WRESTLING.
We must not close this department of our subject without saying a word
or two on wrestling. This exercise, which at one time was almost
universal, is now, like many others, fallen into general disuse; and is
confined almost entirely to Cornwall and Devon in the west, and the
counties of Chester, Lancaster, Cumberland, and Westmoreland in the
north. These counties, indeed, have always been pre-eminent in the
science of wrestling, and have possessed practices peculiar to
themselves. Formerly, the citizens of London were great wrestlers. Stow
tells us, that in the month of August, about the feast of St.
Bartholomew, there were divers days spent in wrestling. The lord mayor,
aldermen, and sheriffs being present, in a large tent pitched for that
purpose, near Clerkenwell; the officers of the city, namely, the
sheriffs, sergeants, and yeomen; the porters of the king’s beam, or
weighing-house, etc., gave a general challenge to such of the
inhabitants of the suburbs as thought themselves expert in this
exercise. In Sewell’s History of the Society of Friends, a curious
circumstance is recorded connected with this taste of the Londoners for
wrestling. Edward Burrough, a young and enthusiastic preacher in that
society, which then was newly formed, seeing a ring made for a wrestling
match in some part of the city where he was passing, and a man in it
awaiting the acceptance of his challenge by some one, suddenly stepped
into it, to the great amazement both of the champion and the spectators,
“who,” say the historian, “instead of some light and airy person, seeing
a grave and awful young man,” were utterly posed and confounded; and the
eloquent and zealous minister, taking advantage of this surprise, told
them he was prepared for a contest, but of another sort to what they
were looking for; and forthwith gave them such a sermon in his fiery and
vehement style of eloquence, which had gained him the name of Boanerges,
or the Son of Thunder, as wonderfully quieted them down, and sent them
away in a solemn frame of mind.
This wrestling spirit, however, appears to have vanished for a long
period from London as well as the country, and to have been only of late
years revived by the West of England, and the Westmoreland, and
Cumberland Clubs. These have drawn together great numbers; the
spectators at the anniversary display of the Westmoreland club at
Chalk-Farm, in the spring of 1837, being about 8000.
Sir Thomas Parkyn, of Bunny Park, in Nottinghamshire, who was a zealous
advocate and patron of wrestling, gave an annual prize for the best
wrestler, and ordered the continuance of the same in his will; but it
would not take root there, and the only remaining traces of his
endeavour are, his book on the Cornish Hug, and his effigy in a niche in
Bunny church, in the attitude in which a wrestler receives his
antagonist, with his favourite title of Thomas Luctator inscribed over
his head.
It is singular that in the two extremities of the country, where
wrestling maintains its ancient popularity, adjoining counties, whose
rivalry, no doubt, keeps alive the interest in it, should maintain such
opposite practices. In some of the northern counties, kicking is
allowed, in others it is not. In Devon, kicking shins is a great part of
the game; in Cornwall it forms no part of it. Lancashire is famous for
its cross-buttock, and Cornwall for its hug. Cornwall and Devon,
however, possess unquestionably the pre-eminence in this ancient art, an
art which held an eminent rank in the Olympic games of Greece. “The
Cornish,” says Fuller, “are masters of the art of wrestling, so that if
the Olympian Games were now in fashion, they would come away with the
victory. Their hug is a crowning close with their fellow combatant, the
fruits whereof is his fair fall, or foil at the least.” “They learn the
art,” says Carew, “early in life, for you shall hardly find an assembly
of boys in Devon and Cornwall, where the untowardly among them will not
as readily give you a muster of this exercise, as you are prone to
require it.”
A writer in Hone’s Every-Day Book, in 1828, says, “No kicks are allowed
in Cornwall except the players who are in the ring mutually agree to it.
A hat is thrown in as a challenge, which being accepted by another, the
combatants strip, and put on a coarse loose kind of jacket, of which
they take hold, and of nothing else. Play then commences. To constitute
a fair fall, both shoulders must touch the ground at or nearly the same
moment. To guard against foul play, to decide on the falls, and manage
the affairs of the day, four or six STICKLERS, as the umpires are
called, are chosen, to whom all these matters are left. Wrestling
thrives in the eastern part of Cornwall, particularly about Saint Austle
and Saint Columb. At the latter place, resides Polkinhorne, the champion
of Cornwall, and by many considered entitled to the championship of the
four western counties; Cann, the Devonshire champion, having declined to
meet him, Polkinhorne has not practised wrestling for several years
past, while Cann has carried off the prize at every place in Devon that
he shewed at. They certainly are both good ones. Parkins, a friend of
Polkinhorne’s, is a famous hand at these games; and so was Warner of
Redruth, till disabled in February 1825, by over-exertion on board the
Cambria brig, bound for Mexico.”
