CHAPTER IV.
JACK SLACK (CHAMPION)—1750–1760.
Stevens—Smallwood—Edward Hunt—Buckhorse—Tom Faulkner—Bill Darts—Lyons (the Waterman)—Peter Corcoran—Harry Sellers—Joe Hood—Stephen Oliver (Death)—Sam Peters—Elisha Crabbe—Small.
Though the prestige of Broughton has gone far to illustrate the name of his conqueror, this lucky, rather than skilful, achievement will not give him the place he deserves among boxers with those with whom success is not “the be-all and end-all” in war or in worldly fortune. Slack fought better battles than that in which he tore the laurel from the brow of the veteran Broughton. We read of him in a contemporary journal:—“Slack is a butcher from Norwich; his height is five feet eight inches and a half, and his weight nearly fourteen stone. He is remarkably compact” (we should think so at fourteen stone for so short a man), “superior to the generality of men in strength, and of excellent bottom. His method of hitting is not regular, and he seldom fights on a preconcerted plan; but his style being suited to the man contending with him, few were able to resist him, when he resolved on victory. His blows were usually given with such force, that his name ‘Slack’ passed into a slang expression, and ‘a slack’un’ meant a smashing hit. His attitude was remarkably upright, legs little separated, the right hand covering the pit of the stomach, and the left placed immediately before the mouth.”[[20]] It is not possible to distinguish much science in such an attitude, and had he not been more resolute in attack, and more game in taking punishment than his opponents, he might have missed the proud title of champion. We are told, “with the greatest resolution he disputed every inch of ground, and was so averse to shifting or retreating, that he has risked and received a knock-down blow rather than give up his position. Slack frequently used the chopper,[[21]] and generally with success (this says little for his opponents’ defence), in a return. Bringing his fist to his breast, and projecting his elbow, he threw off a blow describing a segment of a circle(!), the centre of which was the elbow, unexpectedly striking his antagonist in the face with the back of his hand. This mode was completely his own, but has since been adopted by many.” (“Pancratia,” p. 40). We do not know that we have ever read more nonsense in as many lines; but this is not the place for a treatise on the art.
Slack, after numerous victories in the provinces, came up to Broughton’s booth, about 1748, to try his fortune. It may interest some of our readers to see a challenge of the day in which John Slack figures as the respondent. The advertisement is curious.
October 30, 1744.—At the Castle, in Framlingham, in Suffolk, on Monday, the 12th day of November next ensuing, there will be a severe trial of manhood between the following Champions, viz.,
I, Daniel Smith, the Suffolk Champion, do once more invite Mr. John Slack, the Norfolk Champion, to meet and fight me at the time and place above said, for the sum of forty guineas: and though I had the misfortune to be defeated by him before, am sure I am much superior in the art of boxing, and doubt not but I shall give him and the company entire satisfaction.
DANIEL SMITH.
I, John Slack, the Norfolk Champion, do accept the above challenge, and will be certain to meet and fight the above hero for the said sum, at the time and place above mentioned; and don’t doubt but I shall support the character I have hitherto maintained.
JOHN SLACK.
N.B. They are to fight upon a stage, and galleries will be erected for the reception of gentlemen, &c.
The doors will be opened at nine o’clock, and the champions mount the stage at one.
It will be seen from this that Daniel Smith had already fallen before Slack’s ponderous arm. When and where we have found no record. That on this occasion he again made the Suffolk champion strike his colours, may be fairly assumed from the fact that when, after some successes over inferior boxers, he had the audacity to challenge George Taylor himself, it is recorded as Slack’s first defeat. “He had not been hitherto beaten.” The battle, as already narrated, took place on the last day of January, 1750, at Broughton’s amphitheatre, and was a desperate contest on the part of Slack, who rushed in till he was punished to helplessness.
JACK SLACK, of Bristol, the Conqueror of Broughton.
From a Bust sculptured by Sivier.
Shortly after this defeat Slack was present at Hounslow Races. Here a dispute arose, in the course of which Broughton, considering Slack’s conduct insolent, assumed a high tone of superiority, threatening to horsewhip “the butcher” on the spot. With the merits of the quarrel we have nothing to do. Slack, in whose composition there was certainly no fear of man, at once challenged the redoubted and highly patronised waterman, who upon the spot accepted the defiance. Some of the preliminary incidents of this remarkable battle have been already touched upon in the memoir of Broughton. That skilful boxer appears to have viewed the challenge of Slack with a fatal self-confidence. Indeed, considering that Slack had recently surrendered to Taylor, whose qualifications none knew better than Broughton, who had long since defeated him, probably more than once, there was some ground for confidence, and we have it on authority that he considered there was no necessity for regular training, imperfectly as that process was carried out at that period. We prefer copying an account from a paper of the day, to the embellished apocrypha of later histories.
“On Wednesday, April 11 (1750), was fought the grand boxing match between the celebrated Broughton, hitherto invincible, and John Slack, the Norfolk butcher. Before the battle began Broughton gave Slack ten guineas to fight him, according to a previous promise, which Slack immediately betted against one hundred guineas offered as odds against him. The first two minutes the odds were ten to one in favour of Broughton; but Slack, recovering himself, struck a blow which blinded his adversary, and following up his advantage, obtained a complete victory in fourteen minutes, to the great mortification of the knowing ones, including a peer of the first rank, who, betting ten to one, lost £10,000. The money received at the doors was £130, besides 200 tickets at a guinea and a half each; and as the battle was for the whole house, it is supposed the victor cleared £600.”
We have already said that the downfal of Broughton was the downfal of public pugilism in the metropolis; whatever there was of good in the art to a great extent perishing at the caprice of a prince and the power of a few aristocrats. If these are necessary concomitants to its existence, it would not have been worth preserving, but it has survived the frowns of power, and had a better support in the favour of the people. If Broughton’s theatre was closed, the ars pugnandi dwelt in the provinces, and we find our hero engaged in 1751 at Harlston, in Norfolk, with a gigantic Frenchman, whose name, Petit or Pettit, almost savours of a jest. Pettit appears to have been an exhibitor in a circus as a “strong man,” and was noted for immense muscular powers. Of his boxing capabilities, like those of the Gondolier, we cannot form a high estimate. The following letter appeared in the papers of the time:—
“Harlston, Norfolk, July 30th, 1751.
