an

aspirant, one Ben Warwick, whom the Bold Smuggler polished off after a

one-sided battle of considerable obstinacy in twenty-five minutes,

being, as many said, at the rate of a sov. per minute. As Mr. Warwick,

to whose credit some previous conquests of outsiders are placed, never

again sported canvas in the P.R., we shall not report the battle.

Sharpe, by his victories over Cooper and his drawn battle with Alec

Reid, already noticed, encouraged his friends to seek what was expected

to be a decisive match with his scientific adversary the Chelsea Snob,

more especially as the latter had in the interval beaten Jack Cooper,

Jubb, and Savage. The stakes of £100 were made good, and on the 6th of

September, 1826, the men met at the renowned battle-field of No Man’s

Land, in Hertfordshire.

The “Bishop” set up his training quarters at the “Castle,” Highgate,

while Reid took his breathings on Putney Heath, patronising the “Green

Man.” In point of age Reid had the advantage, being twenty-four, while

Sharpe numbered thirty summers. In the former fight the odds were quoted

at six to four on Reid, but on this occasion five to four were laid on

the Smuggler. On the Tuesday morning the lads of “the long village” were

astir as early as five o’clock, and a lively succession of vehicles

bowled along the great North Road.

When Reid met Sharpe in their first battle he complained, and not

without reason, of the neglect of his backers. In the present case he

had cause to be grateful for their attention. Every possible care was

taken of him during his training, and preparations were made for taking

him into the ring in “bang-up style.” His crimson favours were

distributed liberally among his friends, and a dashing barouche and

four, the post-boys wearing crimson satin jackets, and the horses’ heads

decorated with crimson cockades, was prepared to carry him to the

ground. Nothing was omitted which could add to his confidence, or give

importance to the contest. A favourite candidate for a popular election

could not have entered the field under more dashing auspices.

Shortly before one the men arrived on the ground, and soon after

appeared within the stakes. Reid took the lead, accompanied by his

backers, and Tom Cribb and Ben Burn as his second and bottle-holder. He

was soon afterwards followed by Sharpe, who was waited upon by Josh

Hudson and Peter Crawley. A trifling shower threw a slight gloom over

the assembled multitude, but this soon ceased, and the remainder of the

afternoon was favourable.

The men immediately peeled for action. They both seemed well; but it was

thought the Bishop might have been better. The confidence of his

backers, nevertheless, was unshaken, and in a very short time the odds

were decidedly five to four in his favour. These odds were freely taken

by some, but not so freely by many of the professed friends of Reid as

might have been anticipated.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On taking their positions, the Bishop, as usual, stood with

his right leg foremost, presenting rather an awkward appearance. He

did not deal long in postures, however, for he lost not a moment in

going to work. He let fly right and left at Reid’s head, but was

prettily stopped. Both now set to with activity, and a spirited

rally followed, in which the Bishop planted his left on Reid’s

frontispiece with great success. The Snob was awake, and countered

slightly, but Sharpe was too sharp for him, and following up his

bustling system, after a few interchanges, put in a tremendous

left-handed clink on Reid’s proboscis, drawing first blood. In the

close Bishop was hit down, and on being placed on his second’s knee,

showed a trifling mark on his left eye. (Shouts from the East

Enders.)

2.—Reid came up merry, but he was not allowed much time for

reflection; the Bishop again went to work as if he meant mischief.

Alec was ready, and successfully stopped his desperate left-handed

hits. Another rally followed, in which facers were interchanged, but

Reid had the worst of the hitting, and was again thrown, receiving

before he went down two severe hits on the nose, from which a fresh

flow of claret was extracted, and a trifling wound inflicted on its

bridge. The confidence of the Bishop’s friends was increased, and

their joy loudly expressed, while the Chelsea lads looked blue.

3.—Reid came up like the gory ghost of Banquo, but he was still

jolly. The Bishop renewed his active system, and tried a left-handed

lunge at Reid’s body. He was well stopped, and Reid delivered on his

mouth and nose. The Bishop rushed to in-fighting, but Reid was

awake, and hit him heavily on the body. The Bishop staggered, but

instantly returned to his man, and a desperate rally followed, to

the advantage of the Bishop, who hit his antagonist right and left,

and dropped him heavily. (Six to four on the Bishop.)

4.—Reid came up nothing abashed, but the Bishop was soon with him,

and attempted his favourite left-handed job. Reid stopped him, but

he would not be kept off, and hit right and left, while the Snob

countered with great severity, and gave him a gash under his right

eye. At last the Bishop rushed to a close, and Reid was thrown. (Two

to one offered from all parts of the ring on the Bishop.)

5.—On coming to the scratch the Bishop showed the effects of Reid’s

last visitation to his phiz. Reid seemed to derive fresh spirit from

this proof of his talent, and a desperate and courageous rally

followed. The Bishop’s fearful attempts with his left were well

stopped, and Reid put in two severe jobbing hits, right and left,

which made a cutting impression. The Bishop was astounded, and Reid,

seeing his advantage, lost no time in following up his handiwork; he

pursued the Bishop, who retreated on the defensive, and repeated his

blows; a fierce rally followed, in which there was some sharp

counter-hitting, but at last the Bishop was hit down in admirable

style. (An instant change took place in the betting, and from the

distress exhibited by the Bishop, Reid was loudly cheered, and two

to one offered in his favour. Many of the backers of the Bishop, in

fact, forthwith commenced hedging.)

6.—Both came up steady, but Reid was the more confident. The Bishop

was rather abroad, and his right eye began to close. Reid now took

the lead in fighting, but he found the Bishop ready, and after a

short rally Reid retreated. This ruse had the desired effect. The

Bishop followed him, and as he came in Reid met him severely with

the right and left. The Bishop bored him towards the ropes with

wildness, while Reid, with great quickness, repeated his _primâ

facie_ compliments. In the close both went down, Reid under.

7.—Reid still a decided favourite, and two to one freely offered. He

came up with apparent confidence, and planted a left-handed jobber

on Sharpe’s nob. Sharpe attempted in return to hit with his left,

but was well stopped. A short rally followed, in which the Bishop

napped it right and left; but in the close he threw Reid, and fell

upon him.

8.—Sharpe came up looking serious, and the worse for wear; Reid was

ready and active, and on Sharpe’s rushing to in-fighting, got away,

stopping as he retreated; but at last put in a severe left-handed

slap on Sharpe’s face. A close followed, and after a short struggle

for the fall, both went down, Reid under.

9.—Sharpe came up a little on the piping order, but forthwith went

to work. Reid stopped him as he advanced, and in getting away

slipped down.

10.—Reid put in a teazer on Sharpe’s body, and jumped away; Sharpe

followed him up, but Reid pursued his retreating system, and in the

close both went down.

11.—Both came up distressed, but Reid was the fresher, and taking

prompt advantage of Sharpe’s situation, he put in five or six

tremendous blows on his nob, till at length the Bishop went down

weak from want of breath. This was an excellent round as far as Reid

was concerned, and showed his marked superiority in science. (Two to

one on Reid. Josh thought his man was in Queer Street, and gave the

office to an old pal, who offered his two to one in all directions

in favour of Reid.)

12.—Sharpe came up groggy, and rushed at Reid for the close. Both

went down by the ropes, and as Reid got up he patted Sharpe

good-humouredly on the shoulder. (Four to one on Reid, and but few

takers.)

13.—Sharpe was brought to the scratch somewhat more steady. He made

several attempts to deliver his left on Reid’s body, but Reid got

away. Sharpe at last delivered right and left handed facers, and

received a poser in return from Reid’s left. He then rushed to a

close, and a scrambling scuffle took place at the ropes, when both

went down; and Reid again patted Sharpe on the shoulder, as if in

compassionate consideration of his approaching defeat.

14.—Reid came up fresh, and on the alert. Sharpe seemed to have

become more cautious. Reid fought first, and caught him a jobbing

hit with his left on the dexter ogle. Sharpe hit short at Reid’s

body with his left. Reid jumped away. Blows interchanged with mutual

advantage. Sharpe succeeded in putting in a slight body blow; and on

closing both went down, Reid under.

15.—Reid still the fresher man. Sharpe came up with boldness, and

commenced by hitting short at Reid’s body; Reid got away; but

returning to the assault, caught Sharpe heavily with his left on the

nob. Sharpe again tried his body blow, but failed; and on Reid

rushing to close fighting, he went down on the safe system. This was

looked upon as an indication of cutting it, and the odds were again

freely offered on Reid.

16.—Both men came up determined on mischief. Sharpe tried his left

and right at Reid’s head, but found him at home; but at last,

watching his opportunity, he succeeded in effecting that which he

had so often attempted—namely, in catching Reid a tremendous blow in

the wind. The effect was alarming; Reid was doubled up in an

instant, and fell. Cribb, with great quickness, placed him on Ben

Burn’s knee, and pushing his head in his stomach to stop his

bellows, succeeded in bringing him to the scratch when time was

called. He was, however, very groggy, and his friends began to

anticipate that their hopes were at an end, and the betting became

even.

17.—Sharpe, seeing the powerful effects of his last blow, instantly

prepared to take advantage of his good fortune, while Tom Owen

loudly called upon him to repeat the dose in the same place. Reid,

however, to the astonishment of the ring, stopped the intended

finisher, and countered well with his left. After a short rally

Sharpe went down, while Reid had nearly recovered the effects of the

previous round.

18.—Sharpe again attempted to throw in his right and left at Reid’s

body, but Reid got away cleverly. Reid, who was now “himself again,”

pursued Sharpe with an apparent determination to make a decisive

impression, when Sharpe went down without a blow, thereby exciting a

strong expression of displeasure on the part of Reid’s friends.

19.—Both men came up steady. Reid lost no time in going to work, and

after some good counter-hitting Sharpe closed, and threw Reid

cleverly. Even betting was the order of the day—Reid for choice.

20.—Sharpe hit short at Reid’s body. Reid attempted to place a

left-handed job on Sharpe’s head, when the latter, having crept

close, let fly with his left at a well-judged distance, caught him

under the ribs, and he dropped as if he had been shot, drawing up

his legs apparently in agony. The veteran Tom was again at his

elbow, lifted him, as before, on Ben Burn’s knee, but he was not

equally successful. Reid continued to writhe, as in great pain, and

on “time” being called, being unable to go to the scratch, Sharpe,

to the surprise of some, the joy of others, and the mortification of

many, was declared the victor. Sharpe was immediately conducted out

of the ring, and Reid was conveyed to his carriage, where he soon

after recovered, and was subsequently enabled to walk about the

heath but little the worse for his defeat; his punishment, in fact,

was not so great as that of Sharpe. The fight lasted twenty-four

minutes.

REMARKS.—By this fight it may be supposed that the comparative

merits of Reid and Sharpe have been fairly decided, but this is by

no means a general opinion, for it was openly stated, and boldly

asserted by Reid himself, that but for the accidental blow which

prevented his coming to time, he would certainly have won the

battle; and when the game which he displayed in his late fight with

Gaynor is considered it is only a matter of surprise that he should

have been so soon and suddenly brought to a stand-still. He declared

that for some time the effects of the blow rendered him utterly

incapable of exertion. Having thus experienced the nature of the

Bishop’s tactics, however, he says he feels satisfied that he could

in future guard against them, and render victory certain. In the

present instance, it is the opinion of the best judges that Reid has

shown himself the better fighter; but he is blamed for not taking

more advantage of the opportunities which Sharpe afforded him, by

leaving his head unguarded while aiming at his body. Indeed, it is

thought that if he had been awake to this, and met him as he came

in, there could have been no doubt of the issue of the contest. It

is pretty clear that Sharpe, in all his battles, never met with such

an adversary before, and that he had the worst of it is obvious from

his own friends’ betting two to one against him. It is said,

however, that it is difficult to tell when he is beaten, and that at

all times he is a dangerous customer. This character he has

maintained on the present occasion, and he has also shown that his

reputation for courage is well founded. The backers of Reid

immediately declared their readiness to match him again against

Sharpe, if the Smuggler should be disposed for another shy, a proof

of their implicit belief in his honesty.