This writer proceeds to state that John Knill, Esq. bequeathed the
income of an estate to be given in various prizes for racing, rowing,
and wrestling; these games to be held every fifth year for ever; and
that the first was celebrated in July 1801, around a mausoleum which he
erected in his lifetime on a high rock near St. Ives. “Early in the
morning, the roads from Helston, Truro, and Penzance, were lined with
horses and vehicles of every description, while thousands of travellers
on foot poured in from all quarters till noon, when the assembly formed.
The wrestlers entered the ring; a troop of virgins dressed in white,
danced and chanted a hymn composed for the occasion; the spectators
ranged themselves along the hills, and, at length, the mayor of St.
Ives appeared in his robes of state. The signal was given; the flags
were displayed from the towers of the castle; here the wrestlers exerted
their sinewy strength; here the rowers dashed through the waves, and the
songs of the damsels added delight to the scene. A dinner and ball at
the Union Hotel concluded the day. The games were again celebrated in
1806, 1811, 1816, and 1821, with increased favour and admiration.”
So much for Cornish play; that of Devon, I have already said, is of a
different kind. The Devon wrestlers don’t practice the hug, but kick
shins dreadfully. For this purpose they have their shoes armed with
iron, and before going into the ring, they wrap up their legs with
numerous folds of carpeting to defend themselves from the violence of
the kicks. “The Devonshire men,” says the same writer, who professes to
be of neither county, and to admire the champions of both, “have no
under-play, nor have they one heaver. Visit a Devon ring, and you will
wait a tedious time after a man is thrown ere another appear. After
undergoing the necessary preparation for a good kicking, he enters, and
shakes his adversary by the hand, and kicks, and lays hold when he can
get a fit opportunity. If he is conscious of superior strength, he goes
to work, and by force of arm wrests his opponent off his legs, and lays
him flat; or if too heavy for this, he carries him round by the hip. But
when the men find that they are ‘much of a muchness,’ it is really
tiresome; caution is the word, and the hardest shoe, and the best
kicker, carries it. I have seen in Cornwall more persons at these games
when the prize has been a gold-laced hat, a waistcoat, or a pair of
gloves, than ever attend the sports in Devon, where the prizes are
liberal, for they don’t like to be kicked for a trifle; or even at the
famed meetings of later days in London, at the Eagle in the City-Road,
or the Golden Eagle in Mile-End. How is this? Why, in the latter places,
six, eight, and at farthest twelve standards, are as much as a day’s
play will admit of; while in Cornwall I have seen forty made in one day.
At Penzance, on Monday, 24th ultimo, thirty standards were made, and the
match concluded the day following. In Devon, what with the heavy shoes,
and thick padding, and time lost in equipment and kicking, half that
number cannot be made in a day. I have frequently seen men obliged to
leave the ring, and abandon the chance of a prize, owing solely to
hurts they have received by kicks from the knee downwards; nay, I have
seen Cann’s brothers, or relations, obliged to do so. To the eye of a
beholder unacquainted with wrestling, the Cornish mode must appear as
play; that of Devon--barbarous. It is an indisputable fact that no
Cornish wrestler of any note ever frequents the games in Devon, and that
whenever those from Devon have played in Cornwall, they have been
thrown--Jordans by Parkins, and so on.”
I think any person not of Devon must give the preference to the play of
Cornwall as more scientific and less savage; but before we proceed to
compare the rival champions, let us give a little more display of the
Devonshire men by an eye-witness in 1820, who has related his visit to
the ring at Exmouth, in the London Magazine, with a great feeling of
enjoyment. He was told one morning that there was going to be a
wrestling, and that “the Canns would be there; and young Brockenden; and
Thorne, from Dawlish; and the men from the moors!” This excited his
imagination; as well it might, for there is something about the names of
these men, the Canns, the Brockendens, the Widdicombs of the moors, that
has a wild, grim, and wrestlerish sound; and accords well with those
grey, ancient, and romantic moorlands of the western regions of our
island. On approaching the ring he found a champion in it. “He was a
young man of extremely prepossessing appearance, stripped to the shirt,
and enclothed with the linen jacket with a green cock on the back, which
I have noticed to be the customary garment. His figure, which in its
country garb had not particularly impressed me with its size or
strength, now struck me as highly powerful, compact, and beautiful. His
limbs were well grown, and strongly set--yet rather slight than
otherwise--and his body was easy, slim, and yet peculiarly expressive of
power. The fronts of his legs from the knee to the ankle, were armed
with thick carpeting, to protect them from the kicks of his antagonist;
and even this strange armour did not give to his person the appearance
of clumsiness. His neck was bare, and certainly very fine;--but the
shape of his head struck me as being the most expressive and _poetical_
(I use the term under correction) I had for a long time beheld--being
set off, I conceive, by the way in which his hair was arranged;--and
this was dark, hanging in thick _snakish_ curls on each side of his
forehead, and down the back part of his head: add to all this, a
handsome, melancholy, thin countenance, and you will have at once some
idea of the young man who now stood before me. I turned to a countryman
near me, and inquired who this youth might be, whose undaunted mien and
comely port had so taken my favour captive. ‘Who is _that_?’ said the
man, with a tone of surprise, accompanied with a look of profound pity
at my ignorance--‘why, one of the _Canns_ to be sure!’” But we will pass
over the first day’s play, and come to the evening of the second day’s
play. “The first shout of the master of the revels was--‘The younger
Cann, and Widdicomb of the Moors!’ and this was received with a low
murmur, and a deep interest which almost smothered sound. The younger
Cann was the stoutest of the brotherhood, finely formed and fair-haired.