“Yesterday, in the afternoon, Slack and Pettit met and fought. At the first set-to Pettit seized Slack by the throat, held him up against the rails, and grained[[22]] him so much as to make him extremely black. This continued for half a minute, before Slack could break from Pettit’s hold; after which, for near ten minutes, Pettit kept fighting and driving hard at Slack, when at length Slack closed with his antagonist, and gave him a severe fall, after that a second and a third, but between these falls, Pettit threw Slack twice off the stage; indeed Pettit so much dreaded Slack’s falls, that he ran directly at his hams, and tumbled him down,[[23]] and by that means gave Slack an opportunity of making the falls easy. When they had been fighting 18 minutes the odds run against Slack, a guinea to a shilling; whereas, on first setting out, it was three or four to one on his head; but after this time Slack shortened Pettit so as to disable him from running and throwing him down in the manner he had done before, but obliged him to stand to close fighting. Slack then closed one of his eyes, and beat him very much about the face; at twenty minutes Pettit grew weaker and Slack stronger. This was occasioned by Slack’s straight way of fighting. At twenty-two minutes the best judges allowed Slack to have the advantage over Pettit very considerably, as he was then recovering his wind, owing to his game qualities. When they had boxed twenty-four minutes, Pettit once more threw Slack over the rails. This indeed Slack allowed him to do, for as he got his hold, Slack fired a blow under Pettit’s ribs that hurt severely. While Slack was again getting upon the stage (it was not half a minute before he remounted), Pettit had so much the fear of his antagonist before his eyes, that he walked off without so much as civilly taking leave of the spectators. The cockers call this rogueing it, for it is generally thought that Pettit ran away full strong. The whole time of their fighting was twenty-five minutes, and this morning the battle was judged to Slack, who drew the first ten guineas out of the box.”
From the last sentence it would seem that there was a subscribed fund, and principal and secondary prizes for the winners.
We read in “Pancratia,” that “the name of Slack was, and not unjustly, a terror to fightable rustics.” “At a country fair a ‘native,’ depending on his natural prowess, gave Slack a blow in the face. We may presume it was returned, and ‘a ring’ being called, a sharp set-to began. It is said the countryman had the advantage, until Slack exclaimed with fervour, ‘What! shall it be said a ploughman beat Jack Slack?’ The very name appalled the countryman, who, imagining his antagonist had been playing with him, said, ‘Have I been fightin’ wi’ Slack? I’ll ha’ no more on’t.’ And he was as good as his word, donning his clothes and leaving the field to the veteran professional.”
The next recorded battle of Slack was for 100 guineas with Cornelius Harris, a collier of Kingswood, near Bristol. It took place on the 13th of March, 1755. The skill and tactics of Slack were severely tried, Harris fighting desperately in Slack’s own early style for twenty minutes, when he gave in.
On October 20th, 1759, Slack is again recorded as victor in a fight for £50 aside with one Moreton, who had issued a challenge to the champion. It came off at Acton Wells. Moreton proved himself a courageous, if not a good boxer; but at the end of thirty-five minutes he acknowledged his mistake.
Ten years had now elapsed since Slack had vanquished the renowned Broughton, and held the title of champion—but the honour was dazzling, and another hero put in his claim for the towering prize. Slack’s fame was well established; and here royalty once more appeared on the pugilistic scene; for Broughton’s old patron, the Duke of Cumberland, stepped forward and backed Slack for £100 against Bill Stevens, the Nailer, whom the Duke of York took under his patronage. The Haymarket was the scene of action, and a stage was erected in the Tennis Court, James Street, on the day of the 17th of June, 1760. Slack entered the field with all the confidence of a veteran, and was acknowledged to have the advantage in the first part of the battle; but the Nailer, with an arm like iron, received the ponderous blows of his antagonist on his left with ease, while with his right arm he so punished the champion’s nob, that he knocked off the title, picked it up, and wore it. Thus fell the hitherto invincible Slack.
This second great mistake of William of Cumberland seems to have disgusted him with the ring, and we hear no more of him. The Duke of York here spoken of was one of the uncles of George III., whose father, Frederick, Prince of Wales, died in George II.’s lifetime.
Slack now quitted the pugilistic profession, and returned to his old trade, opening a butcher’s shop in Chandos Street, Covent Garden. Here he carried on a good business, but still mixed himself in fistic matters. He backed and trained George Meggs, of whom more anon, to fight Bill Stevens, his conqueror, for the championship and 200 guineas. The fight came off on the 2nd of March, 1761, at the Tennis Court, St. James’ Street. The reporter says, “At the first onset Stevens missed his blow, and Meggs struck him that instant on the side of the head and knocked him down. This error seems to have lost him the battle. After this the battle lasted seventeen minutes, with scarcely a blow struck, when Stevens gave in.” We regret to say that this disgraceful affair was clearly traced to Slack, who gave Stevens 50 guineas and his stake. “Pancratia” says: “An old supporter of Stevens, meeting him one day, expressed his surprise at this defeat, when Bill drily answered him, ‘Why, Lord bless you, the day I fought Jack Slack I got 90 guineas; but I got 50 guineas more than I should otherwise have done by letting Georgy beat me; and, damme, ain’t I the same man still?’” The Nailer and Slack both fell into disrepute; but the latter stuck to his business, and appears to have prospered until his death in 1778.
BILL STEVENS THE NAILER (CHAMPION)—1760.
This tremendous boxer, whose courage found no counterpart in his honesty, will aptly come in here. It would be tedious, could they even be dug up, to give an outline of his many battles before his crowning victory over Slack, with the exception of one, that with Jacob Taplin, the coal-eaver.