This victory placed Sharpe in the foremost rank among the middle-weight

boxers of the day, and as Tom Gaynor had recently engaged with and

beaten the same man, the Chelsea Snob, with great difficulty, while the

Bishop had polished him off (so said his friends) with much more ease, a

line was taken by which the Bishop’s superiority over Gaynor was

assumed. Not so thought the admirers of the Bath Carpenter. They

considered the match “a good thing” for Tom, so they closed at once with

the proposal, and posted their half-hundred readily, fixing the day for

the 5th of December, 1826, and the trysting-place at No Man’s Land,

Herts. There, however, a move was necessary, owing to a magisterial

interference, and a move was accordingly made into Bedfordshire. At

Shere Mere, on the ground where Sampson and Jem Burn settled their

difference, at two o’clock, the men met in battle array. Sharpe was

attended by Josh Hudson and the veteran Tom Owen, while Gaynor had the

services of Harry Holt and Tom Oliver. The colours being tied to the

stakes, the men shook hands smilingly, the seconds retired to their

corners, and the combatants held up their daddles for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On standing up the contrast in condition was evident, and

alarmed the layers of the odds of five to four on Gaynor, so that

they went round to six to four on the Bishop, who looked hard,

ruddy, and confident, while Gaynor was sallow, and bore the traces

of a recent indisposition. After a few seconds spent in sparring,

Sharpe let fly his left at Gaynor’s ribs, but missed, and swung

round. Gaynor immediately closed, and threw him on his back, missing

a good chance of punishing his man.

2.—Sharpe short with the right, Gaynor shifting quickly. Gaynor

missed his counter-hit, and got it on the cheek. Sharpe closed, and

there was a struggle for the fall; Gaynor was thrown. (Shouting for

the Bishop.)

3.—Gaynor put in a slight nobber with his left; Sharpe, all alive,

let go his favourite body hit, catching Gaynor a sounder on the

mark; Gaynor returned on the chin, but could not keep his man out,

who gave him another heavy bodier and closed, but failed in getting

the fall; Sharpe undermost.

4.—A scrambling round; wild hitting on both sides; Sharpe under.

5.—Sharpe, quick and ready, got in right and left on Gaynor’s head,

but with little visible effect; both down in the close.

6.—Sharpe bustled in: Gaynor shifted; Sharpe put in a left-hander,

which Gaynor countered with the right on the Bishop’s mouth. Sharpe

bored in, and sent a pile-driver on Gaynor’s ribs with such effect

as to floor him instantly. (First knock-down for Sharpe.)

7.—The Bishop, brisk as a bee, forced the fighting, then closed, and

had Tom down in a scramble.

8.—The Bishop fought rather wildly; Gaynor twice stopped his left,

when Sharpe closed, and threw him, falling himself through the

ropes.

9.—The marks of the body blows received by Gaynor were very visible,

and his countenance showed they troubled him much in the freedom of

his action. Still he was cheerful and ready. Sharpe missed a

left-hander at the body, and Gaynor retorted with a sharp cutting

hit over the Bishop’s right eye, which brought forth the claret

instantly. (Cheers, and “first blood” for Gaynor.)

10.—Gaynor in the exchanges got in two more hits on the cheek,

drawing more of the crimson; a short rally; both down.

11.—Both men slipped from the moist state of the ground. The Bishop

rushed to a close, and threw Gaynor cleverly.

12.—Sharpe a little piping, but gay, lost no time in getting to

work; after an exchange he got his man firmly, and threw him a heavy

back fall.

13.—Gaynor came up laughing, delivered a slight facer, closed, and

threw the Bishop cleverly. (“Bravo!” from Tom’s friends.)

14.—The Bishop tried twice for Gaynor’s body, and after some

sparring, sent in a straight one at the mark. The blow told with

terrific effect, doubling up Gaynor, who fell.

15.—Gaynor came up pale and serious, but game and steady. The

Bishop, stopped twice, rushed in, closed, and threw his man.

16.—Sharpe put in a light body blow, but napped it sharply on the

canister; Gaynor caught the Bishop twice in the head, but his blows

did not seem to tell; he also got Sharpe down in the close.

17.—A wrestling round; both down from the slippery state of the

ground.

18.—Gaynor, busy, put in two or three toppers on the Bishop’s nob,

who at last got in a straight one on Gaynor’s throat, flooring him

instantly. (Shouts for the Bishop.)

19.—A good rally and exchanges. Sharpe twice on Gaynor’s jaw and

neck; Tom on the Bishop’s eyes and mouth, which were considerably

painted. Both down.

20.—Sharpe still trying for the body, Tom feeling for the head; in

the rally Sharpe gave Gaynor a severe hit in the mouth, and Tom went

backward through the ropes.

21–38.—In all these rounds a similar style of fighting was pursued,

each man gallantly coming to the scratch, the hitting being nearly

equal, and most of the rounds ending by Sharpe gaining the throw.

39.—A busy round of rather longer duration. Gaynor tried his best

for a turn. He fought with both hands at the head, disregarding the

Bishop’s lunges, and finally threw him heavily. (Tom’s friends

cheered, but it was clear that the Bishop was the fresher man.)

40.—Gaynor came up shaky. A wrestling round. Both down, Gaynor

undermost.

41–53.—Gaynor, though contesting every round, did not seem to hit

effectively, while Sharpe’s frequent misses and short blows at the

body were equally indecisive. Each round ended in a scramble but the

slippery mud, for such it was, foiled their efforts. In the 53rd

round Sharpe, by the advice of old Tom Owen, changed his tactics,

and commenced fighting at Gaynor’s upper works with his left. He

soon after succeeded in putting in a chattering hit on Tom’s

ivories, closed, and threw him out of the ropes.

54.—Gaynor came slowly from his second’s knee at the call of “time.”

In a rally the Bishop hit him down. (A pigeon was here let off for

town, announcing the winning of the fight by Sharpe, in 54 rounds.

To the general surprise, Gaynor jumped up briskly at the call of

“time.”)

55.—Gaynor rallied all his energies. He let go his left, catching

Sharpe lightly on the nose; a good rally followed; Sharpe slipped in

delivering a blow, and fell. (Cries of “Gaynor’s not beaten yet!”)

56.—Another good fighting round on the part of Gaynor; some good

exchanges; Gaynor got Sharpe down and fell on him.

57.—Gaynor made several lunges at Sharpe’s nob, but missed; in the

close Sharpe’s superior strength was shown in the style in which he

lifted and threw Gaynor.

58–72.—Gaynor, willing but weak, came up in all these rounds with

less and less chance of pulling through. In the 68th round Sharpe

again hit Gaynor down by a blow on the throat. (In the 72nd round a

quarrel took place between Harry Holt and Tom Owen, in consequence

of some over-zeal of Harry towards his principal. Owen pushed Harry,

who in return sportively knocked off Owen’s stupendous Jolliffe hat.

This indignity to the “Sage of the East” was “most intolerable, and

not to be endured,” so he administered a backhander to the

irreverent Orator, whereupon a merry skirmish followed. Josh Hudson,

however, interposed, stopped the bye-battle, and the belligerents

went back to their men, who had fought out the round during this

supplementary set-to.)

73–78.—In all these rounds poor Gaynor received the larger share of

the punishment, but would not say “no,” though advised to give in by

his seconds. In the 78th round Sharpe caught Gaynor a flush hit in

the mouth, and he dropped. This was the finisher, and poor Tom was

alike deaf to the call of “time” and the cheering of the victorious

Bishop’s partisans. Sharpe walked firmly across the ring and

possessed himself of the colours, placing them round his neck with

evident satisfaction. Gaynor remained for a short time in a sort of

stupor, but soon recovered himself, and returned to town the same

night.

REMARKS.—That the fighting was fast, may be told from the fact that

seventy-eight rounds were got through in one hour and ten minutes.

They were, however, in almost every instance terminated by a close.

Indeed, there was as much wrestling as fighting. The men were both

undoubtedly game and unflinching; but Gaynor did not seem to take

advantage of his opportunities, and threw away his superior length

by allowing his shorter-reached and sturdier adversary to get in on

his body, and then accepting the struggle, in which, as the battle

went on, he got the worst. It is true Sharpe’s peculiar method of

setting-to with his right foot foremost puzzled Gaynor a little, but

this does not account for Tom’s bad tactics throughout. As to Bishop

Sharpe, he deserved every praise. His daring mode of going in, and

chancing consequences, combined with his powers of hitting, made him

exceedingly dangerous to any but a first-rate boxer of the Spring,

Ward, or Young Dutch Sam school. Gaynor could not defend his body

against his rushes, nor keep him at a distance for out-fighting, and

hence the Bold Smuggler’s yard-arm to yard-arm tactics were

triumphant.

Both men showed at Gaynor’s benefit at the Tennis Court on the Thursday.

Sharpe displayed few marks of heavy punishment, and Gaynor’s chief

injuries were from body blows and the failure of his left hand. The

battle-money was paid over to Sharpe at Josh Hudson’s on the Friday.

Early in 1827, after a failure in making a renewed match with his old

opponent Alec Reid, at a sporting dinner which took place at jolly

Josh’s, “Half Moon,” Leadenhall Market, on the 1st of August, 1827, a

proposal was made for a meeting for a cool hundred between Young Dutch

Sam, then rising into fame, and Bishop Sharpe. Ten pounds were

deposited, and the day named the 2nd of October, to meet in the same

ring as Ned Neale and Jem Burn. The matter, however, ended in a

withdrawal of stakes and a forfeit by Sam. A month afterwards a new

match was made for £100 a-side, and the 25th of October appointed. As

the successive deposits were made good, the odds in betting on the

Bishop rose from five to six to four; but at the final deposit at the

“Sol’s Arms,” Wych Street, Sam, who showed up in excellent condition,

despite sinister rumours as to his health, brought the betting down to

even. Of the farce which followed on the Tuesday, and Sam’s mysterious

arrest, we have already written. Tom Belcher, who held the stakes, after

some indignant comments, resolved to give them up to Sharpe, leaving

“Sam’s backers, who had served him with legal notice, to take such steps

as they might think proper for their recovery.” Sharpe was complimented

for his prompt and ready appearance in the ring, and pocketed the

hundred pounds amidst the congratulations of his friends. Sam’s match

with our hero having thus fallen through, Tom Gaynor again offered

himself to the Bishop’s notice, for £100 a-side, money ready at Harry

Holt’s. This, however, came to nothing, owing to Gaynor’s match with

Gybletts. (See Life of GAYNOR, _ante_.)

Sharpe’s old antagonist Alec Reid, having set up a sparring-booth at

Epsom Downs, as was the custom of those days, and a difference of

opinion having occurred on a bout with the mufflers, the Bishop proposed

a match, in which he said he could get backers for £50, and would “bet a

hundred.” To this the bold Alec replied by doubting the latter, but

offering to meet the Smuggler in the roped lists for “a hundred, if he

could get the money.” The parties met on the following Monday at Josh

Hudson’s, and there and then signed articles for a mill on the 15th of

July next ensuing. How the Bishop fell before the arm of the conquering

Alec, after ninety-one rounds of “the most game and determined fighting

we ever witnessed” (we quote _Bell’s Life_, of July 20th, 1827), may be

read in the memoir of the victor.