He stripped and accoutred himself immediately: his brothers assisting in
buckling his leg-armour and fastening his jacket. There was evidently a
great anxiety in this group, but still the utmost confidence in ultimate
success; and I could not help taking part in the interest of the
brothers, and at the same time entertaining a full share of their faith
in their champion’s triumph. ‘And who,’ said I to a neighbour, ‘are
these Canns?’ ‘They are farmers; and there are five brothers, all
excellent wrestlers; but you only see three here to-night.’ But the fine
young wrestler stepped into the ring, and our conversation ceased.
“The moon was now very clear, full, and bright; and its light fell upon
the noble person of Cann, and shewed every curl of his hair. The
Moor-man soon joined him--prepared for the conflict. He was a giant in
size, and from what I gathered around me, a man of most savage nature.
The popular feeling was painfully on Cann’s side. After the cup had been
pledged, the opponents seized each other with an iron grasp. Cann stood
boldly, but cautiously up, as conscious that he had much to do; and the
Moorman opposed him resolutely and grandly. The struggle was immediate;
and Cann, with one terrific wrench, threw his antagonist to the earth;
but he fell so doubtfully on his shoulder, that it seemed uncertain
whether he would fall on his back, which is necessary to victory, or
recover himself by rolling on his face. Cann looked proudly down upon
him, and saw him by a miraculous strain, which resembled that of a
Titan in pain, save the fall, by wrenching himself down on his face. His
shoulder and side were soiled--but he was not deemed vanquished.
“By the order of the umpires the struggle was renewed, when owing, as I
conceived, to the slippery state of the grass, Cann fell on his knees,
and the Moor-man instantly hurled him on his back. All was uproar and
confusion--but Cann was declared to have received a fall--and gloom
spread itself over all! He could not be convinced of the justice of his
judges--a common case when the verdict is adverse--and it was in real
pain of spirit that he pulled off the jacket.
“Young Brockenden followed next, with another man from the Moors; and he
received a doubtful fall, which was much cavilled at, but which the
judges, nevertheless, gave against him. It now grew late, and the clouds
thickened around, so that the wrestlers could scarcely be perceived. I
left the sports somewhat unwillingly; but I could not distinguish the
parties, and in truth, I was dispirited at my favourite’s being foiled.
I heard that the brother Canns retrieved the fame of the family--but the
darkness of the night, and the state of the grass, gave no chance,
either to the spectators or to the wrestlers. In the morning, the ring,
the awning, the scaffolding--had vanished; and the young fellows had
separated; the Canns to their farms--the men to the moors.”
Having now taken a peep at both the Cornish and Devonshire men, let us
bring them into contact. In 1826, at the Eagle-Tavern Green, City-Road,
several matches took place between Devonshire and Cornish men, on the
19th, 20th, and 21st of September. The following exhibition of the
struggle between Abraham Cann, the champion of Dartmoor, and Warren of
Cornwall, is equal to a bass-relief from a Grecian frieze, and gives a
most graphic view of the systems of the two counties. It is from the
London Magazine, and evidently by the same writer.