The winter of 1760 was rendered memorable in the annals of pugilism by a desperately contested battle, “fought in the month of February between William Stevens the Nailer and Jacob Taplin. The site fixed on for deciding the boxing match was the hollow known as Marylebone Basin, which held about 3,000 spectators. A ring was formed in its centre, and the champions commenced the combat. Taplin in the first rounds seemed to have much the best of the Nailer, who received some tremendous blows in the ‘bread-basket,’ which had several times knocked him down. The last time Stevens seemed to rise with the fury of a lion roused from slowness and placidity into excessive irritation. He faced his antagonist and let fly, levelling him at his feet. The odds, which had been in favour of Taplin, now became four to one on Stevens. In the next round he repeated his knock-down by a tremendous blow below the left breast. When Taplin rose next time, he closed on him suddenly and both fell. The next round decided the battle in favour of Stevens, who struck Taplin on the left eye with his left hand, while with the other he followed it by a blow on the temple, which laid him senseless. Taplin not being prepared in time to resume the contest, Stevens was declared the victor.”—Daily Advertiser, Feb. 20, 1760.
And now the fame of Stevens running abroad he received the highest patronage, and was matched for 100 guineas aside against the veteran champion Slack. The result has been already told. He disabled Slack’s guard by repeated and heavy blows on his left forearm, and followed them by a right hand lunge at the head, accompanied by a trip at his left foot, which disturbed the champion’s balance. In the words of the report, “he with his right hand beat him about the head, while at the same time tripping him off his centre with his foot.” The champion’s title fell to Stevens, but he did not long wear it, through his own misconduct. The battle, or rather sham fight at the Tennis Court with George Meggs, the collier, has been already noticed. Stevens, after seventeen minutes of trickery, scarcely knowing how to make a fight of it, gave in.[[24]]
Stevens’ later fights were few. His backers had, of course, deserted him. On July 4, 1769, we find as follows: “William Stevens, the Nailer, who dexterously played the cross with George Meggs, fought a battle with M’Guire, an Irish pugilist, on the green stage at the back of Montague House. M’Guire was beaten.”
Stevens was also defeated by one Turner, but the date and circumstances are not recorded. We learn this fact from the account of Turner’s victory over Peter Corcoran, the Irish champion (Sept. 24, 1769).
Stevens’ career closed in defeat and disgrace. Eighteen years after his victory over Slack, he entered the ring with the rising Harry Sellers (see Sellers, post). Stevens added another illustration to the ring proverb—“Youth will be served.” Had Stevens kept the straight course, he might have emulated Taylor, Broughton, and Slack. The date of his death is uncertain.
THOMAS SMALLWOOD—1741–1757.
Among the luminaries of George Taylor’s Great Booth, and subsequently of Broughton’s Amphitheatre, Tom Smallwood, though never opposed to the very foremost men of his time, was a ready and resolute boxer of no small pretensions. Captain Godfrey has enshrined him in his curious pages, so that entire omission of him would be inexcusable in these sketches of the early heroes of the ring. “Had he but possessed weight (whence we may infer he was what we should now call a ‘middle weight,’ say 11 stone), he was capable of standing against any man.” It must be remembered that “rushing,” and “hammering,” and “driving against the rails,” seem to have been much in vogue in the stage encounters of the period; and the preposterous weight of thirteen stone and a half and fourteen stone was thought advantageous for a man of five feet eight or nine inches! Smallwood’s battles were numerous and creditable, whether in defeat or success. His first battle recorded in the “Diurnals” was with one Dimmocks, a powerful carman, at Taylor’s Booth, in May, 1741, the month after Broughton had defeated Stevenson, the coachman. It was a desperate affair, and well contested by Smallwood, then a youth. After three-quarters of an hour of severe fighting, Smallwood was beaten by the superior strength of his opponent.
In the following November Tom Smallwood again entered the lists with Richard Harris, a brick-maker, for 50 guineas. It is described as “one of the severest boxing matches that had taken place for many years,” and “contested with alternate successes, with the greatest hardihood and intrepidity, for one hour, when victory decided in favour of Smallwood.” Broughton expressed a high opinion of the courage and skill of Smallwood. The day was also noted for the first appearance of “Buckhorse” (John Smith) upon this stage, who fought “a draw” with Harry Gray, the clogmaker. See Buckhorse, post.
In the notice of George Taylor will be found a couple of specimens of his booth advertisements. They contain the names of Tom Smallwood and Will Willis (the Fighting Quaker). On this occasion (April 28, 1742) our hero despised Willis, who derived his nickname from a remarkably plain and formal appearance, and a sedateness of manner not common among “knights of the fives,” with whom fun and flash appear to have been ever prevalent. At this point, after an imaginary account of Smallwood’s victory, stuffed with the slang of the first quarter of the present century, and bald attempts at facetiousness, the “Historian” adds, “Tom Smallwood fought several other battles, in all of which he proved victorious; but the combatants were not of sufficient importance to claim mention.”—Boxiana, vol. i., p. 33. He then proceeds, p. 67, to give a memoir of Edward Hunt, on whom he lavishes just praises, and records his defeat by Smallwood, as one out of the many specimens of method with which his hash is concocted.
Smallwood, after the closing of Taylor’s Booth in 1744, does not appear to have belonged to Broughton’s company, for we find him fighting one King, a butcher, at Stanton Green, who beat him, in January, 1746. The particulars of this battle are not recorded, but King is said to have also “fought several good battles at the Booth.” There is something obscure about this battle, as Captain Godfrey, writing in 1747, a constant visitor at Broughton’s, and au courant with every man in the fistic world, says, “If I was to choose a boxer for my money, and could but purchase him strength equal to his resolution, Smallwood should be the man.”
The most remarkable of Smallwood’s triumphs was his victory over Broughton’s favourite pupil and protegé, Edward Hunt, whose defeat of Hawksley, the Life-guardsman, had made him the talk of the town. The battle had been long talked of, and was fought on a stage at Hounslow, July 14, 1757. The stake was 150 guineas. For thirty minutes the combat was carried on with equal resolution, and without any leading advantage. “For the first 35 minutes the odds were alternately on each man. After this time, Tom, who was the heavier man, closed with Hunt more frequently, and by superior strength followed it up with such advantage, that in 50 minutes the battle was decided in his favour.” Hunt is said to have weighed but nine stone. Smallwood was seconded by “Old George Taylor,” and Hunt by the champion, Jack Slack.
Smallwood, who had now been at least seventeen years before the public, seems to have retired a conqueror, as we have no further mention of his name.