From this time the Bishop, after an unsuccessful attempt to get backed

once more for £100 against Reid, who declined to fight for a less sum,

fell into obscurity, his name only appearing in sparring benefits, or as

a second in minor battles. Bishop Sharpe died in 1861, aged sixty-two

years.

CHAPTER XII.

TOM BROWN (“BIG BROWN”) OF BRIDGNORTH—1825–1831.

Big Brown of Bridgnorth, as he was appropriately styled, for a short

period attracted the attention of the pugilistic world by his bold claim

to the title of “Champion of England,” pretentiously put forward by his

friends upon the resignation of that honourable distinction by Tom

Spring. Indeed, it would appear that Big Brown, who had for some time

held a local supremacy in wrestling and boxing on the banks of the

Severn, was first fired with the ambition of earning a name and fame in

the P.R. by a visit, in the year 1824, of the ex-Champion, “with all his

blushing honours thick upon him,” to that part of Salop in which

Bridgnorth Castle “frowns proudly down o’er sedgy Severn’s flood.” Brown

was at this time thirty-one years of age, being born in 1793—certainly

too late in the day to reverse and make an exception to the axiom of

antiquity, “Ars longa, vita brevis,” so far as the art pugilistic is

concerned. Nevertheless, his introduction to Spring so favourably

impressed the Herefordshire hero that he declared Brown “fit to fight

anything that ever trod upon shoe-leather.” On this dictum Brown left

his friends in Shropshire and repaired to the “mart for all talent,” the

great Metropolis.

Brown’s trial match, for £100 a-side, with old Tom Shelton (see _ante_,

CHAPTER VIII., PERIOD V.), was made in a very quiet manner, without any

parade of newspaper letter-writing, or the sporting-crib “chaff” too

prevalent in those days. Articles were entered into at the “Ship,” in

Great Turnstile, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and the day fixed for July 12th,

1825. Now, as the “Ship” was not a “sporting-crib,” and Mr. Pierce Egan

was not duly advertised of the proceedings—indeed, was told nothing

about what was going on—Tom Brown’s battle ran a very good chance of not

being reported at all—so far as Pierce Egan was concerned. Had this

occurred, poor Brown, like “the brave men who lived before Agamemnon,”

might have gone down to oblivion; “Carent quia vates sacro.” But there

was another reason. Pierce Egan and all the amateurs were “full” of the

fight for the following Tuesday (the 19th July, 1825), between Jem Ward

and Tom Cannon; which accounts for “the historian” nodding, like another

Homer, and leaving to a rival paper the only report that week of the

battle, which took place at Plumbe Park, six miles from Stony Stratford,

and about sixty miles from London, on the 12th of July, 1825.

The attendance was not numerous, nor was it desired by Brown’s backers;

but the Londoners who were there backed Shelton, as against “a

countryman,” five to four, on the ground of the old ’un’s tried game and

capabilities. Brown, beyond his Shropshire and Worcestershire conquests

over stalwart yokels, was unknown to public fame. True, he had been

heard of in a forfeit of £20 to Phil Sampson, of Birmingham. Brown,

however, had a high character from those who knew him for activity as a

jumper and runner, unusual with men of his weight and inches; and above

all Tom Spring, the native of an adjoining county, had reported his

quality to the swells in the terse and graphic style already cited.

Shelton, who trained anywhere and anyhow, had arrived at Stony Stratford

on the previous day, putting up at the “Cock.” Late on Monday night

Spring and Brown arrived, and took quarters at the same well-known

hostelrie. The men here met each other, and in true English style

exchanged greetings and shook hands. Peter Crawley and Josh Hudson also

arrived from London as the appointed seconds of Shelton.

Brown, a good-looking, gentleman-farmer sort of man, was a general

object of interest as he walked about the town in the early morning; his

stature, six feet one inch, and his weight, a solid fifteen stone of

bone and muscle, seemed big enough and heavy enough for anything. The

friends of the countryman became yet more confident when they saw

Shelton, who certainly was not above twelve stone, and whose height

wanted quite four inches of that of his opponent. Among the rurals Brown

was now at the odds of five and six to four. At twelve o’clock the men

and their seconds and friends started in four post-chaises for Plumbe

Park, the general public making their way in the best style they could.

Brown, attended by Tom Cribb and Tom Spring, was first to throw his hat

within the ropes; Josh and Peter followed quickly. “Come, Spring, get

ready,” cried Josh; “my man is dressed and waiting in the chaise.”

Shelton now made his appearance, but threw his hat so far that it went

over on the farther side of the ring, where it was picked up by Young

Gas (Jonathan Bissell), who dropped it within the ropes. “That’s a bad

omen,” said a bystander. The colours were now tied to the stakes—blue

for Shelton, by Hudson, and crimson and white for the Bridgnorth giant,

by Tom Spring. “Never mind how you tie them, Josh,” said Shelton, “I

shall want you to take them down for me.” “Of course,” replied the John

Bull Fighter, “so I have fastened them with a reef-knot.” The men now

stood up for

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—On getting rid of their togs Brown looked like Hercules

without his club. Shelton had trained off; his face was thin—his

neck did not appear to possess that strength which characterises a

fighting man; his frame was not so robust as heretofore; and his

calves, in the phrase of the Ring, had “gone to grass.”

Nevertheless, Tom’s heart was in the right place; and like a good

“ould one,” he thought of nothing but winning, in spite of the

ravages which Master Time had made. “A countryman lick me, indeed!”

exclaimed Tom, early in the morning; “I’ll be carried out of the

ring first—I will never live to see that day!” On preparing for the

attack, Brown stood over Shelton, and the latter, aware that he had

a good deal of work to perform, set about it with pluck. Tom’s right

hand was stopped by the novice; and in return Brown put a “little

one in” on Shelton’s mug, which dropped him. (The milling coves

looked blue, while the Chawbacons were outrageous in their

manifestations of joy at the success of the countryman. Spring said,

“First blood!” but Josh said, “No!” Six to four on Brown; but no

fanciers of the odds.)

2.—In this early stage of the fight, the sporting men were satisfied

that Shelton had his master before him. Tom measured his opponent,

and tried all he knew to plant a heavy topper; but the countryman

was too cautious, and parried steadily. Shelton, not dismayed, again

went to work; but Brown was up to his manœuvres, and put in a severe

blow on his head. A rally occurred, which was brisk for a short

time, but Tom had the worst of it, and got away. Brown took the lead

in a determined manner, planting two blows on Shelton’s head.

Shelton, with the courage of a lion, boldly stood up to his man,

till a body blow sent him down. (The friends of Brown shouted for

joy, offered two to one, and declared it was “as safe as the Bank.”)

3.—The position of Shelton was awkward—his legs were too wide apart;

but his anxiety to punish his adversary was visible, and he left no

manœuvre untried to obtain an opening. “Be ready,” said Josh, “he’s

coming!” Brown smiled, and with the utmost ease not only stopped

Shelton, but in return, gave him a hit on his canister weighty

enough to put his upper works in confusion. Tom countered his

adversary on his sensitive plant so sharply that the claret was

plentiful. (“Well done, Tom,” said Josh; “you have made the young

one a member of the Vintners’ Company; go and draw his cork again.”)

The countryman felt a little warm—rushed in to his work—caught

Shelton in his arms like a baby, and spite of the struggling of poor

Tom, he went down. (“The countryman for £100!” all round the ring.)

4.—Tom was piping a little, and it was evident he was overmatched.

Shelton hit his adversary on the cheek; but he could not stop the

overwhelming power of Brown, who went in and caught Shelton at the

ropes. After a little toppering on both sides, the strength of the

countryman enabled him to hold up his adversary, as he was dangling

on the ropes, but, in the most generous and humane manner, he let

Tom down, and walked away. (“Bravo! handsome! Englishman-like!” were

the expressions all over the ring.)

5.—Short. It was now clear that the countryman was nothing like a

novice, and also that he had been under good tuition. He stopped

Shelton with ease, and aimed a terrific right-handed blow at Tom’s

head, which, had it told, might have proved Shelton’s quietus. Tom,

in bobbing his nob aside, slipped down.

6.—This was a fighting round; but Shelton could not reduce Brown’s

pluck or strength, although he made several good hits. “His right

hand is gone,” said Josh. “It is, by gosh!” echoed Oliver, whose

face was full of anxiety for the fate of poor Shelton, and who had

also backed the Ould One at five to four previous to the battle.

Shelton planted a body blow; but Brown returned the favour on the

head of his adversary. Tom retreated, and endeavoured to mill; but

Brown followed him, and sent him completely out of the ropes. (“A

countryman, do you call him? He stands a good chance to be

Champion!” said Spring.)

7.—Brown’s ivory box received a rattler, but the countryman shook it

off with a smile. A little pricked, he followed Shelton, with a

quick step, who turned round to avoid a flush hit. Tom slipped down

in getting away. Shelton made play, and Brown missed in return.

8.—After some heavy exchanges at the ropes, Shelton put in a

back-handed hit so sharply that Brown napped it on his mouth, and

went down. (This event put the fighting men and backers of Shelton

into spirits—it was a ray of hope. “The Ould One will win it! He has

changed it a little!” and “Master Brown does not like it!” with lots

of chaffing, till “time” was called.)

9.—This was a round within a round, or two fights for the same

stake. The age of Shelton told against him; and it was clear that he

could not win. Tom came to the scratch much distressed, but

nevertheless commenced milling. Brown followed him resolutely over

the ring, when Shelton retreated to the ropes; but the nob of Tom

got entangled, and the fibbing system was adopted by both

combatants. It was rather against Shelton, when the John Bull

Fighter tried to remove the rope from his man’s nob, which Spring

said was not fair, and shoved Josh off. Hudson persisted, and shoved

Spring roughly; Spring then struck him. “I will not take a blow from

any one,” said Josh, and let fly at the late Champion’s head,

catching him under the left eye. A scramble ensued; Spring and Josh

were both down, and only Cribb waiting upon his man. Brown in the

interim had floored Shelton by a heavy body blow. The time-keepers

had also a trifling dispute; and Tom Oliver and Young Gas placed

themselves in fighting attitudes. At length the row subsided, order

was restored, and when time was called for round.

10.—both men appeared at the scratch. Shelton exerted himself to do

mischief, but he was stopped, received several hits, and was sent

down by a ribber that was heard all over the ring. Shouting by the

friends of Brown.

11.—Shelton with considerable dexterity put in a sharp facer; the

men afterwards had a severe rally. Brown endeavoured (but we think

unintentionally) to lay hold of Shelton’s thigh, in order to obtain

the throw; but on “foul” being vociferated, he let go his hold.

Shelton went down by a heavy body blow.

12.—Tom did everything in his power to win; but his blows were

nothing like finishing ones, and Brown had the best of it. Shelton

received an ugly visitation to his victualling office, and went down

exhausted. Any odds, but no takers.

13.—The fight was drawing to a close, Brown taking the lead in every

round. Shelton put in a nobber, but Brown seemed to say, “If you

cannot hit me harder, it is no go.” Tom received such a tremendous

one in his mouth that he went down as if shot. Five to one; in fact,

it was a hundred to one that Brown must now win off-hand.

14.—The old story, so often told, but so little heeded by fighting

men, was evident. Shelton was full of pluck, as to mind and heart,

but his legs trembled, and he staggered like a drunken man; he made

play with his right, planted a facer, and got away. The danger was

out of Shelton, and Brown, in order to put an end to the battle,

went to work. Tom opposed him like a trump, till he napped a

shutter-up-shop on his throat, which floored him. The head of

Shelton reached the ground so violently that it bounded like a ball.

(“It’s all over,” was the cry; the brandy was administered, but it

was of no use.)