“The contest between Abraham Cann and Warren not only displayed this
difference of style, but was attended with a degree of suspense between
skill and strength, that rendered it extremely interesting. The former,
who is a son of a Devonshire farmer, has been backed against any man in
England for 500_l._ His figure is of the finest athletic proportions,
and his arm realizes the muscularity of ancient specimens. His power in
it is surprising: his hold is like that of a vice, and with ease he can
pinion the arms of the strongest adversary, if he once grips them, and
keep them as close together, or as far asunder, as he chooses. He stands
with his legs apart, his body quite upright, looking down
good-humouredly on his crouching opponent. In this instance, his
opponent, Warren, a miner, was a man of superior size, and of amazing
strength, not so well distributed, however, throughout his frame: his
arms and body being too lengthy in proportion to their bulk. His visage
was harsh beyond measure, and he did not disdain to use a little craft
with eye and hand, in order to distract his enemy’s attention. But he
had to deal with a man as collected as ever entered a ring. Cann put in
his hand as quietly as if he were going to seize a shy horse, and at
length, caught a slight hold between finger and thumb of Warren’s
sleeve. At this Warren flung away with the impetuosity of a surprised
horse. But it was in vain; there was no escape from Cann’s pinch, so the
miner seized his adversary in his turn, and at length both of them
grappled each other by the arm and the breast of the jacket. In a trice
Cann tripped his opponent with the toe in a most scientific but
ineffectual manner, throwing him clean to the ground, but not on his
back, as required. The second heat began similarly. Warren stooped more,
so as to keep his legs out of Cann’s reach, who punished him for it by
several kicks below the knee, which must have told severely if his shoes
had been on, after his country’s fashion. They shook each other
rudely--strained knee to knee--forced each other’s shoulders down, so as
to overbalance the body--but all ineffectually. They seemed to be quite
secure from each other’s efforts, as long as they held by the arm and
breast-collar, as ordinary wrestlers do. A new grip was to be effected.
Cann liberated one arm of his adversary, to seize him by the cape
behind; at that instant, Warren, profiting by his inclined posture and
his long arm, threw himself round the body of the Devon champion, and
fairly lifted him a foot from the ground, clutching him in his arms with
the grasp of a second Antæus. The Cornish men shouted aloud, ‘Well done,
Warren!’ to their hero, whose naturally pale visage glowed with the hope
of success. He seemed to have his opponent at his will, and to be fit to
fling him, as Hercules flung Lycas, any how he pleased. Devonshire then
trembled for its champion, and was mute. Indeed it was a moment of
heart-quaking suspense. But Cann was not daunted; his countenance
expressed anxiety, but not discomfiture. He was off terra firma, clasped
in the embrace of a powerful man, who waited but a single struggle of
his, to pitch him more effectually from him to the ground. Without
straining to disengage himself, Cann with unimaginable dexterity, glued
his back firmly to his opponent’s chest, lacing his feet round the
other’s knee-joints, and throwing one arm backward over Warren’s
shoulders so as to keep his own enormous shoulders pressed upon the
breast of his uplifter. In this position they stood, at least twenty
seconds, each labouring in one continuous strain, to bend the other, one
forward, the other backwards. Such a struggle could not last. Warren,
with the might of the other upon his stomach and chest, felt his balance
almost gone, as the energetic movements of his countenance indicated.
His feet too were motionless, by the coil of his adversary’s legs round
his; so, to save himself from falling backward, he stiffened his whole
body from the ankles upwards, and these last being the only liberated
joints, he inclined forward from them, so as to project both bodies, and
prostrate them in one column to the ground together. It was like the
slow and poising fall of an undermined tower. You had time to
contemplate the injury which Cann, the undermost, would sustain, if they
fell in that solid, unbending posture to the earth. But Cann ceased
bearing upon the spine as soon as he found his supporter going in an
adverse direction. With a presence of mind unrateable, he relaxed his
strain upon one of his adversary’s stretched legs, forcing the other
outwards with all the might of his foot, and pressing his elbow on the
opposite shoulder. This was sufficient to whisk his man undermost the
instant he unstiffened his knee--which Warren did not do till more than
half-way to the ground, when from the acquired rapidity of the falling
bodies, nothing was discernible. At the end of the fall, Warren was seen
sprawling on his back, and Cann, whom he had liberated to save himself,
had been thrown a few yards off, on all fours. Of course the victory
should have been adjudged to this last. When the partial referee was
appealed to, he decided that it was not a fair fall, as only one
shoulder had bulged the ground, though there was evidence on the back
of Warren that both had touched it pretty rudely. After much debating, a
new referee was appointed, and the old one expelled: when the candidates
again entered the lists. The crowning beauty of the whole was, that the
second fall was precisely a counterpart of the first. Warren made the
same move, only lifting his antagonist higher, with the view to throw
the upper part of his frame out of play. Cann turned himself exactly in
the same manner, using much greater effort than before, and apparently
more put to it by his opponent’s great strength. His share, however, in
upsetting his supporter was greater this time, as he relaxed one leg
much sooner, and adhered closer to the chest during the fall; for at the
close he was seen uppermost, still coiled round his massive adversary,
who admitted the fall, starting up, and offering his hand to the
victor.”
Since then Polkinhorne of St. Columb has encountered Cann, and thrown
him, and is, or was, the acknowledged champion of the West. He is the
keeper of the principal inn at St. Columb, where I on one occasion
stopped, having shortly before taken a halfpenny ticket from his
dethroned rival, Cann of Dartmoor, at the foot-bridge between Plymouth
and Devonport, where he was, if he be not yet, stationed.