EDWARD HUNT—1746–1758.
This favourite pupil of Broughton continually appears in his master’s advertisements. He was a boxer of first-rate science, as then practised, with unquestionable courage, extreme hardihood, and remarkable activity. Though barely five feet five inches, and weighing but nine stone, he often fought and defeated men of large stature, and vastly his superiors in weight. “Being constantly overmatched, he had more difficulties to encounter than any other boxer on the list, and of the few instances of ‘shifting’ which occurred in his time, he is the most singular, for he conquered the stoutest men by his admirable art. With strength so much beyond his own opposed to him he might have been allowed to drop, but he seldom fell without a blow. He never confined himself to one attitude, for, being extremely active, he found he could more effectually confuse his antagonist by continually changing his guard. He endeavoured to avoid blows aimed at his body by stepping aside, and then took an opportunity of dexterously ‘winding’ his man, who was driven forward by his own force. If a blow was aimed at his head, he stooped to let his adversary’s arm pass over him, and then succeeded in general in planting a good body blow. These manœuvres proved highly advantageous to Hunt in his pugilistic career, for his opponents became aware of these practices, and accordingly fought on the defensive, by which means he became the assailant, and avoided being overwhelmed by their superior power.” This is the description of a consummate boxer by a master hand; quoted in “Pancratia,” pp. 50, 51. “What a picture of a combination of the styles of Young Dutch Sam and Bendigo! With this before you read Pierce Egan’s stuff about Hunt’s not “fearing the disparagement (sic) between him and his lofty opponent,” and “stood up to Hawksley prime as a game cock,” etc. The contemporary account of Hunt’s battle with Hawksley is brief:—
“On June 11th (1746) a very severe battle was contested at the Amphitheatre between Edward Hunt, a pupil of Mr. Broughton’s, weighing only nine stone,[[25]] and one Hawksley a Life-guardsman, who weighed seventeen stone. The odds before fighting were ten to one in favour of Hawksley. The battle lasted only ten minutes, during which the odds changed in favour of Hunt, who was declared the victor.” This affair is most unaccountable; shifting, and the “planting” of a nine stone man, could hardly have beaten Hawksley in ten minutes, unless he was out of condition, drunk, or a coward.
His next great battle was with Smallwood (1757), already narrated; and his last recorded appearance was with Richard Mills, a game boxer, known by the name of “the Onion Boy,” May 17, 1758, at Islington. After an hour’s severe fighting, Hunt, upon whom large odds were betted, was compelled to surrender.
BUCKHORSE (JOHN SMITH)—1732–1746.
There was one pugilist of this period, whose name we rather introduce as a remarkable lusus naturæ than as an illustrator of the noble art. This individual was John Smith, more commonly known as Buckhorse. The following particulars are chiefly derived from a memoir which appeared in the “Eccentric Magazine.”
BUCKHORSE (John Smith), 1732–1746.
After an Etching by William Hogarth.
“Buckhorse, whose real name is said to have been John Smith, first saw the light in the house of a sinner, in that part of London known by the name of Lewkner’s Lane, a place notorious in the extreme for the eccentricity of the characters it contained: here the disciples of Bamfylde Moore Carew were to be found in crowds, and cadgers of all descriptions resorted to regale themselves upon the good things of this life, laughing at the credulity of the public in being so easily duped by their impositions; and here the juvenile prig was soon taught to become an adept in the profession, by taking out a handkerchief or a snuff-box, from the pocket of a coat covered with bells, without ringing any of them. In these slums the finished thief roosted from the prying eyes of society, and laid plans for his future depredations.
“It appears, then, that few places could boast of more originality of character than that from which Buckhorse sprang; and, from the variety of talents here displayed, there is little doubt he did not remain long a novice. As we have never been troubled with any account to what good-natured personage he owed his origin, we cannot determine; but suffice it to observe, that little Buckhorse and his mother were turned out upon the wide world, long before he knew its slippery qualities, by the cruel publican, their landlord, which inhuman circumstance took place about the year 1720.
“This freak of nature, it would seem, was indebted to his mother for what little instruction he received, the principal of which was an extraordinary volubility of speech; and from his early acquaintance with the streets he picked up the rest of his qualifications.
“Buckhorse’s composition, however rude and unsightly, was not without harmony; and although his fist might not appear musical to his antagonist by its potent touch, yet when applied to his own chin, was capable of producing a variety of popular tunes, to the astonishment of all those who heard and saw him, and by which peculiar trait he mostly subsisted, added to selling little switches for a halfpenny a-piece, his cry of which was so singular, that Shuter, the celebrated comedian, among his other imitations, was more than successful in his mimicry of Buckhorse, which was repeatedly called for a second time.
“As a pugilist, Buckhorse ranked high for strength and endurance among the boxers of the day, and displayed great muscular power in the battles he contested.”
“Boxiana” says, under date 1742, after the fight of Smallwood and Willis, “About this time the noted Buckhorse fought Harry Gray, when the latter got severely punished by this ugly customer.” It is true that this battle took place in 1742, but if Mr. Egan had read Fig’s bill, which he prints at p. 44, vol. i., he would have seen there that, ten years previous (Sept. 18, 1732), it is announced that “Buckhorse and several other pugilists will show the art of boxing.” Unless the infant was eight years old in 1720, he must have been “noted” enough to be specially underlined in capital letters at twelve years old! Fig died in 1734 (see p. 12, ante). Buckhorse continues, too, it will be seen, in Broughton’s bill for his “New Amphitheatre,” on the 13th of March, 1743 (p. 24, ante), and is there advertised, not for a match among the eight men specially named as to be paired, but in a singular manner, indicative of a mêlée rather than a boxing match. Thus: “N.B. There will be a battle royal by the Noted Buckhorse and seven or eight others, after which there will be several bye-battles with others.” Buckhorse seems to have fought previously in these bye-battles, e.g., that with Harry Gray (who here appears among the men to be matched), two years previously (23rd Nov., 1741), after Tom Smallwood had defeated Harris. (See ante, p. 38.)