15, and last.—Shelton answered the call of “time.” On toeing the

mark, Brown let fly on the side of Tom’s head, and he measured his

length on the ground. Shelton was “hit out of time,” and Josh gave

in for him. Tom, on recovering himself a little, said, “No, I will

fight!” He, however, was so weak and exhausted that nature would not

second his efforts. Time, fifteen minutes.

REMARKS.—Shelton, on coming to himself, said “he was ashamed of

having been licked in so short a time”—fifteen minutes. Shelton was

not disgraced by the defeat. He showed himself a brave man, and

never flinched from his opponent; but overmatched by strength and

youth, he found it out too late. Brown fought better than was

expected. His confidence increased. Spring offered to back him

against any one for £500 a-side. Brown, for a big one, was extremely

active on his legs, stopped well, hit hard, and did not want for

courage or science.

Brown lost no time in claiming the belt, as may be seen by the

subjoined:—

“BROWN’S CHALLENGE AND CLAIM TO THE CHAMPIONSHIP.

“_To the Editor of the_ ‘WEEKLY DISPATCH.’

“SIR,—Permit me to announce, through the medium of your paper, that

my benefit will take place on Tuesday, the 28th of March, when I

shall be prepared to make a match with any man in England for from

three to five hundred pounds a-side, or as much more as may be

desired. Jem Ward, or his friends, will probably avail themselves of

this opportunity to prove their sincerity when they did me the

favour of soliciting my attendance in London; but should their

courage have been cooled I shall be glad to make a match with Peter

Crawley or Tom Cannon. Should the London Ring decline the challenge,

I beg leave to say that I shall lay claim to the title of Champion,

which has so long remained in doubt.

“I am, Sir, yours respectfully,

“THOS. BROWN.

“Bridgnorth, March 1st, 1826.”

On Tuesday, March 28th, 1826, the Tennis Court overflowed, as at the

period when Jem Belcher was the pride of the Ring, and Tom Cribb the

hero of the tale. The produce of the Court, after deducting expenses,

amounted to £127 10s. One thousand persons were present.

After the first set-to between Raines and Wallace, Sampson appeared on

the stage, and said that he had been matched against Brown five years

since, and had received a forfeit of £20. A second match had been

proposed, but Brown had not come forward. He would now fight him for

£100, and put down a deposit. If that did not suit Mr. Brown he would

set to with him there and then for a “bellyful.” (Laughter and

applause.)

Jem Ward showed, and came to the point at once. “I am ready,” said Jem,

“to fight Brown for £300, and no chaffing. I will put down a deposit

immediately.” “Well done, Jem!”

Tom Spring mounted the stage, and was flatteringly received. He said

Brown was under his protection, and it was not worth his while to fight

for £100. He was in business, and would require at least a month’s

training under his (Spring’s) care, and then if he won the battle the

expenses would be greater than the gain. As to putting on the gloves

with Sampson it was quite out of the question; Brown was under his

management, and he would not let him do wrong to his friends and

backers. Sampson had come forward in an angry manner to challenge. Here

the oratory of the ex-Champion was lost in a roar of applause and

disapprobation, and calls for “Sampson and Brown.”

Sampson said, “The thing spoke for itself—it was too plain; Spring did

not like to let the cat out of the bag.” He would not let Brown set to

with him because it would tell tales. It would show Brown’s talents, and

Spring was determined to keep Brown all to himself. He (Sampson) thought

that the company present ought to witness the set-to between him and

Brown, as in that case the Fancy would form a judgment as to the laying

out their money. (Great applause; and “He ought to set to,” from some;

while others, “Spring is not such a flat as to show off Brown; it would

betray a want of judgment, and not the caution of a sporting man.”)

Jem Ward rushed on the stage, and flashing a £50 note stated “he would

post it immediately towards making a match for £300 with any man in

England.” (“Go it, Jem! You can beat any chawbacon, let him be as big as

Goliah!”)

Spring, in reply, said he would make a match that night, at Cribb’s, for

Brown to fight Ward the first week in August. (Applause.)

Sampson also observed for £100 a-side he would fight any man in England,

and would make the match immediately.

As a wind-up to the sports Brown and Spring appeared on the stage,

followed by Sampson, who stripped himself, seized hold of a pair of

gloves, and appeared determined to set to with Brown. To describe the

row which ensued would be impossible. Spring would not let Brown spar

with Sampson. The latter asked Brown personally, but he declined, as he

said he must be guided by his friends. Sampson then left the stage,

observing “it was of no use.” Here another uproar occurred, and Spring

and Brown left the stage. After some time had passed in glorious

confusion Spring again made his appearance on the stage, and solicited a

hearing. Silence being procured Spring observed, that Brown had been

placed under his protection, and he was determined that he should

receive no foul play. In the bills of the day it had been expressed that

he and Brown would put on the gloves together, but he would not let

Brown set to with Sampson. “Yet do not mistake me, gentlemen,” said he,

“not from any fear respecting Sampson, but it would be wrong, as Brown

was about being matched, and more especially on account of the anger

displayed by Sampson.” A mixture of applause and hisses, and cries for

Sampson. “Brown, gentlemen, is here, ready to set to if you wish it.”

“Bravo!” Brown ascended the stage, but the mixed reception must have

proved unpleasant to his feelings. “Hats off!” was the cry, and Brown

and Spring were opposed to each other.

It was curious to hear the different opinions respecting the abilities

of Brown. “He is of no use,” said a retired boxer, one of the first

heroes in the P.R. of his day. “He can beat any one in the list,”

observed another milling cove. “What an impostor!” “The £500 would be a

gift to Ward!” “He would be nothing in the hands of Peter Crawley!” “He

is a rare punisher with his right hand, one of his blows would floor an

ox”—&c., &c. The set-to did not give satisfaction, and the public

verdict was that Brown, after all, was nothing else but a strong

countryman, yet a hard hitter with his right hand. Brown returned

thanks, and challenged any man in England for £500 a-side, but would

accommodate Mr. Sampson for £300 a-side.

Sampson informed the audience that he was to have a benefit on Monday

next; and if he, who had been long known to the Ring, met with such

patronage as Brown had done, he would not only fight Brown for £100

a-side, but the whole of the money taken at the doors in addition.

At nine o’clock in the evening, after a sporting dinner at which Brown

and his friends were the guests, Jem Ward and Sampson arrived at Tom

Cribb’s, in Panton Street, and the latter proposed to accede to Brown’s

challenge on the part of Ward, and to make a match for £500 a-side.

Sampson then said that Ward had not been able to see his friends, and

had only £10 to put down; but he should be prepared to make that sum £50

at his (Sampson’s) benefit on Monday next. Some surprise was expressed

at the smallness of the deposit for so important a match. Brown at once

said that he would throw no impediment in Ward’s way, but would meet him

in any reasonable manner he might suggest.

A gentleman present then proceeded to draw up the articles, in which it

was proposed and agreed to by Sampson, on the part of Ward, that the

fight should take place on a stage similar to that on which Ward and

Cannon fought at Warwick; that the place of fighting should be named by

Spring, upon the condition that he gave Ward one hundred guineas for

that privilege; and that it should not exceed one hundred and fifty

miles from London. On coming to the discussion of the distance, however,

a difficulty arose. Ward said his friends would not consent to his

fighting beyond a hundred miles from London, and therefore if he fought

at all it must be within that distance. To this Brown objected. During

considerable argument, in which Sampson, still labouring under feelings

of irritation against Brown, gave way to a spirit of hostility

altogether misplaced, he repeatedly offered to fight Brown for a hundred

himself within a month, which Brown declined. At last Sampson said he

would fight him for £10 in a room that night. To such a ridiculous offer

Spring would not suffer Brown to accede; but at last Brown, in order to

prove that he had no personal fears for Sampson, said he would fight him

next morning for love. This proffer was hailed with cheers by his

friends, but was not agreeable to Sampson, who reverted to his old

proposition to fight for a hundred in a month, and this not being

accepted he retired.

As an impartial historian we must state that about this period the

nuisance of newspaper challenges, correspondence, defiance, chaff,

scurrility, and braggadocio had reached an unendurable height. Three

rival sporting papers opened their columns, or rather their reporters

and editors lent their pens, to indite all sorts of epistles from

pugilists, each striving to make itself the special channel by which the

hero of the hour proclaimed in “Ezcles’ vein” and braggart buncombe his

fearful intentions and outraged feelings, and scattered furious cartels

among his foes or rivals. Columns of letters purporting to be from Ward,

Phil Sampson, Brown, and a host of minor celebrities—most of them in

unmistakable Eganian slang—adorned the columns of the journals

throughout 1826 and 1827. Ward’s affair went off in smoke; but early in

1828 the newspaper controversy with Phil Sampson culminated in a match

with Brown, for £500. This was decided on the 8th of April, 1828, near

Wolverhampton, and resulted in the defeat of our hero in forty-two

minutes and forty-nine rounds. The preliminaries to this defeat and the

battle itself will be found in our Life of PHIL SAMPSON, in the next

Chapter.

Brown’s defeat, though manifestly owing to the serious accident to his

shoulder in the fourth round, had the effect of “an occultation of a

star of the first magnitude” in the fistic firmament. But there was

another big Boanerges, of fifteen stone, who kept the “Black Bull,” in

Smithfield; who, having doffed his white apron on the provocation of

Stephen Bailey, and twice beaten the blue-aproned butcher, fancied that

he could win further laurels by a tourney with the defeated, but not

daunted, Champion of Bridgnorth. The public were accordingly edified by

a challenge from Isaac Dobell, which was promptly answered by Brown’s

retort of the “Black Bull’s” defiance.

The stakes agreed on were £300 on the part of Shropshire to £250 on

behalf of Smithfield, in consideration of the battle coming off within

five miles of “the cloud-capped towers” of Bridgnorth. Tuesday, the 24th

of March, 1829, was the day appointed, and on the Saturday morning

previous Dobell, who had trained at Hendon, Middlesex, under the care of

Harry Lancaster, set out by the “Wonder” coach for Towcester, where he

sojourned on the Saturday night. Here he excited the wonder of the

yokels by his wonderful bulk, and the wonderful amount of the stakes

which he declared his confidence of winning. On Sunday he reached

Birmingham, and took up his quarters at the “Crown,” awakening the

curiosity of the natives of the “hardware village” by promenading

through the streets. On Monday he arrived in Bridgnorth, and there

patronised the “Royal Oak.”

Brown had trained at Shipley, and had named Bridgnorth for two

reasons—first, to oblige his fellow-townsmen and backers, and secondly,

to exhibit to them how he would wipe out the defeat he had sustained at

the hands of the “Birmingham Youth,” which he maintained was solely

owing to the accident hereafter mentioned. On Monday evening he returned

to Bridgnorth, and put up at his brother’s house, the “King’s Head,”

where he was joined by Tom Spring, Tom Cribb, Ned Neale, and Harry Holt,

with several other celebrated men of the London P.R. A rumour of a

warrant, however, induced him to make a retreat from the town in a

post-chaise, together with his seconds, and sojourn in a neighbouring

village for the night. Deux Hill Farm being named as the rendezvous,

thither the Commissary repaired with the ropes and stakes of the F.P.C.

(Fair Play Club), and there in due time an excellent ring, with an outer

circle of wagons and carriages, was formed. Some bets of seven to four

and six to four were taken by the friends of Dobell, who, however, was

reported to be feverish and unwell from a cold caught on his long

journey. An attempt to arrest Brown was cleverly frustrated by Spring,

who drove over the Severn Bridge in a post-chaise, accompanied by a

portly friend well wrapped up. An order to halt was given at the

tollgate; the door of the chaise was opened, but Brown was not there,

having meantime crossed the river in a boat some distance higher up. At

half-past twelve, after Dobell and friends had waited more than half an

hour, Brown and his party appeared, and were heartily cheered. The £50

to be paid to Dobell for choice of place were duly handed over, and the

colours—crimson and white for Brown and a blue bird’s-eye for

Dobell—tied to the stakes. The men shook hands heartily at meeting, and

the ceremony of peeling forthwith began; Lancaster and Jem Burn

attending on Dobell, Spring and Neale waiting on Brown.

On stripping, Brown looked thinner than when he fought Sampson, and had

altogether an aged and worn appearance, but his eye was bright and his

look confident. His arms were longer and his height superior to that of

Dobell. Mine host of the “Black Bull” displayed a pair of brawny arms

and most substantial understandings, which, with his round and portly

body, gave him anything but the look of an active boxer. At three

minutes to one all was in readiness. The men toed the mark and began

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Brown covered his front well, and throwing his arms across

his face, looked smiling through them at his antagonist. Dobell

seemed serious. He made first play with his left, but was out of

distance, and was stopped. He tried the same hand again, but was

again too far off to make an impression. Brown, seeing that nothing

was to be done by acting on the defensive, made up his mind to

begin. After a feint with his left, he popped in his right slightly

on Dobell’s mouth; he then drew back, but again advancing, quickly

delivered his left on Dobell’s eye, and his right on his cheek. The

former blow filled Dobell’s eye with water. Both now made quick

play, and slight hits were followed by a tremendous smack on

Dobell’s nose, which drew claret, and dropped him like a sack of

malt. (First blood and fast knock-down blow announced for Brown,

amidst the shouts of his friends, who offered ten to one in his

favour. Neale, too, was in high glee, as it made him the winner of

two fives, which he had bet on these events.)

2.—Dobell came up serious, but ready for the affray; and Brown

smiled good-humouredly, as if it were all his own. After a short

spar Dobell tried his right, but Brown jumped actively away. Brown

returned again to his man, and with great quickness planted his left

and right on his phiz, and broke away. Dobell, somewhat annoyed,

rushed in and delivered his right on Brown’s cheek, and his left on

the body, but did not seem to make much impression. Both now got to

a rally, in which some heavy blows were exchanged. Brown then drew

back, and Dobell, rushing after him, received two flush hits in the

face, right and left. Dobell would not be denied, but rattled in,

while Brown retreated, stopping and hitting with severity. Dobell

was not idle, but his blows fell short, and at last Brown caught him

a terrific hit over the right eye with his left, making a deep

incision. Dobell stood it like bricks, and rushed to a close, when

Brown slipped down rather questionably.

3.—Brown came up playfully, while Dobell’s dexter ogle had an ugly

appearance. Both stood quiet for a time; but at length Brown, seeing

his man inclined for reflection, rushed in with great rapidity, and

catching poor Dobell a heavy slap on the left jaw with his right,

dropped him again, amidst shouts and encouraging exclamations from

Sampson. Few, in fact, seemed to think that the poor Londoner

deserved any quarter. (Any odds on Brown.)

4.—Dobell found there was no use in out-fighting, and therefore

determined to rush to business. Brown, however, who was active on

his legs, jumped back, and again caught the “Bull’s Head” on the

grinders, and downed him again. (“Bravo, Brown—it’s all your own!

take him away!”)

5.—Dobell, no way daunted or discouraged by the shouts of victory,

rushed to work. Brown missed his right and left as he came in, and

Dobell planted his right on his throat. (“Well done, Dobell!”) This

he followed with a slap from his right on Brown’s scent-box, and

drew blood for the first time from the Pride of Bridgnorth. This

seemed to give Dobell new life, and in rushing in Brown went down.

6.—Brown ready—showed the superiority of length, and again jobbed

heavily right and left, and broke away. This he repeated, when

Dobell charged him courageously; on grappling him, with intent to

fib, Brown wouldn’t have it, and went down—Dobell on him.

7.—Brown planted his left on the canister and his right on the body

of the publican. Dobell took it bravely, without flinching; he then

rushed to in-fighting, but missed several of his blows, and after

mutual but ineffectual attempts to fib, Brown got down. (This show

of caution did not suit Dobell’s friends, and they cried out, “Fight

fair!” Brown’s friends, however, replied, “All right,” “Nothing

wrong.” Indeed, Brown did not seem to keep his legs with certainty.)

8.—Dobell on the defensive, but not sufficiently quick to stop his

antagonist, who jobbed him twice on the head. This long shooting did

not suit Dobell, and he had recourse to his rush, and planted his

right on Brown’s jaw, and in the scramble which followed Brown went

down.

9.—Dobell popped in his left unexpectedly, but made but little

impression. Brown was not long in returning the compliment right and

left. This he repeated, when Dobell bored in desperately, as the

only chance. Brown retreated, fighting and meeting him as he

followed. At last Dobell caught him round the neck, and fibbed

slightly; in the tussle which followed Brown fell; and Dobell, in

hitting, as Brown was on his knees, caught him with his right on the

back. (Brown called “foul,” and it was foul, but was not noticed by

the umpires; indeed, the blow was accidental.)

10.—Dobell again rushed in, hitting right and left, but Brown

retreated, stopping and jobbing in turn. In the end he was bored

down on his knees. (More chaffing from Sampson, and from Brown’s

friends.)

11.—Good stopping on both sides, but Brown succeeded in making two

jobbing hits. Dobell again had recourse to his desperate rush, and a

close followed, when both tried vigorously for the fall, but neither

could get the lock, and in the end Dobell dragged Brown down,

showing that his strength was still unimpaired.

12.—On getting to their seconds’ knees, both piped a little, but

Dobell most. Dobell came up as game as a pebble, and tried his left

at Brown’s body, but was out of distance. He then hit with his

right, but was stopped. He found that nothing but close contact

would do, and pursued the rushing system. Brown retreated round the

ring before him, and actually turned round to avoid, but in again

meeting his man he caught him with a flush hit with his left, and

Dobell fell on his face. (Chaffing now commenced on the part of

Stockman for Dobell. He swore that Brown’s shoulder was out, and

that all Dobell had to do was to go in and win it.) Brown had

certainly hurt the thumb of his right hand, but no material mischief

was done.

13.—Both now showed distress, but Dobell was most winded. Brown

smiled, and, after a short pause, let fly right and left, planting

both blows heavily, and repeating the dose till he hit his man down.

Brown fell himself on his knees, showing weakness in the pins.

14.—Dobell now showed additional symptoms of weakness, and was

slower than ever. After a short pause Brown rushed in, planted his

left and right, and dropped him heavily.

15.—Dobell vindicated his courage by again rushing in; but Brown met

him with two terrific jobbing hits right and left, and again floored

him all abroad, amidst the triumphant shouts of the Shropshire lads.

16.—Dobell evidently felt that his chance of winning was vanishing;

still, summoning all his remaining energies, he rushed to

in-fighting. He missed his right-handed hit, and was met with a

terrific left-handed job in the muzzle. He would not be denied,

however, and fought away gallantly, making some wild hits. Brown was

active, and had him at all points, till he fell almost exhausted.

(Dobell’s brother now endeavoured to persuade him to give in, but he

resolved to have another shy.)

17, and last.—Dobell once more rushed in, but Brown, retreating, met

him as he came forward with a flush hit in the mouth, and dropped

him for the last time. On again getting up he consented, though

reluctantly, to say “enough,” and the hat was thrown up amidst

shouts of victory for Brown, who had thus regained the confidence of

his Shropshire friends.

The fight lasted twenty-two minutes, and Dobell was taken from the

ground much punished about the head. Brown showed but a slight scar

under one of his eyes, and was so fresh that he seized a whip with

intent to administer it to Stockman for his chaffing, but was

prevented by Tom Spring. The chaffing on both sides was bad, and

particularly towards Dobell, who, as a stranger in that part of the

country, ought to have been protected. It is but just to state,

however, that the old ring-goers were most to blame. Dobell was able

to help himself to brandy after the battle was over.

REMARKS.—During this fight Brown had it all his own way, and showed

the superiority of length and science over mere weight and muscular

strength. Dobell, although the first to attack, almost invariably

hit short, and was unable to plant his blows well home. At

in-fighting neither was clever, and there was not a good throw

throughout the contest. Brown, in getting away from Dobell’s rushes,

was deemed by some to be over-cautious; but the fact is, he was weak

in the legs, and, under Spring’s direction, would not wrestle, lest

he might endanger his shoulder, which it may be recollected was put

out in his fight with Sampson. With respect to Dobell, if not a good

fighter, he has proved himself a game man; and with this praise he

must be content, for he can scarcely hope for improvement in the

fistic art. It was clear throughout that Brown was not in the best

condition; but had he been less fresh, we think he understood his

business too well, and was too good an out-fighter to give Dobell

much chance. Brown remained at Bridgnorth, showing but slight marks

of punishment; and Dobell arrived at his house in St. John Street on

Thursday morning. He had a levee of condolence in the evening, at

which it was proposed to match him once more against Brown, for £200

a-side; but nothing definite was done. It seems that the

knuckle-bone of Brown’s right-hand thumb was broken; and, on

reaching home, the hand was dreadfully puffed; the injury was done

in the second or third round.

The friends of Dobell attributed his defeat to a severe cold and want of

condition, and as mine host himself shared this opinion a second trial

was agreed on, this time for £200 a-side. Dobell went at once into

training, but for some reason twice forfeited £5 deposit. At length the

stakes were made good, and the day named was November 24th, 1829, the

place of meeting being near Uckfield, Sussex, on the Crowborough Road.

Dobell trained finally at East Grinstead, where he got off much

superfluous flesh, but still drew little short of fifteen stone. Brown

trained actively among the hills of his native county, and appeared in

the ring in far better form than on the previous occasion.

On Monday Brown, accompanied by his brother and some Bridgnorth friends,

Tom Spring, and Ned Neale, set out from Streatham for the “Shelley

Arms,” at Nutley, close to the residence of Sir John Shelley. On their

way they passed through East Grinstead, where Spring had an interview

with Dobell, who was surrounded by his friends, and attended by his

chosen seconds, Tom Shelton and Peter Crawley. All was good humour, and

each man seemed confident of the result of the approaching combat, no

doubt booking himself as the victor.

The Commissary, Tom Oliver, and his coadjutor Frosty-faced Fogo, were

among the throng at Nutley; and at an early hour in the morning they

commenced forming a ring on a piece of the forest close at hand, but

before they had commenced their labours orders arrived from Dobell to

move to Crowborough, to which place they proceeded, across the country,

by a most villanous road, and at the risk of being scattered like chaff

before the wind, which blew a perfect hurricane.

In the interim Dobell, with his _cortège_—embracing two carriages and

four and sundry chaises and pairs, gigs, horsemen, &c.—started from East

Grinstead, and passed the “Shelley Arms” at a rapid pace, being obliged

to take a circuitous route through Maresfield and Uckfield to get into

the Crowborough Road. Brown’s party were soon in their rear, their

carriages being all prepared for the start, and in point of

respectability of “turn-out” being upon an equality. The Dobellites,

however, having the start by some minutes, reached the scene of action

first, and it being then close upon one o’clock proceeded to the ring,

which was not yet complete. Brown not having arrived, and one o’clock

having passed, Dobell’s party were at once for claiming forfeit, and “to

this intent” spoke; but at five minutes after that time Brown and Spring

were within the still incomplete arena. The storm at this time raged

with unabated fury, and the stakes having been pitched on a hill, for

the advantage of a good gate, the crowd and the combatants were exposed

to its utmost severity. The consequence was that hats and umbrellas were

seen driving across the heath in all directions—their owners in full

chase—while those who were preserved from these casualties were only

secured by the aid of cords, straps, and handkerchiefs, which were so

applied as to resist the furious blasts.