There is something truly Hogarthian in the portrait handed down to us; and as he was a contemporary of “the valiant Fig,” it is no strained supposition that it came originally from the great English master’s pencil, as well as that of the champion himself.
“As ugly as Buckhorse” was for a long time the uncomplimentary expression for a remarkably ugly man. This singular being is said to have been in the custom of allowing himself to be knocked down for a trifling gratuity by any one who might fancy a trial of the strength of his own arm.
TOM FAULKNER, THE CRICKETER—1758–1791.
One of the best men of his day, and who divided his attention between the two great English games, cricket and boxing, both, in a scientific form, nearly contemporaneous, was Tom Faulkner. Twice, fired with the ambition of holding the champion’s title, did he enter the lists with the renowned George Taylor, and twice, after a good fight, he succumbed to his master in skill. But Tom feared not an uphill game. He felt that he had the key to the secret of his former defeats, and a third time, in 1758, challenged Taylor to the field. Taylor had now retired, and, as already stated, kept the Fountain at Deptford. The “old ’un” accepted the challenge without hesitation, and in Hertfordshire, one mile and a half from St. Alban’s, on the 13th of August, 1758, the heroes met, the stakes being 200 guineas and the door money. Faulkner, it is said, with the odds of three to one against him, risked all he possessed upon the event. Faulkner, knowing his man, determined to keep him to fighting. “He began the attack with astonishing courage, amounting almost to ferocity. For several of the earlier rounds Faulkner was either knocked down or thrown. About the fifteenth, Taylor was blowing, but in a rally each put in a dozen hard blows before Faulkner levelled his opponent. Taylor now began to shift, and several times fell without a blow.[[26]] This created much disapprobation and confusion, but Faulkner easily consented to proceed. Afterwards they set to more resolutely, if possible, than before, when after a severe contest of one hour and a quarter, Taylor acknowledged himself beaten. They were both carried off the ground, and it was the general opinion that more skill and courage never was displayed by any pugilist in this country. Taylor’s loss of an eye and a blow at the close of the fight on the other were the aiding excuses of his defeat.”
In the next year (1759) Tom Faulkner was in turn challenged by Joe James. Joe came of a fighting family, and his brother Jack James, “the bruiser at Broughton’s Amphitheatre,” with his father, “old Jockey James, of Newmarket,” seconded young Joe. The battle came off at Putney, Surrey, on April 8, 1759, for 100 guineas. “A stage was erected near the White Lion Inn, and they set-to about two o’clock. Before a blow was struck the odds were two to one (they betted preposterously tempting odds in those green and early days) in favour of James, and after the third round five to one. Joe knocked Faulkner down several times (here was piling up the agony), when, in the last round, which was not more than ten minutes from the commencement of the contest, Faulkner, by a well-aimed blow, brought down James (!), on which, though apparently not hurt or even fatigued, he gave in.” We should think so: it would have been mere tempting fortune to go on. The chronicler adds, “the indignation of the spectators was very highly expressed by their hissing him off the ground,”[[27]] which did not, it seems, prevent the bets going with the battle-money. Verily, as Bildad the Shuhite said of the man of Uz, so may we say of this ancient ring-scribe, “Behold, he is yet in his greenness.” “Old Jockey James” seems to have known when to give “the office” that the “book was full.”
Tom appears now to have betaken himself to attacking his opponents’ stumps, and bowling them out with “underhand twisters,” for as yet the hand above the elbow was not, the curve-bladed bat was like a butter-knife, and two stumps with a cross-piece gave every chance that a straight ball would go harmlessly through the wicket. Yet were there skill and enjoyment in those days of our forefathers, and the village green and its May-pole were institutions of “Merrie England.” The May-pole is as extinct as the megatherium, and what has modern science given us in its place? Among those who—
“At foot-ball or at cricket,
At prison-base or touching-chase
Right featly then could prick it,”
Tom Faulkner was long remembered. Yet does his name again occur in 1789. The bruisers of Birmingham challenged those of the best note in London. Isaac Perrins challenged Tom Johnson, the champion (See life of Johnson, post.) Jacombs challenged Bryan (Big Ben); Pickard, George Ingleston, the brewer; and these fights came off, as we shall see, in favour of the metropolis. Fired with the idea, Tom Faulkner (at 53 years of age!) challenged Watson, and Thornhill threw down the gauntlet to Hooper, the tinman. These two last matches went off; a proof, we think, that the Birmingham backers were not without judgment, though they did lose the first three events.
Tom Faulkner was certainly an evergreen of amazing sap and pith. Early in 1791 he was challenged by Thornhill (called in the report “the Warwickshire bruiser”), who had been disappointed in his match with Hooper, the tinman. The veteran Tom accepted the cartel, and they met at Studley, in Warwickshire, March 21, 1791. “Ryan seconded Faulkner, and Williams was his bottleholder. Jack Lea waited upon Thornhill, with Biggs his bottleholder.” We copy the report. “At two o’clock the combatants set-to, and throughout the battle Tom’s superiority in judgment and distance was manifestly evident. Thornhill was much the stronger man, and only fell by one knock-down blow during the contest, except the last, which Tom struck him in the neck, too forcibly to be withstood, and Thornhill gave in. The conflict was extremely severe, and lasted fifty minutes. The door money amounted to upwards of £80, two-thirds of which became the property of the winner, and the remainder to the unsuccessful combatant.” Faulkner was one of those lucky men who closed a career of exceptional length with the garland of victory on his grey head. Tom was living in 1798.
BILL DARTS (CHAMPION)—1764–1771.
Among the boxers of his day, Bill Darts, the dyer, held a high reputation for steady courage and hard hitting, and by no means a contemptible amount of science. One of the most remarkable of his battles was with Tom Juchau,[[28]] at Guildford, Surrey, in May, 1766. It was a famous fight for forty minutes, when Juchau was beaten out of time. The stakes were 1,000 guineas.
Dogget, the West Country Bargeman, had secured so high a name among the “twoads” that an invite was given to Bill Darts to come down to Marlborough to be thrashed. With the first part of the invitation Bill complied; the second he not only declined, but, per contra, gave Mr. Dogget such a thrashing, that he carried off the honours of the day and the irate countryman’s 100 guineas staked upon the event.