The usual preliminaries of choosing umpires and referees were now

arranged, and the men peeled for action, Brown attended by Spring and

Tom Oliver, and Dobell by Peter Crawley and Tom Shelton. In point of

condition they were, as we have said, much better than at their last

meeting, Dobell looking much lighter in weight and firmer in flesh, but

still too much of the Bacchus to suit our notions of the necessary

activity for a milling hero. His arms were too short, and from the

fleshiness at his shoulders he seemed to want that spring which is

essential to effective hitting. Brown was thin as a greyhound, and had

an obvious advantage in length, while his general appearance showed

freshness and vigour. At this interesting moment a few of the friends of

Dobell readily accepted some bets at seven to four and two to one.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The men came up cautiously, both covering their points with

judgment, and Brown evidently waiting for the attack. Dobell did not

keep him long in suspense, but let fly with his right at the head,

which was prettily stopped. He then tried with his left at the body,

but was again stopped, and Brown jumped away active on his pins. A

long pause ensued, neither making play, but both receiving strong

pepper from Æolus, which imparted a bluish tint to their mazzards.

Dobell once more tried his left at Brown’s body, but was out of

distance. Sparring and position changed, when Dobell made a rush and

attempted to catch Brown’s right hand with his left, while he drew

back his right to hit, but Brown jumped back, and the effort was

fruitless as well as injudicious. Another long sparring bout, of

which Dobell evidently got tired, for he dropped his hands and

looked mortified; but Brown seemed determined to give him the lead,

and wait for his assault. Dobell now put in a slight body hit with

his left, while Brown made an over-handed chop with his right, but

missed. Dobell became impatient, and making up his mind to mischief,

tried his one two; but both were stopped, and Brown jumped back.

Brown now, in turn, made a dart, and put in his left slightly on

Dobell’s collar-bone. Dobell tried to plant his left and right

several times, but was stopped; at length he caught Brown slightly

with his right on the mark; but the distance was ill-judged, and

Brown smiled. Long sparring. Dobell stopped a well-intentioned visit

from Brown’s left to his nob. Again did Dobell drop his arms as if

fatigued at holding them up so long, for fifteen minutes had now

expired. “Go in, and get to work,” cried Dobell’s friends, and after

a pause he followed their advice; he rushed to a rally, and

delivered a slight tap on Brown’s cheek with his right. This

produced a quick return from Brown, who slashed away right and left

with great force and quickness on Dobell’s frontispiece, setting his

eyes on the twinkle, and ultimately flooring him on his capacious

base. (Loud shouts from Brown’s friends, and five to two offered in

all directions.) The round lasted seventeen minutes.

2.—Dobell came up considerably flushed in his upper works, but

steady. “In to him!” cried Shelton; and obedient to the word of

command, he instantly commenced operations; but he found the game

not so safe. Brown was ready, and hit away right and left, meeting

his man as he came in with stinging severity. Dobell felt the force

of these visitations, and turned his back for a moment. Brown saw

the advantage, and quick as lightning jumped in, and as Dobell came

to the rightabout met him with a flush hit with the right on his

mouth, and his left on his nose; this he repeated, and after a very

slight return from Dobell, he was floored, the purple stream

distilling from his mouth and proboscis. (Four to one on Brown, and

no takers.)

3.—Brown now changed his tactics; and seeing that he had it all his

own way, he made the beginning with right and left handed chops, but

both were stopped; Dobell, however, was too much confused to play

the saving game long, and in another second he found Brown’s right

and left slap in his physog. The hits were terrific. Dobell made

some returns, and caught Brown under the right eye, but the rapidity

and force of Brown’s attack were irresistible; he again jobbed well

right and left, and at last down went Dobell of his own accord; he

found he was at the ropes, and sought refuge by dropping beneath

them. (Shouts from Brown’s friends in all directions, while Peter

Crawley ran to the umpires and exclaimed “that it was made all right

for Brown, and that Dobell wouldn’t fight.”) While he was thus

raving, however, his man again got up.

The 4th and last round was fought. Dobell made a short but desperate

effort; he tried one or two wild hits with his left, but in return

napped it heavily on his canister, and was once more grassed. It was

now clear that all was over, and, in fact, Dobell plainly indicated

that he would not prolong what he felt was a useless struggle. On

“time” being called Brown was proclaimed the conqueror in exactly

twenty-one minutes. He was as fresh as when he commenced, and

immediately shook hands with his antagonist, and dressed in the

ring.

Attention was now paid to Dobell, who complained of considerable

pain in his right forearm, which was much swollen and contused. He

had evidently lost the use of it, and on being examined by two

surgeons on the spot the small bone was pronounced to be fractured,

and he was carried out of the ring to receive proper professional

attention. Independently of the accident, however, which, it is

believed, occurred in the third round, from his arm coming in

contact with the point of Brown’s elbow, he had not a chance of

winning, nor had he himself a doubt on the subject from the first

round, when, from the difficulty he felt at getting at Brown, he

said to Crawley he was sure it was of no use—a declaration which

naturally excited Crawley’s suspicions, and led to the observations

which he had made, and which, from Dobell’s state, he subsequently

regretted. He said he thought it was odd that Dobell should want to

cut it so soon, and this it was which provoked him to say what he

did.

REMARKS.—Considering the distance and the vicissitudes of weather

encountered this was one of the most unsatisfactory mills that had

been witnessed for some time. There were not above four minutes’

actual fighting, and this all one way—for Dobell never had a

chance—a result which all good judges anticipated; and the only

surprise was that he could have been so imprudent as to make a match

so obviously to his disadvantage. He seems to have been flattered,

however, with the idea that had he been in better condition when he

fought at Bridgnorth he could have given a better account of

himself; and forgetting that Brown at that time was equally out of

sorts, and capable of improvement, he resolved upon another trial,

the issue of which must have satisfied him that his forte is not

prize-fighting, and especially with men superior in length,

activity, strength, and science. With a commoner like Bailey, who is

an old man, and who possesses little science, his slaughtering

powers might tell, but when opposed by science these qualities lose

their value, and, as in the present instance, if met by

corresponding powers of punishment, are altogether set aside. The

very first round, as he confessed to Crawley, evidently satisfied

the host of the “Black Bull;” and finding he could do nothing when

at his best, he naturally concluded the chances which followed were

scarcely worth seeking. Upon the whole, we believe there was very

little money won or lost on the match. Brown had greatly improved,

both on his legs and in his style of setting-to, and by

out-generalling poor Isaac, and fatiguing him in the first round,

rendered victory more secure.

Brown and his party returned to the “Castle Tavern,” Holborn, the same

night, while Dobell returned to East Grinstead, and was put to bed. His

arm was set by Mr. Jones, of East Grinstead, assisted by the two

surgeons who attended him on the ground. He arrived at the “Black Bull”

on Wednesday night, which, instead of sparkling with illumination,

looked as black as an undertaker’s shop.

Brown, although he now announced his retirement from all claim to

championship honours, was still from time to time made the subject of

attacks and taunts in the newspaper outpourings of the boastful Phil

Sampson. At length preliminaries, after nine months of chaffering, were

settled, and at Doncaster, on the 19th of September, 1831, they met for

the second time in battle array.

A number of disgraceful quibbles were made by the Birmingham party, and

there seemed no probability of a fight, unless £50 was conceded to

Sampson, and a promise that he should name the place within a certain

distance of Birmingham. Finally, on the authority delegated to Mr.

Beardsworth, the stakeholder, Doncaster was named as the rendezvous. The

Town Moor was talked of, but the authorities intimated their intention

of interfering, and Pegbourn Leys, four miles distant, was named as the

spot; the fight to commence at the early hour of nine, so as not to

interfere with the day’s racing.

On the Monday morning the roads to the appointed spot bore much

resemblance to the road to Epsom in the olden time. Thimble-riggers and

“prick-in-the-garter” men, gipsies, and all the motley toddlers of a

race-meeting were gathered. There was, however, a very poor sprinkling

of the upper-crust patrons of the Ring and of racing men.

At half-past eight Tom Oliver and Fogo had pitched their stakes and rove

their ropes, and Brown threw in his castor, followed by Tom Oliver and

Yorkshire Robinson as his seconds. Sampson, attended by Jem Ward and

Harry Holt, followed. Brown was received quietly, with a slight murmur

of applause, but the shouts when Sampson showed himself indicated to the

observant the mob of partisans he had on the ground. Indeed, continual

ruffianly threats towards Brown were uttered by many of these roughs.

Brown, on Sampson’s appearance, advanced in a frank manner towards him,

holding out his hand, but Sampson, eyeing him with a savage and defiant

look, withheld his, shook his head, and walked towards his seconds. The

colours, crimson with a white border for Brown, and a deep crimson for

Sampson, were tied to the stakes, and the men stood up. Brown’s weight

was stated at 14st. 1lb., Sampson’s at 12st. 4lbs. Brown’s age (forty)

was a counterpoise, Sampson numbering but thirty summers. At twenty

minutes past nine the men were left face to face at the mark, and began

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—The attitude of Sampson was graceful—indeed, elegant—that

of Brown constrained and stiff. Brown moved his arms about as if

intending to strike, Sampson watching him keenly, and never shifting

his guard. Brown hit short, and was stopped, Sampson returning with

the left, and being stopped in turn. More sparring, when Brown got

in his left, but not heavily, on Sampson’s collar-bone. He again hit

over with his right, but Sampson shifting, he caught him on the back

of the head. Sampson again tried his left, but was stopped neatly.

Again he feinted, and then let go, successfully planting a sharp hit

on Brown’s head. Brown rushed to a close, and mutual fibbing ensued.

Brown succeeded in throwing Sampson, falling on him, and leaving a

large red mark on his breast-bone. This round lasted ten minutes.

2.—Brown all anxious to begin; Sampson waiting on the defensive.

Sampson’s left stopped, when Brown again hit over with the right,

catching Sampson high on the side of the head, no mischief done.

Sampson, who had been watching for an opening, got it, and sent in

his left a smasher on Brown’s left eye, which instantly swelled in

sign of the force of the blow. First blood was claimed for Sampson,

who again went in and visited Brown’s left ear heavily. Brown caught

Sampson on the side of the head with his right, and in the close

threw him. (The Sampsonites were now uproarious, and backing two to

one—any odds—on Sampson.)

3.—Brown went in resolutely; Sampson hit up and tried to fib him,

but got down quickly in the close.

4.—Sampson on the defensive, and retreating; Brown forcing the

fighting. After one or two short exchanges Brown sent a fair hit

with the right straight on Sampson’s left ear, and floored him.

(Shouts for Brown, but the Sampson party drowned them by cries of

“Two to one,” &c.) First knock-down to Brown.

5.—Sampson got in lightly on Brown’s jaw. Brown caught him on the

head with the right, and with the left on the breast. A sharp rally

followed, in which hits were exchanged. Sampson fell on one knee,

but although open to receive a blow, Brown withheld his arm and

walked away, in his anxiety to avoid any appearance of unfair

advantage.

6.—Sampson, after some sparring, caught Brown a tremendous smack in

the right eye, balancing the favour to the left. Brown bored in, a

desperate rally followed, and a close. Sampson hit up well, and put

in a sharp hit as they were going down together.

7.—Brown’s eyes were both in mourning, but he was strong and active.

Seeing he had the worst of out-fighting he worked his way in,

nobbing Sampson with some severity. In the close Brown tried to

screw up Sampson for the throw, but he slipped through his arms,

hitting up, and got down cleverly.

8.—Sampson exhibited signs of distress. He breathed heavily, while

Brown, though most punished, was strong and firm on his legs.

Sampson popped in his left, but Brown sent in a heavy one on his nob

in return. Counter-hits—Brown on Sampson’s throat, Sampson on

Brown’s damaged right eye. Brown closed, and threw Sampson a heavy

cross-buttock, falling over him.

9.—Brown still forcing the fighting; Sampson on the defensive. Brown

reached Sampson’s head with each hand, but got it in return. In the

close at the ropes Sampson got down. (Sampson’s friends were

ominously silent as he was taken to his corner.)

10.—Sampson’s forehead exhibited a large bump, the effects of the

nobber in the last round. In the exchanges which followed, Sampson

was active, and several times planted on Brown. In a ding-dong rally

Brown caught Sampson such a back-handed slap as he was going down

that a spectator said, “A Shelton hit, by Jupiter!” alluding to the

finishing touch in the fight of Brown and Shelton.

11.—Brown pursued Sampson vigorously, who hit up, catching him in

the eye; Brown persevered, and finally Sampson went down in the

hitting.

12.—Sampson popped in a facer, but it did not show. Brown took to

weaving; a close. As Sampson was going down, Holt rolled himself

down on the grass, so that his man partially fell on him, and was

saved direct contact with the ground. (This was a common trick of

seconds in old times, but is unfair. The seconds have no right to

quit their corners until the end of the round.)

13.—Brown rushed in, and hit Sampson on the crown of his head.

Sampson fell, weak.

14.—Brown’s left eye was almost dark, and his right was damaged. A

rally, in which Sampson hit straightest, and Brown was down from a

slip.

15.—Brown, full of fight, worked away at his man—hit him with his

left in the neck, and threw him.

16.—Brown pursued the boring game, giving Sampson no time for

sparring. After a short bustle at the ropes, he got Sampson round

the neck with the left and threw him a cross-buttock. Sampson, on

being lifted, looked queer and stiff. (The outer ring was now broken

in, and the inner-ring spectators forced into and on to the ropes;

it was, however, beaten out, and the fight proceeded.)

17.—Brown rushed in, hit over with his right, and fell from the

overreach. Sampson stood up. (Cheers from the Brums.)

18.—Brown, still taking the initiative, hit Sampson on the head, who

gave him, in return, a severe upper-cut with the left, drawing the

claret from his mouth and nose. Brown closed, but Sampson got down

easy.

19.—Brown hit away right and left; Sampson retreating, exchange of

hits; Sampson weak. Brown tried for the fall, but Sampson got down.

20.—Sampson came to the scratch bleeding freely from the olfactory

organ. Brown again at work, Sampson popping in an occasional prop,

but getting down to avoid a struggle. (Here the ring was again

broken in, and great uproar ensued. Several robberies were effected,

and the cries and denunciations of Brown were furious.)

21.—The interior of the ring was cleared. On coming to the scratch

Sampson showed weakness. Brown lost not a moment in going to work;

he hit away without hesitation. Sampson retreated to the ropes.

Brown nailed him with the right on the ear; he fell across the

ropes, where Brown hit him four or five blows, and he fell

stupefied. (The uproar now became tremendous.) A leader of Sampson’s

party pressed into the ring with a bottle in his hand; Brown was

struck, and three minutes given to Sampson to recover. The referee

was appealed to, but he escaped from the crowd and hurried to

Doncaster, where he pronounced Brown to be the winner. Sampson’s

party bringing up their man, Brown’s seconds allowed him to renew

the fight, and the men met for round.

22.—Brown fought Sampson down.

23.—General confusion. Sampson down in a scrambling rally.

24.—No time kept. Sampson brought up to face his man, who

immediately fought him down. (The ring was here entirely broken in,

and Brown struck more than once. He was kicked in the eye, and

received a blow on the head from a stake.)

REMARKS.—Mr. Marshall, Clerk of the Course of Wolverhampton, seeing

Brown’s life in danger, withdrew him forcibly from the ring, whereon

(after an interval) Sampson was brought to the mark, and proclaimed

winner, amidst the shouts of his partisans. The stakeholder, Mr.

Beardsworth, was loud in his condemnation of the violence used

towards Brown. Yet when he returned to Doncaster he declared that

Brown having left the ring, he “had given the money to Sampson. His

friends had hunted him up, and there was an end on’t.”

Mr. Beardsworth, however, found that Brown was not so easily disposed

of. At the Stafford Assizes in March of the following year was tried the

action of Brown _versus_ Beardsworth, in which the plaintiff sought to

recover £200 (his own stake) paid into the hands of Mr. Beardsworth, of

the Repository, Birmingham, on certain conditions set forth in the

declaration. Mr. Campbell (afterwards Chief Justice and Chancellor) was

for the plaintiff, Mr. Jarvis (afterwards Judge) for the defendant. Mr.

Jarvis’s defence (after an assertion that his client had paid over the

money to Sampson) was a tirade against the Ring, gamblers, &c., and an

appeal to “scout the case out of Court.” Nevertheless the jury, by

direction of Mr. Justice Littledale, were left to consider the “weight

of testimony,” and gave a verdict for £200 in favour of the plaintiff.

Brown now betook himself to his vocation as a Boniface in his native

town, where he earned the respect of his neighbours and customers,

justifying by his good conduct the axiom that “a man’s profession never

disgraces him unless his conduct disgraces the profession.”

CHAPTER XIII.

PHIL SAMPSON (“THE BIRMINGHAM YOUTH”)—1819–1831.

Phil Sampson, who was to the full as ready at chaffing and writing as at

fighting, occupied at one period an undue share of newspaper space and

of the public time. His milling career, though chequered, was not

without brilliant gleams of success.

Sampson was born on the 27th of September, 1800, at Snaith, in

Yorkshire; but when he was no more than a few months old his parents

migrated to Birmingham and settled in the “hardware village,” then

rapidly rising in manufacturing prosperity as the metropolis of

gun-making, cheap jewellery, and hardware. Pierce Egan tells us that

Phil was “intended for a parson,” but that “he preferred thumping nobs

to a cushion.” If so, and we remember him well, his acquirements in the

_literæ humaniores_ did not say much for his “college.” Indeed, we have

seen specimens of Philip’s caligraphy which forbid belief in such a

tradition. What we know, however, is that young Phil was a button-maker

in a Brummagem factory at fifteen. We shall pass also young Phil’s

apocryphal contests, in which he (and almost every other boxer in

“Boxiana”) fought and “polished off” men of all sorts, weights, and

sizes, and come to his introduction to the Ring.

Gregson being at Birmingham on one of his sparring tours, the

proficiency of Sampson, who put on the gloves with several countrymen,

attracted the attention of that clumsy practitioner, who observed to

him, “I think thee hadst better coom and try thy fortin in Lunnon, lad,

’moongst some o’ t’ loight woights.” Sampson at that time had

considerable scruples in his mind about fighting for a prize, although

he was very fond of boxing, and declined the offer of Gregson. But, on

his trade (button-making) failing badly from change of fashion, he

determined to come to London to see his friend Bob. He found a hearty

welcome from the latter at the “Mare and Magpie,” St. Catherine’s, but,

before Gregson could bring his _protégé_ into the Ring, he left London

for Dublin. Sampson was now quite adrift, but owing to the good services

of Mr. Baxter (brother to Ned Turner) he found a friend who enabled him

to take a turn among the fistic heroes of the Metropolis.

Sampson’s first appearance in the London Prize Ring might be termed

little more than a turn-up. He had been witnessing the battle, at

Moulsey Hurst, on Tuesday, August 24th, 1819, between Cy. Davis and

Boshell, and also Scroggins and Josh Hudson, and had crossed the water,

on the point of returning to town, when he was unexpectedly brought into

action owing to the following circumstance. In the conversation which

took place during dinner at Lawrence’s, the “Red Lion,” Hampton, it was

mentioned by Ned Painter that a youth from Birmingham, about eleven

stone and a half, had been on the Hurst to offer himself as a candidate,

but none of the middle weights, much less the light ones, had fancied

him, at which he was much disappointed. An eminent brewer and a gallant

captain immediately offered ten pounds if Dolly Smith, who was at hand,

and who had fought Tom Cannon and Bill Abbot, would try what the new

“piece of hardware” was worth. Phil was sent for, and cheerfully

accepted the task.

The combatants were informed that if anything like collusion or division

of the stakes occurred not one penny would be paid over, and that the

best man must win. A select party thereon returned to the Hurst, and at

six o’clock in the evening Smith stripped, seconded by Rolph and Ned

Weston, Sampson being waited upon by Josh Hudson and Baxter. The

reporters having gone off to town, we are merely told that in fifteen

minutes poor Dolly (who was decidedly out of condition) was defeated,

being nobbed all over the ring and thrown like a sack by the newcomer.

The activity and slashing blows of Sampson astonished the amateurs, some

of his right-hand deliveries appearing to completely stupefy Dolly, who

behaved gamely and well, but had not even a chance turn throughout.

Phil, being an active, chatty, and certainly fast and bounceable young

fellow, was at once in high favour with the “upper crust.”

Accordingly, on Tuesday, October 26th, 1819, he was at Wallingham

Common, when, Turner having defeated Martin, ten guineas was announced

as a purse, in addition to ten guineas from the Pugilistic Club, for the

best of two men of eleven stone and upwards. Josh Hudson, ever ready,

offered himself; and Phil Sampson, as the event proved rashly,

challenged the prize from the John Bull Fighter. It was a tremendous

fight for a short time, but at the end of forty minutes Sampson was

defeated. (See Life of HUDSON, _ante_, Chapter IV.)

Sampson, after a short interval, was matched against Abraham Belasco,

the scientific Jew, for fifty guineas a-side. This battle took place at

Potter’s Street, in Essex, twenty-one miles from London, on Tuesday,

February 22nd, 1819. The badness of the day did not deter the Fancy from

quitting the Metropolis at an early hour, and the combatants entered the

ring, which was well covered with sawdust owing to the wetness of the

ground, at one o’clock. Belasco appeared a few minutes before his

opponent, attended by Oliver and Josh Hudson; the Birmingham Youth was

waited upon by Painter and Shelton. Belasco was the favourite at six to

four.

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—Sparring; Belasco let fly, but was stopped. Sampson put in

a sharp hit under the Jew’s arm. Both went in. Exchanges. In

struggling Belasco down. (“Go along, my little youth.”)

2.—Counter-hits; a pause; the Birmingham Youth rushed in, and got to

the ropes. In the struggle to fib the Jew, he slipped down. (Two to

one on Belasco.)

3.—The Birmingham Youth drew first blood, and, in a struggle, the

Jew went down from a slip. (Great shouting in favour of the

Birmingham Youth.)

4.—Belasco stopped and hit well; a good rally; Sampson received a

heavy body blow and went down.

5.—The Jew went to work, bled his opponent, and sent him down on his

rump, rather weak. The Jew also went down.

6.—Sparring, and the Birmingham Youth piping. The Jew put in two

good hits. Sampson returned, till he was got to the ropes, where he

got it sharply, and in the struggle went down, Belasco uppermost.

7.—Belasco slipped down, cunning, and the Youth stood looking at

him. (Hissing.)

8.—This was a well-fought round, and Belasco hit Sampson away; but

the latter, in game style, returned to the charge, and fought like a

hero till both were down, the Jew uppermost.

9.—Sampson commenced this round in gallant style; but Belasco

changed it by good fighting, and had Sampson down at the ropes.

10.—After a few exchanges at the ropes, Sampson went down, but a

good round altogether. (“Well done, Belasco!”)