Swansey, the butcher, found friends to back him for 50 guineas, and he and Darts met, Oct. 13, 1767, on Epping Forest. The butcher was soon knocked down and thoroughly cut up.
Bill Darts now invited all comers for the championship, which he had held for five years, when Lyons,[[29]] a waterman of Kingston-upon-Thames, disputed his title. They met, and Darts, for the first time, was defeated in forty-five minutes, on the 27th of June, 1769.
Bill Darts next entered the lists with a competitor of formidable name—Death (Stephen Oliver). Oliver was certainly “stale,” as he had been one of Broughton’s favourite pupils. (See Death.) It was a well-contested fight, Oliver proving extremely game and skilful; but the superior strength and weight of Darts’ hits overcame the darts of Death, and the namesake of the universal conqueror fell before Bill’s victorious arm. This battle was fought at Putney, on a stage, March 25th, 1770. “Boxiana” has not given a single date to any of Darts’ fights; accordingly, “Fights for the Championship,” 1855, informs its readers that, “the dates of these battles,” as well as those of George Meggs, Millsom, etc., “are not recorded!”
On the 18th of May, 1771, during Epsom races, Bill Darts fought Peter Corcoran, an Irish bruiser of vast pretensions, about whom Pierce Egan has indited his usual amount of rhodomontade, which we shall correct under his name. The match was made for £100 aside, by the notorious black-leg and bully, Captain O’Kelly, the lucky owner of Eclipse, who, “before the fight gave Bill Darts 100 guineas to play cross.”[[30]] The rest of this nefarious swindle we will give, according to our plan, under the notice of the so-called victor Corcoran. Bill had now sold his reputation, and was a lost man; his seducer, the greater scoundrel, fared, like woman’s seducer, none the worse
“Through tattered clothes small vices do appear—
Robes and furred gowns hide all.”
Perhaps one of the funniest pieces of historical perversion on record is Pierce Egan’s account (without a date) of this scandalous affair. It would be injustice to mutilate it. “The famous Bill Darts now mounted the stage with Corcoran for £200, to give additional sport to Epsom races. The set-to commenced with cautious sparring on the part of Darts, who soon discovered that he could not win (!), and in a short time gave in. A singular report crept into circulation, accounting for Darts losing the battle, that Colonel O’Kelly (one of the most celebrated sportsmen on the turf) backed his countryman to a large amount; but to make his bets dead sure, on the night previous to the fight, he presented Darts with £100 not to win the battle, but positively to lose it. Surely no thoroughbred sportsman could commit so barefaced a robbery!” This is rather modest, considering the Colonel’s character; what follows, however, distances it by lengths. “And upon the best information, we are assured that Darts in his prime was never half man enough for Peter Corcoran!” The notes of admiration are Pierce’s: we have omitted his emphasised italics and small capitals. The reader may form his own conclusion by reading Corcoran’s actual battles.
Darts appears several times as a second during 1771 and the following years; notedly in a fight between Sam Peters, of Birmingham, and Rossemus Gregory, an Irishman, in which Darts seconded the Hibernian, but behaved so unfairly to save his man that Peters refused to fight on. The result will be found under Peters.
PETER CORCORAN
We may as well here dispatch Peter Corcoran, to whom Pierce Egan has devoted several pages of fabrication in honour of “ould Ireland.” First he thrashed all the potato diggers in the vicinity of his father’s mud edifice; then he, and perhaps another, beat an English butcher who refused to let him and a friend have a shoulder of mutton at their own price: Pierce almost hints they had no money. It seems that Paddy not only thrashed the butcher “Master Steel” in a few minutes, but “shortly afterwards enjoyed his mutton (is the reader or the mutton roasted?) with as keen an appetite as if nothing had happened (which we suppose was the case), and next day pursued his journey to London.”[[31]] At Portsmouth, after a trip to sea, he performed a number of feats of strength; one among them was “beating a whole press gang, and breaking the lieutenant’s sword over his head.” Here’s a scene for a new “Black-eyed Susan.” The promotion of Billy Taylor’s sweetheart did not, however, fall to the lot of Peter, and “on leaving the navy, he came to London,” etc.
The first authenticated notice of his name we find under the date of,
“Sept. 4th (1769). A boxing match was decided between Turner, a pugilist who had beaten Bill Stevens, and Peter Corcoran, an Irishman, for £20 aside, which was won by the former.” The battle took place in Hyde Park, and is correctly given in “Fistiana,” though without a date. Now let us turn to “Boxiana,” p. 59, vol. i. “Peter beat one Turner, who fought him for £20, and although the latter had beaten the Nailer, yet, in the hands of Corcoran, he was soon disposed of.” Three others, “good men,” Dalton and Davis and “Smiler, the bricklayer,” were also, according to the same veracious chronicler, “beaten dreadfully.” These exploits bring us to Corcoran’s two “crosses” and his final thrashing. That with Bill Darts we have said enough about. Of this we read in a contemporary print—“After a little sparring, Corcoran gave Darts a blow on the side of the head, which drove him against the rail of the stage, when he immediately gave in. It was said that Darts had played booty, and none of the sporting men would afterwards back him; thus by one dirty action Darts lost all the fame he had been for so many years acquiring.” This reflection has a peculiar moral squint, as we have already said. “What about the Colonel who bought the poor fellow?”
Whether his next battle with Peters was a victory we will just leave to the reader of the report. “The long expected match between Sam Peters and Peter Corcoran took place at Waltham Abbey, Essex, in June, 1774. At setting-to the bets were three to one in favour of Peters (this, we should say, was a good thing), who, though he maintained the superiority, gave in without any apparent cause at the expiry of fifteen minutes, greatly to the disappointment of the sporting ones.” We should think so. Here is the account from “Boxiana,” p. 86, “Sam Peters was the best man, according to Corcoran’s account, that ever set-to with him. It was a complete hammering fight (!), and at the expiration of ten minutes Peters declared he was satisfied, and Corcoran’s body for several days afterwards was entirely black, the bruises being extremely severe.” Heavy work on both sides for ten minutes. The fastest moderns cannot go this pace. The account of Corcoran’s battle with Harry Sellers, October 16th, 1776, will be found under Harry Sellers. As Peter was thrashed, it was of course “a sell,” though it looks like a victory on its merits, and “Boxiana” “points a moral,” which is applicable to this as to all other cases of betrayal of backers by pugilists, who should never forget—
“’Tis not in mortals to command success,”
but “do more, deserve it,” is very good—if the case warranted it.
The favourable notice in “Pancratia,” whence Pierce drew the staple he has spun out so absurdly, thus speaks of Corcoran: “Peter, as a pugilist of his period, stands first rank as a fair fighter; being generally engaged with powerful pugilists, he was unfortunate in the events of his contests, and indeed he had little reason to triumph when victorious, for as he never shifted or fell, unless accidentally, without a blow, he seldom escaped a severe drubbing.” These are the words of truth and soberness, and place Corcoran’s courage and game on a fair footing, despite the extravagant eulogies of his compatriot. Perhaps, however, Mr. Vincent Dowling, in his “Fistiana,” has exercised the wisest discretion; finding the accounts too discrepant for reconciling, he has left the name of Corcoran out of the letter C altogether.
HARRY SELLERS (CHAMPION)—1776–1785.
Harry Sellers, a west country boxer of deserved provincial reputation, was chosen by some friends as a likely young fellow to reduce the braggadocia of Corcoran, whose challenges were of the true Hibernian cut of some hedge-schoolmaster transplanted to the Seven Dials. The match was made for 100 guineas “and a bet of £500 or £600 on the event,”—we do not profess to know what the last phrase means—and the combatants met at the Crown Inn, Staines, October 10, 1776. The attendance appears to have been remarkably good. Corcoran, with the “gift of the gab,” was the landlord of the Blakeney’s Head, St. Giles’s, and was a sort of “Stunning Joe Banks” of his day: what he was good for as a pugilist we cannot say. “At the first onset,” says the report, “Corcoran gave his antagonist a violent blow, which threw him to the farthest end of the stage, and the odds increased from three to four to one in Peter’s favour. Sellers now fought very shy for about eighteen minutes, in order to wind his antagonist, which having accomplished, he advanced boldly and beat him by straight-forward hitting in ten minutes.” Did any one ever read a more “plain unvarnished tale” of how a natural fighter and good boxer beat a bounceable publican? What need of the farrago we find at pages 86, 87, 88, vol. i. of “Boxiana,” to explain that which needs no explanation? Corcoran was thrashed, and, we believe, couldn’t help it. Pierce tells us a story of his house in St. Giles’s flowing with “all sorts of spirits, plenty of new pots, etc., inside and outside painted, and got up in superior style to what it was ever witnessed before,” etc. Moreover—and here is the detail that clinches it—“Peter was playing skittles next morning with all the activity and cheerfulness of a man who had never been engaged in pugilism.”
As Pierce about this period was a Dublin “gossoon,” he must have had an exact knowledge of the decorations, interior and exterior, of Peter’s hostelrie, and a reliable tradition of his morning’s amusements. For ourselves, a much more careful search than that of the inventor of “Boxiana” (who made none, by the way), fails to tell us more than we have hereinbefore set down.
On the 4th of June, 1777, at Ascot Heath races, Joe Hood,[[32]] a hardy and successful boxer, fought Harry Sellers for 50 guineas aside. Joe fought with great courage and skill, but the science and activity of Sellers secured the victory. Hood fought Sellers again, four weeks afterwards (June 2), and was again beaten.
In June, 1778, Harry Sellers met the once formidable champion, Bill Stevens, the Nailer. It was a one-sided affair. Stevens, still courageous, could not stand against the rapidity, skill, and freshness of Harry, and was defeated. The stake was but £25, which shows how the mighty Stevens had fallen.
The Crown, at Slough, a favourite rendezvous of the swell patrons of pugilism, was the scene, on the 25th of September, 1780, of a boxing match between Harry Sellers and Duggan Fearns, an Irish boatswain (called Jack Fearns in “Boxiana”). The accounts read very like a cross, though we can hardly say that there is clear evidence. “The battle lasted one minute and a half, when victory was declared in favour of Duggan.” We are not told how the event was brought about, but the reporter adds his own opinion: “the amateurs were swindled to a large amount,” and certainly very clumsily.
On the 7th of June (1785), we find that Harry Sellers contested a battle with William Harvey, an Irishman, in the Ass Field, near Holywell Mount, Grays Inn Road, “in which, notwithstanding he exerted himself to the utmost, he was conquered by dint of the Irishman’s strength in twenty minutes.” The reader will observe the date is the 7th of June. This may give him sufficient insight to value accordingly the story of “St. Patrick’s evening” (17th March), the “insult to Mr. Harvey’s shamrock in his hat,” the “leg of mutton and trimmings,” offered by Sellers to be let off a thrashing, and the wretched rubbish in “Boxiana,” pp. 88, 89, “for the greater glory of ould Ireland.” The red hot ire of Mr. Harvey remained to cool from March 17th to the 7th of the following June, if there be any truth in the periodical contemporary press.
The appearance of Humphries, Big Ben (Brain), and the rise of the great Tom Johnson, seem to have quite extinguished the minor pugilistic stars, and so occupied the whole attention of the patrons and historians of the ring, that Sellers disappears from the scene. In “Pancratia,” p. 63, we read, “It has been reported that Sellers actually died with grief, on account of his friends refusing to match him with the celebrated pugilist Tom Johnson when first he rose into fame.” This proves, at any rate, that Sellers was what the west countrymen call “a good woolled one:” there was no deficiency in breed, whatever there might be in his probity or judgment.
STEPHEN OLIVER (NICKNAMED DEATH).—1770–1788.