11.—After a hit or two, the Jew got Sampson at the ropes, and was

fibbing him in good style, till he dropped on one knee. The strength

and skill of Belasco enabled him to hold up his opponent, and weave

on, till he got Sampson down on both his knees.

In the last two rounds Sampson was getting weak, and, to escape from

severe fibbing in the eleventh, he fell to one knee, but Belasco

kept holding him up and punishing till he was down on both of his

knees. “Foul” and “fair” were instantly cried out, when Painter and

Shelton took Sampson out of the ring, put him into a post-chaise,

and drove off without appealing to the umpires on the subject. This

was certainly wrong; and, owing to this circumstance, a fierce

dispute arose. No man should be taken out of the ring till the

umpires have decided upon the propriety of such a step. Both sides

may dispute, but it is only the umpires that can set it right. The

superior science of the Jew prevented the hitherto slashing hitting

of Sampson, which was so heavily experienced by Josh Hudson. Belasco

stopped many blows in good style, and gave the movements of Sampson

the appearance of being slow. It was by no means a decisive fight,

such as the “Ould Fanciers” are fond of witnessing; although two to

one was betted on Belasco, and even a point further, on the round

previous to Sampson’s being taken out of the ring. It was generally

asserted that the Birmingham Youth was the best man, owing to his

youth, but as to knowledge of milling, Belasco had the advantage.

The decision of the umpires being appealed to, the dispute was finally

argued and determined before Mr. Jackson, in presence of several persons

of experience. The judgment given was simply as follows—“That as no

objection had been made to the umpires on their being appointed to their

situations; and also both of them uniting in one opinion that Belasco’s

conduct was fair; and, further, no interference of the referee having

been called for, their decision must be considered final.” This decided

the paying of bets; and as the battle-money was given up to the Jew, it

was insisted upon, in sporting phrase, that bets follow the

battle-money.

Sampson was not pleased with the termination of the fight, and

accidentally meeting the Jew at a house in Bond Street, where some

friends were arguing the subject, the men got suddenly in collision; but

after fighting a few minutes, during which nothing was the matter, the

friends of the Jew took him away, saying “it was no fun to fight for

nothing.”

At Richmond’s benefit at the Royal Tennis Court, Windmill Street,

Haymarket, on Tuesday, February 29th, 1820, on the announcement of

“Belasco and the Birmingham Youth,” curiosity was on the stretch. It was

a regular glove-fight for nine rounds, and Sampson appeared so

determined to get the better of the Jew that he disdained allowing any

time between the rounds, till he not only exhausted himself, but

distressed his opponent to a stand-still. The Jew seemed now satisfied,

and, while in the act of bowing to the audience and pulling off the

gloves, Sampson said he should not leave off, and hit Belasco on the

side of his head. The latter immediately returned the compliment, but

had the worst of the round, and was thrown. It was considered necessary

to part them, and Cribb took Sampson away. It was in fact a

discreditable display of bad temper on the part of the Birmingham Youth.

In consequence of a purse of £50 given by the Pugilistic Club, and a

private stake of £25 a-side, Sampson entered the lists with Jack Martin,

at North Walsham, on the 17th of July, 1820. After a sharp battle

Sampson was defeated. (See Life of MARTIN, _ante_.)

Sampson was now certainly “under a cloud.” Chance, however, brought him

again into notice. A man of the name of Tom Dye, known as “Di the

Table-lifter,” a public exhibitor of feats of strength, who could carry

a mahogany dining-table seven or eight feet long with his teeth, tie a

pair of tongs round a man’s neck by way of cravat, and break a poker

across his arm like a rotten stick, was chaffed about the strength of

Sampson. He expressed his opinion that he could dispose of the modern

wearer of the name in very summary fashion, to which “the Youth”

demurred, and a purse of five sovs. was offered if “Di” would make the

experiment. It turned out an easy job for Sampson. In eight minutes,

during which six rounds were fought, “Di” was completely _hors de

combat_ when time was called. On coming to, the “strong man” declared he

was not fairly beaten, on which “the Youth” told him to “take his own

time,” and “Di” again put up his hands. He soon repented, for Sampson

milled him down so suddenly that poor “Di” forgot for a while all about

tables and pokers. Sampson had not a mark, and presented the crestfallen

table-lifter with half-a-sovereign “to wash his teeth with.”

The ill feeling of Sampson towards Belasco again broke out, and the

latter, it would seem, declared his intention of thrashing his late

opponent wherever he met him. In consequence Belasco, at Tom Oliver’s

benefit at the Tennis Court, on Monday, December 21st, 1820, mounted the

stage, and said that being thus continually threatened he would

accommodate Sampson for £100 or £50 a-side. Hereupon Sampson rushed on

the stage intemperately and declared his intention to fight “if any

gentleman, who is a gentleman, will hold the money. That is necessary,”

he added, “as I have been robbed of the last fight. I am also ready to

set to with Belasco immediately.” Belasco coolly replied by putting on

the mufflers, and at it they went for

A GLOVE-FIGHT.

Round 1.—Both cautious, and eyeing each other. Sampson plunged in,

and some exchanges took place, when Belasco slipped down, and

Sampson was also on the floor.

2.—Very short work; Sampson’s temper got the mastery of his skill.

Belasco caught him as he came in, got his head in the corner of the

stage, and fibbed him down. (Hissing from some parts of the court.

“Nothing unfair,” was the cry from the other. “Never mind,” said

Sampson, “it’s all right, Belasco, come along.”)

3.—Milling without ceremony, till Sampson put in a most tremendous

nobber on the Jew’s temple that completely stunned him for the

instant, accompanying it with “Where are you now?” If it had been in

the ring, it must have proved a winning hit. Belasco caught hold of

the rails to prevent going down, and said, “Never mind, I’ll soon be

ready for you.” The Birmingham Youth waited till the Jew was ready

to commence another round.

4.—Very severe; both down.

5.—The Jew displayed science, but the rush of the Youth was sharp in

the extreme, and pepper was the result, till they separated.

6.—Each man appeared anxious to have the “best of it.” This was

altogether a fine round, but, in closing, both down, the Youth

undermost. In separating, the Jew, on getting up, from the motions

he made, seemed as if his shoulder were hurt. Belasco stretched his

arm on the rail, and the Youth rubbed his shoulder, amidst much

laughter.

7.—Both down again, when the Jew made a similar complaint, and

rubbed his arm. Here a surgeon stepped up, examined the shoulder,

and said it was not out.

8.—Sampson had the best of it; but in struggling and going down,

they both nearly fell through the rails of the stage into the court.

9.—The Jew said his shoulder was now so bad that he could not use

it; but, in order to prevent disappointment, he would continue the

combat with one hand only, if Sampson would agree to it. The latter

said he had no objection, and each of them pulled off one glove, and

commenced this _nouvelle_ exhibition. (Loud cries of “Leave off,”

“Go on,” &c.) Belasco received some pepper, and went down.

10.—This round was well contested: the Jew, however, used his arm in

the rally; indeed, neither of their hands were idle.

11.—Again a rally, and Sampson fought with both hands, Belasco

following suit.

12.—This was the finale. Belasco was hit down, or seemed to be so.

He sat upon his nether end quietly, and thunders of applause greeted

the success of Sampson, who threw his remaining glove on the floor.

Belasco rose and immediately addressed the spectators. He said he

would fight Sampson that day six weeks for £50. (“Bravo.”)

Mr. Sampson’s skill in letter-writing, and in avoiding making a match,

was now in full play for some months, and nothing done _in re_ Belasco.

Charley Grantham (alias Gybletts), however, was backed against Sampson

for £50 a-side, and on Tuesday, July 17th, 1821, the men met on Moulsey

Hurst. At one o’clock Sampson, attended by Tom Spring and Hickman (the

Gas-light Man), threw his hat within the ropes. In a few minutes

afterwards Gybletts, with Harry Harmer and Bob Purcell, entered the

ring. Sampson was the favourite at seven to four.

“The Youth,” who looked in good condition, in his usual thrasonical

style informed his friends he should “win in twenty minutes.” It was

not, however, the “straight tip,” for Sampson was defeated in one hour

and twenty minutes, the “flash side” losing their money, and another

“moral certainty” going wrong.

Bill Abbott, whose recent victory over Tom Oliver had given him a high

position, offered himself to Sampson, and the men met at Moulsey on

December 13th, 1821. Here again Sampson was beaten in forty-seven

minutes, forty-three rounds having been fought in that time.

The current of adversity now ran hard against Phil. His nominal townsman

(Phil himself was a Yorkshireman), Bill Hall, assuming to himself the

title of “the New Birmingham Lad,” challenged “the slashing and

scientific Sampson,” as Pierce Egan was wont to call him.

On Tuesday, July 30th, 1822, on Warwick Racecourse, in a roped ring, in

front of the grand stand, the “countryman” beat Sampson, after a shifty

tumbledown fight of ninety-one rounds; Josh Hudson giving in for him

with odds of two to one in his favour. The contemporary reports intimate

that Sampson had only “a small amethyst under his eye,” and had hard

work to “look like losing it.”

Sampson was pathetically verbose in print and talk about “the cruelty”

of charging him with a complicity in his own defeat. He also expressed

his desire for another trial with Hall, attributing his failure solely

to want of condition. Meanwhile, Bill Hall had been consummately

thrashed by Ned Neale (see Life of NEALE), a fact which did not tend to

the satisfaction of the backers of the boastful Birmingham Youth, who

left London “disgusted at their desertion.”

At length Phil, who had certainly improved in strength and condition,

persuaded his Birmingham friends that if they would give him another

chance with Hall he would dispose of him with ease and win their money

to a certainty. So a second match was made for £50, and on Wednesday,

March 19th, 1823, the old Hurst at Moulsey was the arena of encounter,

after the ring had been quitted by Arthur Matthewson, who that day

polished off Mishter Israel Belasco, brother of Aby of that ilk.

Sampson had good attendants; no other than Tom Spring, champion _in

esse_, and Jem Ward, ditto _in posse_. Hall had behind him Josh Hudson

and “a friend from Birmingham.” Such, however, was the want of

confidence in “the Youth,” that six to four on Hall went begging. “We’ll

wait and see,” said those who were asked to speculate. The spectators

had not long to wait, as will be seen by our report of

THE FIGHT.

Round 1.—No sooner had the men shaken hands than Hall ran at his

opponent like a mad bull. Sampson got out of the way of his fury

like an agile toreador, and then, by a half-turn, put in so severe a

blow on Hall’s nob that he lost his legs in a twinkling. (“Halloo!

What’s the matter? Sampson will win this time!”)

2.—Hall seemed furious at his unexpected floorer. He ran after

Sampson, pelting away, without any regard to science, and making

Sampson fight under the idea of reducing his strength. In a short

rally at the ropes Sampson put in a right-handed hit on his

opponent’s left eye, after the manner of his agonistic namesake, and

Hall fell like a log. On his seconds picking him up he was

completely insensible. The battle of course was at an end. A medical

man stepped into the ring, bled Hall, and paid him every humane

attention requisite, but several minutes elapsed before a return of

consciousness could be discerned. Hall was then driven off, nearly

in a state of stupor, in a coach, accompanied by the doctor.

Pugilistica: The History of British Boxing, Volume 2 (of 3) Containing Lives of the Most Celebrated Pugilists; Full Reports of Their Battles from Contemporary Newspapers, With Authentic Portraits, Personal Anecdotes, and Sketches of the Principal Patrons of the Prize Ring, Forming a Complete History of the Ring from Fig and Broughton, 1719-1740, to the Last Championship Battle Between King and Heenan, in December 1863 · 第 11 / 14 章

REMARKS.—This was one of the best and fairest mills on record, and