Of Stephen Oliver, whose singular sobriquet, “Death,” had a less terrible derivation than it might suggest, we have but scant contemporary notices, yet these have been neglected, and “Boxiana” dismisses him with an incidental mention in the notice under Darts (see p. 45, ante), and four lines in reference to his battle with Small. Oliver seems, by general consent of the best judges, to have been a remarkably skilful, steady, and formidable boxer. The deadly paleness of his visage during his pugilistic contests procured him the nickname of “Death.” Oliver, as one of Broughton’s pupils, stood high on the list of his favourites. The veteran often commended him as the best teacher and exponent of his system. “He was a well made man, and light (as they reckoned it then), never exceeding twelve stone; he did not possess great strength, but this he fully compensated by his astonishing agility. Oliver fought more battles than any man in England, and though frequently overmatched, often conquered against odds. But his sparring,” adds the author of “Historical Sketches,”[[33]] “notwithstanding it was thought excellent some years back, is now equalled by any pupil of Mendoza and Humphries. This indisputably shows we moderns have improved in science.”
We pass over a long interval of Stephen Oliver’s performances to come to his great fight with Bill Darts, March 25, 1770, wherein he was defeated by youth, length, weight, and strength.
Six years afterwards, July 3rd, 1776, Death fought a short battle at Barnet for £20 with a butcher of the name of William Small, a name by no means corresponding with his bulk. A diurnal print tried a small piece of wit in the form of what it called “an epigram.” Here it is—
“Ah! foolish wight, why strive to conquer Death?
When he, thou know’st, can stop thy vital breath;
That ruthless tyrant rules the lives of all,
And vanquishes the Great, as well as Small.”
The renowned Tom Johnson, of whom anon, had already beaten several commoners, and especially Jarvis, “the fighting carman.” Stephen accepted his general challenge, and, though stale and old, made a creditable fight, at Blackheath, in 1784. (See Johnson, post.) Though Jack Towers (brother of William, the bricklayer) is called the “conqueror of the celebrated Death,” we cannot find the record of his victory.
Oliver still lingered on the stage till 1788, in which year, on April 17th, “he fought one Elisha Crabbe,[[34]] a Jew, on the turf, at Blackheath.” It was observed in the course of the contest that Death had the lead in fair boxing, but that Crabbe got the best in closing, when he was generally successful in flinging his adversary so as to pitch him on his head. Although Crabbe had received many sharp blows, they did not impair his strength, but Death was wounded badly in the face by a fall, and had a severe gash over his right eyebrow. This obstructed his sight, and very much contributed to lose him the battle. At the end of thirty-five minutes Crabbe succeeded in giving Death a knock-down blow, and the Jew was declared the conqueror. (“Pancratia,” p. 78.) The Prince of Wales (afterwards George IV.), Colonel Hanger (Lord Coleraine), and the leading patrons of the ring, were present on this occasion. A bye-battle between Doyle, a well known pugilist, and a sawyer from Deptford, which followed, ended in the anonymous sawyer beating the professional in twenty minutes.
SAM PETERS, OF BIRMINGHAM—1771–1774.
Sam Peters, of Birmingham, is one of the second rates demanding notice previous to closing this chapter. After many victories in Warwickshire and the midland counties, Sam made his way to the metropolis, and was backed for £20 against Trainer, a stalwart Irish chairman. They met at Epping Forest, June 7, 1771, but Sam was so overmatched that, after a clever fight of thirty-seven minutes, he fell before the heavier metal of his antagonist.
The next month, on the 13th of July, Sam entered the ring at Fair Mead Bottom, near Epping, with Rossemus Gregory, another Hibernian pugilist. Bill Darts seconded Gregory, and Peters gave in on the ground of Darts interfering unfairly in favour of his man. Another match was accordingly made, and came off in the Riding School at the Three Hats, Islington.[[35]] Here Master Gregory found he had better not have “bitten his thumb” at Sam, for he got a most undeniable thrashing in half an hour. Sam Peters’ “sell” with Corcoran, in 1774, has been already commented on. From this time he ceased to find backers.
JOE HOOD—1773–1780.
Joe Hood, a weaver, fought some good battles between 1773 and 1780. His first important contest was with the noted Jem Parrot, on the 9th of November, 1773, in White Conduit Fields, Islington, for a stake of 20 guineas. Rossemus Gregory (see Sam Peters, of Birmingham, ante) seconded Parrot, and Sam Peters attended upon Joe Hood. The fight was obstinately contested for thirty-five minutes, when a dispute arose between the seconds as to a foul blow. Rossy Gregory would not allow his man to fight longer, and Parrot left the ground, refusing to return. The battle, upon a reference, was awarded to Hood.
On the 31st of March, 1775, Joe Hood met and conquered Dennis Kellyhorn, “a famous Irish bruiser.” The battle was for 50 guineas, and took place at Chingford Hatch, Essex.
Macdonald, a sawyer, of great strength and stature, issued a challenge to Joe for £10. The set-to is described by the reporter as “furious on the part of Macdonald.” Joe fought on the defensive for half an hour, when the rush of Macdonald having slackened, Joe completely turned the tables, and milled the sawyer all over the ring. Macdonald fought obstinately: “he was beaten so dreadfully before he gave in, that both eyes were closed, and it was found that his jaw was broken.”
Joe’s next battle with the champion, Harry Sellers, June 4, 1777, ended in a defeat, though “Hood displayed astonishing judgment and bottom.” This important battle is not mentioned in “Boxiana” (Joe Hood, p. 81), nor in “Fistiana,” under Hood (p. 58, edit. 1864); nor does Hood’s second defeat (July 2, 1774) appear under his name in either authority.
A noted Birmingham pugilist (the “Hardware Village” has always been renowned for boxers) hight Joe Higgins, “who had fought fifteen battles, in all of which he had been the conqueror,”[[36]] challenged Hood. He had miscalculated his skill. They met July 23, 1778, when Hood gave him so severe a beating as, says the authority just quoted, “taught him the proper respect due to a scientific pugilist.”
The tide of battle now turned against Hood. On the 8th of September, 1778, after a severe attack of illness, Joe met “the Bristol Boy,” Peter Bath, at Maidenhead races, for £50 a-side. “The bets were two to one in Joe’s favour, notwithstanding his indifferent health.” Joe soon “found himself entirely unable to cope with his opponent, and gave in after fighting twenty minutes, when Bath[[37]] was hailed the conqueror.”
On the 4th of September, 1779, Hood was again unsuccessful in a pitched battle in Smithfield with William Day, an active and game pugilist. This seems to have been Joe’s last appearance as a principal, his constitution being impaired.
